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

  Egypt was turning into the prime example of how Islam and democracy were fundamentally incompatible. Democracy demanded a separation of Church and State. Islam was not only a religious belief system, it was a legal and judicial system.

  Reading sighed, debating whether or not opening his fly to let the cool air gain access would be taking things too far. Deciding against it, he recalled his friend Rahim phoning him at the office during the overthrow of the longtime military dictator, and the excitement in his voice.

  Reading had been excited too, watching the protests on the television, cheering as victory after victory was won, he too caught up in the naiveté of the average Westerner who had no clue about the true underpinnings of Arab politics.

  And when the first election results had come in, he realized the Arab world’s most populous country was in trouble. And he hadn’t heard from Rahim since.

  Reading shifted and sighed as the cool air reached a nether region it hadn’t before, his smile growing. Why the hell did we fight a war down here? He tried to remember his history, and decided it must have been the Suez Canal that had been the objective, but of that he couldn’t be certain, since World War Two had spread across the entire of North Africa. His brief stint in the Falklands as a young man had been nothing compared to what those poor bastards had endured during WWII.

  And it had dragged for years.

  Speaking of dragging.

  He squeezed his butt cheeks, discovering they still ached from the drive here from Cairo. I’m getting too old for this. He was on the wrong side of fifty, and after the events in London a couple of years ago he had left for Interpol to avoid the publicity, but it wasn’t just that. He was getting old. He was feeling old. The joints didn’t hold up like they used to, and chasing down a suspect was murder in itself.

  He patted his stomach, his eyes still closed, and felt the soft layer that had developed over the past few years, his flat stomach long since having gone into hiding.

  Washboard abs for delicates.

  He smiled at the phrase he had heard from Acton once. Acton was barely on the wrong side of forty, and was still in remarkable shape. Reading envied him sometimes, and always felt a touch of chagrin when he did. He was attractive, successful, loved by his students, had friends who would give their lives for him, and a spectacular younger woman who not only was rich, but worshipped the ground he walked on.

  That might be pushing it.

  He chuckled, then opened his eyes to make sure he was still alone. Satisfied, he closed his eyes again.

  Laura Palmer worships no one.

  But there was no denying she loved him, and was absolutely devoted to him. And he to her.

  Reading remembered feeling that way about his wife years ago when they had first met, but the feeling had been fleeting, and if it weren’t for her being pregnant, they would have gone their separate ways. Instead, they stayed together for as long as they could stand each other, then separated, and eventually divorced, his own son becoming estranged from him. They had recently begun to patch things up, as it had never truly been the typical estrangement where former spouses used the child as a proxy in their war with each other.

  It had been his fear of being a father.

  He had failed as a husband.

  Miserably.

  And he had feared failing his son, so had found excuses to avoid him, the job usually providing an excuse for him, and when not hearing from his dad had become the norm, Reading merely kept the expectations low. Christmas gifts and birthday gifts were always on time, the occasional phone call, but little contact, and almost none for the poor kid’s teenage years when he could have really used a father.

  You ran away from your problems.

  Reading frowned, shifting slightly to see if he could work the breeze a little further up. Is that what you’re doing now? Running away? He could honestly say he wasn’t contemplating retirement out of fear. He had never been a coward. And his job now was mostly behind a desk, so the physical aspect shouldn’t be an issue anymore.

  Maybe you’re afraid of letting your friends down when they need you.

  Reading bit his lip. Could that be it? Could he be afraid of failing his friends? As he thought about it, he realized that this could very well be the reason he was in a funk. He hadn’t been able to help them in China, but then he hadn’t even known it was happening until it was too late. He had helped them on several occasions, successfully he thought, but Laura had still been shot and almost killed.

  He shook his head. You can’t be everywhere at once.

  Something from outside the tent yanked Reading from his reverie and he bolted upright, his eyes shooting open as he strained to hear again what he thought he had just heard. A woman’s cry. He heard nothing, but struggled from his seat nonetheless and was soon outside, several of the students pointing and beginning to run toward a ridge south of the camp.

  “What’s going on?” he yelled.

  Terrence Mitchell, the senior grad student, turned and waved for him to follow.

  “We just heard Professor Palmer yelling!” he said, his uncoordinated feet nearly tripping him up as he looked behind him.

  Reading pointed at two of the ex-SAS guards. “You’re with us. The rest stay and guard the camp.”

  The two men nodded, sprinting ahead of the group, their weapons at the ready, as Reading labored through the sand, then up the embankment. As he cleared the ridge, he saw the guards followed by several of the students approaching a group of rocks where his former partner Chaney stood, holding Laura as she cried, both looking down at the ground.

  Where’s Jim?

  As he arrived he found a circle of students blocking his view, witnesses to a crime impeding his police investigation.

  “Step aside,” he ordered, his old training kicking in, and the authority in his voice parted them like the staff of Moses did the Red Sea, and he stepped through, only to gasp at the hole that greeted him. “Did he fall in there?” he asked, looking at his partner.

