New Story

[toddyboy]

Ok. Seems to be of interest. This is something I've been dabbling with for a while but having had a bit of "spare time' recently I've gotten going on it again. 

See what yer fink:-

 

<p style="text-align:center;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><b>PROLOGUE</b>

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<p style="text-align:center;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"> 

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><b>Location: Kfar-Hazir, Northern Lebanon, 1948</b>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"> 

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);">“Five, four, three, two, one. Coming ready or not!”<span> </span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     On the edge of a wood in Kfar-Hazir, a small settlement in Northern Lebanon, three young boys were playing hide and seek. They were from poor backgrounds, their clothes were nothing more than rags and they could all have done with a good wash, but they weren’t interested in such mundane things. They were free and they were happy and they played without a care in the world.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     It hadn’t always been that way. During the war, the nearby village and surrounding areas had been occupied by the German army. A group of soldiers had requisitioned his home and threw Jerjez and his family out and for a while they had to stay with his Auntie. But British soldiers had come and after a bloody battle had driven the Germans away. It was said that the Germans had been excavating and building something in the woods, though no one really knew what and there was nothing to show for it other than a fairly large concave area of dirt. The rumour was that they were going to execute people and bury them there, though that never occurred. Empty shells, bullet cases and sometimes weapons could still be found on the land and the boys were always looking for them. <span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez was the oldest of the three and it was his turn to be the seeker. He had just turned twelve years old and was quite tall for his age though probably a little on the gaunt side, most likely due to lack of sustenance. Only six years after the bloodiest war in modern history had ended, food was still scarce in this part of the world.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez loved playing hide and seek and now with his Mother’s side of the family visiting for the day it meant he could play all day with his two cousins, Rashid and Hashim.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     He took his hands away from his eyes, and looked around him. As he expected, his two young friends were nowhere to be seen.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Coming!” he shouted, and with a mischievous grin on his face he scampered off into the woods to round them up.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid and Hashim had split up. Rashid was older than Hashim and didn’t like playing hide and seek with him. The little squirt had a habit of giving him away, so, running as fast as he could he had left him behind and was now safely ensconced behind a large Cedar tree out of sight, at least that’s what he thought.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Hashim, being the youngest of the three was always getting the short end of the stick, or that’s how it seemed to him anyway. He wanted to run and hide with his older brother, but as usual Jawad had disappeared and was nowhere to be found. He decided he’d try something new this time and instead of hiding behind a tree he headed in the direction of a large bush he’d spotted earlier. In doing so he’d lost his bearings. He knew that bush was somewhere nearby, he was sure of it. When he heard Jerjez coming he panicked and darted for cover in the nearest clump of undergrowth he could find.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez carefully checked behind every tree as he went. He knew Rashid’s tactics. Basically, he had no tactics. It would be easy to find him, and sure enough, there he was with one of his legs sticking out from behind a large Cedar tree. Rashid would never make a soldier, he thought to himself. He was too clumsy and had no imagination.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez crept up towards the tree making sure his friend couldn’t see him coming, then, feigning a look the other way he pretended not to see him. At the last moment he lunged out and grabbed Rashid by the arm.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Gotcha!” he cried.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Ah, you always go for me first, Jerjy,” Rashid moaned. “Why couldn’t you find Hashim instead?”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid always called him Jerjy. It was easier on the tongue than Jerjez.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Because I know what you’re thinking before you do,” Jerjez said triumphantly.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Hashim went that way,” Rashid revealed, stabbing his forefinger in the direction of some bushes.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez sneered at his cousin. That was the other thing about Rashid, he was a sore loser. If he lost he’d make sure no one else won. That unfortunately was how he was, a sneak and sore loser. Nevertheless, he decided to be a sport and take his time finding little Hashim. It wouldn’t be fair to just walk up and catch him now that he knew where he was, so he meandered about in the scrub, looking behind a tree here, a bush there.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I’ll find you Hashim, I’m coming to get you!” he shouted playfully.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I told you, he went that way!” Rashid shouted out, agitatedly jabbing his finger in the direction that he’d seen his young brother running only a few minutes earlier.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     But Jerjy just put his lip to his mouth and beckons to Rashid to be quiet. Let the little squirt think he’s found a good hiding place, he thought to himself. It won’t hurt. Eventually, he sauntered over to the spot where Rashid was pointing fully expecting to see a furtive little face peering up at him but to his surprise Hashim wasn’t there. So! He thought, it appeared that the little monkey was cleverer than either of them.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid, noticing that Hashim hadn’t been caught yet, frowned and meandered over to where Jerjez was standing.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “He was here, I saw him jump into this bush I’m sure of it,” Rashid asserted.