The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) Read online

  From the Back Cover

  THE GREATEST ARCHEOLOGICAL DISCOVERY SINCE KING TUT'S TOMB IS ABOUT TO BE DESTROYED!

  The Arab Spring has happened and Egypt has yet to calm down, but with the dig site on the edge of the Nubian Desert, a thousand miles from the excitement, Professor Laura Palmer and her fiancé Professor James Acton return with a group of students, and two friends: Interpol Special Agent Hugh Reading, and Scotland Yard Detective Inspector Martin Chaney. It's work for the professors and their students, and a vacation for the two law enforcement officers, but as Reading quickly discovers, he and the desert don't mix, and Chaney is preoccupied with a message he has been asked to deliver to the professor by his masters in the Triarii.

  But an accidental find by Chaney may lead to the greatest archaeological discovery since the tomb of King Tutankhamen, perhaps even greater. And when news of it spreads, it reaches the ears of a group hell-bent on the destruction of all idols and icons, their mere existence considered blasphemous to Islam.

  As chaos hits the major cities of the world in a coordinated attack, unbeknownst to the professors, students and friends, they are about to be faced with one of the most difficult decisions of their lives.

  Stay and protect the greatest archaeological find of our times, or save themselves and their students from harm, leaving the find to be destroyed by fanatics determined to wipe it from the history books.

  From J. Robert Kennedy, the author of ten international bestsellers including Rogue Operator and The Protocol, comes The Arab Fall, the sixth entry in the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series, where Kennedy once again takes events from history and today's headlines, and twists them into a heart pounding adventure filled with humor and heartbreak, as one of their own is left severely wounded, fighting for their life.

  Praise for J. Robert Kennedy

  J. Robert Kennedy is the author of twelve international best sellers, including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series.

  The Protocol has been on the best seller list in the US and UK since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months.

  "If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."

  Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

  Books by J. Robert Kennedy

  The James Acton Thrillers

  The Protocol

  Brass Monkey

  Broken Dove

  The Templar's Relic

  Flags of Sin

  The Arab Fall

  The Circle of Eight

  The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

  Rogue Operator

  Containment Failure

  The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

  Depraved Difference

  Tick Tock

  The Redeemer

  Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

  The Turned

  The Arab Fall

  A James Acton Thriller

  by

  J. Robert Kennedy

  Published Internationally by J. Robert Kennedy, Ottawa, ON Canada

  Copyright © 2013 J. Robert Kennedy

  Cover and Inside Artwork Copyright © 2013 J. Robert Kennedy

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, J. Robert Kennedy, is an infringement of copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  V1.6

  For our dear Harriet Richards, whose mind was taken from us long before her death. You will be missed.

  The Arab Fall

  A James Acton Thriller

  Table of Contents

  The Novel

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  “All Muslims are charged with applying the teachings of Islam to remove such idols, as we did in Afghanistan when we destroyed the Buddha statues. God ordered Prophet Mohammed to destroy idols. When I was with the Taliban we destroyed the statue of Buddha, something the government failed to do.”

  Sheikh Murgan Salem al-Gohary, Dream TV2 Interview

  Nov 10, 2012

  “Egypt’s Justice and Development for Human Rights warned against the ongoing incitements from a large number of men of the Islamic religion to destroy the Pyramids and other Pharaonic antiquities, deeming them pagan symbols of pre-Islamic Egypt…. these calls have greatly increased after the victory of the Muslim Brotherhood candidate, Dr. Muhammad Morsi.”

  El-Balad Newspaper

  July 17, 2012

  PREFACE

  One of the most famous figures in history is Cleopatra. Much is known of her as she was the last Pharaoh to lead her kingdom, and died at a time where Roman culture kept written records of events that shed much light upon her.

  We know much. She was born Cleopatra VII Philopator in Alexandria, Egypt, in 69 BC. She was married three times, the first two times to her brothers, as was Egyptian custom, then finally to the Roman Mark Antony, a romance that inspires to this day. Before Antony, she famously consummated a relationship with Julius Caesar himself, producing a son Ptolemy Caesar, nicknamed Caesarion (literally translated as Little Caesar). She also had three children with Antony.

  Cleopatra was not truly Egyptian. Alexander the Great, a Greek, conquered Egypt, and after his death, Egypt was ruled by the Ptolemaic dynasty. This dynasty famously refused to learn Egyptian, speaking only Greek. Cleopatra changed that however. She learned Egyptian, embraced its ancient culture, and declared herself the reincarnation of the goddess Isis, a popular figure throughout Egyptian history. After her death, her son Caesarion was named Pharaoh by his supporters, but he was promptly put to death on Octavian’s orders, Egypt subsequently becoming a Roman province.

