The Joshua Files - a complete box set: Books 1-5 of the young adult sci-fi adventure series plus techno-thriller prequel

by M. G. Harris

  His palms were damp as he then entered the address of Hans Runig’s website. A small text box appeared, rotating until it settled in the middle of the animated hieroglyphic symbols.

  Mr. Bennett! Hello.

  Rapidly, Jackson began to type.

  What do you want? I’m not accepting any new Facebook friends.

  That was funny, Jackson. I’m glad you can be funny with me. I feel like we’re growing closer. This would all be so much easier if you’d agree to work with us. That’s all I want.

  What would I have to do?

  Can’t you guess?

  Hand over PJ’s DNA molecule?

  You see, it’s not so hard to write. Now you just need to do it.

  Why? You already have the amino acid sequence.

  Indeed. But not the whole gene, with all the control sequences. Chaldexx are so far ahead of me. I have much to catch up with. I think you already know that.

  I don’t have the DNA anymore. I grew kinda tired of being chased for it, so I’ve put it somewhere safe.

  With the young lady from the silver Beetle, no doubt.

  If you harm Marie-Carmen I won’t help you.

  Understood. You know, we’re very surprised about your connection with her. You didn’t mention it in any of your conversations with Pedro Juan.

  Jackson did not reply, instead concentrating furiously, trying to recall every telephone conversation with PJ over the past few months. He didn’t dare take Runig at his word, was acutely aware of the danger of implicating himself or Marie-Carmen further.

  So what’s in this for me? Apart from not being killed?

  I regret so much that you think we’re trying to destroy you. Fernando was not going to kill you.

  I’m gonna have to take issue with that.

  Become part of my organization. Why waste your talent helping DiCanio and her environmentalists? With my help you can be rich and powerful; there will be nothing you cannot be. You and Marie-Carmen.

  Let’s say I’m interested. How would this work?

  I was hoping we might discuss that tomorrow, at Kleine Scheidegg.

  Explain more NOW. Or this discussion is over.

  We want you to retrieve an artifact from Iraq.

  Why?

  We’re aware of what DiCanio has asked you. Now I’m asking you, Jackson. Bring the artifact to us and all threats to your life, and to Marie-Carmen and her family.

  You’re bringing them into this?

  I’m not a violent person by nature, Mr. Bennett. Curiosity is charming, to a point. And then it’s dangerous.

  Why do you want the artifact?

  Simply put; to stop Melissa DiCanio. You don’t know what you’re tangling with there, Mr. Bennett. Did she tell you about her secret society?

  Jackson stalled. He watched the cursor blink, relentlessly waiting for his response. When he did nothing, after two minutes Runig began to type once again.

  You can imagine how little I can afford to leave an asset like you in DiCanio’s hands. I like you, Dr. Bennett. You seem like a resourceful and intelligent young man. I won’t allow sentimentality to interfere with my greater aims. The first step is to stop Melissa DiCanio. Get some sleep, Mr. Bennett. It’s high time we met face-to-face. Be sure to come alone. The mountain waits.

  With this, the text box disappeared, leaving Jackson staring at the screen.

  Hans Runig was totally ruthless; Jackson could no longer doubt it. He was not safe from him, would never be safe until he gave Runig what he wanted.

  Daniel O’Shea

  The waves of the Pacific Ocean churned sandy brown as they broke on the Revolcadero beach, directly in front of the Acapulco Princess hotel. In the sky, the peaches and deep magentas of a perfect sunset were already casting flame-tongued reflections on the water. Tired but exhilarated, Marie-Carmen rode the boogie board out of the highest point of the surf and floated, paddling gently with both hands.

  She checked her watch: 7.45pm. There was no point expecting Jackson to be available to talk at this hour. She had spent hours in her room that afternoon, waiting for him to return from dining with DiCanio. Eventually, anger and frustration had set in. Throwing the cordless mouse across the room, Marie-Carmen had made for the beach.

