by Paul Heron
Mohammad threw Michael a bottle of water. ‘Well done. You’re doing great,’ he whispered from behind the camera.
He drank just enough to wet his throat. ‘Your enemy, and the world’s enemy, is Signor Garcia, a Mexican representative for the Italian family of Pietro Mancini.’ The group watched as Michael began to speak with more confidence. ‘We ask only one thing: don’t believe anything your leaders tell you. We have proof that Mancini Corporation is manipulating them because it stands to become very powerful. We’re not going to let them. We have control of every satellite in orbit, including all of your military communication systems.’
He swallowed hard, knowing this will get them into a lot of trouble - life in prison or even execution. This was as serious as it could possibly get and his face was now known to everyone. ‘We don’t want to, but we’ll keep your military systems on lockdown if necessary. Let me ask you all this, everyone who is watching: ask yourself honestly, have none of you noticed your politicians acting strange recently? We need our leaders to go to the hospital and get tested. Then they need to investigate this Mancini Corporation. We have evidence of the substance that was used.’
Michael’s vocal cords danced uncontrollably. ‘This organisation will deny these accusations, and, because our world leaders are drugged, basically brainwashed, they’ll believe anything the Mancini Corporation tells them. Listen to what I’m saying. Thank you. After this message, your normal broadcast will resume.’
The red light on the camera went out, and the transmission was over. There was a strange silence. Nothing but the sound of the breeze and the chopper in the distance.
‘Is that it?’ Marcel walked to the front of the laptop, putting on his sunglasses and posing in front of the camera, like a bodybuilder in a bicep flex pose.
‘God, I hope so, if you’re on it!’ Carolina said.
Michael closed his eyes. He gave a sigh of relief, then he felt overcome with trepidation. He didn’t know how people would react. All of his words came back to him in that moment and sounded silly. There were so many things he should have said that he forgot, and others that he did say that he wished he hadn’t.
His thoughts were interrupted by cheers and high-fives. Everyone congratulated him. It was the biggest group hug Michael had ever seen.
‘You did it!’ Marcel shouted, wrapping his arms around Michael and lifting him up like a world cup trophy.
Scarlett pulled herself away from the group and shouted, ‘It’s almost eight. Time to go! Get in the chopper, everyone, now!’
They all made a dash for the Black Hawk.
Michael jumped in feeling completely drained, glad to feel the aircraft lift into the air.
Chapter Sixteen
FLYING BACK TO SCARLETT’S house in Guatemala, they waited for news. To see how the world was going to react. Strangely, there was nothing. Nothing at all. Just static.
‘Ajit!’ Sofia shook him. ‘Have you deactivated L’amico?’
‘On it!’ Ajit pulled the device from his laptop while they all erupted into a fit of laughter. ‘Oops.’
Alban landed at the rear of the property. Scarlett certainly wasn’t shy of a few acres.
They all sat around the garden table, patiently waiting for Scarlett to finish grilling them some breakfast. The sound of sizzling pork was accompanied by the smell of chicken and beef wafting through the air.
‘I’m glad this is all over!’ Carolina rose up from her seat and dropped her exhausted body onto the well-maintained grass. She held her hand up in the air, her chain dangling, glistening off the sunlight. ‘I guess we won’t be needing these then! Maybe Elisabetta will let us keep them. As a memento.’
Marcel chopped the table with his hand. ‘I’ll be happy to get back to the dojo. I’d prefer to keep my new skills, rather than a piece of jewellery!’ He looked at Michael, grinning.
‘Very courageous! You’ve assaulted a table,’ Mohammad teased. ‘You’re such an inspiration to the art you love so much.’ He pulled a grape from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table and chucked it at Marcel.
Marcel batted it across the garden with his hand.
‘I hope you haven’t forgotten that I don’t eat pork.’ Ahmad looked at Scarlett in desperation.
