CHAPTER two:

The books cover

JANUARY 14th, 2012…

Gregory Barnes left his five-star suite in the Nilambagh Palace Hotel. Having arrived in Bhavnagar, India only a few hours previous, he had only just settled in to his luxury accommodations when he had to leave. He had arranged to meet his contact at the hotel itself. He had it all planned out. They would have a few drinks in the wooded environs around the hotel, he'd spread some money around and then, hopefully, his contact would be suitably agreeable to help him with his quest. Gregory considered himself an academic, a scientist who adheres to scientific method and follows the facts to the most logical conclusion. However, his detractors would have other things to say about him. He had been labelled a charlatan, a publicity-seeking rich boy, and a pseudoarchaeologist who was a discredit to his family and the institution at which he studied his field, Yale University. He knew none of that was true, and whilst he did enjoy the attention and attacking the fundamental beliefs of his dogmatic counterparts in the archaeological community, he had long ago accepted that respect was something he had largely lost, and he would only have that returned to him if he were to be vindicated.

For the last ten years, that had proven elusive.

He believed the opportunity for such vindication had finally come in 2001 when an Indian official announced that the National Institute of Ocean Technology had discovered what they believed to be the sunken ruins of a hitherto unknown civilisation in the Gulf of Khambhat. They said they had identified what appeared to be ancient city-like structures such as a granary, public bath, citadel and a complex drainage system along with regularly-spaced dwellings. The site, located twenty kilometres off the coast of the state of Gujarat, spanned an incredible nine kilometres and was under about thirty meters of water, putting it in a time when sea levels were much a lower, a time before the accepted emergence of the Indus Valley civilisation.

Of course, he attempted to travel to the site, but he found himself road-blocked by the Indian authorities who declared it entirely NIOT jurisdiction and was not open to any foreign experts. Some among the team working on the site had gone as far as to say that they did not want his "like" on such an important archaeological expedition. His efforts to see this ruin for himself were further frustrated for the next three years as were all of his attempts to get in contact with the researchers involved. He couldn't even get his hands on the most recent data, despite the privilege his qualifications should bestow. In the end, the whole thing fell into controversy. The archaeological community criticised how the site was treated, saying dredging for artefacts was not an appropriate way of excavating the site. They said there was no way now to associate what was recovered, which amounted to some wattle and daub and pottery shards, with the actual site. Objects that were dated to 9'500 years old included wood, which they dismissed as irrelevant given that that particular piece of wood could have arrived in the gulf from anywhere. Thereafter, research at the site dwindled, and people began to accept the judgement of the almighty dogmatists.

He had the money from sales of his latest book at the time, Beyond the Pillars of Hercules, to fund his own small-scale expedition to the site, but he could not get permission from the local authorities in Gujarat. They had decided that the underwater currents in the gulf made scuba diving hazardous, which would limit Gregory and his team to doing nothing more than what had been done previously, and he knew well how conclusive that work had been. He accepted their terms anyhow just in the hope of finding something. Yet his four-man team who were far less equipped than the NIOT expedition could only make even fuzzier sonar sweeps of the site that revealed next nothing. He decided not to try dredging. He refused to give his "colleagues" the satisfaction of condescending down to him about how improper that method was. He couldn't accept it though. He couldn't stomach the idea of actually floating above all his dreams come through and not be able to reach down to them.

The torment of Tantalus, he thought to himself, thirty meters separates me from my drink.

So, purely on impulse, he decided to purchase scuba gear locally and smuggle it aboard his boat, deciding it wasn't for anyone else to say what risks he could take. However, just as he was about to sail out again, his boat was detained and searched by the coastguard. On discovering the gear, he was given a strong warning and restrictions were placed upon his movements in Gujarat. They basically prevented him from boarding any boat in the gulf or approach within one mile of the shore. Any associated with him were ordered to abide by the same ruling.

So that was that. He left India and returned to his stately mansion just outside of Albany, New York State. There he wallowed in a dejected stupor for several months, drinking the remaining profits from his book and having his groupies over for all-night parties that he generally forgot by the next morning and only remembered the women he slept with because they usually were still thrown across him. He "despaired" as such for a while longer with nothing coming to light that would inspire him to write or otherwise publicise his beliefs. Slowly, his niche in the literary ecosystem was being filled by lesser writers who were of such little prominence that the archaeologists he waged his war of words against didn't even bother to chastise them.

