CHAPTER ONE

West Sahara Desert, North Africa

June 2006

Charlie Ford ground his booted foot onto the brake

pedal, and the Jeep skidded to a halt, clouds of sand

seeping in through the open windows. Ford was a

muscular man, but not overly so. Less of an Ah-nuld

and more of a... a Lance Armstrong. Not that Ford

would have a chance in hell of winning the Tour de

France six times in a row (or winning it, period), but

still...

He popped the top off a canteen and took a swig,

pouring the rest over the top of his head.

“What the bloody hell are you doing? We need that, you

idiot!”

Charlie glanced over at the man in the driver’s seat.

Liam Skerry was neither an Ah-nuld or an Armstrong. He

was more of a.... Charlie struggled for an accurate

analogy. A.... Bill Gates? No, the Microsoft founder

had put on a few pounds. He was chubby. So Liam was

your quintessential nerd. No glasses, braces, or

pocket protectors, but he was. And it was driving

Charlie insane.

“I said what the hell are you doing? I-” Liam threw up

his hands in anger- “I can’t work with this!”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, man. Have

you forgotten the five gallons of water I packed

before we set out on this stupid road trip? Hm?”

Liam blinked. “Well, yes, but...” He consulted the

map. “We won’t be reaching the oasis for another day!

And what about food?”

“What about food? We have enough. Or would you like it

better if it wasn’t so spicy?”

“Well,” said Liam, “now that you mention it, that

Sudanese cook didn’t seem to have any reservations

about poisoning us...”

“Tensions between Sudan and America are at a breaking

point,” Charlie observed, frightened that he sounded

so much like his fact-spouting companion. “I wouldn’t

be surprised if we got killed.”

Liam banged his head against the dashboard. “Well,

isn’t that wonderful! Why I ever agreed on this is

beyond me...”

“It was your dream, or wish, or whatever! I had to do

it, as a favor to Peter! What the hell d’you mean,

‘agreed on this’? Backwash!”

This continued for several hours. Two slightly

undernourished Englishmen, sitting in the middle of

the desert in a battered Jeep, screaming at each

other. It sounded like a joke, and maybe it was. The

course of events that had led up to this were far from

normal...

Royal London Hospital

Three Months Before

Peter Skerry was breathing his last breaths. Well, not

his last breaths, but he was dying. Breathing his last

breaths sounds more dramatic. Peter had been diagnosed

with brain cancer, and for the past five weeks he had

been laid out in a hospital bed, unable to do much of

anything at all.

“Petey? Peter? Peter? C’mon, Peter, you’re okay...”

Peter sucked in a mouthful of air. “’S’fine, mom...

I’m not dead yet, aye?”

“Yes...” Lynn Skerry wiped a tear from her eye,

managing a weak smile. “Oh, Peter...” She fell onto

his chest, sobbing quietly. Peter put pale, veiny

hands around her.

“I love you, mom.”

She stood back up. “I’ll let you get some rest. I love

you...”

“Dad coming?”

Their was a flash of anger and resentment on Mrs.

Skerry’s face, but then it was gone. “He’ll be around

tomorrow. You know he loves you, Peter.”

“Yeah, I know,” said the thirty-four year old. “Bye.”

She blew him a kiss and walked out of the door.

Moments later it swung open again. Peter could just

make him out, through the hazy film that had come over

his eyes...

“Charlie? No, it can’t be. Not Charlie Ford, from

Ashbury....”

Charlie smiled warmly. “The one and only. Just came to

see how you were doing, mate.” His eyes swept over the

intravenous tubes sticking out of his friend’s hands,

and suppressed a cringe.

“Yeah, I know,” Peter muttered, reading his mind.

“Nasty stuff. They say I won’t make it.”

Charlie swallowed hard. “You have to make it, Pete.

We’ve got to play football again. You remember

football?”

Peter smiled fondly, memories of better times rushing

into his head. “Yeah... That last game against Kent.

Marvelous... I made the last shot, remember?”

“Bloody amazing shot. There were what, five blokes in

front of you?”

“Plus the goalie. Ah, but I won’t be making any great

kicks in this condition...”

“You’ll get better.” Charlie sounded unsure. “Can I

get you something? There’s a Coke machine in the

lobby, I think they have Cherry.”

“My favorite. I don’t understand why no one likes the

stuff.”

“Yeah...”

“Listen, Charlie, I need to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“You know my brother? Liam?”

“Liam? For God’s sake.” The two boys had tormented

Peter’s younger brother in their high school days, and

the young lad was probably forever scarred as a

result. What could they possibly do about him?

“Well, I haven’t had contact with him for a while, and

I was wondering if....” He trailed off.

“If?”

“If you could do something for him that he’s been

wanting to do forever. Remember, back at Ashbury, his

Sahara obsession?”

“Ah, yes.” Charlie’s mind traveled back to the time

where they’d set a family of stink bugs inside Liam’s

pillow, in his room. The place was covered with

magazine clippings and photos and posters and maps....

everything you could imagine about the Sahara Desert.

Charlie didn’t understand it then and he didn’t

understand it now. Why would someone be so infatuated

with some parched patch of sand?

