Page 92 of Johan.

Dean Pembroke’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. “That’s a serious accusation, Miss van den Bosch. What kind of proof do you have?”

I reach into my bag and pull out a folder, placing it on his desk. “Photos, videos, and voice recordings,” I say. “Johan recorded everything during their recent expedition. Ludovic has been selling valuable artifacts on the black market.”

The Dean opens the folder, his expression growing more serious as he examines the contents. He looks at the photos, listens to snippets of the recordings, and reads the transcripts.His face goes from disbelief to shock and finally to a grim understanding.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with a mix of anger and betrayal. “Ludovic has been a pillar of our community. How could he...?”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” I say gently, “but we need to act quickly. Johan said you should call him to discuss this further. He also mentioned notifying Professor Anderson to ensure we’re not caught by surprise.”

Dean Pembroke nods slowly, still processing the information. He reaches for his phone, his hand shaking slightly. “I’ll call Johan right away,” he says, his voice steadier now, but the underlying tension still evident.

As he dials the number, I can see the weight of the situation settling on him. The room feels heavier, the gravity of our conversation pressing down on us. He listens to the phone ring and then, “Johan, it’s Dean Pembroke. I’ve just seen the evidence. We need to talk.”

He puts the phone on speaker, and I hear Johan’s voice, calm but urgent. “Dean Pembroke, thank you for calling. I’ve only five minutes before checking out. I know this is a lot to take in, but we need to act quickly. Ludovic cannot be allowed to continue this.”

“I understand, Johan,” the Dean replies. “What do you need from me?”

“First, make sure Professor Anderson is aware of what’s happening. We need to ensure the integrity of our work and the safety of our team. Then, we need to coordinate with law enforcement. Ludovic must be held accountable for his actions.”

“Should we also notify the Omani government?” Dean Pembroke asks.

“Ludovic has got a few allies in Oman, including the ambassador. I’m going to speak to Rachid, the Omani rep we have on site. He seems legit. I will keep you updated.”

The Dean nods, though Johan can’t see it. “I’ll take care of the local authorities on my end, then. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“I appreciate it,” Johan says, his voice filled with relief. “And thank you, Hannah, for putting us in touch. Stay safe.”

“You too,” I reply, my heart swelling with pride for Johan and the steps we’re taking together.

The Dean hangs up the phone and looks at me, his expression resolute. “This is going to be a difficult road, but it’s the right thing to do. Thank you for your bravery, Miss van den Bosch.”

“Thank you, Dean Pembroke,” I say, standing up. “I’ll keep you updated on any further developments.”

As I leave the office, I feel a sense of determination. We’ve taken a crucial step in bringing Ludovic to justice, and though the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, I know we’re on the right path. The cool air outside feels invigorating, a reminder that despite the darkness, there is always a way forward.

36

Johan

After stayingin London for two days, we return to Muscat and head straight back to our camp near Shisr in a private airplane. The roar of the aircraft’s engines fills my ears as we soar above the sprawling desert, the vast sea of sand stretching out endlessly below us. The sun blazes in the sky, its relentless heat seeping into the plane despite the air conditioning.

As we land on a makeshift airstrip near Shisr, the airplane’s wheels kick up clouds of fine sand, and the heat hits us like a physical force as we step out onto the tarmac. The dry, scorching air feels like it’s sucking the moisture from my skin. I shield my eyes from the glaring sunlight with my hand, squinting at the familiar landscape of sand dunes and rocky outcrops. The stark beauty of the desert is marred only by the oppressive heat.

Every muscle in my body aches with fatigue from the long journey. My eyes feel heavy, and my movements are sluggish as we make our way back to the camp. The cool, shaded interiors of our tents offer some respite, but the ever-present heat lingers, even in the shade.

As we arrive, I notice the tight-lipped expressions and the way conversations abruptly hush when we enter the central tent. Ludovic’s stern gaze sweeps across the room, and without a word, he gestures for us to gather around the large table where maps and artifacts are spread out. The cool air from the generator-powered fans is a welcome relief from the outside heat, but the subtle hum of the fans seems to amplify the unspoken tension, making the air feel thick and uneasy. The slight breeze they create feels heavenly on my sweat-dampened skin, yet it does little to ease the knot tightening in my stomach.

Ludovic stands at the head of the table, his expression stern. “I want everyone to focus on finding the Star of Ubar,” he announces, his voice brooking no argument. “We've had enough delays. This is our top priority.”

I exchange glances with Lukas, his face mirroring my own determination. We nod in agreement, though for different reasons than Ludovic might expect.

As the meeting wraps up, I discreetly catch Rachid’s eye and signal for him to meet me later after dinner in my tent. He nods subtly, understanding the urgency.

Dinner passes with a sense of subdued anticipation. The camp is quieter than usual, everyone focused on their tasks and the importance of our mission. After the meal, I make my way back to my tent, the chill of the desert night seeping through my clothes.

A little later, Rachid steps into my tent, closing the door behind him. The dim light casts long shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of secrecy. The faint hum of the generator outside is a constant reminder of our isolation.

Rachid looks around, slightly tense. “What's going on, Johan?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. He crosses his arms, his brow furrowed.

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