Am I a dying breed? He wondered. Is there no room left in this world to wonder? To think outside the box, see beyond the black and white?

He decided definitely no.

His peers might be floundering, but he still had the will and the weapons to fight the oppressive establishment. So, he sat himself in front of a computer and wrote and wrote and wrote until less than three months later, he landed a five-hundred page manuscript upon the desk of his publisher. He named it "A Knife to the Heart of Dogma". It was basically a thesis in which he laid out a number of pointed criticisms against the archaeological establishment and the very tenets of their beliefs. In particular, he assailed their stubborn adherence to what amounted to beliefs about the past and were unwilling to consider anything that might dispute those beliefs. After going over and then gleefully approving Gregory's latest work, his publisher asked, "So what poked the sleeping monster and roused him from his sleep?"

He replied, "Three months ago, it was a combination of boredom and intense frustration. This morning, it was some broad from Syracuse."

Just like his three previous works, this one was a bestseller. However, this time, it wasn't just topping one or two categories; it reached the top ten bestselling books in the USA. After that, it became an international hit, selling millions of copies that disappeared off the shelves. He was soon earning more money from this single book than his last three combined. He found himself flying from city to city, doing book signings and lectures. Gregory rode the wave of success until it crashed on the shores of Gujarat. He wasn't long using his newly earned millions to get a new expedition going and start negotiations with the local authorities. His run of good luck ended with the latter point. The officials he talked to refused to allow him access to the site after his blatant flouting of the rules they'd set out for his prior expedition. They told him his recklessness would be a danger to himself, those in his service, and also the citizens of Gujarat. So, they're previous restrictions still stood. Gregory Barnes was not allowed in or near the Bay of Khambhat. He thereafter told them in no uncertain terms where to shove it and tried to go over their heads to the Indian government. They simply told him that it was a state matter, and they would not interfere. Maddened by their stubbornness, his impulsive nature took the helm, and he decided to try to sail into the gulf without permission. He was only brought back down to Earth by the captain of his new research ship, the Hiram Bingham, who advised him that it would not be pleasant to spend any length of time in an Indian prison.

Tired and discouraged, Gregory found himself wallowing again or wandering aimlessly around his shiny new ship that was literally dead in the water. He felt useless and couldn't help but feel that his last work was nothing but a long-winded written assault unless he found something to back it up, something he promised his growing number of supporters that he would do.

I suppose that's one I ain't gonna fulfil. I suppose I've got my earnings to tide me over till the next book.

He had just about given up on his dream of being the first to properly explore these underwater ruins when his captain, a local man named Anesh Kadam, told him he might know someone who could provide a solution to his problem.

That was a week ago. Since then his captain had made arrangements for him to stay in Bhavnagar while he tried to get in touch with his associate through various channels. Apparently, this guy wasn't easy to find, and it was not by accident. According to Anesh, this person specialised in all sorts of covert ops and was a mercenary, bodyguard, spy, saboteur and, on occasion, assassin all in one. In fact, whatever the client wanted was what this guy provided. Anesh apparently hired this guy out to rescue his son after he was abducted by a criminal gang who attempted to extort money out of him for his safe return. Eighteen hours after getting in contact with the operative, his son arrived back on his doorstep, but his rescuer chose not to stick around. The next day, news reports on state news spoke of a known criminal gang of child traffickers and extortionists who had almost been wiped out in their own base of operations in Ahmedabad. The scene was described as so gruesome that seasoned police officers ran outside for air and often to throw up. Yet, despite the violence of the rescue, his son saw nothing but a dark figure blindfold him and bundle him into a car.

