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

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 Leather, 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.