  She had admittedly played on the jealousy angle for the sake of flirting with Jackson. Yet now she was experiencing genuine qualms. Marie-Carmen hadn’t expected to feel as much as she had after their brief liaison. Yet what she’d assumed was a simple physical attraction seemed to have morphed into something more.

  Unruly rip tides and waves afforded some distraction. Eventually though, Marie-Carmen’s thoughts had inevitably returned to Jackson. There were any number of ways to analyze her feelings – and she had tried a few – but had to admit that there was nothing she could pinpoint; no intimate touch or gesture had accomplished the change between them. It was as though something in the balance of the physical universe had shifted, quite subtly. As if two separate and inanimate objects had suddenly acquired the ability to superimpose the properties of their molecules on the other.

  One moment she and Jackson had been laughing, joking, the next, she’d realized with a degree of alarm, it was serious. Too serious. From Jackson’s somewhat pained reticence the next day, she guessed he felt that too.

  Even a day later, she could scarcely believe that it had actually happened. The memory of him refused to be diminished, a heavy sensation below her waist, almost a persistent ache, reminded her of the violent desire she’d experienced for Jackson’s body. Now he was with another woman. It didn’t matter that they were probably only talking science.

  Girl, get over it.

  She pointed her boogie board towards the beach and rode a wave in, then strolled slowly along the sands, back towards the hotel.

  Marie-Carmen hadn’t planned to stay in Acapulco more than a few days. At this level of luxury, she’d soon run out of spare cash. Luckily she was on a three-month sabbatical from teaching, or else she’d have a timetable full of classes. But the temporary reprieve was only because she’d won an academic prize. The faculty head would expect a quality research paper out of her this year. She didn’t really have time to spare from her research.

  What she had not foreseen, were the possibly longer term consequences of her sudden involvement with Jackson. If she couldn’t get back to Mexico City soon, her job, her family relationships, would it all be compromised? What sort of future could she hope for with a Northern Californian scientist? It was unlikely that a guy like him would move to Mexico. Marie-Carmen was almost ashamed to be speculating so far ahead. Yet her instincts told her that Jackson’s fate and her own were intertwined.

  As Marie-Carmen started up her MacBook, her fears were confirmed. Jackson wasn’t available to chat. There were, however, two new emails from him. The earliest one began with an outpouring of sentiment. Despite her anxiety, Marie-Carmen couldn’t read it without a smile. The second email was blunter, more what she expected, from the little she knew of him.

  Marie-Carmen,

  Runig has your cell phone number. Switch it off and don’t use it again; we have to assume he can trace the signal. Tried to find a single photo of Runig on the Internet – nothing. For a tech-savvy business guy he’s pretty invisible. I’m supposed to be meeting with him tomorrow morning – he’s prepared to drop the threats and negotiate. Mainly, he wants to block DiCanio. Not quite sure what he has against her, or Chaldexx. Runig wants my help but I don’t trust him. I’m pretty certain that when he’s got what he needs he’ll dispose of me. I might still go to the meeting, though. It’s up on a ski resort, so I figure it’s out in the open. I’ll try to get a photo of Runig, before he sees me. I don’t know when I can write to you again; I’ll try tomorrow. If you’ve used your cell phone in the last five minutes (check this email’s timestamp), then GET OUT OF THERE.

  And one more thing: I think I’m falling in love with you.

  J x

  Marie-Carmen couldn’t know it, but Jackso
n had spent twenty whole minutes deliberating how to declare himself. In the end he’d gone for something simple, direct.

  She had to read the email several times before she could tear herself away from the screen. Heightened awareness of the danger he thought she faced was probably a factor in Jackson’s declaration. As soon as she read his words, Marie-Carmen found herself hoping that they were true.

  She showered and washed her hair, then applied a few drops of argan oil before she used the hairdryer. Her makeup took very little time to apply, just enough to highlight her cheekbones and eyes. She finished off with a tiny amount of reddish-brown lip gloss, a spray of Thierry Mugler’s Angel, then dressed in a simple dress of indigo rayon with narrow shoulder straps. Marie-Carmen grabbed her purse before stepping into the corridor.