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “He’s obviously smarter than you think,” Jerjez replied.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The two boys then begin searching in earnest for Hashim but strangely they couldn’t find him anywhere.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “He can’t have got far,” said Rashid.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     After a couple more minutes of searching around in the brush Jerjez was getting bored.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Okay Hashim, come out now, you win!” he shouted, but there was no reply.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Hashim, you little goat brain, come out now,” Rashid yelled out.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez frowned. Something about this didn’t feel right. He was starting to feel slightly concerned.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Hashim, it’s okay I give up,” he called out.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Still there was no reply.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Maybe he knocked himself out or something,” Jerjez said.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “The stupid little fool probably got himself eaten by a fox,” Rashid joked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Shhsh! Did you hear that?” Jerjez said.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I didn’t hear anything,” replied Rashid.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The two boys stood motionless, listening.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “There it is again,” said Jerjy.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid heard it this time, a muffled cry coming from far away, or was it nearby, he couldn’t tell.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Hashim, is that you?” he shouted, though he didn’t know exactly where to direct his voice.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The muffled cry was more discernible to both of them this time, and if they weren’t mistaken it was coming from beneath that large bushel that Rashid had been pointing to earlier.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez cautiously foraged his way through into the centre of the bush trying to keep the thorns and prickles away. It was a thick one, with lots of tangled branches and he had to tread carefully. Suddenly he slipped, slid down an incline and found himself at the bottom of a fairly wide pit about 20ft across.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Help! I’m down here,” came a feeble voice from somewhere even further below him.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Hashim, is that you. Where the hell are you? I can’t see you,” Jerjez shouted out.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Down here. I fell down a hole. Get me out I’m scared,” Hashim wailed.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez moved his left foot and there was a hole in the ground that was partly obscured by plant growth.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Quickly, Rashid, come and help. He’s down here somewhere but I can’t see him,” Jerjez cried out to his cousin.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     After much cursing and cracking of twigs Rashid appeared and after a minute or so of scrabbling around, the two boys eventually managed to clear enough of the bush away to properly reveal a crevice in the ground. It wasn’t very wide but it was just about big enough for a small boy to fall into.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Help me!” cried Hashim. His voice was panicky and it sounded like he was close to tears.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Go and fetch your father, Rashid. He will know how to get him out,” Jerjez urged.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid winced at that idea. “Are you insane!” he wailed. “The old fart would whip me till I had no skin on my buttocks. No we’ll have to get him out by ourselves.”<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez immediately understood. Rashid’s father was a tricky beast at the best of times. He would not appreciate that his older brother had let Hashim come to any harm. In fact, he would get downright mad about it. They would have to rescue the little squirt themselves or face the consequences.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I’ll go get a rope from the cowshed without anyone seeing me,” suggested Rashid, and before Jerjez could say anything else he’d gone!</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez kept Hashim talking, soothing the little boy and assuring him that he’d soon be out of there. He obviously hadn’t badly hurt himself or he’d have said so, which was a bonus. Jerjez couldn’t see anything through the dark split in the ground, but by the sound of Hashim’s voice he’d fallen quite a long way. He just hoped they’d be able to get him out okay, and more importantly, in one piece.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Several minutes later, Rashid returned, panting like a dog and sporting a good length of coiled rope over his shoulder.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “No one saw me,” he said in a conspiratorial manner.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    “Okay. Tie it round your waist and I’ll let this end down the hole,” Jerjez instructed him. “You be the backup man and I’ll pull Hashim up.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid nodded, stamped the bushes flat around him and planted his feet firmly on the ground whilst gripping the rope with both hands.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “We’re sending down a rope, Hashim,” Jerjez shouted down into the black void below. “Tie it round your waist and we’ll pull you up, okay?”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I don’t know how to tie rope,” came Hashims pitiful reply.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Just do it. Remember how I taught you. It’s easy,” he replied.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez was about to send the rope down then had second thoughts. He realised that he’d better tie the loop himself realising that Hashim might tie it round his neck and hang himself!</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I’m lowering the rope down now. Just grab it and put the loop around your waist und under your armpits, okay?” he instructed.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Hashim just whimpered. He was obviously terrified.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     With the loop tied, Jerjez fed it through the hole and lowered it down.