While I've never had an issue sleeping on planes, waking up tends to cause headaches for myself and anyone traveling with me. I generally never want to wake up once I'm asleep, even on a tiny, albeit comfortable sleeper on an airplane. I feel a sharp poke in my ribs, and my eyes pop open.
Glaring at him with his wide eyes and bushy tail, I sneer. "You could have been nicer about waking me up." I push myself up and scrub my hands over my face.
"I could have, but I know better." He smiles knowingly at me. "Besides, I've been trying to politely wake you up for thirty minutes."
"Whatever." I grab my clothes and the toiletry bag and make my way to the lavatory to change and brush my teeth. Now that I'm awake, I'm ready to hit the ground running. By the time I make it back to my seat, it's been converted back, and a steaming cup of coffee is waiting for me.
"Landing in about forty minutes."
I nod, sip the coffee, and check my tablet for any new emails and to go over the journal entries I downloaded. I'm so engrossed I don't even realize that we've hit our descent until a tattooed arm snakes into my periphery and his hand latches onto mine.
"Still? You're fine taking off." I give him a squeeze and a smile.
"I don't know what it is, but I just can't."
"The puddle jumper is gonna be worse," I singsong.
He groans. "Don't remind me."
Forty minutes to get through customs and we're hustling out of the airport to catch a taxi and make it to the smaller airfield to make our connecting flight. He didn't want to have our names linked to Akrotiri, so he arranged with his colleague to pay in cash with the pilot of the puddle jumper.
It sounds like paranoia and a potential scam to me, but I'm just along for the ride at this point. As long as we get to the dig site in one piece and not flat broke, that's all I care about.
As the taxi pulls up at the airfield, I see a slender, dark-haired man talking to whom I assume is the pilot while he's doing his final checks on the aircraft. I climb out of the car with my bag, shade my eyes against the sun, and take in the metal bird. It's seen better days, but I have no doubt it'll get us where we need to be.
"Ah, there's Benni now. I wasn't expecting him to be here." He drags me by the arm across the tarmac to the two men, and just as we reach them, the dark-haired man shouts at us.
"Hey, O'Connell!" He laughs beside me, deeply and hearty. That's when it hits me.
"Wait, 'Benni'? 'O'Connell'? Are you a literal child?"
"C'mon, Doc. You love it when I call you Indy."
"So, this is the infamous Indy," Benni says as he reaches out a hand and shakes mine vigorously. "Ben Cheney's the name; digging up ancient civilizations is my game."
"Nice to meet you, I'm—"
"I know exactly who you are. Will you sign my book later?"
"Uh." I look to my partner, and he grins. "Sure, it would be my pleasure."
"Awesome. Thanks, Evie."
The two of us immediately shut that down. "She's never been an Evie, Benni. She's an O'Connell through and through."
"As much as I love all this witty banter, can we get on the plane and get gone?"
"The doctor lady is right; we should get boarded." The pilot introduces himself as a European expat named Waylon and invites me to sit in the front with him. Waylon finishes his check-in with air traffic control, and I get an eagle's eye view from the cockpit with the benefit of a headset.
"Folks, the weather is clear, and we should touch down in Akrotiri in forty-eight minutes." Waylon guides the aircraft into the sky, and soon, we're flying over turquoise waters. Clusters of white buildings—some with blue roofs—fishing boats, and jagged cliffs. Waylon and I chat over the headsets as he maneuvers the tiny plane through the air, and when he calls in to the RAF tower, I turn to look at Benni.
"He's got the connections. But I've flown in and out of there several times. Nothing to worry about." He settles back in his seat, but he and I exchange a look.
Locals are an invaluable source of help and knowledge, and I generally love working with them. I don't like government officials though. They can be nosey at best and downright detrimental to digs, research, and knowledge.
As we begin our descent, I snake my hand behind to grip my friend's and cross the fingers on my other hand. By the time we land, and Waylon does our post flight checks, and we move to deboard, no one has come out to greet us, and I count our blessings.
We grab our bags and walk off the tarmac and into the waiting Jeep to take us to the site. It's been several years since I've been in Greece, more specifically Santorini, and I'm loving the warm sun on my face and the smell of the ocean in the air.
Arriving at the dig site, Benni leads us to his makeshift office to deposit our stuff, and then leads us straight into the Bronze Age settlement.
Dating back to as early as the fifth millennium BC, originally believed to be a small farming and fishing village, by the end of the third millennium, Akrotiri expanded due to trade relations with other cultures in the Aegean Sea. Its strategic position on the primary sailing route between Cyprus and Minoan Crete also made it an important point for the copper trade, allowing it to become an important center for processing copper, as proven by the discovery of molds and crucibles there. Akrotiri's prosperity continued for about another 500 years, as evidenced by paved streets, an extensive drainage system, and the production of high-quality pottery.
We know all this due to well-preserved frescoes and pottery that were found in the first excavation in 1967. Sometime in the sixteenth century BC, a volcanic eruption destroyed the settlement. For years, people have believed that Akrotiri was the basis for Plato's writings on Atlantis; we're here to figure out if he was writing based on fact or an allegory of his creation.
"Benni, have you discovered anything new recently?" I ask as we wander down the visitor path.
"Oh, Doc, you're gonna love this." He smiles at us both and leads us into a secluded area where two diggers are standing in front of a dilapidated fresco—one cleaning and one documenting. It's hard to see around them and get a good look at what they've found, so Benni asks them to step back, and when they do, I'm shocked.
The chipped and faded wall painting depicts three large concentric rings, each separated by bodies of water. I can easily make out a harbor area, a building that looks like it could be a military barracks or some sort of storage facility.
Scrawled across the bottom, in the ancient Grecian/Roman writing that I found in the journal is the word "Atalantica". I can feel the tears prick my eyes, and I reach back for my friend's hand as I step closer. Could this be it? Could this be the beginning of the end? The initial proof we need? And that's when I see it, and O'Connell speaks.
"Do you see it, Indy? There's a shining temple in the center island." He squeezes my hand. "It looks like they depicted Poseidon on top."