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

Cleopatra bowed her head slightly with a smile.

  “And at his pleasure, I am sure.”

  Epaphroditus returned the bow.

  “Of course.”

  “And you will deliver my message?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then tell Octavian that I, Cleopatra the Seventh, daughter of Ptolemy the Twelfth, the reincarnation of the goddess Isis, and rightful ruler of this land, deny him his prize. He will not be permitted to parade me through the streets of Rome as a slave, a humiliated former ruler of a far off land Romans are too ignorant of to realize predated their pathetic empire by thousands of years, with monuments greater than the greatest ever built by their hands, that will last until the end of time as symbols of our power.

  “I deny him his prize. Forever shall Romans’ memories of me be that of the Pharaoh of Egypt, arriving in Rome, their mighty Julius Caesar my puppet, my entourage so massive and elaborate, it rivaled the entrance of anyone before or since, proving the wealth and superiority of the Egyptian people. Forever will he be forced to remember that it was my statue that Caesar erected in his famous temple of Venus, as I am Isis, reincarnated once again to shepherd my children to safety.

  “And though I have failed this time, I shall be back, in another form, to deliver the masses from the evil that is Rome, and once again, as I suckled my son Horus, the god of war and protection, at the beginning of time, I shall return, to suckle man’s savior from Rome. Remember the words I speak here today, for though they may be forgotten to history, when I return, the world shall shudder in relief as I deliver them their savior, their protector, their warrior against evil and those who would serve it.

  “For today I do not die, I merely return to my throne in the heavens, leaving Octavian without his prize, his legacy the humiliation of his failure at preventing a lone woman from taking her own life.”

  She looked up, through the ceiling, and into the heavens, her heart hammering in her chest.

  “I do this for you, my beloved.”

  She turned the head of the cobra toward her, and plunged it into her bare chest. She felt the creature writhe against her skin as Epaphroditus leapt toward her, her handmaidens and the other guards watching in horror.

  Then she felt the bite, the creature finally fed up with her controlling it, it lashing out in the only way it knew how. Its fangs sank into her soft skin, and she cried out in pain as the poison pumped into her blood, then through her system, the warmth, the numbness, flowing through her, spreading rapidly. As her strength waned, she dropped the snake, and Epaphroditus sliced it in half with his sword, catching her near naked form as she collapsed to the floor.

  Swinging her into his arms, he placed her gently on the bed, calling for a doctor, but she knew there was no cure for her, no helping her. The bite of a king cobra, even from birth, is deadly, and this one had been angry and scared, pumping her with enough venom that she was certain it would be a quick death. Already she could feel her eyes beginning to lock into place, the toxins paralyzing them.

  Her handmaidens came into view, pushing Epaphroditus aside, tears streaking their faces as they praised her for her courage and strength, swearing to repeat the story to all who would listen. Their voices faded, and soon all she could hear was her own heartbeat, each beat seeming a little slower, each beat a little weaker. She had no idea how she long she lay there. Minutes, hours, days, she did not know. All she did know was that as she stared at the heavens above, she could hear her beloved Antony calling to her, welcoming her to his side once again, as her final sigh escaped the smile on her face.

  I’m coming, my love!

  Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

  Two Days Before the Liberty Island Attack

  Chaney marched over the rise to the south of the camp, then across the flat plateau, scanning the horizon for anything of interest, but seeing nothing.

  We truly are in the middle of nowhere.

  The vegetation was sparse, but there. It wasn’t a desert, not here, not this close to the coast, and several ancient river beds, though dried up on the surface, still seemed to have enough water below to feed a remarkable amount of flora.

  But the fauna was almost nonexistent. He couldn’t actually remember seeing even a bird since he’d arrived. He scanned the horizon again, and saw something flicker in the distance. Shading his eyes with his hand, he took another look, but could see nothing, whatever it was, gone.

  Probably just the sun reflecting off water or some crystal in the rocks.

  The thought of crystals had him wondering if he’d get the chance to discover something. The idea thrilled him, and he began scouring the ground as he walked. To find something, something ancient, something that hadn’t been touched in thousands of years would be an experience he would remember the rest of his life.

  And it would drive Hugh nuts.

  He grinned at the thought of his former partner holed up in the air conditioned tent. If he were to find something himself, he’d forget the heat and sand, and lack of a telly, and instead get caught up in the excitement of what everyone here was doing.

  Exploring the past.

  Chaney had always loved history, and excelled at it in school, but with his career, and the Triarii, he barely had time to read anymore. Buying an eReader had solved that somewhat. At least now he had a tiny device with tons of books on it that didn’t take up much luggage space.

  The Triarii!

  The thought of them tore at his heart. An organization he had been a member of for as long as he could remember, that had determined most of his decisions in life, and now once again demanded his time. He had hinted to Professor Acton that there was something he needed to talk to him about, and he could tell by the Professor’s voice he knew it was Triarii related.

  Before he had left for Egypt the Proconsul had called him in and dictated the message he wanted delivered to the Professor. When he had asked why, he was directed to a chair, and brought up to date on events he had had no idea about, and they chilled him to the bone.

