ALEX HUNT and the Chase for Rhapta_A Relic Chaser Adventure Read online

  Hell no! Do they even realize I'm still in the room?

  "I don't need a babysitter or a nurse. I'm quite capable of looking after myself, thank you. I'll go to Africa. I'll go but only because my father's life depends on it. I'll fetch him and bring him back! Nothing more! No chasing or anything of the sorts. I don't need to find Rhapta, and I am dead sure that I don't need the fame. Is that clear Professor?"

  "Clear as daylight Alex. However, I just need you to think about the Rhapta bit for a moment. We have proof the city does, in fact, exist somewhere in Tanzania. Lying somewhere waiting for us to unlock all her secrets and relics. The evidence is sufficient enough. As an archaeologist, you are duty bound to help us discover ancient history. A discovery of this stature can open up valuable links to another history unknown to the world. Please consider the prospect. If not for me then for your parents."

  I walk towards my father's sizeable antique desk. History runs through his veins. Keating is sure as heck pushing me beyond my comfort zone, but for the sake of my father, I have no other option.

  My mother, and obviously now my father too, believes this quest was worth risking their lives over. I should trust in their knowledge and experience and believe they might just be onto something big. Besides, Keating is right of course. A discovery of this magnitude could provide valuable insights into new cultures and if this kills me too, then fine.

  Perhaps then all those treasure hunters who scour the world thinking they are on the verge of discovering ancient secrets and treasures will realize some secrets need to stay buried forever.

  "Are you sure you can do this Alex?" Dr. Jones cautions.

  "You've made a lot of progress, but this might be too much for you to take on. Your meds will only do so much."

  "Well if the stuff has the same effect as these, then, by all means, Dr, stock me up."

  "Alex, I'll send one of my best students with you as a backup and book you a first class seat. Anything to make the trip more comfortable for you. Just say the word."

  "Students will weigh me down, Professor, I don't need them. I told you. I can do this on my own."

  "Well, if I may Alex. I don't think that's wise. If you have an episode in the midst of a dangerous situation the consequences could be potentially fatal. To have someone with you at all times will be vital to you getting through this."

  I choose to ignore his advice.

  "I'll need something to knock me out on the plane and the ground team ready when I land, that's all. Oh, and perhaps some of these meds you just gave me Doc. I'll manage the rest on my own."

  My words echo in my head. How in heavens name am I supposed to do this?

  "Alex, you need to be very sure this is what you want to do."

  As always, he is most likely right. What am I thinking? On my own, Pfuh. I'm without a doubt going to end up dead or far worse, my father.

  "Thank you Doctor, but we are talking about my father's life. How can I not try to save him? If his life depends on me risking my life for his then I'll have to dig deep and at least try. When my mother most needed me, I let her down. I am not about to do the same to my father."

  Perhaps relic chasing is in my blood. I have never known anything else. Born to the famous Hunt Chasers, escaping our legacy is impossible. I have been to more countries chasing treasures, and ancient relics than most children will ever experience through a cub scouts scavenger hunt.

  My childhood memories are not of birthday parties and learning how to ride a bicycle. Instead, my young life was filled with camel rides across the desert and swimming through crocodile-infested swamps. "The excitement lies in the next chase. That's what makes life great." my Dad used to say.

  No two days were ever the same. I suppose these wild adventures are every child's dream, not so? No boring school classrooms and bedtime routines. Just the world and all its experiences. A once in a lifetime organic education filled with firsthand lessons in eight different languages. Living with tribes in Peru or making clay pots in Egypt. My life was never dull or without instruction.

  Relic chasing is in my DNA yes. He's right. I can do this. I've learned from the best relic chasers alive who taught me everything. My illness is very much all in my mind.

  With the right ground team and resources, I can find my father and bring him home alive.

  When they eventually leave, and I'm all alone again, I ultimately make that cup of tea and sit down behind my desk. My eye catches my emergency medical bracelet around my wrist. Beneath the thin silver chain, is the bright pink scar I got sliding down the sharp sandy cliffs of the Kingdom of Mustang in Northern Nepal. Those mysterious caves were quite a find. That was, in reality, my first official chase and I loved every living moment of the mission.

