The Dead-End Road Read online

  Antoine attempted to appear relaxed, clasping one arm behind his back while occasionally glancing towards the administrative assistant who was seated working at the reception desk. Their eyes met uncomfortably for a moment as he pretended to look around the room at the original artwork displayed in the foyer. Antoine pushed up his left cuff to glance at his designer watch, without checking the time. The gesture was intended to show his impatience, and he hoped the assistant noticed.

  It had been over a decade since Dr. Levine worked in a legitimate capacity as an Associate Curator of the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C. His position afforded him unfettered access to an unlimited array of vaults filled with priceless artifacts that were sometimes… misplaced. Dr. Levine did not object to antiquities held in the private collections of those who could truly appreciate their significance, and who were willing to pay him large sums of money to acquire them. And so, the temptation for Dr. Levine, a man of exquisite tastes, was far too great to bear, and led to his decision to resign to prevent the museum board of directors from finding out what he was up to – although he managed to retain his status as a Curator Emeritus thus maintaining his reputation and limited access.

  Antoine had despised the uneducated public that visited the museum. Although it’s true that ticket sales generated capital that benefitted the museum, much of the funds they received were from grants. Antoine viewed the public as uncivilized gawkers. Contemptible. He didn’t mind them if they didn’t get in the way or ask too many questions. At least he could avoid dealing with them; that was a job for low-level lackeys.

  The assistant craned her neck and chimed, “Mr. Hughes will see you now.” Antoine turned towards her desk. “Finally,” he thought. Two large men emerged from a side door beckoning Antoine to enter. Antoine stepped into the hallway and followed one man while the other trailed closely behind him. After rounding the corner at the end of the hall, Antoine was ushered into a side room, and one of the men pointed towards a plastic tray. “Mobile phone, and any electronic devices,” he said. Antoine tossed his mobile phone into the tray and flinched at the snap of a rubber glove behind him. “Arms out; spread your legs please,” the other man said flatly, and proceeded to search him. Nodding that he was cleared, the man continued, “Please step into the airlock.” Dr. Levine stepped in, and the airlock door buzzed and closed behind him with a hollow thud. A gust of air shot out from a vent, and a faint humming noise came from outside the glass wall. After an uncomfortable thirty seconds, a beep sounded, a green light lit in front of him, and the airlock opened into a spacious paneled room.

  Antoine hesitated and then stepped into the room, breathing in the strange-smelling sterilized air. The room was filled with cube-shaped curio shelves containing an array of curious artifacts from around the world. Each cube was lit by small recessed lighting, making the room look like a museum exhibition. The ceiling was covered with animal skins and spear-like weapons, and one wall space displayed an ultra-rare white rhino head. “Could that be real?” He wondered. There was a four-foot-tall globe on gimbals in the middle of the room. Hughes stood facing a set of windows looking out over the city with his hands clasped behind his back. It was late evening, and the darkened sky was an ominous backdrop.

  Simon Hughes was tall and well-dressed, and his polished bald head shines with reflected light from a nearby display. “I’m sure you understand that in my business, one cannot be overly cautious,” Hughes grunted. Antoine stood silently listening and noticed the movement of a bodyguard on his left standing in a dark alcove. Without turning, Hughes continued speaking towards the windows, “I believe you know why you are here?”

  “Yes, of course,” Antoine replied as Hughes turned to face him, “But what exactly do you want me to acquire?” Antoine’s small voice failed to fill the echoing chamber. Hughes eyed him silently for a moment.

  “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, doctor, since we both know of your unscrupulous line of work.” Hughes boomed in a serious tone. “Nevertheless, you have proven your worth before, and I expect nothing less this time. I hope this task is not beyond your means.” Antoine held back a sneer.

  Simon gestured to some display cases on white Corinthian-styled stone pedestals, and Dr. Levine walked around the globe and followed him across the room. Inside one of the illuminated acrylic cases was a large copper mask with copper antlers protruding from the temples. The mannequin bust that held the mask was adorned with necklaces of beads and polished shells, and in the center, was a large choker with a six-inch floral shaped copper disc covered with verdigris with a strange gemstone in the center. The upper arms of the bust were bound with bands of copper and cracked leather. Dr. Levine was intrigued. With raised eyebrows, he rubbed his chin, leaning closer, “Early Native American.”

