Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) Page 6

  Rocks the size of fists began to rain down on them, but as they hit they exploded into smaller stones and dust, the embers left behind smoldering then extinguishing themselves in wisps of smoke.

  “Watch for fires!” ordered Plinius as he continued to ride the prow of the boat, his eyes peering at the shore.

  “My Lord! It’s too dangerous to land here!” yelled the Legate captaining the boat.

  “We have no choice!” replied Plinius, turning his head back toward his underling. “Fortune favors the brave!” he yelled. “Make for the shore, there!” He pointed slightly to starboard and Costa felt his heart leap as he recognized the shore mere paces from his master’s home, the once brilliantly white abode now shrouded in a blanket of darkness. As he peered into the storm of what tasted like ash he thought he saw movement on the roof, and after a few moments he was able to make out the forms of soldiers desperately trying to sweep away the accumulating debris. Costa looked at the deck of the boat and noticed it too had already amassed enough that their footprints were now obvious.

  As the boat neared the shore he gripped the rail, watching the house for any sign of his master, praying he had had the sense to abandon it long ago, but knowing in his heart that he never would. He spotted several soldiers with brooms and a path that had been kept clear from the house to the shore when he heard Plinius gasp audibly. Costa’s eyes darted back to the house and his jaw dropped as the entire south wing collapsed.

  The cutter sliced into the sandy beach and came to a halt, the sails dropped almost immediately, Plinius jumping over the side, Costa far more clumsily following. The chaos seen from the bay poorly foreshadowed the reality on the ground. The ash was deep, small porous rocks covered the landscape, many giving an unearthly glow as if Hades itself were trying to push through to this realm. The air reeked of rotten eggs, the ground was piled almost waist high in ash, some areas appearing even deeper. The water was a thick sludge that clung to his bare legs. Though the sun was completely hidden above them, the temperature was higher than normal, almost uncomfortable to bear and he quickly found his body dripping in sweat as he followed Plinius to the main hall of the home, the Prefect using the path kept clear by the soldiers, all of whom looked exhausted.

  This is hell on Earth!

  He stumbled through layers of silk and cloth hanging across a doorway and into the large dining area of the home that opened out onto the veranda overlooking the bay. Dozens of torches had been lit to provide light, none coming from outside, and all of the windows and doors had been covered to prevent ash from entering. Despite their efforts, a thin layer still covered the floor, at the center of which was more gold than Costa had ever seen before.

  His jaw dropped and he immediately began to picture what just one of those bars could do for his family.

  Or two.

  It would change their lives. They could buy their freedom, perhaps open a shop in Rome itself. The dreams were almost overwhelming and he found he had tunnel vision, his eyes seeing nothing but the gold, his ears closed to the sounds around him. It took a tug of his tunic to snap him from the fantasy, a slave offering him water. He drank gratefully, several cupsful, then looked to his master, Valerius, who was embracing Plinius.

  “Thank the gods you have arrived!” cried Valerius. “I had feared you wouldn’t come.”

  Plinius smiled, still holding the younger Valerius by the arms. “Never doubt that I would be foolish enough to do that which brave men would fear,” he replied with a wink. He turned to the growing pile of gold. “I see you have begun.”

  “As soon as your ships were spotted, I gave the order. It may only save minutes, but minutes may be all we have.”

  Plinius nodded. “I noticed men on the roof?”

  “To keep the ash off. If it gets too heavy this entire room will collapse and we along with the Emperor’s gold will be trapped here.”

  “A wise precaution. And your family?”

  “I’ve sent them ahead. Hopefully they will find refuge south of the city.”

  Plinius squeezed his second’s shoulder. “I’ve given my nephew and sister similar orders should the need arise. I’m certain the gods will watch over both our families.” He stepped back and looked at the exhausted guard as they handed bars of gold to each other, the human chain slowly transferring the treasure from the chambers below. “This will take some time,” observed Plinius. “As more ships arrive we will begin the transfer in earnest. For now, I suggest we relax. Have some food and drink, some good conversation. It will calm the nerves. I have ten good men with me.” Plinius turned to one of his men. “Have your men relieve those on the roof and the path. Switch every fifteen minutes. Let me know as soon as the first ship arrives.”

  The man slapped his fist against his chest and disappeared outside, past the cloths trying to preserve some semblance of calm inside. Valerius turned to Costa. “Have food and drink brought, enough for everyone including the servants, then wash yourself up. Also, prepare an area for our soldiers to sleep. They can barely walk and need their rest.”

  Costa bowed and rushed toward the kitchen, thankfully in the still standing north wing of the house, his eyes having to tear themselves away from the pile of gold in the center of the room. He couldn’t believe how obsessed he was with it, and it wasn’t until he had left the room that he realized the grip it held on him even now. Having never seen that much wealth in one place before, he felt almost overwhelmed with how much just a tiny portion of what his master possessed could change his life for the better, and began to feel a tightness in his chest as a rage of jealousy overtook him.

