#laraxsam

I genuinely liked Dr. Odi Bolade. He’s kind and patient with me and the students I’d seen him interact with, but something about him was a bit of a mystery . . . mostly the reason he hired me to help with this dig. My specialty was east Asian and south pacific cultures - and Latin American cultures too after Paititi. He asked for me specifically, though he was hardly the only one head hunting me, and I walked into this job almost blind by archaeological standards. Dr. Bolade was more than happy to teach me everything I needed to know, but I freely admit I’d spent several of my sleepless nights researching many of the local tribes and states that make up south western Nigeria to feel less out of my depth.

I also had to admit, my almost complete lack of knowledge on sub-Saharan cultures was a major selling point for the job. Though I won’t ever divulge the locations of Paititi or Kitezh, I was still able to document many other finds, making a bit of a name for myself. I still get job offers weekly as a consultant or guest lecturer, but they usually end up being a veiled excuse to interrogate me about Yamatai. This job didn’t have that vibe. It was straightforward and to the point: help with an excavation and cataloging of finds with the end goal of public display to boost tourism in the area.

I’d developed a bit of a pattern of avoiding anything that made me think of where I’d been on my hunt for answers about my father’s death and Trinity. I don’t take interviews at all - I won’t accept jobs relating to Japanese, Byzantine, Mayan, or Incan cultures. Maybe a few years from now I’ll be able to, but now just feels too soon. The people I met, became attached to, and lost make it too hard to . . . discuss these cultures candidly.

Nok culture was safe. I had no prior knowledge beyond mentions in undergraduate courses and a couple of camping trips with Roth and Sam in various places on the continent. Nothing about this job had the potential to be emotionally draining or to bring up unwanted memories . . . only my subconscious’ increasingly infrequent nightmares. And talking to Sam. . . too much history there to contemplate at seven in the morning.

For the time being, or at least until noon, the windows and doors of the archaeology department were wide open - after noon, the air conditioning would kick on and the building would close up and would feel more like a typical college building. I followed a small group of students in the front doors, but diverted to the stairs instead of the lecture hall. Two floors later I found myself outside Dr. Bolade’s office. I’d almost emailed him to reschedule - I was dead on my feet, but I knew I needed to be professional enough to meet the minimum job requirements.

His office was dark and no one answered my knock so I sat on a bench and finished my breakfast. With the lecture hall on the first floor, the third was empty this early in the morning . . . until I heard the sound of shoes taking the stairs two at a time.

A panting grad student emerged from the top of the stairs wide eyed and out of breath. “Is Dr. Bolade in yet?”

“No,” I said curiously before taking a sip of tea. The grad student was familiar. “You were at the dig in Kaduna. Itoro, right?”

He took a moment to catch his breath, looking pained and distraught. “Yes, you . . . are the British woman, Lauren?”

“Lara. Is something wrong? I thought the dig was supposed to finish next week?” I patted the spot next to me on the bench. His distress was triggering my anxiety and my need to control stressful situations.

He hesitated for a moment before practically collapsing next to me. “Everything was fine until two nights ago,” he said with his head in his hands. “Bandits showed up as we were packing up for the night.” He rubbed his face roughly. “They wanted everything we’d found and took the rest of the team hostage. They sent me to give the university their demands.”

I stared at him vacantly for a moment as I digested his words. The team of college kids working at the site had been kidnapped. My first instinct was to ask where they were being held and rescue them, but I took a breath and tried to think about the stress the young man beside me was under. He’d been sent to deliver the kidnapper’s demands. “Are the artifacts the only things they want?” I asked softly.

Itoro took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked as though he’d driven through the night. “One million naira and whatever else we’ve found at the site and shipped to the university.” He let his head fall back against the wall behind him. “It was like they were watching us and knew when to strike. One minute we were joking about how we should brew our own rum since there weren’t any bars nearby, and the next there were guns in our faces and these bastards acting like we were trespassing on their dig site. I called Dr. Bolade yesterday, but I haven’t heard anything since then.”

Give a person a gun and they suddenly think they’re in charge. Dr. Bolade has known about this for a day and hasn’t mentioned this to me at all . . . why? “Have you gone to the police?”

He shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. “The police around the plateau have a reputation for being easy to pay-off and the police here are stretched too thin to worry about a problem in another state.” He paused and rubbed the stubble on his face tiredly, “People usually have to come up with the money if they ever want to see loved ones again.”

“That’s awful.”

Itoro nodded and closed his eyes. I wasn’t completely ignorant of the social and political situation in Nigeria. The economy was shite - jobs were hard to come by and as a result, gangs and general criminal behavior had become common in several states, including Kaduna. Boko Haram in northwestern and northeastern Nigeria certainly didn’t help the situation. Kidnappings were on the rise as were human trafficking and antiquities smuggling. I just didn’t expect to be exposed to these problems first hand.

Against my better judgement, my anxiety was still pushing me to spring into action. Maybe I could go back to the site and . . . NO. I’m not a bloody mercenary or a detective, I’m a bloody archaeologist, damn it. I never wanted to make a living off of killing people. . . But if I can help find the kidnappers and rescue the other grad students, shouldn’t I?

My internal debate was cut short by the man of the hour, Dr. Bolade, appearing at the top of the steps. “Dr. Croft, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, traffic was a mess this morning. Itoro . . . you made it back safely, good.”

We both stood. The doctor’s face fell as he ushered us both into his office.

“Of course the bastards would pick now to strike. Why did we even hire security?” Bolade asked himself sardonically.

“Is this a problem you’ve faced before?” I asked. I also wanted to know why I wasn’t informed of the situation until now.

He sat heavily in his chair. “Unfortunately, yes. Much of the Jos plateau has been plundered by criminals. Nok artifacts are a much sought after item on the black market.” Dr. Bolade opened and closed drawers until he placed three shot glasses on his desk and a bottle of whisky. He poured a finger for each of us and pushed the glasses toward us. “I’ve contacted the president of the university, but he’s hesitant to pay the ransom. If kidnappers realize the University is willing to work with them, we’ll see them targeting more of our students. There’s no easy solution to this.”

Itoro downed the shot instantly, I stared at mine intently. “What happens if the ransom isn’t paid?” I asked.

Bolade sighed and swallowed his shot. He muttered, “We never see any of these people again. They'll most likely be sold to traffickers.”

The grad student looked as heartbroken as I felt. My tea was long since finished and the banana I’d had for breakfast was sitting like a rock in my belly. I can fix this. I know how to track people and figure out where they’re hiding. If Dr. Bolade doesn’t think the university will pay, I need to do everything I can to find them and save them. I may not like some of the skills I’ve developed, but that shouldn’t stop me from using them. I took the shot glass and studied the brown liquid. I may not be a mercenary, but I can help. The whisky went down smooth; Dr. Bolade had good taste. I took a deep breath and then uttered the words that I’d been saying more and more frequently whenever something terrible happened to the people around me, “I think I can help.”

***

Sleep. Fucking glorious sleep. Six whole consecutive hours of it. I’m awake before Joe knocks on my door the next morning.

“Wazup?” I slur as I open the door to my tiny cabin. I’m awake, that doesn’t mean I’m coherent.

“Tour’s over. Get your bags packed, Sam. We’re heading to the safe house.”

He’s already halfway down the hallway when I give a halfhearted salute and close the door. Life as the videographer for investigative journalists is pretty shitty if I’m being honest. We’re always looking to get as close to the action as possible without getting seen, but inevitably we mess up. So far so good though.

I changed out of my oversize shirt and shorts into real clothes and started securing my laptop and camera. I wanted to do more for the people I filmed last night, but I’m not sure what more was. Was it telling the local authorities what was going on at this pier or was it pretending I’m Lara and going charging in Rambo style? Either way, it's out of my hands. The BBC’s legal department would contact the authorities and any fantasies of being a hero were just that, a fantasy.

In the months since Himiko, I’d made it a point to learn to be self sufficient. I’d learned to repair common engine issues in cars and trucks, I’d learned enough of the local languages to get by, and I’d learned to defend myself from assholes who might want to take advantage of me. I was done being a damsel in distress. I had no plans of ever needing rescuing in the future.

By the time I made it to the deck, our producer was in deep conversation with the captain of the tour boat and Joe was babysitting our gear. I liked Joe. He didn’t do small talk. If it’s not directly related to the job at hand, he kept his mouth shut. That’s the way I've been operating lately. The less people knew about me the better.