“I want you to take him there,” Peter said, as clear

as could be.

“What?” Charlie sputtered incredulously, sure he had

misheard him.

‘I want you to take him to the Sahara Desert. He still

wants to go, but we’ve never had enough money, but

you...”

“Christ,” Charlie mumbled, his head in his hands. It

was true, he had struck it rich. He’d started a small

business that sold gag gifts on a side street in

London. One day, by pure luck, some bigwig from an

advertising corporation showed up looking for birthday

gifts (‘All rich wankers are tarred and feathered

before any purchases are made,’ Charlie had commented

snidely), and liked what he’d seen, despite the

owner’s angry disposition towards successful

businessmen. So he’d called his boss (on a

top-of-the-line cell phone, no less) and the boss

agreed to advertise for them, if his corporation got a

share of the profits. Charlie couldn’t turn them down,

and good thing, too; the public had gone crazy for

Nutty Nasties (the name of his company).

So now here he was, wishing he hadn’t excepted the

man’s offer. If he was still a rebellious, penniless

shop owner, he wouldn’t have to turn his dying friend

down. “I’m sorry, Pete, but I can’t just-”

Peter gasped and clutched his stomach, clawing at the

bedsheets. “Can’t.... breathe.....” He fell onto the

bed, his eyes growing dim. “Goodbye, Charlie....” His

head flopped to one side, dead.

Charlie just stood their, fighting back the tears.

“Goodbye, Peter. I’ll... I’ll take Liam.....” He got

to his feet, walked slowly out of the room, and closed

the door behind him. He hadn’t thought people died

like that, except in the movies. Especially not his

best friend.

Oxford University

One Week Later

He had gotten into Oxford with a scholarship, and you

had to be pretty smart for that. Then again, Liam was

pretty smart. Head of his class at Ashbury, which is

more than one could say for his brother and that

moronic friend of his...

No. No bad thoughts about Peter, not now. Not now that

he had passed away. Liam’s philosophy was that you

shouldn’t think ill of someone in death, because in

the afterlife you couldn’t defend yourself. Then

again, Liam could clearly invision Peter sitting on a

cloud, shooting lightning bolts at him and muttering,

‘Half arsed twit,’ then grinning as Liam got zapped

into oblivion.

“Mr. Skerry? Mr. Skerry, would you like to go and have

some quiet time? It’s quite all right, this is only

advanced mathematics. I don’t want to interrupt your

private reflection period.”

The class snickered. You’d think people would take

pity on you after the death of your sibling, but Liam

had wasted no time telling people what a jackass his

brother was (that was before Peter got cancer, of

course), so they didn’t think he would be to affected.

But he was. He and his brother had had a crummy

relationship forever, and he’d wanted to make it up

before.... well, he was going to go see him with his

father the next day and try to sort things out. But he

had died in the company of Charlie Ford, whom Liam

detested. That bastard.

“Mr. Skerry! Answer the question!” His professor

bellowed. Professor Kensington had disliked Liam from

the start, because he was on a scholarship. Liam

didn’t see why. Didn’t that make him smarter than the

other students?

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“So?” Kensington questioned, an evil grin on his pasty

face.

“Er.... Could you repeat the question?”

“I thought so. See me after class.”

Advanced mathematics rolled on. When will it be over,

when will it be over-

“You may leave. All except Skerry, that is.”

The students bustled out. Liam was left sitting there,

waiting for his punishment.

“Mr. Skerry,” Kensington muttered, “your behavior is

disgraceful. I will be informing your mother of this,

you can be sure of that-”

“Am I interrupting something?” Came a slightly

familiar voice from the back of the classroom.

Kensington glanced up.

“Why yes, you are. I’m reprimanding this young man for

misbehavior in the class. You may speak to me once I

am done with him.” He turned back to Liam.

“Just out of curiosity... What exactly did he do?”

Liam stole a glance to the back of the room. There was

Charlie Ford, his childhood tormentor (along with

Peter). What the hell was he doing here? Come to

apologize for the way he treated Liam? That was a good

guess. When Peter had died Charlie probably got to

thinking about his own life... Wow, Liam thought, I

should be a psychiatrist.

“What.... did he do?” Kensington ground his yellowing

teeth together. “He did not listen in class! That is

what he did not do!”

“Maybe you should cut the lad a little slack. I mean,

he did just lose his brother to brain cancer.”

“But... How do you.... He didn’t even like his

brother!”

“You’d be amazed at how someone’s opinion of someone

else changes when that someone else passes away.”

“Yes, well....” Kensington struggled to remain on top.

“What are you doing here, anyway?!”

“I’ve come to see Liam. Now, could I talk to him for a

moment?”

“Fine. I do say, though....”

Outside of the classroom, Liam sized his former

torturer up. “What are you here for? Come to patch

things up with your old pal’s brother, is it?”

“Well.... No, not really. It’s something else.”

“Get on with it, then. I’m missing free period.”

“Okay, don’t wet yourself when I tell you this, Liam.”

“Shut up.”

“All right, er... I’m taking you to the Sahara.”