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Pull on it when you get hold of it,” Jerjez shouted.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The rope went in for a good five metres or so, leaving only a couple more metres for the boys to pull with. Then he felt a tug on the end of it.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Put it round your waist and under your armpits, Hashim, then pull on it sharply again to let me know you’re ready, Okay?” he ordered.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The rope tugged again.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Are you ready, Hashim?” he asked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Yes, yes, get me out of here, please!” cried the little boy.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez began pulling on the rope while Rashid took up the slack. It took a minute or so of huffing, puffing and pulling and then Hashim’s little face appeared in the hole. The two older boys grabbed him, pulled him out and dragged him through the bush into the clearing.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Hashim was a pitiful sight. He was covered in dirt from head to toe. He had a gash on his knee and several bruises on his arms and forehead but to all intents and purpose he was okay.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid breathed a sigh of relief.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez simply smiled, but he was inwardly counting his blessings. That had been a close call. Hashim could have been badly hurt.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Look what I found!” said Hashim, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a shiny bauble. It was a triangular shaped piece of glass, loosely attached to a piece of dull grey metal. The little boy cracked a cheeky grin as he held it up to the light. As he did so the sunlight filtering down through the trees caught it making the stone glitter and sparkle like the star of Bethlehem.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “What is it?” Jerjez asked, taking hold of it and looking it over with intense interest.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Don’t know,” said Hashim. “I just found it down there. I could see it shining in the dirt. Can I keep it?” he asked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “No, you little thief,” barked Rashid. “Here, let me see it!” Rashid snatched the bauble out of Jerjy’s hand and as he did so the metal separated from the stone.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “It might be valuable. Maybe we could sell it,” he suggested.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Jerjez quickly snatched the two pieces back from him.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “No! he barked. “Now you’ve gone and broken it you dumb ass. Anyway, it isn’t ours to keep. We have to hand it in.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid’s frown creased and his eyes narrowed. A heated debate began, mainly between the two older boys.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Hashim just sat there in the middle as an argument ensued.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     These boys were brought up as Christians. They were all well aware it was a cardinal sin to steal. What Hashim had found wasn’t theirs, but still, they found it – well, Hashim did really but that wasn’t the point; why couldn’t they keep it? Then again, they knew would be in trouble if they didn’t tell someone.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     In the end they unanimously decided to take their precious treasure to their local church and hand it in to the Priest. Perhaps there might be a reward!</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The Church was half a mile away on the outskirts of the town. Jerjez, knew the old Priest there and being the oldest of the three he elected himself to be the spokesperson in this important matter.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     When they arrived at the Church gate, Jerjez instructed Hashim and Rashid to wait outside.<span>     </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The Priest was a kindly old man. He was a bit bemused by Jerjez’s offering but he found it touching and commendable that this young boy would do such a Christian thing and to hand in something that may belong to someone else. He thanked him, then he walked him outside, gave all three of them his blessing and sent them on their way.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid and Hashim were seriously impressed. They’d never spoken directly to a priest before and for sure had never received a direct and personal blessing from one. They were suddenly filled with pride and revelled in the fact that they had done a good deed. Their parents always told them that good things always come from such actions.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     As they walked home, they laughed, joked and also remonstrated about their little adventure.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “No one is to say anything about this,” Jerjez asserted. “If your father finds out about what happened to little Hashim he will beat you senseless, is that clear Rashid,” he warned.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Rashid bowed his head and nodded as he contemplated what Jerjez was saying. He was right of course. His father definitely would <i>not</i> see the funny side of it.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    “You hear that, Hashim,” he said to his little brother. “Not a word about this to anyone, understand?” Rashid ordered.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Little Hashim nodded absently. “But I found it didn’t I,” he squeaked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Yes, Hashim, you found it, but don’t tell anyone else okay!” said Jerjez. “It’ll be our little secret.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Hashim nodded. Then he seemed to forget all about it and broke into a run.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Last one home’s a goat!” he yelled.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The two older boys chased after him, their rough shod feet throwing up a cloud of dust behind them as they ran down the parched dirt track, whooping, whistling and laughing as they went.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     But as he ran, Jerjez was laughing louder than the others, for tightly clasped in his palm was a small hard shiny object, and though he didn’t realise it at the time, that little bauble was going to change his life in ways he could never have dreamed. <span> </span></span>