  There was no immediate pressure to take action – her cell phone had been switched off all afternoon. While it was off, there was no way for Runig to trace her. It was frightening to realize that Runig knew her name, had her cell phone number. Marie-Carmen forced herself to examine any possible trail. Unless she had been expertly followed since she left her apartment the previous morning, it was ludicrously unlikely that anyone could know where she was. She hadn’t even specified a hotel to Jackson.

  For now, she was probably safe.

  The corridors were filling with people dressed for dinner. Five excited-looking, very pale American women in their late thirties and early forties joined Marie-Carmen in the elevator. They chatted quietly. As the door was about to shut, the tall, sandy-haired man she’d seen earlier in the lobby, thrust his arm through the door.

  “Wait for me, ladies!”

  He stepped into the elevator, pushing his long fringe out of his eyes with the gesture that Marie-Carmen felt sure was affected. She watched in silent amusement as her female companions in the elevator fussed over him. From their conversation she determined that as she’d guessed, all were attending one of the conferences being run in the hotel, the meeting of the American Society for Ancient History Teachers. He was clearly one of their party and a rare commodity: a good-looking, single male professor whose specialty was dominated by women. Dressed in a garish, tropical print shirt, he lapped up the attention.

  Nevertheless, it was to Marie-Carmen that his eyes strayed. He looked directly at her in the mirrored walls of the elevator. With a slight shake of her head, she turned away. She thought back fondly to Jackson and his obvious discomfort when she’d caught him looking at her in the car. The handsome history professor wasn’t put off, not at all. Marie-Carmen could feel his eyes on her even as he and his colleagues walked away.

  At dinner, he continued to glance in her direction. Turning to the enthusiastic woman to his left, he whispered something in her ear. The woman responded by nodding, looking over at Marie-Carmen, then rose to his feet and joined Marie-Carmen at her table.

  “Miss, excuse me, I’m really sorry to bother you but would you care to join us? It’s just that we’ve noticed you seem to be alone. We’d be real happy for you to come over.”

  She looked over at the table. He merely smiled a lazy, knowing smile. There was something undeniably appealing about a guy this confident. Tonight though, Marie-Carmen was immune.

  His messenger continued to insist, with endearing graciousness. She let just enough time pass so that she appeared reluctant, then strode over to their table. He moved along, sitting next to her, and introduced himself as Daniel O’Shea.

  The other women began to ask her where she was from, why she was alone (if that wasn’t a rude question), what did she do for a living (again, if not an imposition), was she having a nice time?

  Marie-Carmen answered as briefly and charmingly as possible, and quickly turned the questions around to them. They were delighted to tell her about themselves. There was an almost collective swoon when she told them that she was a Mayan archaeologist.

  “Oh my God, the Maya, that is just so fascinatin’!”

  “You must have some of the most fabulous stories to tell!”

  When the female professors went to fetch the dessert course, Daniel O’Shea hung back, smiling suggestively at her, but saying nothing.

  Marie-Carmen smiled back, with a slight shake of her head. “You know you’re pretty selfish.”

  Daniel’s smile broadened. “Why’s that now?”

  She gestured towards his colleagues at the dessert trolley. “There are quite a few potentially disappointed ladies over there. You should concentrate on what’s available to you and not get distracted by something you can’t have.”

  He said nothing for a second, but lowered his eyes.

  “They’re not quite in your league, are they? You can’t blame a guy for trying. Where beautiful women are concerned, it always pays to try.”

  Marie-Carmen laughed. “I guess that’s one strategy.”

  Daniel laughed too. “It is. I promise you it works better than you’d think. It could have worked with you, but you look like you might be taken.”

  She nodded.

  “Lucky guy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Can we at least be friends?”

  Her eyes widened. “I see. You want the waiting list application form.”

  Daniel gave a conspiratorial grin. “Plan B. But don’t worry, I know the Waiting List Rules.”

  “Just so long as you do.”

  They smiled, both relaxed. Marie-Carmen asked, “You’re here to talk about ancient history?”