  There are several versions of Cleopatra’s death claimed by history, however whether or not it was one snake or two, or whether she was bitten on the arm or the breast, are irrelevant. She died by her own doing, willingly. One misconception is that she was killed by an asp. Asps were not indigenous to Egypt, however the belief today is that all poisonous snakes, including king cobras, were called asps. It would make sense that a king cobra was used, as this creature held an important place in Egyptian culture. The famous death masks we are so used to seeing, the most recognizable perhaps the blue and gold mask of King Tutankhamen, actually represents a king cobra, the ridge of gold and blue surrounding the face the hood of the snake.

  Cleopatra’s death is documented, the date, August 12, 30 BC is known, and it is accepted she was entombed with her beloved Antony.

  What is not known is where they were buried, and why we have been unable to find the tomb of the most famous, and most recent, of all the Pharaohs.

  Liberty Island, New York, New York

  Today

  Randy Douglas sipped his Diet Coke through the too narrow straw that seemed to turn every drag into a fizzy mess of bubbles rather than the cool treat it should have been. It was always disappointing when that happened, and he never went back to a place a second time if it did. But here he had no choice. This was where he worked, and every time he bought his lunch with fountain drink, he’d comment to the staff member about the straws to no avail.

&n
bsp; Maybe someday they’ll listen.

  He popped the top off the drink, setting the plastic rim and offending straw to the side, instead drinking directly from the cup as he finished his cheeseburger and fries. Sitting at the far corner of the patio overlooking the bay, he watched the Liberty Island ferry approach, a sight he had seen hundreds of times before, over hundreds of lunches.

  Lunches that were none too healthy.

  He patted his paunch, something he never thought he would let happen, but since retiring from the New York Police Department after thirty years of service, he had gone shack whacky at home with his wife, so decided he had to work in order to stay sane and save his marriage. A friend had hooked him up in this cushy gig as a security guard with the US Park Police.

  He eyeballed four men walking off the ferry, his cop instincts kicking in. They appeared Middle Eastern, their faces cleanly shaven, and wearing the latest Western fashions, they shouldn’t have stuck out. But they did. Perhaps it was the fact they weren’t smiling, but that wasn’t it.

  Randy took a sip from his open cup, and watched as the four men stepped off the dock and onto the red stone walkway that ringed the island. The four turned to the right, walking along the edge of the seawall, and it wasn’t until he saw the group break away from the throng that he realized what had made him single them out.

  And no, it wasn’t their assumed religion.

  It was that they were four single men, all with the same ethnicity, not smiling, and walking separately. He had seen enough crimes go down in his career to know to look for groups of people who were together, but weren’t. Those not good at it were too obvious. They kept checking their speed so they wouldn’t catch up, they’d stop when another would stop. It could be quite comical sometimes, if it weren’t for the fact you knew they were about to commit a crime, but couldn’t do anything about it until they had actually begun.

  What a screwed up justice system we have.

  Catch them on the way to the act, with paraphernalia, weapons and tools of the trade, they get a slap on the wrist so they can go off and do it again. Catch them in the act, they could go away for life. Why not treat the two crimes equally? If they’ve got the plans to the bank, the equipment to crack the vault, and the guns to hold the hostages, charge them as if they had robbed the bank rather than the intent to rob.

  But he was just a cop.

  Emphasis on was.

  He stood up and tossed his trash into the bin, holding onto his half-full cup, the ice cold beverage still cooling him on this hot spring day. It was gorgeous, perfectly blue skies, only a slight haze from the polluted city today, the air smelling fresh and crisp, everything in bloom with new life all over the island. Walking past the stark white gift shop, he slowly closed the distance between him and the four men, four men who seemed to have no interest in Lady Liberty. Where almost every head was turned up to gape at the 151 foot high statue atop its nearly equally high base, theirs were all turned to the right, looking out at the bay.

  He looked as well, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Pleasure craft, commercial vessels, ferries. Nothing that seemed odd to him. He looked back at the group, and nearly froze, his mind fighting its natural instinct to flee. But he pushed through it, his pace barely slowing at the sight of a group of four men leaning on the railing that surrounded the island, and a third group of four men slowly approaching from the opposite direction. All Middle Eastern, all well dressed, all cleanly shaven.

  These two new groups were not on the ferry he had just watched arrive with the first group, so must have come in on earlier arrivals before his lunch.

  Twelve men, all, in his mind, acting suspicious.

  But was it just his cynical cop mind assuming crimes where none were? Life on Liberty Island was boring, the biggest thing he had to deal with was tourists angry about line ups.

  No, this was different.

  Twelve men, all converged on the south side of the massive structure, all pretending to not be together, not one of them within five feet of another, all leaning on the railing, looking casually out at the bay.

  I’m calling this in.

  He pulled his radio off his belt and clicked the Push-to-talk button.

  “This is Douglas, I’ve got a possible situation in Sector Six, on the south side walkway, requesting backup, over.”

