The Adventures of Eric and Ursula
An Extra-Ordinary Beginning
A.D. Winch
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This work is registered with the UK Copyright Service (UKCS):
Registration No: 292412
Published by A.D. Winch, 2013
2nd edition
Text copyright A.D. Winch, 2012
Book Cover image copyright K.J. Winch, 2012
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Contents
Chapter 1 – Painful Memories
Chapter 2 – On the Rooftops of Paris
Chapter 3 – Parents Pet Project
Chapter 4 – The Competition Entries
Chapter 5- Au revoir
Chapter 6 – Find the Treasure
Chapter 7 - Turbulence
Chapter 8 – The Meyer’s Cellar
Chapter 9 – Return to Roswell
Chapter 10 – Prague Anglo-International School
Chapter 11 - Opening
Chapter 12 – Christmas Cheer
Chapter 13 – The Race around Champex Lake
Chapter 14 – Recovery Time
Chapter 15 – The Thaw
Chapter 16 – Breaking News
Chapter 17 – Reporting Back
Chapter 18 – Return to Saint Denis
Chapter 19 – Back from the Dead
Chapter 20 - Pursued
Chapter 21 – Who are you
Chapter 22 – Professor Larsen’s Story
Chapter 23 - Explanations
Chapter 24 – House Arrest
Chapter 25 – Escape to Pompeii
Chapter 26 – Under Observation
Chapter 27 – The Missing Pod
Chapter 28 – Rendez-vous
Chapter 29 – Victory or defeat?
Chapter 30 - Reunion
Chapter 31 – Disc Five
Chapter 32 – Three months later
About the author
Other books by A.D. Winch on Smashwords
Connect with me online
Preview of book 2: Survival Instinct
Acknowledgements
Note from the author
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Chapter 1 – Painful Memories
The explosion ripped through the European Space Station with the speed of a bullet. Over one hundred metres of metal, plastic, complicated circuitry and solar panels were silently reduced to a billion new satellites orbiting the earth. Hidden amongst the debris were two platinum pods. They had been shot away from the space station just before the explosion; into the Earth’s atmosphere and onto their programmed locations.
Moments earlier Professor Larsen had blinked back a tear. She watched through sky blue eyes as her lifetime’s work left her forever and escaped the coming disaster. She had expected this to happen, had accepted the fact and was only thankful that it had taken them this long to find her. She hoped she had done enough.
In the Main Control Room at the European Space Operations Centre in Germany, everybody was in shock. The sudden disappearance of the biggest European space project in history was met with disbelieving gasps and then the control room came to life. Technicians, scientists and computer experts searched hurriedly for the cause of the problem. No one believed that a space station could suddenly vanish. Computers were rebooted, millions of lines of software code were scanned for bugs, radar positions were checked and the tracking stations of the ESTRACK network were contacted. The two stations in Australia were unable to locate the missing satellite and the same was true of those in Kenya, French Guinea, Sweden and Spain.
In desperation, NASA was contacted. They did not answer the call.
It soon became clear that there was no glitch in the system. A powerful, digital telescope in Belgium was trained on the coordinates where the space station should have been. As these images appeared on the large screens, the busy movements and conversations began to peter out as people turned to look.
A hush fell over the room, broken only by the voice of a skinny scientist who wouldn’t give up on the woman who had always been there for him. Speaking calmly, patiently and expectantly he repeated the same words over and over again.
“Professor Larsen, this is ESOC, please come in. Professor Larsen, this is ESOC, please come in. Professor Larsen...”
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Alexander wiped his eyes so that the other passengers wouldn’t see he had been crying. The memories of over ten years ago still haunted him, and his fears from that terrible day in the Operations Centre had made him paranoid that he too was being hunted.
The two platinum pods had raced towards Europe but Alexander had found only one of them. He had buried it and had to hope that it would never be dug up. The pod’s priceless cargo was fortunately intact and had to be hidden. It couldn’t be buried but Alexander had concealed it where, he hoped, no one would think to look.
He had done his best to cover his tracks, but Alexander doubted that only he knew of the full events surrounding the explosion. Every day he worried that the platinum pods would be discovered by the people he feared most – people who would exploit its cargo for their own, unknown purposes. He had to find the second pod and its cargo before they did.
“Mr Almas, please put on your seat belt. We’re about to land,” instructed the air hostess.
It took a second for Alexander to realise that she was talking to him. He was always slower to respond when travelling under a false identity.
The plane began its final descent into Paris.
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Chapter 2 - On the Rooftops of Paris
Ursula stood on the flat roof of the Palais Omnisports indoor stadium. Four floors below was the busy Boulevard de Bercy but up on the roof all was calm. Her black pony tail reached the warm tiles on which she sat and she could feel the heat through the holes in her jeans. A thin layer of moisture stuck her white vest to her back and, as she wiped her dirty hands across its front, railway tracks of grey appeared where her ribs protruded. From her stomach came a deep rumbling. She tried to ignore it as she had more important things to think about. Gingerly she placed her dark hand into the front pocket of her grubby jeans. As her bony fingers felt the edge of the small cardboard box she let out a sigh of relief and lay back to look at the sky.
It was a beautiful day in Paris. The sky was bright blue and fluffy clouds drifted aimlessly, creating shapes for anyone who had a mind to see them. Ursula loved watching the clouds. She fixed her chocolate brown eyes upon them and before long could make out a fire-breathing dragon, a long-eared rabbit and the outline of Italy. These gradually became a horse on a cold day, a round teddy bear and a lady’s pointed boot, before merging together and blowing into the distance.
