Lost At Sea by Arthur Limbada (non fiction books to read .txt) 📖

you know, the usual various things. The Loco disease, the fight against terrorism and need for greater security, and the importance of recycling. Apparently a live, open air conversation is going to make a difference to the "who cares" attitude of the majority of the public.
Of course most of them are scared of the consequences of their attitudes but none of them seem to care to do anything about it. They have gone soft after the whole “2012” incident I’m guessing. If nothing happened then, than why should something happen now?”

“Hopefully we will have the Loco problem cleared up by then,” Andrew interjected. “Does it say which day it will be?”

“No, is says here it has been decided but only a few select people know the exact date and time to avoid any terrorists from planning any type of trouble. So that being said, they will reveal the time of the speech the day before it.”
“I see. Very cautious, you think it’s needed?”
“I know I am using a cliché, but my view is better safe then sorry right?”

“Fair enough, fair enough.”
Andrew’s Phone rang.

“Hey. It’s Gene here.”
“Hi, that was quick.”
“Yes, thankfully we could get those videos quite quickly without any problem.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“No problem.”
“You have any news from the other team and you guys?”
“Yes. We sent a team in a submarine to check out the spot of the disappearance. Once they got there however we lost contact of them. They were saying something about something being incredibly huge and all of a sudden the transmission just ended.”
“Ouch”
“Yep, the head lady is really pissed with that one. She’s still trying to think about what method to take next.”
“Otherwise Terrance and co. is in Hamilton now checking out this house. I’m not going to go into the big details about it right now but keep your fingers crossed that they will find something there to help us.”
“Okay we definitely will, now could we get down to work?”
“Yeah sure. That video tape was a gold mine. Great thinking there on your part. We saw the cloaked man Gerald mentioned. Sorry we couldn’t find out how he escaped that building though. Anyways, we tracked him. He went in between two buildings where we couldn’t see him for about a minute. He came out the other side and got into a car, possibly stolen from before. He headed in an easterly direction. The car is a small green Peugeot. It belongs to a Thomas O’Bryan. It seems very foolish of him; he even left the tracker system on. Possibly he didn’t know anything about it. Anyhow, we have the police setting up roadblocks in various places and we should get him soon enough. We’ll also be following him on surveillance cameras so it seems like this mission is pretty much on its way. I’ll keep you posted, you two can go have a meal and relax for a bit.”
“I like the sound of that, thanks we will!”
“Oh and another thing, you know the survivor guy who just got shot?”
“Yep, he asked, “what about him?”
“Looked up into him, found a passenger on the Caribbean Dream that matched up with the pictures you sent me. He was a Damon Thatch, a fairly well to do business man. He owned three car repair shops and had a wife and three kids. He had no criminal records whatsoever. I don’t think he will have anything to do with the disappearance. So that’s cleared up.”
“Oh okay thanks.”
“What did she say,” Gerald asked?
“Let’s discuss it over a cup of coffee.”

* * * * *

It wasn’t ransacked.
No cobwebs filled the dark corners.
No musty smell rushed their noses.
What did he really expect? Nope, there were no rats running around the house either.
Tryon flicked on his flash light, holding it in his left while his right hand scouted the room with his Glock.
“Any chance that there could be a light switch that worked in somewhere in this house,” Chevan questioned as she flicked up the one next to the door.
No the light bulb did not flicker on for a while and then burn out. The eyes of the three, busy trying to adjust from the suns shine outside to the darkness of the house got blasted with brightness once again.
Whoever lived here obviously was a neat freak.
“Okay Tyron you take the right, Chevan go straight and I’ll head too the right", Terrance commanded as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves. Chevan and Tyron followed suit.