‘I’ve chicken here for you and Mohammad,’ Scarlett continued flipping the darkening rashers. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’
Something so simple, something as normal as home cooking made the group feel safe and secure, as if they were home again. A bit of normality was welcome by them all.
Scarlett’s phone rang. Michael passed it over to her.
‘Nicole,’ she answered. She put her phone on loudspeaker and set it on the table. ‘Bonjour Nicole, I’m cooking breakfast at the moment, so you’re on loudspeaker. Everyone’s here.’
‘Bonjour. Have you seen the news? Your message went all around the world. The world’s political elite have arranged a meeting to discuss the broadcast. It looks like they’ve taken some note of what you said, Michael.’ Everyone looked at each other and smiled. ‘Congratulations! You’ve all done it!’
Michael looked up at the sky as if to say thank you.
‘But...’ Nicole’s voice deepened. ‘They want to speak to you, Michael. The whole world knows your face now.’
‘Nicole...’ Scarlett’s voice deepened to match Nicole’s. The laughter and chatter fell back to silence again. ‘Why the voice?’
‘If our world leaders are not of sound mind, yet, then Mancini Corporation could possibly give Signor Garcia up to satisfy the world leaders. Now that the Dark Tree is destroyed, Mexico and the Mexican branch of the Corporation are not of much use for the Mancini group. Don’t forget how big this organisation is.’
‘How likely is that?’ Scarlett asked, becoming an interrogator in Michael’s defence, who'd developed a pale complexion.
‘Well, we know what’s at stake for Mancini Corp. They’ll do whatever they have to. Word has also spread of Jose Garcia’s death. Those guys want blood for that!’
Michael grabbed Sofia’s hand. ‘Together, remember? We’re in this together.’ She squeezed his hand and smiled, still looking traumatised.
‘Just forget about it for now. Celebrate at least getting this far. I’ll be in touch.’ Nicole ended the call.
Michael looked at everyone. ‘We’ll go back to Little Camberly and Elisabetta can change us back, right? We’ll be okay. We’ll just pretend this never happened.’
Sofia looked around the table. ‘Whatever happens, we’ve got eachother.’
‘I want to know what the hell happened between Elisabetta and the God of the Dead when they disappeared.’ She looked at Michael. ‘We’re going to have to keep an eye on you, Michael. He wanted you.’
‘Elisabetta got rid of him,’ Marcel said. ‘But did you hear what she said to him? She’s ready to go to war with him in the Otherworld.’
‘What happens if we get dragged into it when we get back to the gallery?’ Eduardo said.
‘We’ll worry about that when we get back to England. Lets enjoy this victory.’ Scarlett said. ‘We’ll figure it out.’
‘Yes, and we need to get back and go to Uni,’ Mohammad said sarcastically. ‘I’m missing important lectures.’
‘You will be spending the year in bed, I am certain.’ Ajit threw a grape; it bounced off Mohammad’s head and landed in Eduardo’s glass of water.
Michael sniffed his clothes. ‘Before we do anything, I need a shower. I stink.’
As he said this, Scarlett set down a plate with steaming sausages, bacon, eggs, bread, and mushrooms. ‘But not until I’ve inhaled this grub.’
‘What about me?’ Abbe looked at Michael.
‘If you want, you can come with us to England,’ Scarlett said, handing him a plate. ‘Or we have a safe place in Guatemala where you can hide for a while until things have settled.’
‘It’s better if I stay here,’ Abbe said.
‘As you wish. Now, enjoy your food.’ She sat d
own beside Ahmad, looking impressed with her cooking.
Epilogue
AFTER BREAKFAST, MICHAEL went for a shower. In the bathroom, as he stood in front of the mirror brushing his teeth, he had a good look at himself. He paused for a moment, feeling as if he’d just woken up from a dream. ‘What on earth has just happened?’
As he looked into his bright blue eyes, he felt something tickle his neck.
The voice – that he now knew to be Elisabetta's – whispered in his ear, ‘Go. Run!’