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><b>62 YEARS LATER</b>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"> 

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);">Several years ago an old school mate of mine called Michel, invited me over to of all places, Lebanon, where he had inherited a smallholding after his Dad had passed away. His father was Lebanese by birth but had lived most of his life in England having moved here just after the Second World War and married a French woman. Michel was their oldest and only child and although he was British born, he spoke fluent French and had a French accent, taught to him by his mother no doubt.<span> </span>

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);">I wasn’t too keen on going at the time as I was quite busy with work but Michel said he had a couple of old but operational Yamaha TTR 250’s in the garage there. That was the clincher for me, so I took him up on his offer!<span> </span>

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);">The thing is, when you talk about Syria and Lebanon <i>these</i> days all you can think of is war, bombs and refugees, but I’m talking about around the start of 2011, before the hostilities across the border in Syria began. At that time things were fairly quiet on the Western Front.<span> </span>

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);">The smallholding was pretty run down and would need a lot of work but neither Michel nor I could be bothered with that for the moment. For the first few days we just had a great time blasting around the desert scrublands on the tough old Yamaha’s and spent the evenings boozing and smoking spliffs.<span> </span>

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);">But on the third day something very strange occurred………..

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><b>CHAPTER 1</b>

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);">My TTR had broken down. The sprag clutch had given up the ghost and needed replacing so I couldn’t ride it. Michel had gone into town on his bike without me to pick up some kebabs for us. While he was gone I had a mosey round the grounds of his estate. It was only a couple of hectares, mostly desert scrubland broken up by a thicket of trees and wild bushels to the South. Not very interesting, to say the least. Deeper inside the wood I noticed a clearing with what appeared to be a dell, depression in the ground about 20ft wide. It was grown over with bushels and weeds but it looked out of place, almost as if it had been excavated. I staggered down to the bottom of it but couldn’t see anything untoward.<span> </span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     I was about to head back to the house when I noticed a hole in the ground which I thought was a rodents den. A closer look revealed it might be quite deep as there was colder air coming out of it. I picked up a small boulder and dropped it in but didn’t hear it hit the bottom so I searched around for a bigger rock and threw that down. A couple of seconds later I heard a dull thud. This was definitely a deep crack, probably four to five metres deep at least I reckoned.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    I climbed out of the dell and made my way back to the house and grabbed a spade and a pickaxe from the toolshed, then returned to the dell and started to hack away around the hole to make it bigger. It was hard work but I didn’t have anything else to do and I figured it’d give me more of an appetite for that kebab when Michel finally <i>did</i> arrive back.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>  As I progressed I started to realise that this hole wasn’t actually a natural phenomenon. The basic hand tools I was using weren’t making much progress. It was almost as if …. in fact it definitely <i>was</i> cement that I was hacking into here, and underneath it was wood! Someone had boarded up a bigger hole and poured about five inches of cement on top of it. What the fuck!</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     A half hour or so later, as the last shards of sunlight were being swept away by the shadows of the desert night, I’d opened up that small orifice to the point where I could now get the upper part of my body, one hand and a torch in. Laying flat on my stomach and with my head and right arm inside the hole, I pointed the torch down into the darkness below.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     At first I couldn’t quite make out what I was looking at. It was definitely a large space down there though. There were quite a lot of boulders and rocks lying on what appeared to be a floor about four or five metres down. I moved the torch around and stuck my head deeper into the hole, being careful not to venture too far in lest I couldn’t get back out again. It was then that I began to realise that there was something much more to this.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     I thought I could see the rock I’d just thrown in. It had landed on the floor to the left of another larger one. I shifted my position so I could see sideways and then did a double take. The side walls of the space were smooth and curved, but there was something else. Hanging from the sides of these curved walls in erratically spaced positions were what appeared to be twisted, bent and broken brackets of some kind. This wasn’t just some natural crevice in the rock formation. Someone had made this, and then there were the wooden boards with cement on top of them. Someone had<span>  also covered all this up.</span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Scampering back up I immediately texted Michel, telling him I’d found something really interesting and to hurry up back with the grub, and by the way, how the hell could it take so long to get a couple of kebabs anyway! By now my stomach was rumbling.