The Papua Incident - Alex Hunt Prequel Audiobook

A missing ancient coin. Money-hungry hunters. One man's fight to protect it!

No violence. No profanity. Just thrills!

When an uninvited guest wakes Charles and Izzy Hunt in the middle of the night, the event sets Charles on the trail for a lost coin dating back to World War II.

Enlisting the help of Nick Cain, an antiquities reporter, Charles follows the clues to rural Japan and eventually Papua New Guinea where battling the dense marshlands and crocodile infested waters, are the least of his worries.

With money-hungry assailants hot on his trail, his action-packed journey runs fraught with danger and crime in a quest to uncover the truth behind the missing ancient heirloom.

The Papua Incident is a fast-paced clean adventure thriller that you won't want to put down until you finished it!

If you like reading clean modern-day adventure thrillers in the vein of Romancing the Stone, Indiana Jones, and Lara Croft, then this is right up your street.  Crammed with real-life history and actual artifacts, it has plenty of twists and mystery to keep you turning the pages.

The Papua Incident sets the stage for the five-star Alex Hunt Adventure Thrillers series.

The RHAPTA KEY - Book #1

The GILDED TREASON - Book #2

The ALPHA STRAIN - Book #3

The DAUPHIN DECEPTION - Book #4

The BARI BONES - Book #5

The CAIAPHAS CODE - Book #6

Perfect for fans of Clive Cussler, Tosca Lee, and Indiana Jones-style archaeological thrillers, The Rhapta Key is a pulse-pounding action-adventure with strong female leads, nonstop suspense, and a touch of faith.

▶️ Start the Alex Hunt Adventure Thriller series now and uncover a secret the world was never meant to find!

Pack your bags and get ready for an adventure you will never forget!

COPYRIGHT © URCELIA TEIXEIRA - EXCERPT FROM THE THE PAPUA INCIDENT. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Chapter 1

Charles Hunt’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the fuzzy flickering on the screen. Life will never be the same. After a decade of hope and heartbreak reality is staring him in the face. Eight more weeks and Izzy and he will finally be parents. Life couldn’t be better. 

Or could it? 

At last he was promoted to Head Archaeologist at Cambridge University. They lived in a better-than-average apartment in the center of London, and their yearning for a baby is about to be met. But deep in his soul, Charles ached to return to the thrilling adventures he and Izzy had become accustomed to; before she fell pregnant and the two of them settled into a life of safety. His days at the university were predictable as anything. Putting together prospective tenders and drafting assessments were the norm. Apart from the odd liaison with clients and the regulatory authorities, his only other task was keeping the university benefactors happy. Yes, Charles Hunt felt trapped in a world without adventure and excitement. He was office bound and buried in papers and mundane tasks. His thoughts trailed off to when they discovered the eighth-century skeleton in Torcello and the tomb of a Mayan ruler in Guatemala. Their work took them far and wide to exhilarating locales around the world. He longed to be out in the field again, to taste the thrill of discovering ancient artifacts; the anticipation of discovering truths behind historical facts. Yes, Charles Hunt knew deep down what he had given up to have this baby. 

“You have said little, Charles. What are you so deep in thought over?” Izzy interrupted his silent reflections. 

Charles bent over and kissed her forehead, “Nothing more important than you and our baby. She’s beautiful.” 

Izzy smiled knowing her husband wasn’t quite declaring the truth. She knew him all too well. He had lost the sparkle in his eyes since accepting his promotion seven months ago. They had just returned from spending almost a year in Tanzania looking for the lost city of Rhapta; a dream she’d had since she was a child. Turning away from her dream wasn’t what either of them wanted to do, but having fallen pregnant at last, without medical intervention, was better than excavating a hidden treasure or finding an ancient lost city. Or so she thought. She couldn’t risk losing this baby too. For now, their ordinary lives within the safe confines of their office and home will have to be enough. 

* * *

Still preoccupied with his thoughts, Charles arrived back at his office an hour later. From behind his desk, his eyes settled on his hat dangling from the hook behind his door. It had been seven months since he last wore it and the mere thought of never putting it on again choked him. Archaeology was in his blood. The downright precariousness and rush of the hunt was what he breathed and lived for. 