  He gripped a nearby doorway as the entire house shook, a woman’s scream from the kitchen area beyond snapping him from his shameful thoughts. Shaking his head and voicing a silent apology to his master for his unforgiveable lapse, he rushed to the kitchen to see if anyone was hurt. All he found was a young female slave whimpering in a corner. He ushered her from her hiding place and passed on his master’s orders.

  “Food and drink for everyone, including yourself. Just keep bringing it out to the main dining area. Get whoever remains to help you.”

  The woman nodded, grateful it seemed to have something to occupy her mind. A creaking sound overhead had their eyes darting to the ceiling, Costa’s heart picking up several beats as he saw the extensive cracking. He rushed from the room, spotting two slaves and redirecting them to the kitchen as he left to prepare the room for the guards to rest.

  And to do so, he had to pass through the main chamber once more, and again he found himself mesmerized by the sight of more wealth than any one man could spend in a lifetime.

  There for the taking.

  Edge of the Nubian Desert, Egypt

  Present Day, Two days before the crash

  “James!”

  Professor James Acton leaned out the window of the supply truck, waving as it made the final turn into the Egyptian dig site his fiancée was running—and funding for the most part. It hadn’t changed much since the terrorist attack of last year, and the loss of the tomb they had discovered was heartbreaking, but the original dig, of an ancient Egyptian village along what was once a tributary to the mighty Nile, was back on track, albeit with more security.

  An Egyptian military checkpoint on the only road leading to the dig was constantly manned with half a dozen men only five minutes away, with a radio at the camp that could be used to call for help. And of course due to the fact the love of his life, Professor Laura Palmer of University College London, was filthy rich thanks to a massive inheritance from her late brother, they had a significant contingent of private security, mostly ex-Special Forces, many of them former Special Air Services, England’s most elite soldiers.

  After some had paid the ultimate price saving the lives of the two professors and their students, the contingent had been doubled from four to eight, and the self-defense training—voluntary of course—had continued. Though Acton had experience from a stint in the National Guard years ago, what
he had learned over the past couple of years from these men had proved invaluable, saving his life and countless others many times. He felt he was in the best shape of his life and had more confidence than he could remember.

  Though he’d trade much of that in for a somewhat more peaceful life.

  Far too often they were in the thick of things, and he prayed the two weeks he was about to spend here with Laura would be uneventful in every way except for scientific discovery and a little nudge-nudge-wink-wink.

  As the truck ground to a halt in the dirt he jumped out the passenger side and into the arms of Laura, her long auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, her customary—when on the dig site—tan shorts and shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, dusty from a day’s hard work, her cheeks glowing he hoped in the excitement of seeing him for the first time in weeks.

  Their attempted marriage had been aborted by the Pope just before he stepped down, and they had yet to set a new date, but neither were in a rush. They loved each other—of that there was no doubt—and that was all that mattered. Formalizing it wasn’t important, but was on the agenda.

  Not to mention his parents had nearly flipped when they had found out. His mother was thrilled with the idea of course, but wanted to be there to see “her baby” get married.

  His dad had grunted his agreement.

  As he breathed in her scent, feeling her body pressed hard against his, he lost himself in the moment of true love that still burned with the passion he had only before felt when the relationship was new. Perhaps it was the distance, he in the US, her in England, his dig in Peru, hers in Egypt. Whatever it was, it meant reunions were fantastic.

  He eyed the tent, then the midday sun.

  Patience, Jimmy Jr!

  The embrace broke and she wiped the tears from her face as the students gathered around to greet him, many of them having returned after the events of last year, determined to not let those who had died to have done so in vain, and those who would spread terror win. As hands were shook, hugs and kisses exchanged, he was gently led to the main tent by Laura, the whirlwind of excitement ending as he stepped through the secondary entrance, the cool, crisp air from the camp’s only air conditioner greeting him.

  “Oh God that feels nice!” he exclaimed as he took a wide stance and held out his arms. “I’ve been stuck to that vinyl seat for over eight hours.” Laura grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and tossed it to him. He caught it easily and sat down at a table with a map of the dig rolled out on it. Laura came up behind him and began to massage his shoulders. He moaned, leaning his head back against her stomach. “Mmmm, that feels nice.”

  “How was the flight?”

  “Usual pleasantries at the border, but other than that, uneventful,” he replied, his eyes closing as he gave himself over to her tender ministrations. “Everything fine here?”

  “Perfect. Dig is going great. We just found the edge of something big this morning. It looks like it may go down quite a bit.”

  Acton’s eyes popped open for a moment. “Where?”

  “At one of the exploratory digs to the east. It looks like the top of something, perhaps buried in a sandstorm thousands of years ago.”

  “Cool!” Acton could feel the excitement of a new discovery begin to fuel his system. “Who do you have on it?”

  “Well, it was Terrence’s exploratory dig, so I’ve left it in his hands for now. I think he deserves a shot after everything he did last year.”

  Terrence Mitchell was Laura’s star grad student who had risked his life to help warn them of the impending attack, nearly dying in the ensuing battle. He was a brilliant but awkward lad who had found love during those difficult hours, eventually marrying Jenny just two months ago.

  Yet we move at a snail’s pace!