“Any shady people around the dock?” I inquired as I sipped my Red Bull.

“Always, but no one is paying us any mind,” he said with a small grin as he surveyed the shore. What little I did know about Joe was his love of sailing and being on the water. He’d pushed hard for this undercover operation.

“Fantastic.” I had no such appreciation for being on a boat, or not anymore anyway. At least the weather had been nice and we were less than a mile from shore.

I joined Joe at the railing and watched the coast slowly approach. Feeling the ocean breeze on my face was doing more to wake me than the Red Bull. In my pursuit to rebuild my life, I hadn’t left myself much down time like this. Just a peaceful morning to center myself before the heat and chaos of the day took over.

“Don’t go getting used to this,” our producer joked as he joined us.

“This has nothing on the un-airconditioned apartment we’ve been staying in,” Joe muttered wistfully.

I unsuccessfully stifled a snort of laughter.

“Well then you’re not going to like the news I’m about to give you. We’re leaving the city today. Our next lead is in Addis Ababa.”

I supposed we had what we came to the country for - on to the next location. “In the middle of Ethiopia? Please tell me we’re flying.” I muttered as I stifled a yawn.

He let out a bark of laughter. “Not a chance. This tour boat ate a big chunk out of our budget. We’re going road tripping!”

FML. I sighed and stared back out at the shore.

Joe suddenly tensed beside me and muttered quietly, “You see that blue sedan by the fishery?”

I lazily scanned the coast, trying not to look alarmed. “The one with at least four guys packed into it?”

“Yeah, they haven’t moved in over thirty minutes.”

“Maybe they’re waiting for the fishery to open.” I was already Googling the business’s hours.

“There’s been activity there since dawn.”

So much for my peaceful morning. “Well, shit.” I turned to our producer, “Boss-man, you have a plan B for getting off the ship and back to the safe-house, right?”

Our producer mumbled something about going to talk to the captain as he left.

“This is a bit too much excitement this early in the morning,” Joe muttered.

I leaned my back against the railing and faced him, sort of. He was at least a foot taller than me - I faced his bicep. “It’s better if they don’t think we know anything is up. Drop your shoulders a bit and peck me on the cheek. We should look like a couple just finishing a romantic evening.”

He let out a long breath as he slowly relaxed before leaning over and pressing his lips to my forehead. “You seem awfully calm.”

I shrugged, trying not to betray the way my heart had sped up at least twenty beats a minute at the thought of being followed by human traffickers. “We don’t know if those guys are waiting for us.”

“But they could be.”

“But they might not be.” I was fully aware of how difficult I was being.

Joe huffed shortly before stepping in front of me and placing his hands on either side of me on the railing. Even hunched over me, he could have easily rested his chin on the top of my head. “I don’t like not knowing,” he said while still watching the car.

“Panicking isn’t going to help,” I said calmly, for his sake and mine. It’s been a long time since I let another person this physically close to me. Part of me wanted to knee him in the groin and the other wanted to bury my face in his chest. “If you can’t control the situation, control how you react to it.”

“Now you sound like a shrink. They’re getting out of the car. At least one of them has a shoulder holster.”

Why do they have to be armed? I raised a hand to his cheek and pulled his eyes to mine. “I’m armed too. Let’s go find the boss and find out what our options are.”

Joe nodded and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we left the railing. “Have you ever shot at a person before?”

A chill ran down my spine. I’ve never hurt anyone, Himiko acting through me . . . that’s a different story. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

We entered the wheel house and spotted the captain and our producer. “What’s the good news?” Joe asked.

Our sweating, balding producer faced us. “Security is going to meet us at the docks. We’re going to make it look like you two are wealthy tourists trying to make it to your hotel.”

“That’s not going to be cheap,” I said with a frown. And this isn’t a touristy area either.

“No, but getting off of this boat alive is worth the money.”

“Well, honey, let’s sell this,” I said, giving Joe a salacious look. Even with his dark skin, I could still make out his blush.

“I’m not very good at acting,” Joe admitted, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

I did feel a little bad for him as I took his hand. “I am. Just let me do the talking.” I led the way out of the wheel house and moved towards the bow, pretending to be as carefree as any foreign tourist on vacation. I spared a glance at the four men standing next to their sedan, but focused on the dock we were approaching. “Babe, do you think the hotel will still be serving breakfast?” I asked loud enough for the workers on the dock to hear.