  “Not just early, prehistoric,” Hughes corrected. “These are from a shaman’s burial mound, carbon-dated at roughly 800 BCE.” Hughes continued, “The shaman lived during the Early Woodland Period, pre-contact, and was a member of the Adena Culture, a name given by Ohio Governor Thomas Worthington. The Adena, Hopewell, and Fort Ancient peoples, were mound builders. Are you familiar with them?”

  “Somewhat,” Antoine said candidly. He had some exposure but was only vaguely familiar with their culture.

  “Their civilization was vast, more than most realize. They had trade networks from the great lakes to the gulf coast. Aside from the known burial sites, some speculate that there are entire cities hidden underground, filled with burial tombs and no doubt treasures and relics. Relics like the ones you see here. Over the past two centuries, the earthworks were either destroyed or covered by farms, roads, and modern cities.” Hughes turned and stared at Antoine, “I want you to locate those tombs for me. I want everything you can find, especially any shaman remains, because they may have necklace talismans such as this one,” Hughes demanded. “Do you understand?”

  Antoine paused. “Plundering artifacts is one thing, but desecrating the remains? What could he possibly want with those? No matter.”

  Hughes’ eyes remained fixed on Antoine, who looked puzzled. Hughes placed both hands on the table between them and leaned forward, towering over him, “Don’t ask too many questions,” Hughes insisted, anticipating Antoine’s thoughts, “Just get them. I have a team of researchers who will analyze the items you recover. These clues may lead us to the lost tombs.”

  Antoine tried to swallow, but the air was dry, “Where shall I begin my search?”

  Hughes took out a map and spread it on the table and tapped the map with his thick fingers. “The lost tombs could be located across three states, on both sides of the Ohio River Valley. There are plenty of known mounds in the region that may provide clues to their location,” Hughes directed. “Other means, such as ground-penetrating radar, will not work in most cases. The tombs may literally be beneath buildings where the radar will be useless. This may take some time, and time is not on our side. Even now, others are out searching.”

  The map was covered with dots that Simon had circled in red of all known burial sites and state parks. “And use the utmost care. If we have any hope of finding the lost tombs, you won’t be able to do it if you draw unwanted attention. If you are discovered, you must eliminate any threat, or my entire operation will be at risk. Am I clear? Your discretion is paramount.”

  Antoine considered the implications as he scanned the map, “I understand,” he replied, “and the deliveries?”

  “I’ll send word when the time comes; the logistics will be tedious,” Hughes said. “If there are any updates to your assignment, I will let you know. Of course, you will be handsomely compensated for everything you recover. I’ve arranged for your fee to be transferred to this account,” Hughes handed him a slip

  of paper.

  Dr. Levine waited to see if Hughes had anything further. Hughes folded the map and slapped it against Dr. Levine’s chest and then walked back to the windows and resumed his vacant stare. Antoine tucked the map into his breast pocket. Hughes waved his hand to the guard, who immediately stepped forward. The sound of the guard’s shoes clicked across the polished floor and stopped. Antoine scowled, turned to leave, and walked quickly towards the exit.

  “Dr. Levine,” Hughes said loudly, “Don’t underestimate the importance of this task. There are forces at work here beyond your understanding. Use extreme caution.”

  Antoine paused for a moment and then continued towards the airlock. He needed time to think, and to contact his accomplice Silas Craven. They needed to send out a request for the relics as well as plan of a way to collect the artifacts while mitigating the risk while making the exchanges. Silas was crafty, he would know

  a way.

  CHAPTER 3: HANOVER HOUSE

  Marcus Ryan unlaced his running shoes as he returned from his brisk 5k run. It was early Saturday morning, and there was much to do today unpacking boxes in his new Victorian home. He was a widower, and his two kids, Ellie, nine, and Jacob, thirteen, were still fast asleep. During the week, while Marc was working at his new job as a private detective, they stayed with their Aunt Mary and Uncle Dominick. This was their second weekend in the house, and they were enjoying exploring the big home.

