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

Seeing
red, the blood pounding in his ears, his heart racing as if he had sprinted all
the way to the village, he grabbed his dagger from his belt and raised it high,
his friend of over three decades gasping as he did so, then plunged it down
hard, burying the blade deep into Hamid’s chest. Hamid cried out, clutching at
Birhan’s arm as he tried to stop the assault, but Birhan had already withdrawn
the blade and buried it deep again, and as his friend’s cries turned into
whimpers, he continued his frenzied attack until finally there was silence.

And
prying the gold bar from Hamid’s death grip, he shoved it in his pocket then
rolled the body into the hold of the ship that was the key to
his
future,
and no one else’s.

“Pliny the Elder” Residence, Misenum, Roman Empire
August 24
^th
, 79 AD

Plinius stood with his arms outstretched as his servants dressed him
in his uniform. His man Dento tugged on the ties for his abdominal plate and Plinius
grunted, the fit a little too tight for his aging—and expanding—frame.

“Not so
tight, Dento, I did just feast with the Emperor.”

“I
apologize, sire,” replied Dento, the apology subdued but Plinius was certain
delivered with a slight smile. He felt the ties loosen slightly.

“Better.”
They were tied off and he inspected himself, bending all of his key joints,
making certain his mobility wouldn’t be impaired. He nodded with approval. “Is
my ship ready?”

Another
servant nodded. “Yes, sire, it is manned and ready, and we have a favorable
wind.”

Footfalls
from the hallway caused Plinius to turn toward the door as a man, exhausted,
skid to a halt. Plinius immediately recognized him as Valerius’ trusted man,
Costa. He waved him in, concern growing as he realized it could only be bad
news.

Costa
stepped into the room, gasping for breath, bowing deeply. Valerius flicked his
hand, indicating the man should rise. “Dispense with the formalities. What is
it?”

“Sire,
forgive me for this message is almost two hours old. I used the Cursus Publicus
to get here as quickly as possible, but—”

“Yes,
yes, what is it?”

“Sire,
my Lord asks for rescue. The situation is dire. The air can barely be breathed,
a dust has fallen like snow and is already to the waist in some areas. Rivers
of thick, glowing liquid flow down the mountain and toward the sea, cutting off
escape to the north. If help isn’t sent soon, all might be lost.”

Plinius
motioned for Costa to follow him as he strode from his chambers and toward the
front of the house where his carriage awaited to take him to his cutter. “And
your lord’s family?”

“Still
at the residence last I heard, sire.”

Plinius
shook his head, sending a silent thought to his friend.
Save your family,
Valerius!
Plinius turned to his man Dento. “Call up the fleet. Have them
sail at once to begin rescue operations at Pompeii.” He turned to Costa. “What
of Herculaneum?”

Costa
shook his head. “I fear the worst there as well, sire.”

Plinius
frowned, his lips pursed, as he climbed into the carriage, motioning for Costa
to join him. He looked down at Dento. “Have the Second and Third sail for
Herculaneum, the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth to Pompeii. They are to assist in
evacuating the civilians. Have the First rendezvous with my cutter for a
special mission. And have Tacitus take command and join me at Valerius’
residence with as many men as he can. Take a swift horse, deliver the orders
personally.”

Dento bowed
and without hesitating ran to the stables, moments later emerging on one of the
estate’s best steeds, riding it hard toward the port. Plinius looked down at
his nephew who had emerged from the house.

“Gaius,
should what is occurring across the bay reach here, I want you to order the
evacuation of the household. Do not hesitate.”

Gaius
nodded, the look of concern and worry on his face obvious. Plinius held out his
hand and the young man took it. He squeezed. “You have always made me proud,
and your father I know would have been as well. I would be honored to call you
son.” He squeezed Gaius’ hand harder. “Now heed my words. Should things turn
here, save yourself and your mother.” He let go of his nephew’s hand, a smile
forced on his face. “We shall see each other again, soon.”

The
reins were flicked and the carriage began to move, and as Plinius sat back for
the short trip to the harbor, he had an overwhelming sense he would never see
his nephew again.

