Maxim Gunn and the Stolen Waters by Nicholas Boving

Author:Nicholas Boving
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, young adult, scotland, action adventure, atlantis, taurus, maxim gunn, atlanteans
Publisher: Nicholas Boving

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Prime Minister didn’t believe a word of it. “Some bloody crank, Minister,” he said contemptuously, throwing the document on top of the empty CD player. “What did they call themselves . . ?”

“Cleitans, Prime Minister.”

“More like Cretins, eh? They seriously expect anyone to believe that kind of rubbish. Anyway, who are the Cleitans?”

The Minister who, unlike his leader, had had a first class classical education, delicately scratched his left ear. “It’s another name for the people of Atlantis.”

The Prime Minister stared in disbelief. “Hah! I’ll give them damned Atlantis.” He gestured at the paper with its detailed demands. “We know where that came from?”

“Yes, Prime Minister: the West of Scotland.”

“There,” came the triumphant reply, “what did I tell you. Probably Nationalists trying something on.” The Prime Minister, who was not known for either his intelligence or sensitivity, was satisfied the solution had been found and was about to move onto more important things when the Minister interrupted.

“The film is genuine, Prime Minister.”

“So, it’s genuine. Never heard of those dreadful porno movies, what do they call them, snuff or something?”

“No,” replied the Minister, firmly. “Anyway, these Cleitans demand an answer by midnight or they say copies of the film will be sent to the media. You can’t afford the kind of frenzy that’ll set off.”

The Prime Minister sat back and viewed his Minister from beneath lowered lids. “You threatening me, George?”

“God forbid.” The Minister knew which side was up, and they always ended up using first names when the stakes got high. “A statement, Charles. The Party’s in enough trouble as it is, and what with the thing in Manchester, Northern Ireland resurfacing, a nine point drop in the polls and the Home Secretary’s philanderings, I’d say it’d be about the last nail in the coffin.”

He received a resigned nod in reply. “Do what’s necessary. But for God’s sake keep it under wraps.” The Prime Minister got up, went to the fireplace and stared blankly at the flames. He turned. “I think we’ll call it a day.”

The Minister agreed thankfully, gathered up his papers and the CD, and left the room for his own office where he immediately began to make phone calls. Half an hour later, and to his surprise, he had tracked Maxim Gunn down to the place in question.

“What the hell are you doing up there, Maxim?” He asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Bits of this and bits of that. A little fishing, a little delving into peculiar happenings.”

“Well, I’ve got a damned peculiar happening I’d appreciate your delving into.”

“Can you tell me over the phone?”

“Don’t see why not. Or at least I can tell you bits. Does the name Cleitan mean anything to you?”

Maxim Gunn stiffened. “Oh my God!”

“What’s the matter? I say something wrong?”

“No,” said Gunn. “Just tell me all. Leave out nothing, George, there’s a good fellow.”

Ten minutes later the Minister was a few shades whiter under his Antibes tan. “You mean this isn’t some sick joke? These lizard things actually exist?”

“Indeed they do.

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