Father’s Keeper: An Irish Myth, Never Before Told

168 Pages·2017·0.82 MB·English

by  Paul Heron

Father's Keeper
The Second Renaissance, Volume 2
Paul Heron
Published by Sirani Publishing Limited, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are
entirely coincidental.
FATHER'S KEEPER
First edition. September 24, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Paul Heron.
Written by Paul Heron.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Father's Keeper (The Second Renaissance, #2)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
About the Author
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Chapter One
MICHAEL'S EYES SHOT open with the impact from the landing. This was
swiftly followed by a nervous apology from Alban. Michael had sunk into his
heated leather seat, and one thing was certain, he didn’t want to move. He
couldn't feel his exhausted limbs; this was the most he'd been able to rest
since they’d left Little Camberly. He rubbed his neck which had stiffened up
during the flight, lucky Alban’s landing didn’t add whiplash to his condition.
‘That guy needs to get landing lessons,’ Mohammad shouted.
Michael sniggered. In their current situation, he thought he could either
laugh or cry. He felt like crying but knew that wouldn’t do any good. He
turned his head and looked to his right; his relaxed body ensured he didn't
move anything but his head. He found Sofia still sleeping, resting her head on
his shoulder. He didn’t want to wake her. He wanted to sleep, too, and not
wake up. Or wake up and be in Ireland in his own bed with no such thing as
Little Camberly, Sirani Foundation, or Mancini Corporation.
Then he looked around the cabin at everyone else. All the friends he’d
made. And Abbe, the Mayan lad who’d helped them get to Bonampak.
Michael hoped Abbe and his tribe would be safe.
Emotionally drained, he looked for whatever positive he could find. Not
much. But the people in his life now, the people who’d also had their lives
turned upside down, they were what he was grateful for. After only four days
with them, Michael had been through more than most people go through in a
lifetime. He looked at Marcel, sleeping with his shades on, like a celebrity.
He peered through the window and saw that they had landed in another
private estate. This one surrounded by high walls and trees. It looked more
like the clubhouse of a prestigious golf course. He didn’t know their location
until he looked at his phone and discovered a message from George.
Have a safe journey, rest and text me when you get to France.
‘France?’ Michael shouted to Alban. ‘What part of France are we in?’ He
yawned, rubbing his eyes as Sofia lifted her head.
‘South coast,’ Alban shouted. Jumping up from his seat, he grabbed his
jacket that was hanging up behind the cockpit door. ‘We’re in Marseille. And
I need to sleep,’ he mumbled through a yawn, eyes half closed as he
staggered towards the cabin door. Opening the door woke the rest up.
‘Where are we?’ Ajit mumbled.
‘France,’ replied Scarlett, standing up and stretching her long, thin arms
as if reaching for the ceiling. ‘Let’s go get some proper rest. We'll need to get
to work later today.’
‘We can't sleep now,’ Carolina groaned. ‘It’s only half nine in the
morning; our body clocks will be a mess.’ She looked at Marcel who was still
sleeping. ‘Wake up sleeping beauty,’ she flicked his nose and then shook
him. ‘I swear he'd sleep through an explosion.’
Ajit laughed. ‘Not an explosion, but Alban's landing isn’t far off.’
Michael peeled himself off the leather recliner and broke into an
enormous stretch. As he stood up, his six feet frame stretched so much that
his joints almost shifted. His lanky arms touched the fabric covered ceiling.
He looked at Eduardo who was quiet, looking more nervous and out of place
than ever.
‘Let’s go, amigo,’ Michael slapped Eduardo across the chest. He could
see Eduardo didn’t sleep well, if at all. ‘We’ll figure this out, together.’
Michael felt the least he could do was comfort Eduardo; he still felt guilty. It
was his fault Eduardo was kidnapped.
‘Together,’ Eduardo mumbled, looking at the ground as if he didn’t
exactly believe his own words. He wrapped his England football scarf around
his neck and crawled inside the sleeves of his jacket. Comfort was what
Michael - like Eduardo with his woollen garment – was longing for.
‘Yes, together!’ Mohammad shouted. ‘That’s what Elisabetta wanted!’
Scarlett’s phone rang as she disembarked the aircraft. ‘Bonjour, Nicole.
Yes, we’ve arrived at the house. I’m going to ask the cook to prepare some
breakfast. Then we’ll try to make sense of everything.’ She turned her head
and looked at Michael who was standing directly behind her. When she
looked at him, Michael felt his stomach churn. ‘We need to keep these guys
hidden until we sort this mess out.’
‘Mess, understatement!’ Marcel said. ‘We’re stuck looking like this, and
now involved in a murder.’ He looked at Sofia. ‘You did the right thing,
Sofia. It was either Michael or Garcia. We all would have done the same.’
The group all agreed.
Sofia smiled. ‘Grazie!’
‘Sofia, George will want to chat to you about what happened with
Garcia.’ Scarlett said as they all strolled across the garden towards the house.
‘Doing something like that takes a lot of courage, Sofia, you should be
proud.’
‘I am.’ Carolina rubbed Sofia’s shoulder to comfort her.
‘But it’s only natural to feel traumatised by it. So, George will just want
to have you all assessed to see if you're all okay.’ Scarlett pulled the house
key from her purse, ‘we need you guys to be strong – both physically and
mentally – for whatever is ahead of us. We hadn’t planned for this.’ She
opened the door and punched the security code into the alarm panel.
Michael entered directly behind Scarlett. He thought the houses in
Guatemala and Little Camberly couldn’t have been better. He was proven
wrong when Scarlett clapped her hands. The lights came, followed by some
music. White fabric blinds slowly dropped down, along the floor-to-ceiling
windows, blocking the outside world. Varnished wooden flooring ran
throughout, with a huge entrance and a spiralling staircase. A moose head
mounted on the wall to the left added to the house’s character.
‘There’s a friend of yours,’ Marcel joked to Mohammad. ‘Why don’t you
go say hi? Maybe command it to do something.’
Mohammad laughed sarcastically. ‘How about shit on your head!’
Sofia sniggered.
‘Scarlett, how do you afford these places?’ Carolina asked as they all
followed her across the entrance hall towards a door that led into the kitchen.
‘I mean, these houses must cost a fortune.’ She took off her jacket, throwing
it down on a white piano beside the kitchen door as if making herself at
home.
‘The house in England and the one in Guatemala – they're mine.’ Scarlett
walked straight over to a Costa machine. ‘But the Sirani Foundation has
houses all over the world.’ She grabbed a coffee as if desperate for a caffeine
fix. ‘This is all at your disposal. As Elisabetta said: you seven are the Sirani
Foundation.’
Michael sat down at the breakfast bar in the middle of the room. It was
big enough to house an apartment. ‘It’s nice we have all this to enjoy.’ He
looked at Ajit who was quieter than usual. ‘But, we need to fix this mess or
all this will be gone, so right now, all this means nothing.’
They all sat down at the bar.