Page 65 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

Johan

The morning sun already blazes high in the sky, casting long shadows across the barren landscape.

We stand on a small airstrip, a lone strip of asphalt in this ocean of sand.

The heat shimmers off the ground in waves, making the air around us seem almost liquid.

The only sounds are the occasional gusts of wind, whispering through the dunes, and the distant, mournful calls of desert birds.

Ludovic, dressed impeccably in a beige suit and hat, with a scarf draped around his neck, stands near the small aircraft that will take him to Muscat.

His sharp features and steely eyes give him an air of authority and confidence.

The pilot and a flight attendant, both in crisp uniforms, load the last of their bags into the plane.

Ludovic adjusts his hat and looks back at us, a confident smile playing on his lips.

“Remember,” he says, his voice carrying easily in the still air, “I expect everything to be in order when I return.”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral. “Of course. You can count on us.”

Ludovic checks his watch before saying, “I should arrive around five p.m. in London. If you find any other precious artifacts, call me.”

“Duly noted. Have a safe flight,” I tell him as we shake hands.

Ludovic gives me a final nod and then turns to board the plane.

The pilot and flight attendant follow, casting brief, professional glances in our direction before disappearing into the aircraft.

The plane’s engines roar to life, the sound breaking the desert’s silence.

We watch as the plane taxis down the makeshift runway, dust billowing up behind it.

Within moments, it lifts off, ascending into the clear blue sky and leaving a trail of dust in its wake.

As the plane disappears from sight, a sense of relief washes over me. The first part of our plan has succeeded. I glance at Lukas and Rachid, standing beside me, and see the same sense of determination mirrored in their eyes.

“It's time,” Lukas says, breaking the silence. “Let's get to work.”

We head back to the excavation site, the vast expanse of the desert stretching out in all directions.

The journey is marked by the relentless sun beating down on us, but there’s a sense of urgency and purpose driving us forward.

The atmosphere is charged with anticipation as we approach the large tent where we’ve stored all the artifacts.

Inside, the tent is cool and dim, a stark contrast to the blazing heat outside.

The space is filled with carefully cataloged items, each one a piece of history waiting to be preserved.

Amelia and Angela join us, their expressions a mix of determination and excitement.

Amelia discreetly slips off her backpack, revealing the Star of Ubar hidden inside, carefully wrapped for protection.

“We need to be thorough,” Amelia says, her voice steady. “Every artifact must be packed with care. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

We begin the meticulous process of preparing the artifacts for transport, local workers helping us along the way.

Each item is carefully wrapped in protective materials and packed into sturdy crates lined with foam padding.

For smaller items, we use high-density polyethylene cases with adjustable compartments.

Each case and crate is labeled with detailed information about the contents.

As I remember that I need to call the dean to inform him that Ludovic is on his way to London, I excuse myself for a moment and step outside the tent into the harsh midday sun.

The heat is oppressive, and I squint against the bright light as I make my way to the nearby jeep.

The vehicle’s metal surfaces are scorching to the touch, and I quickly climb in, wincing slightly as I grip the hot steering wheel.

As I drive towards my own tent, the air shimmers with heat, and the dunes stretch endlessly in every direction.

The jeep bounces over the uneven terrain, and I feel the familiar jolt of each bump and dip in the sand.

My mind races with thoughts of the call I need to make, my heart pounding in my chest.

Upon reaching my tent, I step inside and am immediately enveloped in a welcome coolness.

The temperature difference is striking, and I take a deep breath, savoring the relief from the relentless heat outside.

I move to a small table, my hands trembling slightly as I retrieve my phone from my pocket.

I dial Dr. Henry Pembroke’s number, the phone feeling slick in my sweaty palm. As it rings, I run a hand through my hair, wiping away the beads of sweat that have gathered on my forehead. My heart pounds with each passing second, and I can feel my pulse quickening.

“Dr. Pembroke, it’s Johan,” I say once he answers, trying to keep my voice steady despite the excitement. “I've got news for you.”

“Very well, I’m listening.” His tone is calm but alert, the same as always when he expects important information.