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    Shortly thereafter I heard the familiar sound of a single cylinder bike making its way towards the house. Michel had finally returned with the kebabs and was eager to discover what I was so excited about in my cryptic text.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Let’s have some grub first mate,” I said, and we tucked into what I have to say was probably the best kebab I’d ever eaten even though it was almost cold.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Twenty minutes later we were both lying on our bellies taking it in turns to peer down through the crevice with a torch.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “What on earth is it?” Michel asked, “And who else knows about this?”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “No one” I replied. “And in answer to your first question – I haven’t the foggiest!”<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “So what’s your plan my devious little cockney arrow?” asked Michel. “You always seem have a plan.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “You’ll never get Cockney rhyming slang will you, you illiterate Frog!” I barked. “It’s sparrow – cockney sparrow, not cockney arrow. Anyhow’s, I think we should get to work and make it big enough for one of us to get down to the bottom on a rope.”<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel looked a little dubious but he didn’t argue.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    After a bit more hacking and shovelling we’d roughly gouged the opening out enough so it was wide enough for a grown man to slither through.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     We gathered up some rope and tackle from the stores shed, tied one end of it to a nearby large boulder and dropped the other end down the hole.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     There was a bit of arguing about who was going to go down first. Obviously, one of us had to remain up top to lower the other down and then pull him up again. In the end we tossed a coin for it. To Michel’s chagrin he won, so down he went. As his head disappeared from view he had a pensive look on his face.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel was sporting a powerful head-mounted lamp, similar to a miner’s hat. In reality it was a cloth cap with a flashlight taped to it with duct tape, but it did the job. No sooner had he descended past the initial crevice opening and gone down a couple of feet further the space around him widened out and the lamp lit up the walls of the underground cavern. As he looked around him he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The walls were curved in a wide symmetrical arc and they were as smooth as glass. There was also a strange array of brackets and lengths of what appeared to be severed steel arms protruding from the walls. Bizarrely, they looked like they’d been smashed and bent by some unseen force.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “What do you see?” I shouted down to him.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “It’s strange. Looks like the inside of a missile silo or something. One thing is for sure, it’s not a natural cavern. Keep lowering, there’s some way to go yet,” Michel urged.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>      I let the rope off until the tension eased.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel’s feet touched the ground and he found himself trying to keep his balance on the rough soil and rocks. The thing that struck him as odd though, as if anything else could be stranger than where he found himself right this minute, was that the walls were definitely smooth and curved yet the ground was uneven, a total dichotomy. It was almost as if it had been much deeper but there had been a cave in from above. But there was something else, a shovel. No, there were two shovels and the earth beneath his feet looked like it had been dug up in places.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    “So, what’s down there for fucks sake?” I yelled<span>     </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>  “Rocks - and smooth curved walls with broken brackets hanging from them, and, and there are shovels down here, and …..,” Michel went quiet for a moment. “There’s something else,” he said.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “What is it?” I asked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Pull me up. You have to see this!” he yelled. There was an urgency in his voice that wasn’t there before.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    A few minutes later we were sitting on a mound of dirt staring silently at what he was holding in his hand. It was a piece of Nazi insignia, an Iron Cross if I wasn’t mistaken.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “What the fuck is that doing down there”? I remarked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “No idea,” Michel answered</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “It looks like an old well to me,” said Michel. “But it’s quite a large diameter and those broken brackets on the walls are a mystery.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>   “If it’s a well, where’s the water? More likely it’s an old air raid shelter or something like that,” I replied.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “No. I don’t think so, but it goes down further, I’m sure of it,” Michel asserted. “My father told me that the Germans occupied this area during the war. He never said much about it though. They must have built this thing, but for what?”<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     We sat there relatively silent while we enjoyed a spliff, then simultaneously, we both burst out into uncontrollable laughter - and we didn’t stop laughing either. Something about this bizarre situation was extremely funny, though neither of us could fathom what it was exactly, which made us laugh even more!