  Its namesake was Karl Hanover, a German immigrant that built the home by hand in 1906, making the house one hundred and twelve years old. It was in great shape for its age - Marc really didn’t want a fixer-upper. As a working parent, he was busy enough. The siding, roof, and porches were redone before he purchased the home, and the interior was freshly painted and carpeted. The house was very large with five bedrooms, much larger than Marc’s small family needed, but it was close to the only relatives he had, and he wanted his children to be near them for support, especially after dealing with the l
oss of his wife Emily to a tragic accident just one year ago.

  Marc got out of the shower and sat in silence, thinking about his late wife, Emily. He absently rubbed his scarred left wrist, which was shattered by a bullet in Afghanistan. How he wished she could be here with them. He looked up at a small stack of boxes in the corner that he had been reluctant to open. He knew what was inside - Emily’s clothes and personal items. He couldn’t bear to give them away. “And I can’t bear to go through them yet, either,” He thought.

  Marc slowly put on the comfortable clothes that he wore for do-it-yourself projects. Paint-stained cargo pants, some old hiking boots, and his favorite military crush ballcap were essential equipment, along with his flashlight and pocketknife. He walked over to a small box labeled “pictures” and flicked open the lock-blade and cut the packing tape. Inside was a portrait of himself and Emily together; brushing away the cardboard material, he placed it on the nightstand next to the bed. With a sigh, he walked downstairs to make some coffee.

  “Straight black, no funny stuff,” is how Marc liked his coffee. In the military, they called it “diesel fuel,” because the pot would often sit for hours condensing into something that resembled thick sludge. Marc flipped open his laptop and double-clicked the news live stream. He had high-speed internet but no cable television. “Who needed cable these days anyway?” Nothing exciting, but he let it play in the background while he took out food to make breakfast. The kids would be waking up soon. Marc sipped his coffee and listened to the news program, thinking about the day’s schedule.

  Ellie woke first, slowly making her way to the kitchen breakfast bar, dragging her favorite stuffed teddy bear and a blanket. She placed the bear next to her as if he were having breakfast too.

  “Good morning, sweetie,” Marc kissed Ellie’s forehead. “Good morning, Teddy.”

  “Hi dad,” she said softly, still in her pajamas.

  “Hungry?” The local news station began the daily

  weather forecast.

  “Not yet, but can I have some hot chocolate?”

  “Sure thing,” Marc popped the hot chocolate container into the coffee maker and grabbed Ellie’s favorite cartoon mug. “So, how do you like the house?”

  “I love it, but it’s kinda creepy, though,” she

  said reluctantly.

  Marc overlooked the comment, “Have you picked out your room yet?”

  “Yeah, I like the room in the back that’s connected to the other bedroom. Can I have them both?” she said hopefully. “I can really use the other room for my toys.”

  “What about your brother?” Marc gently slid her steaming mug across the counter.

  “Oh, it’s okay, he likes the room across from me, because it has a balcony.”

  Jacob scurried into the kitchen. “Yeah, dad, can I have the room with the balcony, please?” Jacob said as he hopped in a stool next to Ellie.

  “Well, good morning,” Marc smiled, “Of course you can. Just don’t go climbing on the railing. Want some breakfast?”

  “Can I have some scrambled eggs and bacon?” Jacob asked. At thirteen years old, his appetite was becoming ravenous.

  “No problem, I’ll have the same. And I’ll set some aside for you, Miss Ellie, if you get hungry,” Marc said as he cracked the eggs into a bowl. “After you both are done eating, can you start taking the boxes with your names on them up to your rooms? The rest of the furniture should be delivered today around lunchtime. I have some friends coming to help.”

  “Oh, is Uncle Brian coming over?” Ellie asked. Ellie loved Brian, who wasn’t really related, but she affectionately called him uncle. “Maybe we can tell scary stories this evening.” She

  said excitedly.

