18°15’ North, 53°39’ East, Dhofar, Oman
March 2nd, 1992, 2:18pm local time
The world had disappeared beneath a curtain of wind blown sand and premature night. The wind roared like a beast while it clawed brutally at his clothes and the scarf wrapped around is mouth and nose. Thankful for his goggles, Nick could still see no further than a few yards.
The sand storm had rolled in from the north, gathering strength as it crossed the border from Saudi Arabia. It descended on them with surprising speed, giving them only half an hour to secure the dig sight and all of the equipment before the first sands began to swirl. Having weathered two smaller storms in as many weeks, the team had reacted well. Now, everyone was sealed in their tents taking advantage of the unscheduled rest.
Buffeted by a powerful gust of wind, Nick decided he’d follow suit. He skipped down the side of the dune and moved toward his tent navigating by memory more than vision. They’d been at the dig sight for six weeks and in that time, Nick had made this place like a second home. Finding the lost city of Ubar had been a dream of his since he was a kid. His father had read him accounts of expeditions to the legendary “city of a thousand pillars” back in the 30s. Many great archeologists had come in search for this place. It had been nicknamed the “atlantis of the sands”.