</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Back at the house we cracked a few cans, several actually, and sat out on the porch looking up at the clear night sky without a care in the world. I couldn’t help looking at the Nazi cross Michel had found though and wondering who it might have belonged to and also why was he down in that hole digging? Anyway, might be worth a few quid I reckoned.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     It was nearly 2am when we finally got our heads down. Neither of us slept very much though and we were up both up at the crack of dawn. Something about this new find had spooked both of us, though neither of us knew exactly why.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>      That day we took it in turns to dig deeper down into what we’d nicknamed “the silo.” I came up with a method of hauling the buckets of rubble up from the bottom; a hastily mocked up arrangement of ropes and pulleys connected to the electrical winch on Michel’s Land Rover. By the end of the second day we’d managed to dig down a further six feet but found nothing else unusual.<span>     </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>      That evening we had an animated discussion:</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “What the hell are we doing, Michel?” I asked. “In fact, what the hell <i>is </i>that down there? If it were a well, even a dried up one, the earth should still be at least a bit damp at that depth. If it was a missile silo built by the Nazi’s where’s the bloody missile, or even the launch mechanism?”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel had his own ideas. “It’s definitely manmade, but I don’t think it was made by the Germans. I think they found it and were doing exactly what we are doing now, digging it out!” he replied.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>      I had to admit, he had a point. The material those curved walls were made of and those weird arm like things hanging off the wall at weird angles made no sense. I’d tried drilling into them and broken all three bits in the process. I’d also attempted to angle grind them and worn down three discs and still got nowhere. The material they were made of was impermeable even though it felt like plastic to the touch. And why had it been concealed with wooden beams and cement. Did the Nazi’s cover it up so the British liberators wouldn’t find it?</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel seemed to perceive what I was thinking. “Whoever or whatever built that thing down there they did it for a reason and used material that is unknown to you or me, Tod. Also, there is something further down, believe me. I know it in my bones. We should keep digging. It will be worth it, believe me,” he urged.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     I just shrugged. “If you say so mate, but we better find it soon. I don’t like the sound of those news broadcasts on the radio.” I was referring to the warning of increased hostilities taking place in Aleppo which was quite near the Lebanese-Syrian border. Fighting had broken out as the Syrians were pushed over the border by rebel forces. The Syrians were now effectively sandwiched between two hostile forces and the Americans, Chinese, Russians and Israelis were all making noises about getting involved, if they weren’t already.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    “We are almost a hundred kilometres from the Syrian border, Tod,” Michel replied. “It will all calm down shortly, don’t worry.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I hope you’re right,” I said.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     On that sombre note, we buckled down for a good night’s sleep.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    The next morning began as the previous one’s had; up at the crack of dawn, a quick bite to eat and then down the hole again. I went down first, then an hour later Michel changed places with me. We laboured on like this for about three hours and when Michel was just about to end his hourly shift his shovel hit something hard, much harder than the rocks he’d been excavating previously. After a bit more digging he uncovered something very unusual. It looked like the top section of a slightly damaged spherical artefact, which from what he could see of it was probably about two feet in diameter. The outer crust of the sphere appeared to be made up of some type of grey metal and segments of glass. At least it <i>looked</i> like glass. He shouted up, beckoning me to come down and take a look.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Making sure the rope was firmly secured, I slithered down to Michel and together, we spent a further half hour uncovering the mysterious object until it was fully exposed. It was in fact a very ornate piece of kit, totally spherical in form and even though it was caked in dirt both us were well aware that there was something special about it. We tried to pull it out of the ground, only to discover that it was firmly connected to something on its underside. Further excavation exposed what looked like a dark coloured cylinder or pole. When we dug further down to expose more of it we found that this pole was bent out of shape, almost as if the sphere above it had been crushed by something which in turn had distorted the pole it was connected to. It was very weird. Neither of us could figure out what the hell it was.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     It took us the rest of the day, working in hourly shifts, to scoop out and haul up enough buckets of earth and rock surrounding the pole to discover it had been completely severed approximately a metre and a half further down. With a fair bit of yanking, grunting and cursing, we managed to completely exhume the whole apparatus and lay it down on the floor of the silo.