A shiver ran down his spine, and he froze on the spot. He gulped.
Then as if on cue, like Elisabetta had just sent a messenger, the bathroom door burst open. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ Sofia was frantic. ‘It’s George.’ She gave the phone to him. ‘Hurry,’ she shouted, ‘Alban’s in the jet. Move, Michael!’
He pressed the phone to his ear. ‘George?’
‘Michael, get out of there now! You’re being hunted. And they know where you are!’ George shouted.
‘Our appearance will change soon anyway! What’s the problem? Elisabetta can remove the charm as soon as we get to the gallery, nobody will recognise us.’ He threw on his shirt and hopped into his trousers, one leg at a time.
George didn’t reply.
Michael threw his tie around his neck, then the jacket while he waited for a reply. Nothing. He put the phone on the side of the washing basin and put it on loudspeaker. He grabbed his shoes. ‘George?’
He sat on the toilet and tied his shoelaces in record time. Still no reply. He lunged off the toilet, grabbed the phone, and ran. As he sprinted through the living room from the dining area, he saw something that shocked him: his broadcast on Scarlett’s sixty-inch plasma. The news channel was replaying it. It was surreal, watching himself on TV.
‘Michael, come on, let’s go!’ Marcel shouted from the patio doors.
Michael sprinted across the living room. ‘Where are the others?’
‘They’re all in the jet. I waited here for you. Come on, let’s go!’
They both sprinted down the garden.
‘George, are you there?’ Michael shouted into his phone. Still no response.
They reached the jet.
Marcel ran up the steps, Michael followed.
‘George! What’s happening?’ He jumped into his seat and pulled on his seatbelt, no idea where they were headed.
‘Alban, get us out of here,’ Scarlett shouted.
George came back. ‘Unfortunately, Michael. Something has happened.’
‘What do you mean?’ Michael felt his stomach drop.
‘Hamish has been feeding Mancini Corporation information all along. They have taken over the gallery, and on behalf of the British government, nobody can get in. But, it gets worse, and guys I'm so sorry - They’ve destroyed the room that accesses the Otherworld.’
‘What? What about us?’ Marcel shouted, looking at his body, still under Elisabetta’s charm.
‘That’s the least of our worries.’
‘What do you mean, George? We thought this was over!’ Michael yelled clinching his fist, panic setting in.
‘The Mancini Corporation has taken apart pieces of the sculpture, Elisabetta’s sculpture in Bruce’s Cave. They will divide it out to countries, Pietro Mancini’s sick way of spreading it far and wide. The world leaders are now Fomorians in disguise, guided by Donn and Pietro.’ George paused, and then laughed as if he was impressed. ‘I’ve got to take my hat off to them; it was a clever idea... The fragments from the sculpture will be scattered around the world, and we’re soon to have an influx of some very nasty creatures walking around out there. And they’ll be coming after us and our agents.’
‘But how did they get close to the sculpture? Elisabetta said it will react if somebody tries to touch it. It was charmed.’ Then Michael remembered the chains, and that Eduardo’s was missing.
He looked across the cabin at Eduardo, who was looking like he was about to cry. He didn’t mention it. The blame game would undoubtedly kick in.
‘This was their plan all along, send you guys to Mexico while they went to Bruce’s Cave. They now have everything they wanted, Michael. They’ve done what Pietro Mancini started in 1665.’
Michael’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What do we have to do now?’
‘Bring the sculpture back together again. Return it to the cave. Guys...’ George, their mentor, sounded nervous for the first time, ‘I don’t know what this will mean. I’m not sure how I can contact Elisabetta. This is really bad.’
‘No shit... Can we not tell the governments and have them return the fragments to the cave?’ Michael asked in desperation.
‘It’s too big a risk, Michael,’ George shouted. ‘Our freedom is the one thing that guarantees we stay alive. And if we stay alive, then we have a chance to keep everyone we love alive, too. We need to work in secret. Mancini has us, and the world, by the balls! If we approach any government while they’re still under Mancini control, they’ll throw us in prison, think it’s an absurd story, and we’ll wait in a prison cell until we die.’
