through fresh rubble towards an already-excavated tunnel.
His gaze was fixed thirty feet away on a glistening golden object jutting out of a small ravine.
Tentatively Abdul-Qawi stepped closer, waving his grandson back behind him.
Awestruck, he stared at the glistening metal.
‘Allah’s Chariot,’ he murmured.
He continued walking, muttering to himself in Arabic as though in a hypnotic trance until he was only inches away from the ornate gold handle protruding from the sand. He reached out his hand, trembling.
Jul watched in awe as Abdul-Qawi gripped the handle. Instantly a bolt of blue lightning leapt from the casket.
‘Allah Akbar!’ Abdul screamed as the savage electric current surged through his body. Jul watched in horror as his grandfather’s body thrashed violently from side to side in paroxysm.
‘Jadd!’ Jul ran towards him.
The old man stared at Jul through terrified eyes. Then, summoning all his strength, he wrenched his hand free from the casket and was thrown violently to the ground.
Jul pulled him through the rubble, away from the pulsating chest.
‘Jadd . . . Jadd!’ Jul cradled his grandfather’s head in his trembling,hands, tears rolling down his mud-streaked face.
Abdul raised himself up, then uttered a strangled cry. ‘The seal of Daniel.’
And fell back.
Struck dead by the Ark of the Covenant.
Chapter Two
Aftermath
Jason
December 2021, VOX Communications Yacht, Upper New York Bay
It was the fourth of VOX Entertainment Group’s illustrious PR launch campaigns in that week alone.
And the most lavish.
Despite the below-freezing temperatures, New York was in the mood for celebration. As was Jason De Vere, Chairman and owner of the VOX multibillion-dollar media corporation.
The Third World War had ended two months ago after the nuclear strike on Moscow by the West. The constant threat of a retaliatory strike in downtown New York was now a swiftly fading memory and Manhattan’s countless multinational conglomerates were tentatively resurfacing.
The lowest deck of the largest of Jason De Vere’s five corporate yachts was literally heaving with middle-aged Wall Street financiers, hedge-fund owners, ageing TV news anchors and entertainment agents. They crammed the dance floor, mingling with the crème de la crème of New York’s twenty- and thirty-something elites in the television, fashion and publishing industries – all gyrating to the pounding music.
Jason De Vere had arrived by helicopter ten minutes earlier. An unusual occurence, which those who worked with him intimately knew could only be accounted for by the attendance of five billionaire Beijing media-investors who were involved in Jason’s latest venture, the launch of VOX’s multiple media networks and film conglomerates into China.
At forty-four, Jason De Vere was still ruggedly handsome but already well worn. His tanned face was creased and his cropped greying hair unbecomingly severe.
As was his current demeanour.
Whisky glass in hand, he was gyrating awkwardly in the centre of the dance floor, in the clutches of an overtanned blonde.
He glanced around. They were all so young. Nearer his daughter Lily’s age than his. Where had time gone? The blonde, VOX’s latest music awards presenter, entwined her arms more intensely around his neck, now making it completely impossible for Jason to drain the last swig from his glass.
‘Damn the need for PR.’ Desperately he scanned the room for his personal assistant of nineteen years – fifty-seven-year-old Miss Jontil Purvis, originally from Charleston, South Carolina.
Jontil was completely indispensable to Jason. She had joined VOX at its inception and rough ridden through the hectic and chaotic start-up years. Over the past two decades she had been involved in the exhausting task of trying to make every aspect of Jason De Vere’s unrelenting existence manageable:from the complexity of his multi-billion dollar mergers to organizing Lily De Vere’s
His gaze was fixed thirty feet away on a glistening golden object jutting out of a small ravine.
Tentatively Abdul-Qawi stepped closer, waving his grandson back behind him.
Awestruck, he stared at the glistening metal.
‘Allah’s Chariot,’ he murmured.
He continued walking, muttering to himself in Arabic as though in a hypnotic trance until he was only inches away from the ornate gold handle protruding from the sand. He reached out his hand, trembling.
Jul watched in awe as Abdul-Qawi gripped the handle. Instantly a bolt of blue lightning leapt from the casket.
‘Allah Akbar!’ Abdul screamed as the savage electric current surged through his body. Jul watched in horror as his grandfather’s body thrashed violently from side to side in paroxysm.
‘Jadd!’ Jul ran towards him.
The old man stared at Jul through terrified eyes. Then, summoning all his strength, he wrenched his hand free from the casket and was thrown violently to the ground.
Jul pulled him through the rubble, away from the pulsating chest.
‘Jadd . . . Jadd!’ Jul cradled his grandfather’s head in his trembling,hands, tears rolling down his mud-streaked face.
Abdul raised himself up, then uttered a strangled cry. ‘The seal of Daniel.’
And fell back.
Struck dead by the Ark of the Covenant.
Chapter Two
Aftermath
Jason
December 2021, VOX Communications Yacht, Upper New York Bay
It was the fourth of VOX Entertainment Group’s illustrious PR launch campaigns in that week alone.
And the most lavish.
Despite the below-freezing temperatures, New York was in the mood for celebration. As was Jason De Vere, Chairman and owner of the VOX multibillion-dollar media corporation.
The Third World War had ended two months ago after the nuclear strike on Moscow by the West. The constant threat of a retaliatory strike in downtown New York was now a swiftly fading memory and Manhattan’s countless multinational conglomerates were tentatively resurfacing.
The lowest deck of the largest of Jason De Vere’s five corporate yachts was literally heaving with middle-aged Wall Street financiers, hedge-fund owners, ageing TV news anchors and entertainment agents. They crammed the dance floor, mingling with the crème de la crème of New York’s twenty- and thirty-something elites in the television, fashion and publishing industries – all gyrating to the pounding music.
Jason De Vere had arrived by helicopter ten minutes earlier. An unusual occurence, which those who worked with him intimately knew could only be accounted for by the attendance of five billionaire Beijing media-investors who were involved in Jason’s latest venture, the launch of VOX’s multiple media networks and film conglomerates into China.
At forty-four, Jason De Vere was still ruggedly handsome but already well worn. His tanned face was creased and his cropped greying hair unbecomingly severe.
As was his current demeanour.
Whisky glass in hand, he was gyrating awkwardly in the centre of the dance floor, in the clutches of an overtanned blonde.
He glanced around. They were all so young. Nearer his daughter Lily’s age than his. Where had time gone? The blonde, VOX’s latest music awards presenter, entwined her arms more intensely around his neck, now making it completely impossible for Jason to drain the last swig from his glass.
‘Damn the need for PR.’ Desperately he scanned the room for his personal assistant of nineteen years – fifty-seven-year-old Miss Jontil Purvis, originally from Charleston, South Carolina.
Jontil was completely indispensable to Jason. She had joined VOX at its inception and rough ridden through the hectic and chaotic start-up years. Over the past two decades she had been involved in the exhausting task of trying to make every aspect of Jason De Vere’s unrelenting existence manageable:from the complexity of his multi-billion dollar mergers to organizing Lily De Vere’s
Similar Books
Under Their Protection
J.A. Bailey
Troubled range
John Thomas Edson
Complete Plays, The
William Shakespeare
Copper Beach: A Dark Legacy Novel
Jayne Ann Krentz
My Secret Rockstar Boyfriend
Eleanor Wood
A String in the Harp
Nancy Bond
Forced Handfasting
Rebecca Lorino Pond
Elfcharm
Leila Bryce Sin
Waiting for Sunrise
William Boyd