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Closer inspection revealed that the innards of the pole was made up of another metallic type material that was extremely hard and whitish-silver in colour. It was all very intriguing and now that it was free we decided we’d better bring it to the surface to get a better look at it.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     By the time we’d’d hauled it up out of its resting place it was dark outside but under the flashlight it looked, to all intents and purposes not unlike one of those disco balls that you used to find slowly spinning round on the ceiling of a 70’s nightclub, only it was made of much more exotic material. The whole thing was quite heavy, maybe twenty five kilos or so. We couldn’t fathom what the distorted pole that protruded from the bottom was though. The outer casing of the pole was made of a very dark grey carbon like material while the innards were lighter in colour, but still metallic in texture and feel.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “It’s a giant alien sperm!” I joked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel looked disparagingly at me. He could never quite understand my strange<span>  (to him) sense of English humour. He just shook his head and carried on inspecting it.</span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Look,” said, Michel, pointing to one side of it, “One of the glass sections on the surface of the sphere is missing, along with a piece of the metal surrounding it. There are a few other damaged areas too.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Sure enough, underneath where the missing section should have been was the same carbon-like material that the sheath of the pole was made of and beneath that was it looked like the same metallic substance that comprised the innards of the pole.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “What the hell is it?” I asked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “I don’t know any more than you do, my friend, but I must admit, I am wondering what exactly these shiny glass sections are. Look at the way they glisten under the light. I’m no expert, but they look very much like ….”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     ….“Diamonds?” I cut in.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “My thought’s exactly,” he replied. “If they are then we are going to be very rich men!” Michel replied with a glint in his eye. But as he was talking, he appeared lost in thought. “You know, my father grew up in this place. He used to tell me stories about some treasure he’d found when he was a little boy, and that there was more where that came from? It was a long time ago when I was very young but I’m sure that’s what he told me. Also, I never fully understood how my father had made his fortune? He came from a poor family background. Where then did he get the wherewithal to move to London and live in a big house in Chiswick and own a chain of restaurants?”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     I couldn’t help him there. Michel’s ol’ man always seemed like a nice enough bloke to me but I’d only met him a few times and I didn’t really know him very well. He was definitely a dark horse. The bloke never seemed to have worked a day in his life yet he was obviously well heeled. How <i>did</i> he manage that, coming from a simple peasant background? Was the missing segment from this object the source of his Father’s wealth and wellbeing? Something told me it was all a bit too good to be true, and we all know what that means!</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “We need to get this out of here, Michel.” I urged. “In fact, we need to get it out of the country! We can’t take the risk of anyone else finding out about it.” <span>     </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “You’re probably right, but where to, and how?” Michel asked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    “I have a friend in London who can be trusted. He’s an electronics engineer. We worked together sometimes; known him for years. His name’s Gerard. There’s more to this thing than just a pretty bauble of that I’m sure. If I’m not mistaken, that looks like some kind of cable sticking out of that sphere,” I said, pointing to the underside of the object. “Gerard might be able to throw a bit more light on what it’s for. We should do it soon, tomorrow night I reckon.” <span>   </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel agreed. “Okay. Maybe we can take it on my boat. It’s moored about a hundred kilometres away in Tripoli.”</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “You’ve got a boat! How big is it?” I asked.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    “Yes, my Dad left it to me along with this property. It’s about forty feet or so, twin screws. Quite nice, though I’ve never taken it out further than the edge of the bay,” said Michel.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     I was impressed. “If you say so,” I replied.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     It was now almost 4am and the night sky to the east already had a bluish tinge to it so we decided to get some shut eye. We wrapped the artefact up in a blanket and no sooner had we laid down we were fast asleep.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     The next morning we woke late, ate a hurried breakfast and got to work. We boxed up the sphere and the pole into a long wooden crate that had been used to carry lengths of drainage pipes and shoehorned it into the back of Michel’s old Land-Rover. It fitted, just, but to get it fully in I had to lower the passenger side front and rear seat backs and then slot it in along the entire length of the vehicle from the dashboard to the boot. Even then the boot door had to be jammed shut. Because of this arrangement I would have to make do with travelling in the back seat.