Incarnate: Mars Origin "I" Series Book III by Abby L. Vandiver Page B
Authors: Abby L. Vandiver
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usually quiet engine revved and he
shifted the gear down, came to a stop and put the car in park. He sat behind
the wheel, an obvious pout on his face, and stroked the stubble across his
cheek and down his jawline.
“Shit.”
Placing his
straw panama on the sit next to him, he leaned back on the head rest and wiped
the perspiration off his brow. It wasn’t the sweat from the heat but from the
apprehension he was feeling.
He really
shouldn’t let Laura get to him like she did. He did what he needed to do and he
didn’t need her approval. This was the way he got things done. She knew it. She
stayed with him. He hadn’t actually had to kill anyone. Yet. The government
official that he had threatened and his daughter were spending the evening
together with her no wiser and him sitting on a pile of cash.
And she
certainly had no idea about what she was trying to insinuate. The Hall of
Records was real. And the treasures purported to be there were as well. And he
was going to be the man that proved it so. Still her words lingered and seemed
to press on him, making him feel uncomfortable.
He flung off
the seatbelt and shifted in his seat.
Why did he let
her get him like that? Make him double guess himself? He found himself gripping
the wheel more tightly than needed.
“I’m just going
to stop telling her everything.”
A little
less transparency in their relationship , he thought, that might help . He
really needed to rein her in.
The sun was
hanging low in the sky and the satisfaction he had felt when he picked up his
permits was starting to dissipate. He closed his eyes and tried to control his
emotions. He wanted to block out her words. He wanted to block out any thoughts
of this ‘not being real.’
The sound of
Giza’s traffic – fast paced cars and slow moving donkeys - came in through the
window and seemed to add to his irritation. He rolled up the window, and turned
on the radio. He stabbed at the touchscreen with his finger selecting “MP3
Player.” Music started and the pulsating beat of the song’s intro pushed in on
the bass coming from his speakers. The sudden, supervening guitar rift roused
him.
Eye of the
Tiger by Survivor.
He sat up and
cranked up the volume. Bouncing his body and head with each beat, he bit on his
lower lip, closed his eyes and let the music seep down in through him.
Boomp,
boomp, boomp . He tapped out the beat with his fingers on the dashboard.
Quietly he
mouthed out the lyrics as they started. Then he rolled back his head and with
each repetition of the anthem-like chorus he shouted louder and louder.
Midway through,
he jerked the car into gear and pulled off, rolling the window back down he
sang loud enough to drown all the discordant sounds of traffic in Giza.
With a hard
right turn, he headed toward the Plateau.
Slanted bands
of the sun’s rays pushed through a mass of dense, white clouds and fanned the
haze of the last daylight across the plateau.
It was
beautiful. And , Aaron thought, prophetic .
He climbed out
of his Land Rover. Pushed up the sleeves of his white broadcloth shirt and
walked toward the Sphinx.
Today the rope
barrier stopped him from getting up close and personal.
But that would
soon change.
As the song
that he’d just listened to professed, he had the guts and now he was going to
get the glory.
He had done
good. And he knew it. He got the permit he needed and he was going to be the
one that discovered the find of the century. And it didn’t matter how he got
the permission, he had it.
He took in a
deep breath, and stuck out his chest. From his sweat and tears, he, like the
ancient Egyptian god Ra, was a self-made man who would breathe life into the
history hid in those dark, damp catacombs.
He raised his
hands, his arms outstretched toward the setting sun that peeked out as if
giving a reverent acknowledgment to an old friend. He tilted his head back and
stared into the sky. He felt as if he were the God Ra, come back to life to
show
shifted the gear down, came to a stop and put the car in park. He sat behind
the wheel, an obvious pout on his face, and stroked the stubble across his
cheek and down his jawline.
“Shit.”
Placing his
straw panama on the sit next to him, he leaned back on the head rest and wiped
the perspiration off his brow. It wasn’t the sweat from the heat but from the
apprehension he was feeling.
He really
shouldn’t let Laura get to him like she did. He did what he needed to do and he
didn’t need her approval. This was the way he got things done. She knew it. She
stayed with him. He hadn’t actually had to kill anyone. Yet. The government
official that he had threatened and his daughter were spending the evening
together with her no wiser and him sitting on a pile of cash.
And she
certainly had no idea about what she was trying to insinuate. The Hall of
Records was real. And the treasures purported to be there were as well. And he
was going to be the man that proved it so. Still her words lingered and seemed
to press on him, making him feel uncomfortable.
He flung off
the seatbelt and shifted in his seat.
Why did he let
her get him like that? Make him double guess himself? He found himself gripping
the wheel more tightly than needed.
“I’m just going
to stop telling her everything.”
A little
less transparency in their relationship , he thought, that might help . He
really needed to rein her in.
The sun was
hanging low in the sky and the satisfaction he had felt when he picked up his
permits was starting to dissipate. He closed his eyes and tried to control his
emotions. He wanted to block out her words. He wanted to block out any thoughts
of this ‘not being real.’
The sound of
Giza’s traffic – fast paced cars and slow moving donkeys - came in through the
window and seemed to add to his irritation. He rolled up the window, and turned
on the radio. He stabbed at the touchscreen with his finger selecting “MP3
Player.” Music started and the pulsating beat of the song’s intro pushed in on
the bass coming from his speakers. The sudden, supervening guitar rift roused
him.
Eye of the
Tiger by Survivor.
He sat up and
cranked up the volume. Bouncing his body and head with each beat, he bit on his
lower lip, closed his eyes and let the music seep down in through him.
Boomp,
boomp, boomp . He tapped out the beat with his fingers on the dashboard.
Quietly he
mouthed out the lyrics as they started. Then he rolled back his head and with
each repetition of the anthem-like chorus he shouted louder and louder.
Midway through,
he jerked the car into gear and pulled off, rolling the window back down he
sang loud enough to drown all the discordant sounds of traffic in Giza.
With a hard
right turn, he headed toward the Plateau.
Slanted bands
of the sun’s rays pushed through a mass of dense, white clouds and fanned the
haze of the last daylight across the plateau.
It was
beautiful. And , Aaron thought, prophetic .
He climbed out
of his Land Rover. Pushed up the sleeves of his white broadcloth shirt and
walked toward the Sphinx.
Today the rope
barrier stopped him from getting up close and personal.
But that would
soon change.
As the song
that he’d just listened to professed, he had the guts and now he was going to
get the glory.
He had done
good. And he knew it. He got the permit he needed and he was going to be the
one that discovered the find of the century. And it didn’t matter how he got
the permission, he had it.
He took in a
deep breath, and stuck out his chest. From his sweat and tears, he, like the
ancient Egyptian god Ra, was a self-made man who would breathe life into the
history hid in those dark, damp catacombs.
He raised his
hands, his arms outstretched toward the setting sun that peeked out as if
giving a reverent acknowledgment to an old friend. He tilted his head back and
stared into the sky. He felt as if he were the God Ra, come back to life to
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