  He took a long drink from his frozen margarita before answering. “You mean, in my work?”

  Marie-Carmen ignored the suggestive nudge. “Right.”

  “That’s right. Mainly ancient Mesopotamia.”

  She struggled to appear unfazed. “Sumeria, Akkadia, Assyria? Anything in particular?”

  “The whole bit. I work in a teaching college, so I don’t have much time for research. I have to cover the history of most of the area, from the earliest settlements like Eridu, the archaeology, cultural history, religion, writing, everything.”

  “Has there been much upsurge of interest since the end of the Iraq war? Presumably the access to ruins has improved?”

  Daniel nodded. “Got myself interviewed once on TV, as an expert. Kinda fun!”

  “So, where do you stand on the age of Eridu?”

  “Well, the earliest parts of the city date back to around five thousand BC. They began to build raised layers of the city when the filth in the streets started to run into their homes. Because they built everything in clay, when the cities were abandoned – usually because of flood, famine, fire. After time, erosion destroys much of the city. Sand blows in, fills in the gaps. Eventually you’re left with a raised mound, known as a ‘tell’. The oldest part of the city would be deepest inside. In Eridu, you’ve got everything from four thousand five hundred BC to six hundred BC.”

  “So,” she said, leaning closer, almost flirting with him. “If I tell you something in Sumerian, would you be able to translate it?”

  Daniel looked up suddenly, intrigued at the tone in her voice. “Well now. You’ve been using the Internet to look up how to say ‘Daniel, I want you’ in Sumerian, haven’t you?”

  Marie-Carmen grinned and tossed a bread roll in his direction, which Daniel just caught with a delighted laugh.

  “Not quite, but you could help me out.”

  “I could live to help you out.”

  “What does lugal an un na ki mean to you?”

  Daniel frowned, pondering. “Hey no fair! I thought you were just kidding around, now you want to consult my professional opinion? Gee, I dunno, I usually charge for this sort of thing.”

  Marie-Carmen tapped the table in mock irritation. “OK, what’s it gonna take?”

  “You have to agree to dance with me at least three times tonight in the nightclub.”

  “You know how to dance salsa?”

  “That would be a no. But three’s my price, take it or leave it.”

  After a moment’s consideration
, she shook Daniel’s hand. “You got a deal.”

  “OK. Now it so happens that I think I can help you. lugal is easy; it means ‘master’, ‘lord’ or possibly ‘owner’. Now by an un na ki I presume you mean Anunnaki.”

  “I do?”

  “It doesn’t make much sense otherwise; it broadly translates as ‘the people who came from Heaven and Earth’. Anunnaki form an important part of the mythology.”

  “And who exactly were the Anunnaki?”

  He took another sip from his margarita.

  “They’re from the mythology. Gods and minor deities who carried out their wishes. They’re first mentioned in the Atrahasis; a clay tablet on which the earliest written version of the Sumerian creation and flood myths was carved. Atrahasis, he’s like a Sumerian ‘Noah’ – the one person chosen by God to survive the flood.

  “Eridu was allegedly established by the four main Gods, the original Anunnaki. I think the original text goes something like: ‘After the kingship descended from heaven, the kingship was in Eridu’.

  “The city of Ur was much more well-known and influential. I guess you’ll know it from the Bible. It’s about fifteen miles away from Eridu, or Abu Shahrain as it’s now known. You remember hearing about Nasiriya, in reports on the Iraq war? It’s around there.”

  Marie-Carmen didn’t hear his last sentence. All she could hear now was the connection, realized far too late, between the Anunnaki and Eridu. She stood, trembling. She wasn’t sure how or why, but she was certain that Jackson was walking into terrible danger.

  Daniel regarded her with astonishment. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, I just remembered I’m supposed to be waiting for a call.”

  “Oh,” remarked Daniel with a touch of disdain, “no doubt from the dude! I’m gonna need a rain check for those dances, you know.” As she stood to leave, he added indignantly, “Hey, don’t let me keep you! It’s been real nice talking. Hope to see you again?”