  A civil war?

  His thought process was interrupted by a grouping of rocks that seemed out of place in that they were the only rocks on the entire plateau. He strode toward them, his eyes scanning the ground, and when he arrived, a quick examination revealed nothing except one of the stones was invitingly flat.

  He sat down, removing his canteen from his belt. He took several swigs, then absentmindedly kicked at the dirt as he swished the last sip around his mouth, making certain every nook and cranny was moistened.

  His foot hit something and his heart raced as he dropped to his knees and began digging.

  Outside Alexandria, Egypt

  22 August, 30 BC

  Tarik wept silently, his head turned from his brothers in shame as he knelt, looking down at the valley below. It was the end of an era, and the beginning of a new one, and despite the knowledge his Pharaoh, his leader, his master, his god, was not dead, but merely in another place, living in paradise above with the other gods, it tore at him inside. For he had loved his Pharaoh, with all his heart, and had devoted his life to carving the very jewels that adorned the living god.

  And it had been he that had arranged delivery of the king cobras to Cleopatra’s chambers. When he had heard the news that spread throughout the city, then kingdom, that she had been bitten by a snake and died, he had at first thought the plan had gone wrong, that her attempt to kill Octavian had been a failure, until he had heard the full story.

  Suicide.

  Intentional suicide.

  And when he had heard the story from the mouth of the very messenger who had visited his home that fateful night, he realized how her death was a tragedy, but the method was a celebration. To deny Octavian his prize was the ultimate insult, the ultimate failure on his part.

  At first when he heard the story, he had assumed Octavian would take one final act of vengeance, and have her body torn apart and burned, but instead he had allowed the traditional buri
al to proceed with all the honor and dignity a Pharaoh deserved, save the public displays. She and Antony would be interred with respect, but that was all.

  Indeed, Tarik had carved the very necklace that now adorned the fallen divinity in the sarcophagus that would contain the body, now buried in secret, the unforgivable sin of robbing the graves of their dead gods far too common. It was an act so deplorable, so disgusting, that Tarik couldn’t fathom the depths of evil and depravity that one must have fallen to in order to even contemplate such an act.

  It was an act that should be punished by death. Horrible, agonizing, slow death. No mercy should befall those who would insult their gods, those who would dare touch the final resting places of their corporeal forms in this world.

  He felt a rage build in his stomach at the thought of someone stealing from his god, whom he had worshipped since he was first weaned from his mother’s teat, and honored with every carving he produced from a little boy. His father, who had fallen to disease six harvests ago, had taught him the art of sculpture and metal works, jewelry crafting and precious stone cutting. It was an honorable trade, a profitable trade, and their family was among the richest in Alexandria, owning many shops and houses, plus farmland outside the city and throughout the kingdom.

  His two brothers, with him today, were as equally devoted to their Pharaoh as he was, their own passions taking them to the farms the family owned, rather than the jewelry business. It would be up to Tarik to father a son, and teach him the trade so the family business could continue.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he quickly wiped his eyes dry, then rose. His brother Jabari smiled gently at him, his own cheeks stained from tears. Tarik grabbed him and hugged him, the two sobbing as their youngest brother, Fadil, wrapped his arms around them, joining in their sorrow.

  He broke away from the hug and held both brothers by the shoulders, looking at Jabari then Fadil. “We must not let our god’s final resting place be desecrated. We will stand guard until they have sealed the chamber.”

  Jabari nodded in agreement, but Fadil opened his mouth, then apparently thought better of it, closing it.

  “What is it, little brother?” asked Tarik.

  Fadil opened his mouth, made a noise as if about to speak, then closed it again, looking at the ground. “It’s nothing.”

  Jabari squeezed Fadil’s shoulder. “Speak, we are all brothers here.”

  Fadil looked up at Jabari, then at Fadil, then down in the valley below at the ceremonial guard. “Well, I mean no disrespect brothers, but isn’t that their duty?” he asked, motioning at the troop of soldiers below with his chin.

  Tarik grunted. “It may be their duty, but can they be trusted? How many times have we heard of the graves of our ancestors, the graves of our gods, being desecrated, while under guard?”

  Fadil nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose it’s true. Anybody can be bought for a price.” He looked at his brothers with a smile. “Except us, of course!”

  “Of course, little brother!” agreed Jabari, giving him a one armed hug. “We want for nothing, we lust for nothing, we are untouchable by graft and bribery.”

  “Which is exactly why it should be up to us, up to people like us, to protect the resting places of the gods,” said Tarik.

  Jabari paused for a moment, studying his brother. “You sound as if you have a greater purpose in mind than simply standing guard until the chamber is sealed at full moon.”

  Tarik nodded. “Yes, I do. As I think of it more, we have a responsibility to all of our gods. And who better than us to find out who has been robbing these sacred places. I, a gemsman, who has been trained to recognize the craftsmanship of the Pharaoh’s jewelers for many dynasty’s past. And you two, who also were trained in the trade, but instead decided to get your hands dirty in the soil of the Nile delta”—a grin broke out amongst all three, it an old family joke that Jabari and Fadil moved to the farms to escape the need to bathe daily—“you are both able to recognize the craftsmanship as well, and we as a family frequent the very parties where this wealth would be displayed. It is us that could bring these heathens to justice!”