Her grandmother and neighbours had been moaning about the heat since it had risen to tropical temperatures three weeks previously. It was the subject of conversation every time they met on the graffiti covered passageways outside their flats. Anyone nearby would happily join in with their own opinions on the, ‘stifling temperatures.’ At first Ursula had been honest and told the adults how much she loved the heat and felt energized by the sun. However, after the tuts, disapproving looks and comments such as, ‘you’re only eleven, you wait until you’re our age,’ she decided it was probably best to agree and just enjoy the sun in private.
For Ursula, nowhere was more private than the rooftops of Paris. She would have liked to have been there with someone else but no one she knew could do the things she could do. Her grandparents had said that her skills were genetic and as she had no other explanations, she had to believe them.
High above the busy streets, tooting cars, grumpy commuters, lost tourists and stressed shoppers she was alone. Behind billboards, advertising products people did not need, she felt safe. There was no disapproving glances or nasty comments and she was hidden away from prying eyes. She relaxed, took the little Sudoku book and pencil from her back pocket, flicked to the only one she had not yet completed and rolled onto her front to do it. As the sun beat down on her back her brain came to life and she set about solving the puzzle in front of her. It was rated ‘very difficult’. Within two minutes it was almost complete. She wrote the last number in a small square on the page and allowed a thin smile of satisfaction to creep across her slim face. Just a bit longer then I’ll go home, she thought to herself, appreciating her solitude. However Ursula was not completely alone, she was being watched. On a tall floodlight overlooking the advertising boards was a CCTV camera and it was trained firmly on the Palais roof.
“Geez, this kid is something else,” exclaimed Agent Hoover in the near darkness.
He relaxed his bloated body into the swivel chair that was his home every day.
“I mean she’s a worthless thieving little punk, who deserves a brief stretch in the joint, but you’ve got to admire her style.”
He sat forward again, placed his podgy elbows on the glass desk in front of him, rested his head in his swollen hands and watched.
Ursula returned the pencil and book to her back pocket and sat up, unaware of the attention she was receiving. She was on a small screen marked ‘Boulevard de Bercy, Paris, France.’ Surrounding it, on a wall the size of a tennis court, were thousands upon thousands of similar tiny screens all marked with the names of streets, towns and countries in Europe. The flickering pictures provided the only light in the air-conditioned room and reflected off Agent Hoover’s blotchy red face. Behind him, lurking in the shadows, a short sinewy figure remained silent. Agent Hoover continued talking to himself.
“I tell you something for nothing. Next time I see her I’m going to bring her down, she may be a skinny little runt but that’s about twelve drug stores she’s held up now.”
Suddenly, he felt as if someone had just stabbed his brain with a pin and then he heard his own voice in his head.
“We are not looking for juvenile, petty criminals in France.”
He pulled his eyes away from the screen showing Ursula, slumped back in his chair and took in all the screens in front of him. He did not know how he could watch and process so many at once but he thanked the stars and stripes that he had been born into this TV nation.
Ursula stood up and walked across the tiles on the gym roof. Without making a sound she knelt down beside a large skylight and peered into the indoor stadium below. The Palais Omnisports was holding a gymnastic event. Parallel bars, high bars, hoops, beams, a blue floor mat, and a host of other gymnastic equipment filled the arena. Around the edges, underneath flags and billboards, people clapped and applauded. In the centre, two boys stood on a podium with a bronze and silver medal around their necks. They belonged to a world that Ursula dreamed of joining but she knew she would never be welcomed into it. She loved her home and her family but she hated being part of les exclus: the people whom no one wanted.
Upset by her thoughts Ursula crept back from the skylight. She jumped up purposefully, twisted before she landed and ran towards the blue, metal supports that crisscrossed around the edge of the arena’s roof. The moment she reached the edge she sprang up like a cat and launched herself into the air. From the Palais below, she heard a man’s nasal voice announce that the gold medal winner in the under thirteen category was Eric Meyer.
Eric walked confidently towards the other two medal winners with his head held high. He brushed his blond hair away from his high forehead and used the movement as an excuse to look briefly at the audience. He could not see his parents but it was a big crowd and he decided to look again once he was on the podium. Eric jumped up on to the step reserved for the gold medal winner. He raised his toned arm in the air and while acknowledging the clapping and cheering, slowly turned on the spot. His dark brown eyes searched the audience as he turned but his parents were nowhere to be seen. On the outside, his body remained tall and powerful but on the inside Eric deflated.
“Please welcome today’s sponsor who will present the gold medal,” said the announcer over the stadium’s speaker system.
A grey-haired man in an ill-fitting grey suit approached Eric. The tender skin on Eric’s palms stung as the man limply shook his hand. Together they posed for the cameras which flashed around them. Eric then bowed towards the sponsor and his prize was placed delicately over this head. The ribbon slid over his ears and the gold medal hung, swinging from his neck. As he stood up to his full height he saw his nanny, maid and driver, standing beside the exit. Her skin was so pale that she stood out in a crowd, especially in the summer time when everyone else was sporting a tan. She wasn’t his parents but at least someone Eric knew had been there to see him win. In fact Miss Duna, or Andrea as she liked to be called, was always there. Whether it was picking Eric up from school or gymnastic competitions or sports matches or guitar performances it didn’t matter, she was there.
The national anthem began and flags, half the size of the adverts that ringed the area, began their slow journey towards the ceiling. Eric lowered his head respectfully and stared at his feet.
It was always better to look down than try to sing along, he thought.
He knew the words but also knew that he couldn’t sing and hated the idea of making a fool of himself in front of a large crowd, or anyone for that matter. To the spectators he looked like a model gymnast, tall and slim with muscles starting to develop on his young body. He also looked deep in thought. Most people watching felt he was enjoying this winning moment but he wasn’t.