  I catch myself smiling as I think back. I do miss the adrenalin rush. The sheer exhilaration when you conquer treacherous places where modern man has never been. The danger and sometimes the absolute tranquillity of being one with nature.

  My silver medical tag around my wrist catches my eye. Alexandra Hunt - Agoraphobe

  For the last three years, I have been staring at these words. Is this who I have become? Like hell it is!

  I am Alex Hunt, daughter of the famous Archaeological Hunt team. Head researcher, Archaeologist and ... Relic Chaser.

  Chapter Two

  The lukewarm tap water isn't helping. I pant for air and run back into the bathroom cubicle. The dirty space is tiny. My reflection in the mirror stares back at me. You're okay Alex Hunt. You don't have to be afraid of anything. You're safe.

  Fifteen minutes later I climb the aircraft's steps. Think of your father Alex. Think of your father. Are you going to let him down too? Just breathe. In and out, in and out.

  The plane is at capacity and evokes a sense of claustrophobia in me. I hate crowds of people around me. At least the uni reserved a first class seat which helps. I find my seat. Who's he? He looks ridiculously more nervous than I.

  "First time huh?"

  "Not quite but I guarantee you, without a doubt not exactly my place of comfort" he replies, still fumbling with his seatbelt as I opened the overhead above my seat.

  "Oh, let me take that for you Miss Hunt" the friendly air hostess stops me.

  "Miss Hunt? Oh... Uh...uh, I beg your pardon. I was expecting..." the man in the seat blurts out.

  "A man right?" I smirk as he clumsily attempts standing to his feet in the cramped space to greet me.

  "Well yes, if I have to be truthful. Professor Keating told me to meet Alex Hunt so I assumed... well, it's just that, uh well, Alex is a male name and, well, I..." scratching his head in a futile attempt to create a comeback.

  I decide to let him squirm for a bit. It is not the first time someone made the wrong assumption about me being a man. Relic Chasing isn't for the faint-hearted and finding a female chaser, close to impossible.

  Mum was one of the very few. I never wanted to be in the newspapers with them, and Mum was always cautious about allowing the tabloids to take pictures of me. Mainly because I am female too.

  In hindsight, her wisdom and foresight into the danger of exposing my identity in the tabloids are exactly what has kept me safe and under wraps. Likely for the exact reason, she is now dead.

  I am on a plane. Off in the hope of still finding my father alive.

  "And who is the fortunate chosen one Professor Keating thinks is equipped enough to handle this expedition?" I ask.

  "Sam Quinn, at your service Miss Hunt." holding out his hand.

  "So you are the student Professor Keating insists should accompany me. Looking at you, I have the sense that planes aren't exactly your thing. How in heavens' name are you meant to climb down a shaft or slide through an underground tunnel if you're nervous about flying? "

  "I'm a huge fan of your parents. I'm truly sorry for your loss. We all greatly respected your mother. Her death was a sad day in archaeology."

  I choose to ignore his comment. They don’t know the meaning of the word sad.


  "Well Sam Quinn, if you pull that strap any tighter you might sever your waist."

  "You're right. I'm not the biggest fan of flying " tightening the seatbelt even more.

  "I suppose you do this so often you might as well be driving a car. How many times have you in reality flown, Miss Hunt?"

  "Unfortunately more times than I care to count," I reply sitting down in the seat next to his. The effect of the potent sedatives is kicking in and slurs my speech. Perhaps I should have taken just one.

  "Can I just say, Miss Hunt..."

  "Alex. The name is Alex. Short for Alexandra, a female name." straight away regretting my irritation and bitter edge. Today, flying isn’t my thing either.

  "Indeed yes. Alex. Clearing his throat. As I was just going to say, I majored top of my class and am well equipped to have been selected to accompany you on this adventure. Your parents have been my inspiration and role models growing up. The very reason why I love Archaeology. I gave Professor Keating my word and well, how shall I put this? I'm aware of your condition."

