In the year 2003, Hannibal Gorman, a C.
ranking official, descended from his Jeep carefully.
he saw a gleam of light, reflecting .
from the white marble walls of the .
ruins he was going to investigate. He .
took out his binoculars and studied .
the image of the ruins through the .
viewfinder. They were only a few .
hundred meters away.
He then proceeded to disentangle the tight cords that bound his quad bike to the trailer. Once that was finished, he gathered all of his equipment together and set off in the direction of the ruins. .
He stopped about ten meters from the first old column. He went over to it, pulled out a small electrical drill from inside his left jacket pocket, inserted into the marble and took a small sample. He did the same with four other sculptures and then made to go back to his jeep.
"Well,"" he said aloud, more to hear.
his own voice rather than anything .
else, "that should keep McNeill happy for a few .
As he trudged on through the gleaming white sand, he felt his limbs plunge through a piece of unfastened sand, causing him to lose equilibrium and collapse. .
"Damn- he remarked exasperatingly. He feet were wedged firm in the sand. He tried with all of his strength to move his foot. He managed to haul it a few inches. Nevertheless, as he did so, he felt the sand recede and something profoundly heavy fall onto his feet. He yelped in pain and impulsively began pushing away all the sand to ascertain what damage had occurred. .
After a few more minutes of frantic burrowing, he was able to drag his legs out. He examined them closely. It was only a sprain in his left ankle - not anything major. He had holiday time coming up anyway. He would rest his leg then.
He then focused his attention on the box in front of him. Half of it was still submerged beneath the surface. He hauled out into the open and began to study it. It had a thick outer green layer that felt like velvet when touched.