A knock on his door jerked him back to reality. 

“Yes,” clearing the lump that had wedged in his throat. 

“Sir, have you heard?” A young researcher from his team barged in brimming with excitement. “They found the mummified body of the Ice Maiden! It’s all over National Geographic!” 

The fired-up researcher slammed the latest copy of the National Geographic magazine on the desk in front of Charles. 

“Look. They say she was a clear victim of human sacrifice and that her body was perfectly preserved on Mount Ampato in southern Peru. It was a single blow to the head that killed her about five hundred years ago, and her burial goods included macaw feathers and figurines of gold and silver. Look! It’s all here,” hammering the back of his hand on the double-paged article. 

“That’s quite the discovery,” Charles replied as thrilled as his protégé. He skimmed the pages. “You should make copies and send it to the uni’s news desk. This is a significant find we simply have to share with everyone. And get me the number of this fellow who found it, will you? I’d love to get the inside track.” 

And as sudden as the young man barged in, he left, unaware that his impromptu visit put a brief smile back on Charles’ face.

* * *

In the crisp night air, a faint knocking on their London apartment’s front door woke Charles Hunt. He turned to look at his alarm clock. The neon numbers showed 2:45 a.m. Beside him, Izzy lay fast asleep. He listened. There it was again. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. There was without a doubt knocking on his door. He fumbled with his robe as he rushed toward the window and pushed his face against the cold pane. The streetlight was too dim, and the rain blurred his vision. Several more knocks hit the door—this time with more fervor. 

“Who’s at the door? What time is it?” Izzy whispered half asleep touching her pregnant belly. 

“Not sure, but there’s no need for you to get up, my love. I’m sure it’s just some drunk who can’t find his way home.” 

Dismissing it, Charles got back into bed but no sooner had he pulled the covers under his chin and the incessant knocking started up again. 

Annoyed he made his way down the dark stairs. The rapping grew more intense sending a slight panic up Charles’ spine. If it were a drunk, he would have jabbered and already moved on, he thought. He grabbed his umbrella from the stand and gripped it midway with the sharp end pointed at the door. The keyhole delivered just the slightest silhouette of someone not visible enough to distinguish. 

“Yes, who’s there?” he ventured. A dull thump against the door echoed back. 

He gripped the umbrella tighter and opened the door with caution. 

The dull eyes of his untimely visitor stared back at Charles. As the man collapsed against the doorpost, he recognized him in an instance. It was the owner of their favorite Japanese restaurant around the corner. 

“Yuki? What in the world brings…”

Charles caught the rest of his sentence in his throat as Yuki opened his raincoat revealing a large patch of blood across his stomach. He fell forward into Charles’ arms almost pushing him off balance. 

A second later the light in the entrance hall went on. Izzy, who had been observing from the top of the stairs came rushing down toward the scene. 

“Get him to the couch, Charles. I’ll call the ambulance.” 

“No!” Yuki groaned, cringing with pain. “No ambulance. No police. You help.” 

Charles wasn’t about to argue. Yuki’s colorless face revealed he had lost a lot of blood. Somehow he sensed his injury wouldn’t allow sufficient time for any help to arrive. 

It wasn’t hard getting his petite Japanese frame onto the couch, and within seconds Izzy assembled a bowl of water and some swabs in the kitchen. 

“What in heaven’s name happened to you, Yuki? Were you shot? Was it a burglary at the restaurant?” Charles fired off as he ripped open Yuki’s blood-drenched shirt. 

The wounded restaurant owner tried to speak. “Water Izzy. We need to give the man water.” 

Izzy hurried over from the kitchen and put the glass to Yuki’s lips. 

“There, now, let’s try again. Who did this to you?” 

Yuki still didn’t answer. 

“It doesn’t look like a gunshot wound, Charles,” Izzy noted. “More like a knife. See here?” Izzy pointed to the narrow two-centimeter slit in Yuki’s abdomen. 

“Apply pressure, Izzy. He can’t afford to lose more blood.”

“Yuki, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened, my friend. Who did this to you? Why?” 