  Oh great. Here we go.

  "Well thank you Mr. Quinn, but judging from those clothes, this is, without doubt, your first rodeo. As for my condition, I can manage just fine, thank you."

  He looks down at his crisp white collared shirt and black jeans and shuffles awkwardly in his seat.

  "I figured if I'm going to die I should at least be dressed for the burial" breaking into a laugh.

  Well, at least the man has a sense of humor, even at his own expense.

  "You, on the other hand, Alex Hunt, are dressed like G.I. Jane, ready to crawl through some tomb or chasm in the middle of a jungle. Do you always dress like this when you're flying?"

  "Only when I try to blend in with the locals at my destination. Africa is unlike any other place you might have been to Mr. Quinn. The terrain is tough and the people, well, let's just say not all of them are friendlies."

  He looks even more scared now.

  "How do you mean 'not all of them are friendlies'? What does that mean specifically?"

  "Don't worry Mr. Quinn. Dressed like that you might in effect scare them off."

  My eyelids appear to weigh rather heavily as they start pulling south and I'm confident my words are slurring a little too much. I'm trying my utmost to control my trembling hands fastening my seatbelt. At least my breathing is under control and my heart rate steady.

  The first time out of the house in over three years. I'm coming head-on with my fears. I'm genuinely doing this. I can almost touch the African dust again as I lie back in my seat closing my eyes.

  Part of me welcomes the exhilarated possibility of uncovering the truth about Rhapta and finding the damned Key everyone is chasing. IF it even exists and IF I decide to chase again.

  Finding Rhapta was my mother's single quest. She risked and lost her life for the sake of fulfilling her dream chasing after the legendary city.

  My father's face interrupts my thoughts. Losing my father though is not an option. My stomach drops and forms a lump in my throat causing me to swallow hard. Like that feeling, that hits you in the pit of your stomach just before you jump off a cliff. Control your mind Alex. Look ahead, straight ahead. You can do this. I recite the affirmation in my head. You save your father's life and bring him home. That's it. Nothing more.

  The pilot starts his announcement, and the hostesses do their last check on the overheads before strapping into their seats.

  How I even got out of my apartment door today was a miracle in itself. If not for Dr. Jones driving me to the airport I in all likelihood would have not even made the front steps.

  Did I pack my pills? I reach inside my khaki jacket and touch the round container firmly tucked beside my waist. I start my breathing exercises while I lay my head back on the headrest. Both my hands grip tightly on the armrests as the plane takes flight.

  Moments later Sam Quinn's firm, strong hand clasps mine. Instinctively I want to pull away, but somehow the urgent need to rely on someone's strength push all instincts aside. Or perhaps he needs my courage too as I glance across at him sitting stiffly in his seat with his eyes shut tight.

  In that very moment, I realize everything will be alright. Something in that moment told me Sam Quinn would help me through this just fine.

  I must have passed out shortly after take-off as I'm woken from a passing passenger knocking my elbow while scurrying along the narrow aisle to disembark the plane. I am slightly woozy from the heavy sedation. I unclip my seatbelt and turn askew to look at Sam Quinn where he still patiently sits waiting in his seat. He seems somewhat relieved that the plane was safely on solid ground.

  "Ah, hello. That was quite a nap, Miss Hunt. Here, I saved you some water and a bread-roll."

  The sedatives left my mouth dehydrated to the point where my tongue is stuck solidly to my palate, so I gulp down the water.

  "Thanks," my still dry mouth manages to let out.

  "Well, shall we head off then?" I add while reaching for my backpack from the overhead.

  "You're going to have to change out of those clothes Mr. Quinn. You won't last an hour in them. Please tell me you packed a carry on with some khakis?"

  "Right here. I've come prepared Alex Hunt." rapping his rucksack now hanging on his chest like a baby carrier.

  He looks like a naughty school child about to go to his first cub camp.

