Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) (17 page)

“Ma’am,
I’m Captain Hastings. The Ethiopian forces have been pacified, their attempt to
cross the river halted. Ground and air superiority have been established, there
is no further threat. I just received a report that the other forces moving
into the area have turned around. Apparently with the gold gone, there’s no
point in staying.”

“Excellent
work, Captain,” replied Reese, visibly relaxing. She turned to Dawson. “And
thanks to you and your partner,” she said, nodding toward Niner. “Your quick
thinking would have prevented a war if the Navy hadn’t arrived.”

Dawson
bowed slightly. “Thank you, ma’am.” He turned to Acton. “Sorry for destroying
your boat, Doc, but the Ethiopians were already doing a good job of it.”

Acton
shrugged. “You made the right decision. We’ll go back and survey the site,
retrieve the rest of the gold. I’m sure there’re still lots of things that can
be recovered, especially now that the time constraints have been eliminated.”

Reese clapped
her hands, waving the crowd in.

“I’m
sorry people, but we still have jobs to do. We’ll return to the site as soon as
the military declares it safe. I want a head count though before we do anything
else.” She snapped her fingers at someone, diving into the crowd, leaving Acton
and Laura with the Delta operators and the newly arrived Marines.

“How bad
was it?” asked the Captain, then spotting the gold in Niner’s scoop, he
whistled, the question forgotten. “Jesus,” he whispered, picking one of the
gold bars up. “Heavier than you’d think.”

Acton
nodded, picking a couple up, tossing them to Dawson and Niner. “That’s how you
can pan for gold. It’s so much heavier than the normal silt in a river that it
sinks to the bottom, allowing you to wash away the sand.”

“Amazing,”
said Dawson as he tossed the bar back in the scoop.

“How
much do you think this is worth?” asked Niner as he continued to toss his from
hand to hand, marveling at the weight.

“That’s
about a kilo, which is roughly thirty-five ounces and an ounce of gold is
around thirteen hundred bucks so almost fifty grand.”

“Holy
shit!” Niner batted the bar into the scoop as if it were suddenly red hot. “No
wonder people kill for this shit.”

Reese
walked up to them. “And today wasn’t any different. It looks like we’re missing
twelve people. Hopefully they’re fine and still at the site.”

“I saw
one civvy definitely buy it,” said Niner. “The guy who was talking to you, a
little hefty.”

Acton’s
jaw slackened as he felt his stomach hollow out. “Tucker?”

“I don’t
know, you were talking to him in the tent. Friend of yours?”

Acton
shook his head. “We just met him on the helicopter on the way in. Nice guy.” He
felt sick, flashbacks of Peru filling his thoughts. He had been around a lot of
death over the past few years, but rarely was it someone he knew, and someone
he liked.

Except
Peru.

He felt
Laura squeeze his hand and he looked at her, her own eyes glistening. He turned
to Reese. “Let’s get back there and check on the others.”

Reese
nodded, pointing to the two loaders filled with gold. “Captain, I trust I can
leave these in your capable hands?”

Captain
Hastings smiled. “Absolutely, ma’am. You can always trust the United States
Navy.”

Niner
opened his mouth to deliver what Acton had no doubt would be a spectacular wise
crack about how the army was superior, but Dawson grabbed him by the jaw before
a word could come out.

“Let’s
get going before someone puts his foot in it.”

Lucius Valerius Corvus Residence, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 25
^th
, 79 AD

The ground shook with a sudden jolt, sending Valerius to the floor,
his elbow hitting the marble hard causing him to wince in pain. He heard yells
and rolled over to see the front entry columns snap in the middle, the tops
collapsing and shattering on the unforgiving floor, shards skidding across the
tiles.

Followed
moments later by the entire front of the house.

The tons
of stone and wood used to construct the roof years ago collapsed with an
initial hesitation followed by the roar of massive cracking and tearing. The soldiers
still moving the gold tried to scramble out of the way, some hurling themselves
toward the rear of the room, futilely, the entire event taking only seconds.
Valerius jumped to his feet, rushing toward those brave men but felt someone
grab his shoulder armor, yanking him back to safety as the dust from the
collapse, mixed with the ash that had accumulated on the roof, rolled toward
them like a bank of fog, enveloping them in a dark gray cloud.

Valerius
covered his mouth, his heartbreaking at the muffled cries from under the rubble
as those unfortunate enough not to die in the initial crush slowly had their
lives drained away in agony, their fates sealed not only by the impossible
immovable mass, but the horror befalling the entire city.

“Come,
master!”

It was
Costa who had grabbed him, and continued to hold him, apparently still not
trusting that he wouldn’t throw himself into the fray in a futile attempt to
save his men. He patted the hand of his trusted servant then turned to see who
remained. There were few. Plinius was in the doorway, urging him with a wave to
follow him as he pushed the soldiers that had survived through the door.
Valerius looked up and saw cracks rapidly spreading out across the ceiling like
fracturing ice on a pond, and leapt into action, rushing toward the door.

“Every
one out, now!” he yelled, pushing Plinius through the door and whipping Costa
after him. A female slave huddled nearby, screaming as the rest of the ceiling
began to crumble. “Let’s go!” yelled Valerius, but she shook her head, too
terrified.