“Ludovic is on his way back to London, carrying a replica of the Star of Ubar. He intends to meet with Loki, the underground art dealer Hannah told you about. He should arrive around five p.m.” I can hear the faint hum of activity in the background, suggesting he’s at his office.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I can hear the faint sound of papers rustling. “Excellent work, Johan. I'll notify the authorities to have the secret services follow him until he goes to the address where he’s supposed to meet Loki.”

“Make sure to keep it to yourself,” I tell him, my voice firm. “If he knows we’re following him, he might just disappear.” I glance around the bustling camp through the open tent flap, where the local staff are engrossed in their tasks, unaware of the conversation.

“Don’t worry about that. He's roasted.” Dr. Pembroke's confidence is reassuring, and I nod in agreement, hoping he’s right. The stakes are too high for anything to go wrong. “When are you coming back?”

“If everything goes according to plan, tomorrow,” I reply, feeling a sense of finality as I check my watch. “Well, I’ve got to go. I’m about to have lunch with some Omani officials who are aware of the situation and are helping us.”

“Understood. Stay safe, Johan.” His voice carries a note of genuine concern. “The council and I are eagerly waiting for your return.”

“You too, Dr. Pembroke.” I end the call, feeling a mixture of relief and anticipation.

From now on, Astrid and her father are done.

When I will come back tomorrow, I’ll be a free man.

I’ll be able to break up with that bitch and focus solely on my relationship with Hannah.

I wipe my hands on a nearby towel, the cool fabric soothing against my skin.

The plan is in motion, and soon, all our efforts will pay off.

I receive another phone call, this time from Rachid himself. “It's time for lunch,” he announces as I pick up. “The officials and everyone else are here.”

“On my way,” I tell him quickly before hanging up.

Then, I step back into the searing heat and drive the jeep to the tent where lunch is being served.

The sun beats down relentlessly, and I can feel the sweat trickling down my back as I navigate the sandy terrain.

When I arrive, Rachid is waiting at the entrance of a large, air-conditioned tent.

His expression is serious but encouraging.

“Good to see you back,” Rachid says with a warm smile. “Let me introduce you to the officials.”

Inside, the tent is luxurious, with plush seating and an elegant dining area. The cool air is a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. Plates of traditional Omani food are laid out on a long, beautifully decorated table, the aromatic spices mingling with the cool air.

Amelia, Angela, and Lukas are already inside, engaged in light conversation with the officials.

Laughter and the hum of friendly chatter fill the tent, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.

Rachid leads me to the group and begins the introductions.

“Johan, I'd like to introduce you to the officials who have been instrumental in supporting our work here. This is Dr. Saif Al-Mahri, the Director of Archaeology,” he says, gesturing to a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard.

“Beside him is Ms. Layla Al-Hadi, the Director of Cultural Tourism,” he continues, indicating a woman with kind eyes and a calm demeanor.

“And this is Mr. Ahmed Al-Busaidi, our Diplomatic Officer,” he finishes, introducing a distinguished-looking man with a diplomatic air.

Dr. Saif steps forward first, extending his hand to me. “Johan, thank you for your relentless work. The preservation of our heritage is of utmost importance.”

I shake his hand, feeling the sincerity in his grip. “Thank you for your cooperation. This project means a lot to all of us.”

Ms. Layla nods in agreement as she steps forward. "We are grateful for the dedication your team has shown. It is not often we find such commitment to preserving our history.”

"Your support has been invaluable,” I reply. “We couldn't have done this without your help.”

Mr. Ahmed joins in, his voice calm and measured. “We recognize the importance of this project and are here to ensure its success. Your findings are of great significance to us.”

As we sit down to eat, the conversation flows naturally. The officials are keen to hear about our findings and the significance of the artifacts we’ve uncovered. I describe some of the most exciting discoveries, the stories behind them, and the meticulous care we’ve taken to preserve them.

“We are particularly excited about the potential of the Star of Ubar,” I say. “If it is what we believe, it could be one of the most significant archaeological finds in recent history.”

Dr. Saif nods thoughtfully. “It is indeed a remarkable find. We are pleased to support your efforts to ensure it is preserved and studied properly.”