  "Best you saddle up Mr. Quinn and let's shake a leg. You might have to change in the Jeep."

  I couldn't resist. This man is so obviously a novice at all of this. The horrified look on his face at the idea of having to change in a moving Jeep in the middle of Africa is just priceless.

  The hot African sun hits my face the moment I step out of the plane onto the tarmac. Suddenly my feet are chunks of lead, glued solidly to the ground. I recall my mother's face and the look in her eyes as they drag her away. Without delay, my heart starts racing, and my palms break into a clammy sweat. I swallow twice in a futile attempt to wash down the lump that's still sitting in my throat. I can't do this. There is just no way I can do this!

  For a moment I contemplate turning around and heading back into the plane. So I look back to catch the crew raise the steps and swiftly close the door behind me. Did they sense my trepidation? Perhaps they were told to do so.

  Look straight ahead, Alex. You can do this. But my legs aren't moving. No matter how hard I try to walk, they just don't react. I stood on the tarmac paralyzed for what seems more like several hours.

  Sam Quinn's firm supportive hand on my elbow gently nudges me forward.

  "I've got you Alex. You can do this."

  Suddenly the look in his eyes turned from cub scout to ranger, and I can't help but wonder if this hidden strength is entirely what Professor Keating saw in him.

  He nods towards the bottle of water still clenched in my hand spurring me on to drink some more. I've never taken orders from any man except my father, but somehow my body decides to take up his suggestion and down the other half of the bottle in one sturdy swig. The cool soothing water somehow helps.

  The glue under my shoes gradually dissolve, and I start walking at a slow pace but steadily towards the passport control counter. I greet the official in Swahili, surprising myself that I still recall the language with such ease. I sense Quinn's tilted glance. The official's eyes pause firm on my face as he looks me up and down with suspicion. I mean I'm a lily white woman in the middle of Africa speaking fluent Swahili.

  "Why are you in Tanzania?" he asks while flicking through my passport.

  "I'm here on business" I reply in my most calm voice.

  "What business?"

  "I work for a prestigious British University . I'm an archaeologist."

  My comment yields a little bit too much attention from him, and he flicks back and forth through the pages of my passport as if he's lost something. He looks back and tilts his chin up at the supervisor behind him.

  Without exchanging a single word, he points to some
thing on one of the pages, yielding another incredulous look in my direction. I guardedly glance over to Sam Quinn standing two steps behind me who is without fail also sensing that something is up. If these two are on the payroll of whoever kidnapped my father, we stand profoundly little chance of passing through these gates.

  My legs turn to jelly as they size us up and down. Several minutes pass while the guard keys in some letters on the dated Microsoft computer. Africa surely is a third world country. Those things are archaic. Waiting for something to pop onto the screen he turns to me again. This time with a slightly steely tone.

  "How long are you staying?"

  "Not long I hope. As soon as I manage to complete the study."

  The stern look on his face tells me my answer isn't quite what they were expecting from their interrogation efforts, so I add swiftly.

  "I would guess about seven to ten days at the most."

  Sam Quinn tugs at his collar and unfastens his top buttons.

  "Don't!" I whisper to him.

  "Keep your shirt on. You need to downplay the situation. These guys are looking for a reason not to allow us through."

  The second official pulls out his mobile phone and disappears behind the column of the cubicle.

  "Bloody hell. Who is he calling?" a nervous Quinn whispers.

  "My money is on the ringleader."

  Money!

  "Now listen closely, Quinn. Things are about to go bad for us. If we allow them to take us now, we're in trouble. How much cash do you have on you?"

  "Cash? Oh. Yes, okay. Cash." unzipping his rucksack's side pocket.

  "Three Hundred quid."

  "Great. I have three hundred too. Give me your passport. Hurry."

  "Are you sure this is going to work Alex? Bribery is a serious crime, and we can land into a lot of trouble for this. If your plan backfires we..."

  "I'm quite aware Quinn. I'm afraid this plan might be our only chance."