  Chaney nodded.

  Reading sucked in a breath, then took command of the situation. He pointed at Terrence. “You, get as much rope as you can carry. Take someone to help you.” Terrence nodded, tapping the shoulder of the boy beside him, and they both sprinted toward the camp. He pointed at the next student in line. “You, go get flashlights and glow sticks if you have them. As many as you can carry. Go!” She nodded, chasing her friends. He picked two more. “You two, get shovels and pickaxes. You two, water. Go!”

  With most of the students now busy with jobs, he was able to survey the area a little closer. He pointed to Chaney. “You two get out of there, on this side of the rocks. Chaney nodded, guiding Laura out of the danger area. Reading dropped to his knees, and crawled as close to the edge of the hole as he dared.

  “Hello!” he yelled. “Jim! Can you hear me?”

  His voice echoed into the hollow, and he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t quicksand that had swallowed up his friend. He turned his head to listen for a reply, but heard nothing.

  “Jim!” he yelled, louder this time. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes!” came the faint reply. Laura yelped in joy, breaking free from Chaney’s grasp as she dropped beside Reading.

  “James, it’s me, are you okay?”

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Reading looked up to see Lt. Colonel Leather, Retired, beckoning him to stand up. Reading looked at Chaney and pointed at Laura, who continued to talk excitedly to her fiancé, then climbed to his feet.

  “What is it?”

  Leather casually looked back toward the camp, positioning himself between Reading and the hole.

  “Over my right shoulder, sir.”

  “What is it?” asked Reading, looking over Leather’s shoulder, but seeing nothing.

  “We’re being watched, sir.”

  Then Reading saw it, a glint of light off glass.

  Binoculars!

  He successfully hid his surprise, and casu
ally turned his head to the side.

  “How many do you figure?”

  “I’ve spotted two distinct positions manned, but there could be more.”

  “Recommendation?”

  “If this were a military op, I’d send out a team to flank them and recce the area, capture them if possible, eliminate them if necessary.”

  “But since this isn’t a military operation?”

  “Recce it is.”

  Reading nodded. “Do it, but keep it quiet. We don’t want to panic the civilians.”

  Leather nodded, walking away and getting on his radio.

  Reading dropped to a knee, pretending to look at the pit containing his friend, but instead scanning the horizon without moving his head.

  And this time saw at least two different flashes, separated enough to know it was more than one person.

  Who the hell could be watching us out here? And why?

  Then he looked at the pit and his heart slammed into his chest as the adrenaline of realization surged through his body.

  They’re not watching us, they’re watching this hole!

  Tarik’s Residence, Alexandria

  30 BC, Seven Weeks After Cleopatra’s Death

  Tarik sat on the step overlooking the Nile, the view from the back of his estate breathtaking on any other day, but today it went unnoticed, the hundreds of vessels plying its waters mere shadows on an equally dark canvas that was his soul.

  My own brother!

  He couldn’t believe it. As soon as he had realized who it was, he had sent Shakir and Kontar off, hoping his shopkeeper Kontar hadn’t spotted her, and if he had, hadn’t recognized her. But there was no doubting who she was. He had seen her face a thousand times, had seen it laugh, had seen it smile, had seen it admire the jewelry worn by others richer than him, had seen the envy in those green eyes.

  Footsteps behind him echoed across the marble and stone, but he didn’t look. He recognized the step. It was his brother Jabari, whom he had sent for immediately upon arriving home.

  “Brother, what is it? Your messenger said it was urgent!”

  Jabari walked down several of the steps, then turned to face his eldest brother. Tarik didn’t say anything, instead pointing at a nearby table where the necklace sat. Jabari stepped over to look.

  “Why, isn’t this the necklace you crafted for our Pharaoh?” asked Jabari, his voice barely a whisper, as his hand reached out, tracing the jewels without touching, the object revered the moment it had graced the skin of their beloved Cleopatra.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “But where, how, I mean—” Jabari stopped, unable to find the words, then sat down in a nearby chair, grabbing his hair. “Why do you have it? How? We’ve been guarding the burial site. It should be impossible!”

  “Yes, it should be, unless…”

  Tarik let the statement drift, waiting for Jabari to come to his own conclusions.

  “Unless what?” demanded Jabari. “Unless…” And he too let his voice drift as his jaw dropped. “Unless one of our own has betrayed us!” he hissed, looking about. “Do you know who?”

  Tarik nodded. “The answer lies in who had the necklace.”

  Jabari rose then took a knee at Tarik’s feet, looking up at him as they both kept their voices low lest the servants be listening.

  “One of my shopkeepers, Kontar, was approached by a petty thief, a pickpocket, with the necklace yesterday. He brought it to me as he recognized it, then we apprehended the thief, a wretched old creature named Shakir—very skilled, very old. He pointed out the woman from whom he had stolen it.”

  “Did you have her arrested?”

  Tarik shook his head.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was Dalila, Fadil’s wife.”