I felt Joe embrace me from behind. “Worked up an appetite last night?”

“You should know, you were there.” I felt him chuckle and bury his face in my hair. “I see three police officers approaching the dock,” I whispered to him.

He looked up and spotted them. “Have our stalkers taken notice?”

I leaned back into him and let my gaze wander the coast. “I think so. They look annoyed - talking amongst themselves.”

“Good. Let’s hope they leave without making a scene.”

I’m having a difficult time concentrating with his lean body against my back and his arms around my shoulders. Maybe my self-imposed dry spell hadn’t been as good of an idea as I thought. “If not, the water looks very inviting. I could go for a swim.” Blue-green and crystal clear water, I wasn’t lying about the swim - and I could use the sobering effects of the cool sea.

He huffed into my ear. “I’d prefer not to.

I didn’t even have the hots for my coworker, but my body certainly didn’t have any issues with that. It just wanted another warm body and maybe an hour alone with said body. I’m either going to need to get laid soon or start taking cold showers daily. I waved to the men on the dock, the police and the dock workers to distract myself. “This was so much fun! I’d definitely recommend! Five stars!”

Some of the men shouted greetings and thanks as the boat was pulled securely against the dock. The captain and our producer joined us once the engine was quiet. “Back up is here, good. And I think I see our ride approaching,” the boss muttered nervously.

I looked over my shoulder and gave him a fake pout. “At least pretend not to be anxious. You’ll give us away.”

“And who am I supposed to be?”

Not someone who clearly thinks they’re about to be gunned down the moment we disembark. “My personal assistant, speaking of which, what’s a girl got to do to get a decent cup of coffee?”

“Get us out of here alive and the next one is on me.” He flagged down the driver and moved towards the dock.

I guess the promise of coffee is reason enough to survive the next few hours. “What a buzzkill. Well, let’s not leave anyone waiting,” I said to Joe who was still clinging to me . . . and still partly distracting me from our mission.

He took my hand and we followed our boss. I shook the hands of two of the deck hands while handing them tips from the cash I’d brought for emergencies. I spared a look towards the men by the sedan, but the car and the men were gone. “I think we scared them off. We’ll have to keep an eye out for tails on the way to the safe-house.”

“Good. I’ll leave that to you,” Joe muttered.

The taxi was cramped with three of us in the back seat - at least we had a police escort. Being the smallest, I was in the middle and mostly unable to see out any of the windows. Being seated so close to our producer had a wonderfully sobering effect on my libido. “You guys see anything?”

“Nothing aside from the police,” the boss-man said.

That did little to reassure me. A good tail was hard to spot and our producer wasn’t great at . . . well, noticing things. That’s why we had Joe.

“No sign of the sedan,” Joe said quietly.

Thank god. I shifted slightly in my seat and felt the holster for my Sig Suser on my lower back. Months of practice had left me formidable with it, but uneasy about utilizing it against another person. How was Lara able to adjust so quickly to aiming at and killing people? The thought alone makes me nauseous.

“Okay people, we’re almost there. Let’s not waste any time. Go in, pack up, and get back to the taxi in under ten minutes,” our producer said sternly.

I’d honestly forgotten his name. I always referred to him as boss or boss-man in my head. “Yes, sir.” I wasn’t about to admit that though.

The car stopped and all of us bolted for the apartment complex. That was being generous. It was a three story shack with running water sometimes. We ran up two flights of stairs and barreled through the door. Joe and the boss had shared a room while I got my own. Something about morality or proprietary. I practically jumped over my rock-hard mattress and grabbed at my extra clothes and Jaffa Cakes. There wasn’t much I’d left in my room, just non-essentials. Those fucking Jaffa Cakes . . .

I didn’t even like Jaffa Cakes that much. They were okay, but I’d take an Oreo over them any day, but, damn it, they reminded me of Lara so I bought them . . . whenever I saw them in a store.

“Ready to go?” I asked as I stepped out of my room.

Joe and the boss nodded and we took the stairs faster than advisable. It didn’t matter, our taxi was gone.

“God damn it!” boss-man shouted.

I scanned the area and spotted the sedan a block away. “We’ve been made. Get back inside.”

