Next to him, Adriana sobbed uncontrollably.
June couldn’t do anything to ease their pain. She stood quietly between the two, occasionally squeezing Tommy’s hand or putting her other arm around Adriana.
The minister had left along with the sparse collection of friends and colleagues Sean had met through the years. His parents hung around a long time before heading back to their home, where everyone would be meeting for dinner. Joe and Helen McElroy lingered for a while, only choosing to leave because they thought it was best to give Tommy and Adriana a little time alone to say their final goodbyes.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Tommy muttered after what seemed like a year-long silence. Thunder boomed in the distance, and a heavy drop of rain splattered on his shoulder.
“I know,” June said.
“I like to think he did it to protect us,” Adriana said between sobs. “But that doesn’t make me feel better. It actually makes me feel guilty, like I should have been the one to die.”
Tommy shook his head. “No. He knew the score. He knew exactly what he was doing. Sean was going to take down Dufort no matter the cost. None of us would be safe if that guy was still out there, not to mention the countless others that guy would have harmed.”
What Tommy didn’t say was that he felt responsible. If he hadn’t yelled at Sean from the top of the temple steps, his friend might not have been distracted. He may have shot first and taken Dufort out on his own. He’d seen his friend snake his way out of worse situations. Tommy’s stomach turned at the thought and he had to fight hard to keep from throwing up.
It was something Tommy would never know.
He stared into the grave. The empty coffin sat at the bottom with a pile of roses on top of it.
“I don’t know how I can ever go back to work again,” he muttered to himself. “It will never be the same.”
“I know,” June said. “Give it time. There’s no rush. Joe and Helen will run things for a while with the kids. When you’re ready, you can come back. Just take your time.”
“No,” Tommy said in a distant tone as he shook his head slowly back and forth. “I don’t think I can. Sean and I did everything together. How can I walk back into that building, board our plane? I don’t think I can even find the will to do my job anymore.”
“You love what you do, Tommy,” she said, looking deep into his eyes. “Sooner or later, it will pull you back.”
Six hours later, darkness had descended on the city. Tommy sat alone in Sean’s south side condo, staring out the window as a heavy rain fell on the streets. Adriana and June were asleep in Sean’s room after finally giving in to extreme fatigue.
Tommy glanced at the pictures hanging on the wall. Most of them were of him and his friend at various places around the world. There were a few from their childhood, too. One that struck Tommy in the chest was a picture of him and Sean in their little league baseball uniforms. They were only seven years old at the time, oblivious to the world around them.
He bit his lower lip and drew in a deep breath. A second later he exhaled and took a drink of water from a bottle dangling in his hand.
Tommy was exhausted. He’d not slept in days, other than for a few random moments where his body gave in and dozed off.
He turned away from the window as lightning flashed in the distance. He collapsed into the leather couch and stared at the black television screen. His fingers fumbled over the remote on the armrest, and he picked it up.
“Maybe a little television will help,” he said to himself. “Staring at the wall doesn’t seem to be doing any good.”
The screen flickered to life, and he flipped through the channels until he arrived at the news.
“Haven’t watched the news in a long time,” he muttered. “Might as well see who else is miserable in the world.”
A guy in a tight gray suit with perfectly cropped black hair was talking about flooding in Southeast Asia.
“Switching gears now, a former American agent was found dead this morning in his home in Grenada. Authorities released the name just minutes ago. We’re learning that Hank Tillis was killed in the early morning hours yesterday. The CIA director has yet to comment on the tragedy, but is expected to release a statement soon.”
Tommy’s ears perked up. His right eyebrow lifted slightly, and he grunted. “Got what you had coming to you, eh Hank?”
“Tillis appears to have been the victim of an execution, though authorities say they have no leads in the mysterious murder. All evidence suggests that the killer broke into his home and shot him in the chest three times.”
Tommy switched off the television and set the remote back down. The news of the traitor’s murder gave him a sliver of satisfaction for a microsecond.
“In all fairness,” a voice said from across the room, “his front door was open.”
A chill shot through Tommy’s spine and tingled every inch of skin on his body. No, he thought to himself. I’m hearing things.
Tommy shook his head, refusing to look up. The tears behind his eyes broke through and poured down his face. It sounded just like Sean.