Gregory knew this guy was his ticket into the Gulf of Khambhat. Seriously, who would stand against him? He was basically the Indian Rambo. Anesh finally got hold of him the day before he was due to check into his hotel. He informed him where Gregory would be, and the guy, whose voice was obviously artificially distorted on the line, simply said he'd be there tomorrow. So, as he stepped off the hotel grounds onto the pavement, he kept an eye out for his soon-to-be favourite person in the world. Of the throngs of people lining either side of street, none of them stood out to Gregory in particular. None of the men he saw seemed like the image he had in his mind of a buff, battle-scared warrior. He double-checked his watch to make sure he wasn't too early or late, but no, it was noon, exactly the time he was meant to meet this less than punctual action man. Ten minutes passed and Gregory became agitated as much by stifling heat as by the delay. He really hoped this guy wasn't playing games, trying to see if he was smart enough to spot him. Then, he heard a high-pitched ringtone that was certainly not his own. The notes of whatever song it was were vaguely familiar, probably something his father listened to, but it was the source of the sound that intrigued him the most. He approached a trash bin just two meters up the street from him and looking down into it, he saw a buzzing phone sitting upon a disposed newspaper. He picked it up and hit the answer button. He said, "Hello…"

A moment later, the same distorted voice as before replied, "Mr. Barnes, proceed up Dairy Road until you reach Nilambagh Circle. Proceed straight through onto Station Road. When you reach a crossroads at the Hotel Apollo, take the road to your right. On your left a short walk up that road is the Central Bus Station. Get on the next bus to Ghogha in exactly twenty-five minutes. You will receive further instructions when you arrive at your destination. Keep the phone…"

He did not get a word in, and the line had already went dead before he could ask for any clarification. He had not been to the place he was asking him to go, nor had he any notion what to expect there. All he knew was that this wasn't the arrangement, and he was very antagonised at that moment. He considered calling Anesh when he saw the time on the phone. Seven minutes of his time had already disappeared while he stood there cursing and deliberating. Whatever his opinion of the situation, he knew how badly he wanted and needed to get to the underwater site, and that meant he absolutely could not miss that bus. So, under the relentless midday sun, Gregory pelted it down through the crowded city road.

There wasn't much Gregory could say about Ghogha. As the bus trundled up a narrow street, there was nothing much to see but people's homes and random patches of greenery. He supposed Ghogha was a small town by Indian standards, not much more than ten thousand people. He googled it on his iPhone and found it had one factory on its outskirts and a ship-breaking yard. The street narrowed to a point where the bus could proceed no further, so he and a few others disembarked in yet another nondescript street. He was at a loss what to do next or where to go but just as he reached for the phone he picked up in Bhavnagar, it rang. He answered and immediately said, "All right, I've done everything you asked. I don't like this game of cat and mouse, so show yourself…please…"

There was a momentary silence before the distorted voice said, "Proceed directly east from your present location, and you will eventually enter an area of open ground. From there, you should be able to see the ship-breaking yard. Go there."

Once again, the line cut and Gregory was left even more frustrated. Since he had no option but to comply, he followed the narrow passageways as best he could, trying to maintain an easterly course. He was eyed both suspiciously and humorously by the locals and he had the feeling that perhaps he was walking through people's properties. Eventually, he came out onto a larger road that ran near the shore. He saw a dock of some kind due north as he passed over a bridge but was pretty sure from the Google Earth images that the ship-breaking yard was in the southern part of the town. Soon enough, he noticed the vast open ground that the guy spoke of and at its far end was the yard. So, he proceeded south past a guesthouse and groups of children playing soccer and various other games. His feet were feeling sore walking on the hard, dusty soil, and he was pretty sure his sandals were chafing his heels. The afternoon sun somehow managed to be even hotter than it was before, and sweat dripped down his face in trickles that irritated his reddened skin. As he began panting furiously, horribly unfit as he was, he wondered was it worth it to take another step when he all of a sudden realised that he was there.

The ship-breaking yard was nothing impressive, just a warehouse with a damaged roof and a peer extending out into the water. A few partially dismantled boats lay on the shore in front of the warehouse, and there didn't seem to be any people around. He was just about to step inside the grounds when a distorted voice said from behind, "Don't move." He heard the click of a pistol's safety being turned off and froze in an instant. Then, the voice said, "If you have ID in your wallet, toss it back to me." He complied, yanking it from his pocket and hurling it backwards. He heard it thump on the ground. Then he heard someone rummaging through it before the voice said, "Turn around, slowly."

He did so, shaking so much that he nearly tripped over his foot mid-turn. With his hands up, he dared to gaze upon his captor. If this was the "guy" Anesh was talking about, he wasn't at all what Gregory expected. His arms were slender as were his shoulders and neck. His chest heaved outward but as he looked lower, he realised his mistake. The hourglass figure, nice hips, and long legs shod in black leather boots and donned in dark skinny jeans were not those of a man, which was confirmed when she pulled away the head scarf, aviator sunglasses, and the strange contraption over her mouth to reveal shoulder-length black hair, dark eyes, and sharp features. He was so taken aback by her attractiveness that he forgot for a moment that she still had the gun on him. She stepped forward slowly and said, "I don't appreciate staring, Mr Barnes."