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     As we set off along the makeshift road that led away from the old house I checked my watch. It was just after1pm. We made it to the coastline and then to the mooring in a couple a few hours later without incident. Michel’s boat bobbed in the quayside. We decided we’d wait till nightfall before attempting to load our cargo on board so as not to attract attention. With that in mind we took a trip into town for some lunch and a few beers, and a few spliffs, and then a few more beers, and so on. By the time we got back to the Quayside we were hammered.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     As nightfall fell we unloaded our cargo from the back of the Land-Rover, nearly breaking my leg as we did so. We humped it to the boat and eventually secured the crate in the sub deck. After a cursory check of the state of the bilge and engine oil we cast off and headed due West into the Mediterranean Sea a bit worse for wear.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     It was three hundred nautical miles to the straits of Gibraltar which was to be our first port of call but the first few miles would be the most critical. Lebanese customs patrols were notorious for stopping and boarding small boats but it seemed that they had more pressing engagements these days, what with the hostilities on the North Western border hotting up and all. As it happened we never saw a soul and once we were clear of Lebanese waters Michel and I began to relax a little. We took it in turns to get some shut eye.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     When the sun rose the next morning we found ourselves alone in the sparkling blue ocean. The weather stayed fine and the plucky little boat was making good headway. By midday we were halfway across the Med.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Now that we were a bit more relaxed, neither of us could contain our curiosity any longer. We both wanted to take another peek at our mysterious contraband in the daylight, so we went down below, hauled the crate up onto the deck and opened it, directly exposing the strange artefact to sunlight for the first time since it had been exhumed from its dusty grave.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     No sooner had we done that, the boat’s electrical circuits went haywire and the engine inexplicably cut out. We suddenly found ourselves powerless and adrift in the middle of the Mediterranean Ocean. Not only that, the artefact seemed to have come alive, emitting a strange hum and an inner glow. Then sparks began to emit from the severed end of the pole. The wooden crate caught fire. Michel grabbed a fire extinguisher and started spraying the flames. The Sparking continued and the humming, whirring sound intensified.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     “Shut it, shut it quickly!” I shouted.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Michel slammed the top of the box shut and flashed the extinguisher at it again. The flames ceased but the wood was still smoking. We stepped warily away from it, both of us eyeing the half charred box crate as if it contained a crate of poisonous snakes.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>      To our relief the sparking and humming noise had abated.</span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    For what seemed a long time to the both of us we just stood there rooted to the spot. Neither of us spoke, both scared to do anything else with it lest it came back to life. Then, after several minutes of procrastination we very, very carefully carried the crate back below decks, placed it in a dark recess under one of the bunks, where Michel draped a heavy tablecloth over it.<span> </span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     That seemed to have the desired effect. The boat’s electrical supply was now back on again and I managed to coax the engine into life. A few moments later we were underway. Not fully understanding what had just happened and now realising we were completely out of their depth here we decided to leave our strange find below decks and make it as fast as possible to England. The weather forecast was good and if we didn’t delay we figured we could be there within two and a half days.</span>

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<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"> 

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>     Cruising up the Portuguese coast and into the Bay of Biscay was pretty straightforward but it got a bit choppy as we motored along up the West Coast of France. As we entered the English Channel our next problem was how to avoid coming to the attention of Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise. The last thing we wanted was to<span>  have the sphere confiscated. Coming directly from Lebanon in a small boat might be deemed unusual especially with the hostilities going on there at the moment.</span></span>

<p style="text-align:justify;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:rgb(0,0,0);"><span>    With this in mind, Michel decided to make a detour and set course for a small French town he knew called Saint Vaast La Houge, situated on the Eastern side of the Cherbourg Peninsular. It sported a Marina and it was unlikely we would attract any undue attention by mooring there for the night. The next morning we would set off for Brighton and moor up in the Marina there temporarily. Two English nationals out for a few days sailing across the channel was nothing unusual. With any luck no one would even bat an eyelid.</span>

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This post was last modified: 21-03-2020, 02:27 PM by toddyboy.