Then he heard a footstep, deliberate and heavy from near the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Schultzie. I couldn’t risk coming back until he was gone,” Sean’s voice echoed from the shadows. “I had to take him out.”
Tommy’s head kept turning as the tears streamed down, rolling off his chin into his lap. “Stop it!” he yelled, grabbing both sides of his head. “You’re dead! I saw you die! What is this?” A billion emotions washed over Tommy like a tsunami.
“It’s me, Schultzie. I know you must be…confused.”
“No. We had a funeral for you,” Tommy blurted. Globs of saliva spat out of his mouth. “Everyone was there.”
“I know,” Sean said. “If I’d been able to get back in time, I would have sent you flowers.”
Tommy’s chest surged with a short laugh. “You are such an—”
“We’ve made it this far without using profanity,” Sean said as he stepped into the light. “No sense in starting now.”
Tommy finally built up the courage to look over at his friend. “How?” he asked. “I saw you die, really die the second time. I don’t understand.”
Sean grinned and stopped by the island in his kitchen. He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out the amulet he’d taken from Dufort. It radiated with a bizarre, yellowish glow.
“I know, Schultzie. Turns out…Dufort was right about this thing.”
Tommy still didn’t fully understand. “So, what? You’re like a zombie or something? Are you immortal? I gotta be honest, man, this is too much for me.” He choked again, unable to hold back the tidal wave.
Sean shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’m immortal. But this thing does have some kind of healing properties. I don’t remember much after the gun fired. All I know is I fell in the water with a hole in my chest. I saw the cavern ceiling, water flowed over my face and eyes. It was cold. I know that much. The pain in my chest…it was terrible. When I woke up I was on the shore of an oasis and the hole was gone. No bullet, nothing.” He lifted his shirt and showed his chest. “It didn’t even scar.”
Tommy processed the story for a moment before speaking again. “I…I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. If you can ever find a way to forgive me for putting you through this, maybe we can figure out what this thing can do. This might be the cure to every disease on the planet.”
Tommy’s head still shook back and forth. His fingers trembled and his lips quivered. “I have so many questions.”
“So do I. For now, though, would it be okay if I hugged my girlfriend?”
Tommy stood up and made his way across the room. He nodded. “Yeah, buddy. But I get one first.”
Tommy had cried so much that his eyes were nearly dry, reddened and swollen from the torment.
He wrapped his arms around Sean and squeezed him tight. The second he felt the apparition, Tomm
y lost control again. He sobbed into Sean’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter than he’d ever squeezed anything or anyone before.
“Adriana’s probably going to kick your butt. You know that, right?”
Sean nodded as he let the tears flow down his cheeks. “Yeah, I know.”
Tommy tensed his muscles again, unwilling to let his friend go. They’d known each other their whole lives, more like brothers than friends.
Sean returned the gesture and slapped his friend on the back. “Not so hard, Schultzie. You’re a lot stronger than you used to be.”
“Shut up, wuss.”
The two laughed amid a river of tears as the rain spattered against the windows.
“Just shut up.”
Thank You
Writing a book is a challenging thing.
It takes an incredible amount of time, research, energy, and mental focus. That last one is extremely difficult for me.
When I say thank you for reading my work, I truly mean it and I cannot express how much I appreciate you choosing to spend your time with my words.
Perhaps you're a loyal reader who has read every single book in the series. Maybe this is your first one. Either way, at some point you took a chance on purchasing a story from a guy you'd probably never heard of. I can't thank you enough for that.
I've always been a storyteller, no matter the career in which I worked. To be able to write books for a living is an honor and a privilege. I owe that to good people like you.
Again, thank you for trusting me with your time. It is the most valuable resource a person has. And you chose to spend some with me.
Sincerely,
Ernest
Other Books By Ernest Dempsey
Sean Wyatt Adventures:
The Secret of the Stones
The Cleric’s Vault
The Last Chamber
The Grecian Manifesto
The Norse Directive
Game of Shadows
The Jerusalem Creed
The Samurai Cipher
The Cairo Vendetta
The Uluru Code
The Excalibur Key
The Denali Deception
The Fourth Prophecy
The Templar Curse
Adriana Villa Adventures:
War of Thieves Trilogy
When Shadows Call
Shadows Rising
Author’s Notes
As a fan of great fiction that mixes history into the story, I love to read other writers’ notes about what is true and what isn’t in regard to their tales.