  The mike squawked, then he heard his asshole supervisor’s voice come over the radio. Great, here we go again. Randy couldn’t stand this guy, and the feeling was mutual. Pete Yakovski seemed to hate anyone who had been on the force, and after some digging, Randy had found out why. Yakovski had applied, and been rejected, numerous times, once even making it into training which he failed.

  But somehow the United States Park Police had hired him at arguably one of the most significant national monuments in the country. And he had worked his way up to shift supervisor.

  His shift.

  “What is it this time, somebody littering, over?”

  Randy felt his blood boil as his face and ears burned red. He sucked in a deep breath, all the way to the bottom of his stomach, then slowly exhaled.

  “I have twelve, say again, twelve, Middle Eastern men acting in a suspicious manner, over.”

  There was a pause, and Yakovski’s voice seemed a little more muted. In fact, if Randy didn’t know any better, he’d say the bastard was scared.

  “How are they acting suspiciously, over.”

  “They didn’t arrive together, but are now all congregated in the same spot. Those that did arrive together are pretending to not know each other, and none of them are looking at the statue, they’re all looking out at the bay, over.”

  “Are you kidding me? A group of tourists decide to look at the city instead of the statue for a few minutes, and you want us to arrest them? Get back to your post, you’re wasting my time, out.”

  The mike went silent and Randy pressed it to his mouth. “Piss off, you arrogant, ignorant asshole, I’m still on my lunch break!”

  But he hadn’t pressed the button, instead remaining content to know Yakovski was an asshole, and always would be, and that unlike Yakovski, Randy could quit at any time, this merely a hobby job.

  So screw orders.

  He hooked his radio on his belt, took a sip of his Diet Coke, then continued his observation of the twelve men, who he was now close enough to see were anywhere from late teens to late thirties. All in good shape.

  If something does go down, you don’t stand a chance.

  His finger absentmindedly flicked open the snap securing the holster of his Heckler & Koch P7M13 pistol as he drained the last of his drink, nothing left but ice in the bottom of his cup. He tossed it into a nearby garbage bin, then took position up the branch in the path leading to the northern entrance of the monument, about two hundred feet from where the first man stood. Tucked nearly out of sight, and in the shade of a large little-leaf linden tree, he waited, for what he did not know, but with the pace his heart was pumping at, he knew his subconscious was telling him it couldn’t be anything good.

  And finally it began.

  One of the men suddenly stood erect, then another, both looking at a specific point in the bay. Their counterparts joined them, and Randy looked to see if he could spot what they were looking at. And a good chunk of bravery was cleaved from his stomach, a pit forming that he had felt innumerous times when things were about to go down.

  And he fought through it, as he did every time.

  Use the fear. Let the adrenaline flow.

  He knew it would heighten his senses, make him more alert, if he could only control the fuel surging through his body. He immediately began his tactical breathing techniques, sucking the air in through his nose, forcing it into his stomach, then slowly exhaling through the mouth, and repeating this several times until he had his heart rate down to near normal.

  Shakey hands can’t shoot straight.

  He flipped the buckle to his holster aside, lifting his weapon slightly as the sight before
him unfolded.

  Two boats, their sleek white hulls skipping above the waves, any safety measures useless, were racing toward the seawall that stood not fifty feet from where he was. All twelve men were standing tall now, staring at the boats as they rapidly closed the gap.

  Randy activated his mike.

  “This is Douglas, I’ve got two high speed boats heading toward the island, directly toward my twelve suspects. Something’s going down, we need to sound the alert, now! Over!”

  “This is Yakovski. I thought I told you to return to—”

  “Listen you ignorant bastard, I’m telling you a terrorist attack is about to go down. Now get your thumb out of your ass, and sound the alarm!”

  The screaming engines of the boats began to ease as they powered down for the approach. Randy knew if they made the island, they wouldn’t stand a chance at stopping any attack.

  So he made the decision that cops, soldiers, and everyday heroes do.

  He ran toward the danger.

  Rushing from his position, he raced to the seawall, drawing his weapon. He hit the guardrail and saw the two boats cutting in opposite directions, as they slid toward the wall. Each held four men, one at the helm, the rest already lifting what looked like ladders, assembling them into lengths that would easily reach the top of the fifteen foot seawall.

  Randy grabbed his mike that Yakovski had been screaming threats over and pressed the button. “Two boats are now at the seawall. Eight men are assembling ladders to come ashore. I am engaging, whether your cowardly ass sends me backup or not. Over and out.”

  He switched off the radio, flicked off his safety, and took aim at the closest boat. He sucked in a deep breath, and eased it out as he squeezed the trigger. The report was loud, and the ricochet off the hull told him he had found his target. He rapidly began to squeeze off rounds at the first boat, sending the tourists in the vicinity into a panic.