The men didn’t hesitate in following me back into the building. “What are we supposed to do without a ride?” the boss asked.

“Isn’t that your problem?” I asked as I unholsted my side arm.

He swore softly and dialed a number on his iPhone.

“So about my question earlier . . .” Joe tried to ask.

I am not ready for this. “The answer is no, but I’m not about to die here anymore than you are,” I answered. I thumbed the safety off and chambered a round. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The air around us was tense in the narrow stairwell of the building while the boss spoke urgently to . . . someone. Joe kept watch while I tried to prepare myself for what I might have to do. It’s us or them - we didn’t start this.

The boss finishes his call. “The captain of our tour boat has agreed to pick us up on the coast. We just have to get there.”

We were five blocks from the coast. Our tail was six blocks from the coast. If they didn’t see us leave from the back entrance, we might be able to pull this off.

Stowing my pistol and shouldering my gear, I followed the men out the back door and down a long set of stairs. Our safe-house may have been without many modern luxuries like air conditioning, but it had made up for it with the views. We’d been on the steep, northernmost part of the coast overlooking the water. On clear days we could see Yemen across the Red Sea.

Our tour boat was docked on the southern side of the city - it’d take them maybe ten minutes to reach our side of the city by sea. We needed to book it.

The stairs ended and we jogged along a road. “Do either of you know where you’re going?” I panted. I was in fantastic shape, but under the weight of my camera, laptop, and personal effects, I was carrying an extra fifty-ish pounds.

“I didn’t have time to plan a route,” the boss barked out. He was nearly the shade of a ripe tomato. He wasn’t out of shape, that’s just what his face did when under any sort of physical exertion.

“Fair enough.”

Though Assab was on the coast of the Red Sea, it wasn’t particularly lush with vegetation. As a result, the dusty road made it difficult to take the corners at speed. Joe learned that the hard way.

“Shit!” he muttered as he slipped and fell to one knee.

I slowed to a stop to avoid tripping over him and glanced over my shoulder. In the distance, three men were descending the steps we’d just taken. “They’re following us, guys. We need to pick up the pace.”

“I don’t want you to fall behind-” the boss-man said with an anxious frown. Apparently being shorter than both men and being a woman were handicaps I should have realized.

“Then let me lead and try to keep up!” I sped around Joe and past our producer. I only saw three guys on the stairs. That means the other one must be driving the car.

I led the way down the switchback road perpendicular to the coast out of the residential area to a business district. Early risers gave us confused looks as we jogged past them. My lungs were burning as I slowed enough to take a sharp left at the next corner. “Where exactly on the coast are we meeting our ride?”

“There’s a dock the locals use for fishing,” boss-man shouted.

We’re not locals, so that’s where? “Just tell me if I’m leading us the wrong way then.”

What I wouldn’t give for the streets to be busier. The three of us jogging down the road were drawing more than a few people to us, some actually shouting questions as we passed. Fucking traffickers and their menacingness scaring off our taxi. I didn’t want to go for a jog this morning - I wanted to go for a goddamn swim!

“No! Take a left here!” the boss shouted at me.

I skidded to a stop and took a breath before chasing after the other two. There was no sign of the three men chasing us on foot or the other by BMW. Maybe we’ll pull this off after all.

Joe and boss-man took a right and we were at the coast. The beautiful colors of the Red Sea were lost on us as we pushed ourselves towards the dock - fear was a hell of a stimulant.

Boss-man bordered first. Joe slowed and stopped at the ramp. “Almost there! Go, go, go!”

I shot past him and almost collided with our producer. He grabbed my shoulders to steady me. “Are you alright?” he panted.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine.” I dropped my bags unceremoniously and bent over trying to catch my breath.

Joe threw his bags on board and helped the crew with the ramp before heaving himself onto the deck. “Any sign of them?”

I shook my head as I gripped the railing and scanned the coast. That was too close. Assuming they were the traffickers, but if they weren’t, they were sketchy as fuck.

We pulled away from the dock and the three of us finally began to relax. “We really made it,” Joe laughed a bit hysterically.

I patted him on the shoulder and began picking up my bags. “I’m gonna go lay down and pretend we never left the boat. Let me know when’s lunch.”

Boss-man gave me a once over anxiously, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I shrugged, “I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to run from scary men with guns. Joe looks like he could use a hug though.”

