Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time by Judith Schara Read Free Book Online Page B

filled the horizon.
    Suddenly, her headache was back in full force. She closed her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. The upsetting dream on the train tried to come back, too, and bits of it flew by in her memory. She shuddered.
    Her eyes flew open. From afar, Maiden Castle looked deserted, but sheep still grazed on the sides of the ramparts, white dots moving on the misty green sides of the hillfort. There were no other signs of life. She felt addled, confused, as she stared at the hill, rubbing her temples. Her hands were ice cold.
    “It looks so empty. Where are the people?” Germaine knew she wasn’t making sense and shook her head.
    Aubrey gave her a concerned look. “Well, of course, my dear, no one lives here anymore. Not over the jet lag yet, my girl? Your eyes are a little glassy. We’ll have to get you a stiff drink and a fine English meal. Then a glass of champagne later. A good night’s sleep will finish it off. You’ll feel fine tomorrow.”
    Germaine nodded in silent agreement. Aubrey had an almost mystical faith in the power of a good stiff drink. It was his chosen method of remedying all manner of problems. His distant relative, Winston Churchill, was renowned for drinking prodigious amounts of champagne. Aubrey had adopted the same habit, and you kept up with him at your own peril.
    “And don’t worry, in a moment you will have more people around than you could possibly want.”
    They pulled off the main road onto a service road where the Bentley crested a small rise. The car park for Maiden Castle was before them, packed with people, noisy trucks, and cars. When they got out, Aubrey craned his head around, obviously searching for someone.
    “Aha! I see them. Wait here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Safari jacket flapping in the breeze, Fedora clamped on his head, he strode into the throng like Moses parting the Red Sea. Germaine leaned against the car and tried to track his path through the crowded car park, but he soon disappeared.
    Blue-and-white police tape stretched across the main gate to the hillfort, a clear reminder this was a crime site and no one entered without official approval. Parked near the gate were two vehicles marked Dorchester Police, and a silver Rolls Royce with a yellow license plate that read, Hdorset , with a uniformed chauffeur standing by its door.
    The car park had all the atmosphere of a war zone. A brown Army truck was parked to one side, and a uniformed officer stood beside it talking on a cell phone. More soldiers emerged from another truck. The new arrivals were SAS forces wearing the signature sand-colored beret with the insignia of the flaming sword on a crusader’s shield. Germaine knew about the SAS, the UK’s Special Forces—everyone did.
    But why were Special Forces here? Well, of course, she quickly realized—there had been an explosion. Security forces would want to know more. Maybe terrorists were involved. Now that was a strange thought, out here in the rural depths of Dorset.
    Germaine glanced at her watch. Aubrey had been gone a long time. She walked a little way from the car. A truck with a red and blue British flag and Brigantia Ltd. painted on one door rattled past, almost hitting her. A group of workers sat in the open back, all wearing jackets with the same red and blue insignia, along with piles of shovels and buckets, water coolers and a wheelbarrow.
    Shovel bums, most likely. They were contract archaeologists and the backbone of almost any excavation. She had used them on her own digs in France and Germany. Many were highly trained and didn’t want to be tied down to a regular job. Some traveled all over the world, working at exotic archaeological sites. Those in the truck were probably working in the area to arrive so quickly. Of course, English Heritage would treat the explosion site as an archaeological dig; the explosion had demolished two ancient sites and there might be artifacts to be found.
    Germaine turned