  “Glad to hear our newlywed is doing well,” said Acton as Laura patted him on the shoulders, ending her massage. Acton rose and stretched. “Thanks, I needed that.” He sniffed his armpit and winced. “And now I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

  Laura waved her hand in front of her nose. “Please!”

  Acton’s hand darted out as he leapt forward and smacked her butt, she squealing as she tried to dodge the hit, unsuccessfully. He feigned another blow which he let her escape as she laughed, putting the table between the two of them. His shoulders slumped. “I’m dead. I think I’ll take a nap after the shower.”

  “Rest today, there will be plenty to do tomorrow,” replied Laura as she rounded the table and gave him a peck on the cheek. “And for the love of God, shower!” She raced for the exit before he could react.

  Acton chuckled as he grabbed a towel and snapped it at her. She winked at him then ducked back outside while he retrieved his toiletries and headed for the showers, the water provided by an underground well that had been dug for the camp when it was first set up. One of the advantages of a Professor Laura Palmer dig was her money, which she would use to provide the little extras for her students when possible. She was even known to extend her generosity anonymously and pay the way for some students who couldn’t afford it. And that philanthropic spirit had been extended to his students as well, many benefiting.

  As he washed in the cool but not cold water, he began to unwind, his muscles relaxing from his long trip. Washing his shoulder, his fingers ran over the scar from where he had been shot only two months before, and he instinctively winced. The wound was healed, but the strength hadn’t completely returned. He did daily exercises to help stretch and strengthen the area, but he found it still tired easily, and after a particularly hard day, it would ache enough to tempt him to take some pain killers which he was usually able to resist. If Laura was with him she was always able to distract him in some way, but if he was alone with his thoughts, he found them quite often returning to that day and his near death experience.

  He had learned later that his heart had most likely stopped and that he may actually have been dead. The Delta Force operator, Niner, and an Israeli medic, had saved his life in the field, and when it was all over, their discovery handed over to the Triarii, an ancient organization descendent from the Roman Thirteenth Legion sworn to protect the world from the supposed destructive powers of the crystal skulls, they had heard nothing since.

  Not a peep.

  Even their good friend and member of the organization, Detective Inspector Martin Chaney of Scotland Yard had gone incommunicado. Chaney’s former partner and now INTERPOL Special Agent, Hugh Reading, also a close friend of Acton’s, had grown concerned and discovered Chaney had taken an indefinite leave of absence before he had left England to claim their find, the excuse given that he needed more time to recover from being shot at this very dig site. It was reasonable considering he had only come out of his coma a few days before filing his request.

  Yet despite that they were all concerned.

  And there was nothing they could do about it except hope Chaney was okay, and that he was merely on Triarii business.

  Acton knew his good friend Reading was climbing the walls over this, he very close to the younger Chaney, almost thinking of him as a son. Acton didn’t know him as well, but a bond under fire had been formed that could never be broken, and it left him thinking of Chaney frequently, wondering just what had happened to the man.

  A thumping sound in the distance had him freeze in the shower, cocking his head to see if what he thought he had heard was real. The hair standing up on the back of his neck and the goose bumps spreading across his body was all the indication he needed. He quickly rinsed himself off then shut off the water as the thumping got louder. He pushed aside the wood door to the shower and stepped out into the open as he wrapped a towel around him, nobody noticing his momentary nakedness as all eyes were on the horizon.

  “There it is!” yelled one of the students, pointing to the east.

  Acton looked and his heart leapt into his throat as a large chopper cleared the rise, heading straight for them. The security team, led by former SAS Lieutenant Colonel Cameron L
eather, raced into position, an alarm sounding that sent the students scrambling, weapons being broken out as everyone, well-drilled, took up defensive positions.

  Acton raced toward the main tent, plunging through the double canvas entrance, pulling on a pair of shorts, shoving his feet into his boots, then running back outside with the satellite phone and the Egyptian walkie-talkie. As he burst from the tent he nearly ran headlong into Laura who was now packing a Glock 22 on her hip, a second in her hand along with several magazines.

  “Expecting anyone?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Here.” She handed him the spare weapon and mags, he handing her the satellite phone and radio. “Let’s go!”

  The two of them sprinted toward where the helicopter was landing, and as they rounded the tents, finally giving them a full view of the massive vehicle up close, Acton’s eyebrows shot up at the white paint job with blue lettering.

  United Nations?

  Sand was being whipped around, causing them to stop and shield their eyes as the vehicle bounced to a landing. The engines immediately began to power down as the side door was slid open, two crew members jumping to the ground, followed by a man in a business suit then a woman in a skirt and heels.

  Both looked and were completely out of place.

  As the wind died down, Acton and Laura stepped forward as the man waved to them. The woman made several false starts then finally bent over, removed her heels and tossed them into the open helicopter. The man extended his hand to Laura as he approached, the helicopter now quiet, its blades still spinning, but slow enough to now watch the hypnotic rhythm.

  “Professor Palmer?” asked the dark-skinned man, his accent British.

  “Yes,” replied Laura, exchanging a quick, quizzical glance with Acton as she accepted the man’s hand.