Joe just laughs uneasily and the boss wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Once I’m in my room with the door locked, I drop my bags and sit on the edge of my bed . . . and proceed to have a panic attack.

Twenty minutes later, when I can breathe again, I pass out thinking about disheveled cultists and a battle-hardened brunette.

***

I'm basing my locations and the conflicts there on real events from the last six-ish years, but it's not gonna be completely realistic (I think Assab at that time was a military base and Yemen was/is in the midst of a war - it's fiction so I'm taking a few liberties). If there's anything bugging you about the story or you just want to say hi, drop me a comment. I might reply someday.

Thanks for reading and have a wonderful day or don't - it's really up to you, I guess.

Tools put away and bag in hand, I headed down the stairs and out of the building into the warm, humid evening. I hadn’t intended on contacting Sam after the fall of Trinity - what if the remaining agents around the world wanted revenge for the organization’s collapse? It just sort of happened . . . with some help from the Kawaq Yaku cantina.

The grounds of the university were alive with the sounds of insects and the scent of the freshly trimmed and well watered grass on either side of the concrete path I walked between the major buildings on the block. I thought back to the week after the eclipse, after Jonah and Abby had left for the coast. I had traveled back to Kawaq Yaku to quietly obtain supplies for Paititi and utilize the nearby cell tower to check my email and phone. One of my many messages was from Sam. Short and sweet and to the point. I still had the damn thing memorized.

‘Hey, Lara! I hope you’re doing well. Jonah mentioned the two of you would be heading to a new location soon, but couldn’t tell me where. I hope you find what you’re looking for - or at least some cute boys! Anyway, I guess I’m writing because I hate how things are between us. I miss you and I know you’re trying to keep me safe, but you never gave me a say in the matter. This will be my last message. If it ever becomes safe enough, send me a text and maybe we can try again. Or if the mess with Himiko trying to kill you through me was too much, then I will understand if I never hear from you again. Keep an eye on Jonah and try to stay safe for his sake. Love, Sam’

The University dormitory I was staying at had been built in the nineties and featured primary colors and outdated amenities, but it was more than good enough for me. The off-white tile floors probably could have used a new coat of wax, though. I began to climb the three stores to my room.

I remembered feeling the world begin to spin after reading Sam’s email - I was thankful to be sitting at the bar nursing my first beer at the time. I was racked with guilt and shame and just a dash of defiance. The beer was quickly finished and a fresh one was uncapped for me . . . and then a third and fourth. By then I was a moody mess, but I kept over-paying for my drinks as an apology to the bartender. I was on the seventh page of the response I was writing to Sam when I stopped and stared vacantly at the flying bugs circling the outdoor lighting for a time. I then looked back at my email with a scowl and deleted the whole thing before taking Sam’s approach and keeping it short.

‘Sam, I’m sorry. I do want to try again. I’ll let you know when I make it home and have a reliable phone signal. Until then, know that Jonah and I are okay and I think the danger has finally passed. Lara’

I dropped my bag on the small desk and kicked off my shoes by the door. I was dead tired, but hadn’t been able to sleep well in a week.

After returning to the UK, Sam and I began exchanging messages, neither working up the courage to call the other. I learned that Sam’s legal troubles had been solved by a good lawyer and my exposure of the psychiatric hospital’s torture and experiments they put her through. I told Sam a bit of the lengths Jonah and I had gone through to stop Trinity. We developed an unspoken schedule of emails, but as of a week ago the schedule had been broken - Sam hadn’t messaged me as usual and still hadn’t seven days later.

‘I’m being a tosser. I knew she was heading out to Eritrea two weeks ago to film for a BBC documentary and that she might be too busy to write. I need to get a grip - was this what it was like for her when I was away?’

Mostly to appease my anxious mind, I sent Sam a short email detailing the work I’d done since we last spoke and wished her safety and health. I was getting worried enough I was even contemplating calling her for the first time in over a year. I missed her voice, I missed her laugh, I missed the way my name rolled off her tongue. . .

‘No, don’t go there. Sam is very likely straight. Don’t go hoping for something that isn’t possible.’

I stripped and crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling dejectedly. ‘But is it really so impossible? I’ve watched the dead rise and held the power of a god in my hands. By comparison, confessing my long repressed feelings and having Sam return them is statistically much more likely. . . Damn Antarctica and its hallucinogenic flora. Life was so much easier when I just thought I really missed my best friend.’