  “Yes, Uncle Brian is coming,” Marc smiled. “And Aunt Mary is bringing over lunch. She said she has a surprise for you both.” Aunt Mary was an Italian lady and loved to cook.

  Ellie’s eyes lit up as she smiled, showing her missing tooth that was just starting to grow in.

  Brian was like family; the kids loved him, and he always made them laugh. Brian drove down from Smithfield every weekend to catch up on things since Marc had been away for so long during his military career, and he appreciated his company. It felt good to reconnect with family and friends. It almost seemed like Marc never left. The small town of Mount Pleasant even looked the same as he remembered, almost like time stands still here. Maybe it did.

  Just before lunch, Brian burst in the front door, yelling, “Hey, What’s up there, Jack?” Brian called everyone “Jack” regardless of their real name.

  “Ready to work?” Marc raised his eyebrow inquisitively.

  “You betcha. So how are you likin’ the house here?” He said, looking around, taking notice that everything was beautiful dark walnut wood. He ran his hands up the railing, feeling the carved spindles. Moving towards the living room, he asked, “Do these work?” pulling on the pocket door handles. Brian had to touch and inspect everything.

  “Yep, they work, but they’re a bit squeaky,”

  Marc commented.

  “Uncle Brian,” Ellie yelled and ran to give him a big hug, Jacob following close behind her.

  “Hey there, toots,” Brian smiled. “What’s up there Skippy,” Brian said jokingly to Jacob, messing up his hair.

  “You wanna’ come see my new room?” Ellie asked, hopefully, grabbing his hand.

  Marc interjected, “Okay, go ahead, but we have work to do, Ellie.”

  “Okay dad, we’ll be right back.”

  Marc started sorting and stacking the boxes by room while he waited for Brian to return. Brian was back in fifteen minutes, and the two carried boxes for a good while before taking a break, with Brian cracking jokes the whole time. Marc laughed, and it felt good. As they sat on the porch to take a break, Brian started asking questions about the house and said that it was spooky, echoing Ellie’s comments.

  “Did Ellie put you up to that?” Marc asked suspiciously.

  “Ellie, what? No, I’m just sayin’, it’s an old spooky house you got here.”

  Marc laughed, “For the past few weeks I’ve been here, I haven’t seen or heard anything strange.”

  Jacob and Ellie ran out onto the porch, “Dad, we found something, you gotta’ come see.”

  “What is it?” Marc said protectively.

  “Come look,” Ellie pleaded.

  They all went into the foyer, and Ellie pointed to the closet under the staircase, “In there.”

  Marc opened the door and reached in to turn on the light. Inside the closet was a glass one-foot square window that looked down into the basement. It was dark down there, so Marc went around to the basement stairs and turned the light on. Looking up, he could see the kids and Brian peering down at him from the closet. Marc went back up to the foyer.

  “What in the world is that for?” Marc wondered. “Somehow, I didn’t see that before. There must have been boxes stacked by the movers in front of the window, blocking it.”

  “Dude, that’s so strange,” Brian said with raised eyebrows, looking at Marc, “See, I told you this house is spooky. Maybe it was used to keep an eye on someone they had chained up

  down there.”

  Marc scowled as the telephone rang. “Hold on,” He said, running to find the phone.

  “Hello, Marc?” it was Aunt Mary.

  “Hi, Aunt Mary,” Marc said, still puzzled about

  the discovery.

  Aunt Mary noticed the hesitation in his voice, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah… yeah, everything is fine.”

  “Oh, alright. Uncle Dom and I will be over in about an hour with lunch, is that okay?” she asked.

  “That’ll be great; I told the kids you were bringing them

  a surprise.”

  “Okay, we’ll be over in a little bit.” She said and hung up.

  Brian and Marc went back to carrying boxes when the movers showed up, along with Marc’s friend, Mike West. The crew continued to place the furniture in the rooms and even assembled everything. Within the hour, Aunt Mary and Uncle Dom arrived, and they carried lunch straight to the kitchen by navigating through the maze of empty boxes.