Page 87 of Johan.

After breakfast, Rachid and I head out into the desert. The heat is already intense, but there’s a dry, clean quality to it thatmakes it bearable. The scent of the sand, mixed with occasional whiffs of wild desert herbs, fills the air. We walk toward the excavation site, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the soft sand.

As we approach, the site comes into full view. It's a sprawling area, dotted with partially unearthed structures and the remnants of ancient walls. The centerpiece is a large, crumbling temple, its stone pillars still standing tall against the desert sky, though worn by centuries of wind and sand. Around the temple, smaller buildings and houses are emerging from the sands, their foundations revealing the layout of what was once a bustling city. Piles of pottery shards and fragments of stone tools are meticulously sorted on tables under makeshift awnings, providing a glimpse into daily life in this lost civilization.

Workers move carefully among the ruins, brushing away sand and documenting their findings. The air is filled with the soft scrape of brushes against stone and the occasional murmur of excitement as a new artifact is uncovered. The ruins speak of a place once filled with life and activity, now a silent testament to the passage of time.

As we reach the heart of the site, Rachid starts to speak, his voice carrying a mix of pride and reverence. “This is Shisr, believed to be the legendary city of Ubar. Many stories speak of its wealth and eventual demise. Some call it the Atlantis of the Sands.”

He tells me tales of ancient traders, lost caravans, and the city’s mysterious disappearance. His words paint vivid pictures of a bustling, vibrant hub in the heart of the desert, now reduced to ruins and sand. I can almost hear the echoes of ancient voices and the clinking of trade goods.

I ask Rachid where he’s from, and he smiles, his eyes reflecting the vastness of the desert around us. “I’m from a smallvillage near Salalah. I grew up hearing all these stories about the lost civilization. It’s part of our heritage, our identity.”

As he continues to share the legends, I feel a deep connection forming with this place. The history, the stories, and the sheer mystery of it all captivate me. This desert, so vast and seemingly empty, is filled with secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Later, as the sun climbs higher and the heat becomes almost unbearable, I see Ludovic at one of the excavation sites. He’s crouched down, carefully examining a piece of pottery. He looks up and waves me over.

“Johan, come take a look at this,” he calls out, his voice filled with excitement.

I walk over through the buzz of the active worksite, the sounds of brushes against stone and muted conversations blending into the background. As I reach Ludovic, he hands me the piece of pottery, its surface etched with intricate designs.

“This is incredible,” I say, marveling at the artifact. “The craftsmanship is remarkable.”

Ludovic nods, his eyes twinkling. “This is just the beginning. Imagine what else we might find here.”

The thrill of discovery pulses through me. In this vast, mysterious desert, we’re uncovering pieces of a lost world. And I can’t wait to see what we’ll find next.

The first week in the desert is a whirlwind of activity and acclimatization. The endless expanse of sand, punctuated by the occasional rocky outcrop, is both beautiful and intimidating. Our camp is a hive of activity as we set up our base and begin our preliminary surveys.

As I stand near the edge of our camp with Rachid, our local guide and liaison, observing the horizon, the golden hues of the setting sun cast long shadows across the dunes. The heat of the day is beginning to wane, replaced by the cooler desert evening. The quiet, punctuated by the occasional call of a bird or the distant hum of an engine, is almost serene.

Rachid’s presence is a constant reassurance; his knowledge of the area and connections with the local populace are invaluable to our mission. We are discussing the layout of the site when something catches my eye in the distance.

There, amidst a cluster of tents, I see Ludovic himself, unmistakable in his tailored safari gear, welcoming a group of Omani men. They are clearly important, surrounded by an entourage of armed security. The Omani men are dressed in traditional dishdashas, long white robes that flow elegantly to their ankles. Their heads are adorned with intricately wrapped turbans, and some wear the kummah, a type of cap richly embroidered with geometric patterns. A few of them wear the Bisht, a flowing cloak, and the most distinguished among them have beautifully crafted khanjars at their waists, their hilts inlaid with precious metals and stones. These garments signal their high status, possibly even royal lineage.

Ludovic greets them with exaggerated warmth, shaking hands and inviting them into a large, luxurious tent. Armed guards stand at the entrance, their eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly.

“Who are these men?” I ask Rachid, my curiosity piqued.

“They seem to be Ludovic’s friends,” Rachid answers simply.

“Friends?”

Rachid nods, his expression unreadable. “Well, Ludovic already led an expedition here two decades ago. It’s normal that he’s got a lot of friends here now.”

“Are they part of the royal family or something?” I press, trying to understand the depth of Ludovic’s connections.

“Maybe cousins,” Rachid answers with a smile. “In these parts, family ties run deep and wide.”

As I watch the scene unfold, understanding dawns on me. Ludovic has embedded himself deeply within the local power structures. These aren’t just friends; they are potential allies, perhaps even eventual buyers of the artifacts we are seeking. If I want to report Ludovic to the authorities, I might find less protection here in Oman than I would in the UK. The private interests of wealthy individuals seem to overshadow the archaeological significance of our findings.

The realization is sobering. Ludovic’s network extends far beyond what I had imagined. His influence is not just financial but also deeply rooted in the local culture and politics. Reporting him to the local authorities would be fraught with danger and complications, potentially placing our entire mission at risk.

As the evening progresses, I return to our camp, my mind racing with this new information. The team is gathered around the central tent, discussing the day’s findings.

“Lukas,” I call, spotting him near the equipment tent. He looks up, his face lighting up with a smile. “We need to talk.”

We move away from the main group, finding a quiet spot under the stars. I recount what I have seen, sharing my concerns about Ludovic’s connections and the potential dangers we face.

Lukas listens intently, his expression growing serious. “This complicates things,” he says softly. “But it doesn’t change our mission. We need to stay focused and cautious. I’ll inform Amelia.”

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