He realised he'd been staring at her exposed cleavage generously shown off by her tank top. She holstered the pistol and stepped right up to his face and said, "Mr. Barnes, I advise you not to try anything stupid. I don't need my pistol to hurt you."

He nodded, still in disbelief that this was the person Anesh had been talking about. She seemed like she should be holding a handbag on a runway, not a pistol in a shipyard. Suddenly, she crouched down before him and began patting him down. He shuddered and asked, "Ah, ah, what are you doing?"

"Checking you for concealed weapons or tracking devices."

Having searched him by hand, she ran some device over him that made regular clicking noises. Once she was satisfied, she stashed it away in backpack she carried. She looked down at his crotch for some reason and half bent his knees like he expected her to kick him. She said, "Mr. Barnes, are you always this forward with the ladies?"

He looked down and realised he'd got an erection. He fumbled trying to cover it up, but his linen shorts didn't do much to conceal the bulge. The woman seemed unimpressed, though but extended her hand saying, "My name is Parmita Nayar. Welcome to Gogha, Mr. Barnes."

"Thanks, it's ah…nice to be here."

"It is not my hometown, Mr. Barnes, you do not have to pay it any compliment."

"Oh, okay…sorry…"

"…Follow me."

She walked past him into the yard past the warehouse. He realised then how perilously close he was to the water. Surely, the authorities would pounce on him for breaking their little decrees. However, as if reading his mind, Parmita said, "If you're wondering why you haven't been arrested yet, I paid off the local police in Ghogha to ignore your arrival. I expect to be reimbursed on top of any payment I deem fit, which will be decided based on how smoothly this little expedition goes. Are we clear, Mr. Barnes?"

"Ah…"

Suddenly, she turned on her heel and was right in his face, saying, "If those terms are not acceptable, Mr. Barnes, we can part company now. I am in high demand and frankly, this operation is beneath me. I've investigated your finances, and I know you are more than capable of paying my fee."

"Very…am…very well…"

She turned again and said as she walked, "I couldn't help but notice your utter astonishment when you saw me, why was that exactly?"

He was lost for what to say. He knew the truth, but he couldn't just say it, for fear she might just shoot him on the spot. Still, his hesitancy seemed to angering her just as much so he said, "I…ah…just expected you to be different somehow…"

"You mean you expected me to be a man. Oh, Mr. Barnes, we are already not off to a great start."

"I-I-I'm sorry, it's just…ah…"

She interjected into his mumblings saying, "Oh don't worry your little head. I've gotten this a lot and if it's any consolation, given your reputation as a dashing, wealthy, womanising, fame-hungry author, I expected something a little easier on the eye. Guess how disappointed I am."

Parmita knew herself she was being overly harsh, but this man seemed like the kind who need to be put in his place from the get-go. Gregory was totally aghast. He didn't think he'd ever been so thoroughly trashed by anyone, even his strongest critics. He realised he'd slowed a bit in his contemplation, so sped up until he caught up with Parmita at the shore. By the peer was an ageing, rusted cargo ship. The tide was rising and the bulky wreck was slowly bopping on the waves. Gregory asked, "So what's the plan? My ship can be here in an hour from its present location."

"Very amusing, Mr. Barnes, do you really think we're going to sail to the site on your ship that the coastguard has devoted an excessive amount of resources to surveilling?"

"How do you…?"

"I have many friends, Mr. Barnes, in many convenient places. A little common sense helps, too, though."

"Then, what are we supposed to do?"

"Well I know you expected some kind of fight, given my reputation, but I am not taking on innocent members of the authorities who are simply doing their job which is to stop you killing yourself and your employees whilst being an ass. However, you have hired me to help you be an ass, so I have to do that to the best of my ability." Parmita smirked at the irony of what she just said and continued, "Just tell your ship to sail out into the Arabian Sea, we'll meet them there."

"How? Where's our ride?"

"Our ride is right in front of you, Mr. Barnes."