It was a small house. Tyron found the bedroom first. He switched on the light by the door and looked around. He’d say the dimensions were three by four meters. A single bed was in the left corner against the wall. Gray blankets. A small wooden bed stand stood next to it. A desk lamp placed upon it. A dresser lay directly across from the bed. It was full. Whoever left for an excursion probably didn’t take any clothing with him.
He checked under the bed. A pair of blue bedtime slippers watched him from out of their small, dark hovel. The groping rays from his flash light searched for anything else. It was incredibly clean under there. Almost as if he cleaned it a few days ago.
He decided he wouldn’t find much more in the room. The floor was hard wood. He tapped around for a hollow spot. Who knows what you might find? Nothing.
Chevan walked into the kitchen. Everything seemed pretty ordinary to her, at least as far as she could see. She switched on the light to have a better look. No mutant teaspoons or mad paper napkins. Everything was fine. The white tiles beneath her were squeaky clean. She started mindlessly looking through the drawers and cupboards. Cutlery, pots, and serving dishes, all spotless, flashed before here eyes. She had no idea what she was looking for. A Dustpan, plunger, sponges. She pulled all the drawers out, checking if there was anything hidden behind them. Nothing.
On to the next room.

Terrance got the living room. The large wooden coffee table blared in his face, honking horns and shouting. Everything else seemed faded in contrast to it. Even though he didn't know much about wood he could tell from just looking that this was heavy, good quality wood. It reminded him of a coffin. Two small, single chairs guarded it on either side like the soldiers at Jesus’ tomb. A bright blue rug clashed dramatically with the mostly brown and dull colours of the room. A black television stood on the far end of the room. On closer inspection, Terrance could tell that it was brand new or just never used at all.
Otherwise the room was free of anything else. A fan hung over the table. The floor here was also hard wood but he couldn't find any hollow spots. He thought of under the table, he would need Tyron to help him. However he thought it unlikely that anything would be hidden under there. The huge table and bright rug screamed at him "lift me, lift me". He doubted that whoever were to hide a secret trap door or passage would put it under something that obvious. "I'm going to check anyways", he told himself.
The house was finally searched. It consisted of two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, dining room, and a living room. In the back yard a little storage room stood. Like the rest of the house, the little hut was perfectly clean. The strange thing was that though every part of the house resembled your mom's house the day after Spring Cleaning, the front and back yard resembled your mom's house after a hurricane has struck it and the neighbourhood hooligans had just finished having their way with it. It was a disaster piece. The little grass that existed on the war torn back yard was yellow. Weeds now oppressed the land where once the green grass had peacefully ruled. Cardboard and paper, plastic and trash littered the garden.
The shed was a small, wooden structure. Inside, neatly stacked and sorted, were three medium sized boxes and a large metal shelf. Shuffling through the boxes, Chevan found an assortment of objects. The smell of the things in there reminded her of the last time she visited her grand parents. She flipped through a chemistry book that was from the box. The dog eared pages were falling out. She could see paragraphs highlighted in bright green on top of the musty paper. Utter nonsense to her, she had to admit.
Chevan, after finishing high school, studied accounting. She had no interest in accounting at all, but her father said in case she needs to fall back on anything; it would be easier to get a job with it. Chevans father was one of the I.D.I. main sponsors in America. The government didn’t feel it was necessary to have a detective agency that was interconnected with the rest of the world. FBI and CIA were enough for them. Of course the I.D.I. board were only to have Chevan on the team. With Chevan, she made up for her lack of knowledge and experience with enthusiasm. She felt like this was what she was born to do and she loved doing it.
She neatly put the book back into the box and looked around. There were several test tubes lying on the metal shelf. She picked one up and sniffed it. It stunk. She couldn’t place exactly where she smelt it before but it reminded her of a mixture of Listerine and urine.
Tyron walked into the little room.
“Chevan, come on, I have something to show you.”
“Okay, I’m coming. Not going to spare me any details?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Chevan studied Tyron’s face to see if she could notice anything. It was blank. She couldn’t note any excitement or anxiousness about him. Just a stone cold face staring back at her.
“Okay fine, I’m coming.
He led her out the tidy shed, through the messy back yard, and into the kitchen. They didn’t stop until they got to the living room. It was, unlike anywhere else in the house Chevan had seen, unarranged. A single couch was pushed against the wall. A large coffee table, which she assumed was placed in the middle of the room, was now pushed into the area where she guessed the couch once occupied. A large blue rug was rolled