I rolled onto my side and practiced the deep breathing technique the Paititian healer taught me and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

***

‘Lara is going to kill me,’ I thought as I continued filming the scene before me. I and two other crew members had spent the day staking out a very specific spot on the pier from the luxury tour boat we’d rented. It hadn’t been cheap, but it proved to have been worth it.

“Sam, I’ve got a guy going into the warehouse,” my spotter, Joe, mumbled beside me.

I panned the Canon XH-A1S to the left away from the men I had been filming talking and smoking on the dock next to the cutter. This was the warehouse we’d been most interested in seeing the inside of. Ten days of bribing and inquiring hadn’t gotten us anywhere, so we hired a ship for the night.

A garage door opened and a man sporting what looked to be an M16 stepped out and stood beside the door. A moment later, a line of somber women and children exited the warehouse walking toward the cutter, flanked on either side by more armed men.

“We hit pay dirt, gentleman,” I whispered as I zoomed in as far as I could on the faces of prisoners.

“Those bastards. It’s fantastic to get this on film, but it still kills me that that’s all we can do,” my producer lamented.

‘If Lara were here-’ I mentally shook my head and refocused. The head of the line was being ushered onto the cutter. We already had a positive ID on the ship from the day before and knew who owned it.

‘If Lara were here, she’d jump from the boat, swim to the pier and quietly execute everyone,’ I thought as the last prisoner disappeared below deck. ‘She’d be a one woman army and rescue everyone on board that ship without a second thought - without a moment to consider the risks to herself or the prisoners if the worst happened.’

‘If Lara were here she’d also rip me a new one for lying about the documentary I was filming. Although, I guess this is just an unpleasant side of Eritrea culture. How was I supposed to say I was part of a crew investigating human trafficking out of eastern Africa?’

“The guards are heading inside and closing shop for the night,” Joe stated.

“Good work people. Sam, did you get all that?”

I stopped recording and checked the latest video file. “Yep, I’ll get this edited and encrypted before sending this to the bosses.”

The three of us quietly retired to our tiny cabins and went to work. I made a copy of the file for Joe who would inspect the footage for the best views of the prisoners’ faces to send to our legal department to forward to the local authorities while our producer wrote a script to narrate the segment.

After the whole Himiko thing, no one had wanted to hire a formerly mental disturbed camera operator, no matter my pedigree or experience. I had to take the work no one else wanted - the dangerous, uncomfortable jobs. This was my third job like that, my second for BBC. It was frustrating and embarrassing to no end when someone recognized my face or name from when Himiko terrorized England and formed a murderous cult using my body. I couldn’t correct people and say it wasn’t me, it was the soul of a murderous, centuries old queen who could control minds and the weather. That just wouldn’t be a good way to prove my sanity.

So that’s how I found myself sifting through hours of footage in a twenty-five square foot cabin at three in the morning just off the coast of the port city Assab.

‘Part of me wishes Lara were here. She was always so good at listening to me ramble while I worked. She always knew the right questions to ask to get me to look at a scene at just the right way.’

By six, the editing was finished to my standards and given to my producer to review before we sent it to the BBC. I practically collapsed onto my bunk and groaned tiredly. I hadn’t had a consistent sleep schedule since I’d arrived in Eritrea and didn’t expect to get more than three hours before we’d be on the move again. We found where the smugglers sent people before leaving the country, now we needed to find where they were kept before Assab.

‘If Lara could save me from an island full of cultists and Himiko, I can survive another few days with minimal sleep. As long as there isn’t any supernatural shit, I’ll be fine. People I can do, spirits - fuck that. I’m booking it at the first sign of unexplained phenomenon.’

I was too tired to think about how my phone had been off and the battery removed to avoid being tracked by the people we were looking to film and the fact I hadn’t spoken to Lara in over a week. Instead I dreamed of the days after leaving Yamatai when I cared for Lara while she battled sepsis aboard a freighter bound for Osaka, when I was so scared her fever would never break and I’d lose her forever to that fucking island. Fuck that fucking island and how much it fucked all of us up and fuck these dreams of watching Lara slowly die and not being able to save her.

Fuck Yamatai.

***

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