  “But if we did so, brother, would we not expose ourselves to the very element we attempt to find?”

  Tarik looked at Jabari then nodded slowly.

  “Then we must find them in secret, and bring them to justice in secret.”

  “You mean murder?”

  Tarik looked at his little brother, then placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Justice is never murder.” Tarik looked between his brothers, and the burial below. “We three, and others we can trust, will protect our sacred places, and weed out those who would desecrate the final resting places of our gods.”

  Both Fadil and Jabari smiled, their chests swollen with the pride they all felt in their new sworn task. Tarik broke from the huddle and stepped to the edge of the cliff, staring down at the valley below, hands on his hips, his jaw set, his eyes alive with the prospects before him.

  I swear, almighty Cleopatra, we will let you rest in peace. And should we fail, we will bring justice to those who would disturb you.

  Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

  Two Days Before the Liberty Island Attack

  Acton returned the Glock to Jeffrey, one of the security personnel, and walked away from the shooting range, deciding he had had enough practice for one day. Laura joined him, beginning to limber up for the hand-to-hand combat phase of the training, both of them already crack shots, when Chaney came running into the camp, holding something over his head, a huge smile on his face.

  Acton and Laura walked toward their friend and as he neared they could see he was holding a nearly perfectly preserved clay pot. “What do you think?” he asked, breathlessly. “I cleaned it exactly as you showed me.”

  Acton eyed the pot then took the ancient artifact. As he turned it in his hands, his eyes narrowed. “Where’d you find this?”

  “On my morning constitutional, over the ridge, just beyond that rise.” Chaney pointed behind the archeologists and both turned their heads to see where he was indicating.

  Acton turned to Laura. “Have you done any surveying over there?”

  She shook her head. “No, the satellite scans showed this as the center of the town. We decided to start here and work our way out. We won’t reach that area for another year at least.”

  “And everything we’ve found so far is Fourth Dynasty. Around forty-five hundred years old?”

  Laura nodded, her pony tail, tied high to keep her auburn hair out of her face and off her neck, bouncing. “That’s right, why?”

  He handed her the pot. “What do you make of this?”

  She looked it over, her own eyes narrowing. “Interesting!”

  “What? What’s so interesting?” asked Chaney, his voice sounding frustrated and excited at the same time.

  Gunfire, several weapons this time, erupted from behind them as the training continued, but none of them reacted. Laura continued to examine the pot, running her fingers over the painted symbols and figures. She looked up at Chaney.

  “This is only two thousand years old. It can’t be part of this site, it’s far too new.”

  “Two thousand years old is too new?”

  She nodded. “By a few thousand years. And these symbols…” Her voice drifted off as her finger tapped on her lower lip, apparently becoming lost in thought.

  “What about the symbols?”

  This time Chaney just sounded frustrated.

  “They’re markings indicating they were carved in honor of the death of the last pharaoh.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Cleopatra,” whispered Laura, her eyes opened wide in excitement. She looked at Acton who was as equally excited when he suddenly frowned. “Look.” He pointed at the one broken part of the pot, near the top lip. Laura looked, as did Chaney, leaning in to see what the professors were looking at.

  “Too bad,” said Laura, handing the
pot back to Chaney.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “It was fired in a modern kiln,” explained Acton. “It’s a replica. A very well done one, still handcrafted, and perhaps several hundred years old, so nothing to be thrown away, simply not what we were hoping for.”

  “Why, what’s so important about finding something made from Cleopatra’s time.”

  “Well, archeologists have been searching for her burial chamber for years.”

  “How’s that possible?” asked Chaney. “They found Tut and a whole bunch of other blokes that are a hell of a lot older than this one,” he said, pointing at the female figure on the pot. “How could they not know where she was buried only two thousand years ago?”

  Acton shrugged his shoulders.

  “Nobody knows. That’s the mystery.”

  Laura nodded at the pot. “Why don’t you put that in the tent so we can examine it closer when the sun is at its hottest. We’ll do our training, then go take a quick look at the area where you found it.”

  Chaney nodded, trotting off to the air conditioned tent, as Acton and Laura resumed their stretching.

  “Do you think we’ll find anything?” Acton asked.

  “I doubt it, but he looked so crestfallen I thought I’d throw a little hope his way.”

  Acton grabbed her by the neck and pulled her toward him, kissing the top of her head.

  “That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Chaney exit the tent, a huge smile on his face.

  Sometimes it’s the little things.

  Alexandria, Egypt

  30 BC, Seven Weeks After Cleopatra’s Death

  Tarik stared at the necklace shown to him by one of his shopkeepers. It was a gorgeous piece, jade and gold with a fistful of sapphires and rubies, in a design meant to elongate the neck, the choker style popular with his beloved Cleopatra, and still very much so in high society since there was no new pharaoh to define their own style, Octavian having killed Cleopatra’s son, Caesarian. It was the end of an era. The end of the Pharaoh’s. The end of Egypt.