He swiftly
covered the half dozen paces between them, grabbing her by the arm and yanking
her into the air, tossing her over his shoulder as he spun around toward the
door. Her screams weakened as he pushed toward the door, then stopped as he
felt her go limp, fainting at whatever it was she had seen. He stole a glance
behind him as he crossed the threshold and emerged from what was once his home,
the remaining structure crumpling in on itself, the archway he had just cleared
remaining standing, his emergence punctuated with a blast of dust that
momentarily obscured everything. As the dust cleared, only to be replaced by
the sight of the thick, falling ash of their new reality, he gasped at the
horror he had tried to avoid all morning.

It was the
end of times, prophesized for as far back as time went.

He
handed the young slave over to one of the soldiers and approached Plinius who
was surveying the damage, coughing hard into his robe.

“What
are your orders, my lord?”

His
lord, master and friend of so many years dropped to one knee, hunched over as
he continued to hack, his shoulders heaving with the effort.

“Water!”
ordered Valerius, and a soldier rushed over with a skin, handing it to Valerius
who then pressed it to Plinius’ lips, squeezing the precious fluid out. Plinius
took several gulps, his cough subsiding slightly, but as Valerius knelt beside
him, he could hear the wheezing of strained breaths, and one glance at his Prefect
had him convinced his mentor wasn’t going to survive unless they escaped
immediately.

Plinius
reached up and gripped Valerius’ arm, pulling him so his ear was near the man’s
mouth.

“Forget
me. Save the gold.”

Valerius
shook his head, placing his own mouth at his liege’s ear.

“I shall
save both, my lord.” He rose to his feet, pointing toward the water. “Make for
the boats!”

Suddenly
a strong wind swept down the hillside and toward the bay, momentarily clearing
the ash from their view, replacing it with the stench of rotting eggs, and as
Valerius tried to pull his master to his feet, he realized the air had spoiled,
and he was weakening.

He
dropped to his knees, grabbing Plinius by the face.

“My
lord, Plinius, please! You must try!”

Around
him soldiers began to drop with groans as they were overwhelmed by the sulfur,
others who had immediately heeded his orders were running toward the boats,
clearly visible now that the ash had been cleared by the deadly wind. He looked
into Plinius’ eyes, and his heart sank.

There
was barely any life there.

His
liege’s breaths were mere gasps now, shallow, far apart. His mentor of almost
his entire adult life looked up at him, their eyes meeting, and in one last
gasp, he issued his final order.

“Leave
me.”

Valerius’
heart demanded he pick up his liege and carry him to the boats, but his head
knew it would mean his own death as well. His lungs were screaming for relief
as he held his breath. He touched his head to that of his friend for a moment,
then pushed himself to his feet, wading through the thick ash toward the shore.

One of
the boats, its hull low in the water, weighed down by its precious cargo, had
already turned, the wind gripping its sails and pulling them away from the
shore. Plinius’ cutter sat nearly on its side, the tide low, its hull covered
in a massive amount of ash and its sails burned, leaving it useless.

Only one
ship remained now, and as he hit the thick mud that was now the shore, the ash
and water having created a mix as thick as that used by masons, he pushed
through as he saw others being pulled aboard by the crew.

He
gasped, finally letting go his breath and sucked in what might be his final
lungsful should it prove deadly. Thankfully he felt the sweet relief of air
filling his lungs, providing him with the energy to continue on, the stench
still there, but not as strong as it was at the house.

The
ground shook with a jolt so strong it was if he had been racing in a chariot
and suddenly hit a wall. He flew through the air, toward the boat, but landed
face first in the mud, his breath knocked out of him. He struggled to get up,
but couldn’t, the weight of the water and mud, combined with the suction power
of the mixture held him tightly in place, and as he felt his life drain from
him, his only thoughts were of his wife and children, and the comfort it provided
him to know they had escaped this tragedy the night before.

His name
would live on, and they would be protected, he dying a hero of the Empire.

Tekezé River, Eritrea
Present Day, One day before the crash

Acton tossed the last of the gold bars to Laura then crawled out
into the glaring midday sun. Laid out on a table were dozens of artifacts he
had found during the final clear-out of the gold. They had already been moved
by the front loaders so there was no point in trying to catalog them in place
other than to take photos with his phone before carefully removing each piece.
It had delayed the gold extraction each time, but not by much. With Dawson and
Niner’s “on-their-feet” thinking from this morning, they were now way ahead of
schedule with respect to the gold.

Which
meant they were leaving very shortly, the Eritreans wanting all of the
foreigners out with the gold, the excuse being they wanted to diffuse the
situation with the Ethiopians. Acton knew very well that the Eritreans had no
interest in preserving the archeological find so had taken the opportunity to
preserve what he could while Laura had managed to negotiate an extra half day.
Dawson had arranged a Black Hawk to deliver them to the Eritrean capital of
Asmara at the same time the convoy of gold would arrive.

The
Eritreans had reluctantly agreed.

“Look at
this,” said Acton as he took out a pocket knife and scratched away a bit of the
surface of one of the broken pieces of wood that had been part of the hull. A
layer of hard black sat in the palm of his hand. Laura pinched some of it
between her fingers, rubbing them together.