Over the years, many readers have told me the same thing about my books.
So, here are a few little tidbits from this story about what is real and what isn’t.
Locations:
All the locations in this story are real places except for Zerzura. While the lost oasis city might be out there, hidden in the sands of the Sahara, it has never been found. The legends, however, have been passed down through the centuries. The ruins in Libya, Egypt, and Sudan are all accurately portrayed in the story, as well as the huge stone elephant in Chad.
The great mountain pyramid in Giza is a very real place. And as I described in the story, very few people visit it or even know it’s there. I’ve heard many explanations as to why tourists don’t frequent this unique and incredible structure, but none of them add up. I personally believe there is something at that site that the Egyptian government and even researchers want to be ignored. Maybe it’s the evidence of ancient technology, as described in the story. I’m not sure, but it’s definitely an item of curiosity.
Relics:
The amulets and the stones of power were a creation of my imagination. While there are certainly fascinating pieces from history such as the Ankara stones, the crystal skulls, and many others, these particular items don’t exist—to my knowledge.
Power and Supernatural Things:
The event that occurred at Zerzura when the sands opened up is not something that has been recorded, at least not that I know of. However, the glowing ball of light, the sounds the amulets made, and the idea of a global power grid are not new things. In World War II, pilots saw glowing orbs over Nazi Germany. They called them Foo Fighters, but no one knew what they were or why they were there.
In regard to the global grid, there are many historians, archaeologists, and scientists who are trying to better understand exactly how this grid works. Perhaps the most fascinating thing about the grid is that almost every sacred site from antiquity ranging from the earliest Egyptians all the way down through the Incan empire was built along this grid. Coincidence? You may have to decide that for yourself.
As far as other supernatural occurrences in the story, I personally believe that things modern science can’t explain doesn’t make them any less real. A thousand years ago, Vikings believed that thunder and lightning were signs that Thor and his father, Odin, were waging war. Now we know what those things really are.
Someday, I hope that we are able to understand even more about the higher science that we now call miraculous or supernatural. After all, the design of the universe wasn’t meant to be ignored. It was meant to be understood and appreciated.
The General Premise:
As with any fictional story involving locations and history, an author takes a fair amount of liberty in tweaking things to meet the needs of the tale.
Often, people will search the internet for more information about the plot devices I use or the locations involved in my books.
Allow me to save you some time.
It is uncertain whether Zerzura actually exists. There was an account from a man who said he got lost in the desert and woke up surrounded by pale-skinned men in a city of light.
Were these men angels? Were they immigrants from another land?
Based on the accounts I found, it isn’t clear.
Part of my imagination wanted them to be Templars guarding an ancient secret in the vast Sahara. The Templar story, however, will have to wait for another time.
The account of this lost man was reported to occur around the year 1481. When he tried to lead people back to it, the city had vanished, possibly swallowed by the desert sands. Or perhaps he was merely a charlatan, leading people on a wild goose chase, pursuing a figment of his imagination.
Based on the few accounts available regarding the lost oasis city, I chose to blend the two possibilities. The romantic historian in me chooses to believe there really is a lost city in the desert and that when the man left, it was covered up—either on purpose, or by a sand storm. In the story, it is clearly both.
The Athanasia symbol or amulet was a creation of my mind, which I mentioned before. Unlike some relics in other stories, this one doesn’t exist as far as I know. So, whereas the Ark of the Covenant, the Sword of Peter, or other artifacts could potentially be found someday, I doubt this amulet will be.
Anything, however, is possible. Which is why I love writing these kinds of stories.
For my sister, Ember. I love you more than words can say. And I write books so that’s saying something.
Acknowledgments
None of my stories would be possible without the great input I get from incredible readers all over the globe. My advance reader group is such an incredibly unselfish and supportive team. I couldn't do any of this without them.
My editors, Anne Storer and Jason Whited, must also be thanked for their amazing work and guidance in crafting these stories. They make everything so much better for the reader.
Last but not least, I need to give a big thank you to Elena at L1 Graphics for the incredible cover art she always delivers, along with beautiful social media artwork.
The Sahara Legacy is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, and places are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright ©2017 Ernest Dempsey
Ernestdempsey.net
> All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America by Enclave Publishing.
ISBN: 978-1-944647-18-6
Created with Vellum
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