Michael looked at everyone in the cabin. All the faces said the same thing: you’ve got to be kidding me.
‘Why didn’t they just take us out at the camp, George?’ Sofia said. ‘The place was deserted when we got there. We didn’t see many of these Fomorian monsters that were meant to be there.’
‘They fear you,’ George said. ‘They’ve scampered.’
‘Great, this will make it easy for us to find them.’ Carolina said.
There was an interminable silence. Here they were, after putting their lives on the line again and again, thinking they were finally going home. Instead, they were in a jet with no idea where they were going, or why, or for how long.
‘Elisabetta gave her life for that sculpture, and she gave us to the world. The least we can do is fight for it. What do you guys think?’ Carolina said.
Marcel started a slow clap that may or may not have been sarcastic, but then came another clap, building momentum, until everyone was truly excited and clapping in unison. Michael saw a look of determination slowly appear on everyone’s face. Watching them move in sync like that struck him as symbolic. Together, we’re strong.
‘George, we’re going to finish what Elisabetta started,’ Sofia said. ‘Screw Mancini Corporation. Screw the Fomorians. Screw Donn. And screw Pietro Mancini. We’re not going down without a fight!’ She glared at Michael, a fire in her eyes.
‘So, where do we start?’ Mohammad asked...
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FATHER’S KEEPER
Chapter One
MICHAEL'S EYES SHOT open. The impact from the landing jolted him awake. This was swiftly followed by a nervous apology from Alban. Michael had sunk into his heated leather seat, and one thing was certain, he didn’t want to move. He couldn't feel his exhausted limbs; this was the most he'd been able to rest since they’d left Little Camberly. That trek through the jungle had sapped almost all of his resources. He rubbed his stiff neck, lucky Alban’s landing didn’t add whiplash to his condition.
‘That guy needs to get landing lessons,’ Mohammad groaned, mirroring Michael, massaging his neck.
Michael sniggered. In their current situation, he thought he could either laugh or cry. He felt like crying but knew that wouldn’t do any good. He turned his head and looked to his right; his exhausted body ensured he didn't move anything but his head. Sofia was still sleeping, re
sting her head on his shoulder. He didn’t want to wake her. He wanted to sleep, too, and not wake up. Or wake up and be in Ireland in his own bed with no such thing as Little Camberly, Sirani Foundation, or Mancini Corporation; perhaps a gentle realisation that the gods and goddesses of Irish mythology were not real. The Fomorians and The Tuatha de Danann were not at war in The Otherworld. That war of the gods was not about to spill over into the earthly realm. That’s what they’d all love to realise. But it was a realisation that would never come.
Then Michael looked around the cabin at everyone else. He found something to be grateful for. Emotionally drained, he looked for whatever positive he could find. Not much. But the people in his life now, the people who’d also had their lives turned upside down, they were what he was grateful for. After only four days with them, Michael had been through more than most people go through in a lifetime. He looked at Marcel, sleeping with his shades on, like a celebrity, not a care in the world, at least until he woke up.
Michael peered through the window, noticing that they had landed in another private estate. This one surrounded by high walls and trees. It looked more like the grounds of a prestigious golf course. Rolling hills, well maintained grass, rich and flourishing hedges and flowers. He didn’t know their location until he looked at his phone and discovered a message from George.
Have a safe journey, rest and text me when you get to France.
‘France?’ Michael shouted to Alban. ‘What part of France are we in?’ He yawned, rubbing his eyes as Sofia lifted her head.
‘South coast,’ Alban groaned. Slowly rising from his seat, he grabbed his jacket that hung behind the cockpit door. ‘We’re in Marseille. And I need to sleep,’ he mumbled through a yawn, eyes half closed as he staggered towards the cabin door. Opening the door woke the rest up.