It was clear Yuki would not make it. He parted his lips and delivered the faintest of whispers. Charles leaned in. 

“Nick Cain. You help,” was all Yuki uttered as blood gushed from his mouth and he drew his last breath. 

“Yuki? Yuki!” 

Charles grabbed hold of Yuki’s shoulders and shook his lifeless body. 

“He’s gone, Charles,” Izzy whispered. 

Charles looked at the dead man on his couch. Yuki’s emotionless eyes stared back at him. 

“What did he say?” Izzy asked as she ran her fingers over Yuki’s eyes. 

“He said; ‘Nick Cain would help’. Who is Nick Cain?” rinsing his bloodstained hands in the bowl of water on the table beside him. 

Izzy’s face lit up. “Nick Cain? Did you say, Nick Cain?” 

Surprised, Charles looked up at her. “Yes, why? Do you know him?” 

“Well, yes Charles, in a manner of speaking. He’s that famous reporter from The Times. You know? The one who does those antique furniture columns? He goes around the world appraising rare antiques and then writes up a whole spiel about the history. Most of the time old Victorian pieces; wardrobes, dressing tables, chairs, the occasional rare brooch...” 

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, why would Yuki give us his name; on his deathbed of all places? Yuki is—was Japanese, so I doubt he had an antique piece of Victorian furniture tucked in his apartment somewhere.” 

Charles paced the room all the while keeping his eyes pinned on the dead body on his couch—as if he was waiting for Yuki to wake up and explain everything. 

“And why didn’t he want us to call the ambulance or the police? Didn’t that seem strange to you?” A puzzled Charles added, still pacing the tiny lounge. 

“It seems rather odd, I agree,” Izzy said as she pulled a throw over Yuki’s lifeless body. “And why come to us? I mean, it’s not as if we knew the guy. Yes, we frequented his restaurant and got sushi delivered here every week‐ end, but that’s it.” 

“Well, it’s clear he paid more attention to us than we to him, Izzy. Enough to have brought him to our doorstep in the middle of the night.” 

Charles stopped in front of the couch and stared down at the covered corpse. “Well, whatever he was involved with was dangerous enough to kill him.” He paused again. “We must call the police, Izzy. We can’t leave this guy here, and I’m not about to bury him in our backyard either.” 

“And say what exactly, Charles? That our local Japanese restaurant owner just happened to stumble to our door in the middle of the night and died on our couch? They’ll think we had something to do with this. No,Yuki said no police. I’m sure he had a valid reason.” 

“Have you lost your mind, Izzy? There’s a dead man on our couch. Eventually, someone is going to report him missing and then trace him here. There’s evidence of his blood all over the place. I watch those shows on the telly. Bloodstains never come out of rugs and couches. We can’t hide this.” 

Izzy walked over to the tiny kitchen. “Fair enough, but the police will question us anyway, and I’m positive they will query why we didn’t call them sooner.” 

“They’d be skeptical if we don’t report it. Talk about guilt. There’s no reason to cover it up, Izzy. It’s not like we killed the guy. We have nothing to hide.” 

Charles picked up the phone and started dialing the police station. 

Twenty minutes later Constable Collins arrived with the coroner and a forensic team in tow. 

“So let me get this straight, Mr. Hunt. You say Yuki Hishomara’s knocking woke you up at 2:45 a.m. You looked out the window but couldn’t see anything, went downstairs and found him already injured outside your front door, so you helped him to your couch. But he died before he could say anything or you could call for help.” 

“Yes, precisely as you said,” Charles agreed as he looked into Izzy’s piercing eyes that lay thick with the question as to why he wasn’t divulging Nick Cain’s name. 

“I see. And what about you Mrs. Hunt? Can you corroborate your husband’s statement?” noticing the silent exchange between them. 

“I can, Constable. It’s as Charles said, yes.” 

Constable Collins sucked his teeth and scribbled something in his black notebook before slamming it closed. His eyebrow curled up suspiciously as his eyes paused on Charles and Izzy. 

“Well then, thank you for your time. If we need anything else, my office will contact you. We’ll see our way out.”