  Tarik felt his stomach flip as he said the words, the very idea of it still not having sunk in, and he could see the horror on his younger brother’s face as he too processed what he had just heard. It was simply too fantastic to believe, that their own family, their own brother, could be involved.

  “Are we sure it’s him?”

  Tarik looked at his brother. “Of course, what other explanation could there be? She’s his wife, how else would she have obtained it?”

  Jabari covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking for several moments, then he sucked in a deep breath and looked up at his brother, tears streaking down his cheeks.

  “You realize what this means?”

  Tarik knew exactly what it meant, which was why he had been sick since the moment he had seen her face in the market. Desecration of a god’s tomb was sacrilege. It was an unforgivable sin.

  And there was only one punishment for it.

  Death.

  Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

  Two Days Before the Liberty Island Attack

  Lt. Colonel Cameron Leather expertly guided the jeep down the road to what some might call the main motorway. He didn’t. It was a strip of pavement that was at times barely visible due to drifting sand. But that didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to the road. He cranked the wheel to the right, gunning the engine as he crested a hill, sending the butterflies in his stomach into action, that feeling of near weightlessness he loved so much as the upward g-force equaled with that of Mother Nature herself, then the jolt as the jeep came crashing back to the ground.

  I love this shit!

  He had retired young in his mind, mid-forties. When he had been promoted to a desk after being wounded on a mission in Afghanistan, he had labored long and hard to recover fully so he could return to active duty, but it wasn’t to be. He had gone crazy with paperwork before he could return himself to the physical condition a soldier in the Special Air Service needed to be. They were Britain’s elite soldiers, the best of the best, and there was no way he would let himself return to them unless he was in top form.

  It would put the rest at risk.

  So he had retired, and taken the gig as Professor Laura Palmer’s head of security. When he had first heard of the position, he had laughed, then cried a little inside at the thought of what had become of his life. One day he was a super soldier, killing the enemy and protecting his country, and the next, he was a babysitter to some woman and her children in Egypt.

  But he had recruited a few of the lads from the unit that had rotated out for various reasons, or followed him out, and created his own firm, with four of them here in Egypt now, another four in Peru at Professor Acton’s dig site.

  When he had heard what had happened to the professors—and even that was through the news and through friends in the know since the Profs never talked about it—he had been gobsmacked. And after working with them for a couple of years, he had come to respect them, and even admire them.

  And he had quickly decided they needed to be trained if they were going to survive the ordeals they continually found themselves in. Professor Acton already had a fair amount of training from his days in the National Guard and his time in theatre during Desert Storm, and with Leather’s guidance, Acton’s old training quickly came back, and he excelled at the advanced self-defense techniques Leather and his men would teach. Professor Palmer had come green, but had no fear. The woman was remarkable in Leather’s mind, not afraid to try anything, and would insist on continuing until she got it right.

  They were ideal students who were appreciative of his efforts, and he took some pride in hearing about some of their exploits, and how his training had saved their asses on more than one occasion.

  Which was why when they had suggested the students be trained as well, he had jumped at it. These kids were going to be working in hotspots all around the world, and living in cities that were becoming more and more violent. Knowing how to take care of yourself not only gave confidence, but it allowed you to not only help yourself when needed, but others too.

  And with the disaster Egypt was turning into, these students may need the skills sooner than he hoped.

&nbs
p; “Look.”

  He followed the outstretched arm of Sergeant Hewlett and saw a puff of dust on the horizon, then a second. He gunned the engine and sped along the top of a ridge, closing the distance then skidded to a halt, jumping up onto the driver’s seat, his binoculars already at his eyes.

  “Two men on horseback, armed. AK’s most likely.”

  Hewlett, also standing on his seat, nodded.

  “Dressed like Bedouins. What do you think?”

  “I think we’re being watched. We’ll do a loop around the camp, just to see if there are others, then I think it’s time to increase security.”

  They both dropped into their seats and Leather gunned the engine, the jeep surging forward as they made their round. Two curious Bedouins didn’t concern him too much, but his encounters with them in the past showed them to be bold warriors, who wouldn’t have run just because two white guys showed up in a jeep.

  This was something different.

  And Leather knew from the tingling running up and down his spine that this was more than what it appeared.

  Tarik’s Residence, Alexandria, Egypt

  30 BC, Seven Weeks After Cleopatra’s Death

  Tarik and Jabari sat quietly on the veranda overlooking the Nile, it now evening, the sun having just set behind them. The banks of the river were now lit with torches, as the commerce never ceased, hundreds of craft continuing their voyages up and down the Nile, the only evidence of their existence tiny lights on their bows and sterns, and the occasional shout from one of the crew.

  Fadil! How could you have done such a thing?

  Tarik had sent a messenger to have his brother and his wife join them for dinner, but no dinner would be served tonight. Though Tarik’s stomach growled on occasion for attention, he feared he would immediately reject anything he ate, and throw it up.