Omhajer, Eritrea
Present Day, Six weeks before the crash

“Father! What happened!?”

Abrihet
leapt to her feet, tossing the laundry she was folding aside as her father
stumbled through the doorway, kicking it closed with his foot. Lumbering toward
the wood table that occupied the center of their one room home, he leaned
against the top and dropped something with a thud, it hidden under his shirt,
several clinks causing her eyebrows to pop in curiosity.

She
turned up the lantern that sat near the pile of folded laundry she had been
working on and frowned as she saw her father’s clothes covered in dark brown
stains, his entire body covered in dirt.

“What in
God’s name have you been doing?” she cried as she saw the mess he was in. “Are
you okay?”

He
pulled his shirt out from under the load, revealing a sight that had her pause
in mid stride, her brain simply not comprehending what she was seeing.

Then she
gasped.

“Is that
gold?” she cried, the glare her father gave causing her to slap both hands over
her mouth as her eyes opened wide.

“Funny!”
he laughed loudly for she assumed the benefit of the neighbors, then lowering
his voice, hissed “Keep quiet!” He pointed at a chair.

She
nodded and sat in one of the three surrounding the table as her father dropped
into his usual chair, it the only one with arms. He looked exhausted, even more
so than usual.

And
terrified.

“What’s
wrong?” she whispered, reaching out and grabbing his arm, then motioning toward
the pile of gold bars with her chin. “Where did you get these?”

“I found
them,” he said as he shoved some khat toward his mouth.

She
swatted his hand away. “That’s the last thing you need right now,” she scolded.
He glared at her for a moment and she feared a beating but he nodded, shoving
the deleterious weed back in his pocket. “Where did you find them?” she asked.

“Near
the river, buried in an old boat. Actually, the boat was buried, these were in
it.”

“A
boat?”

“Yeah, a
big one. Very old.”

She
frowned. “How do you know it doesn’t belong to someone? They might come looking
for it.”

He shook
his head. “Like I said,
very
old.”

“What’s
that all over your shirt?”

He
looked away, staring at the floor. She leaned in, the light from the lantern
bright enough for her to see it was a rusty color, not the mud stain she had
thought.

“Oh my
God!” she exclaimed, then lowering her voice, she stood, backing away slightly.
“Is that blood?”

He
turned toward her and nodded, tears pouring from his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I
just wanted to show him it, but he wanted half.”

Abrihet’s
eyes widened in horror with each word. “You mean…” She couldn’t bring herself
to finish the sentence. The blood wasn’t his, it was someone else’s. And it was
a lot. She sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, anger taking over
as she realized that once again her idiot of a father had let his temper get
the better of him, and it would be up to her to try and straighten things out.
The last time he had mouthed off to the foreman and lost his job. It was her
begging and offering to do laundry for a year that had got him his job back.

What
is it going to take this time?

She
feared what the answer might be.

Her
eyebrows narrowed as she tried to look as intimidating as she could.

“What
did you do, Father?”

“I
killed him!” he sobbed, his head dropping on the table, his shoulders heaving
with each cry.

Melting
her heart.

The last
time he had cried was when her mother died. Since then she hadn’t seen a tear
roll down his cheek until tonight.

But
he killed someone!

She
walked over and put her arms around him from behind, squeezing him tight,
trying to comfort the man she knew loved her, but rarely showed it.

“Killed
who?” she finally managed to ask, terrified at just asking the question.

“Hamid!”
Another gasped breath and a sob. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

Abrihet
let go of her father, stepping backward toward the door, disbelief at what she
had just heard written all over her gaping face.
It can’t be!
Her
father’s best friend since before she was born, his only companion, the only
one who had never turned his back on him over his temper.

Uncle!

Her
father had killed her mother’s brother, the man who had introduced them, who
had as a boy helped accumulate the dowry that had been of such little value
that her father was the only one low enough in the village to accept it.

Love had
grown, but now, as she looked at him from behind, his shoulders still heaving
in grief, all she saw was a twisted monster. Her eyes shifted to the pile of
gold on the table, and she realized it was greed that had driven him to kill,
and what this curse of a treasure would bring next, she could only imagine.

All she
knew was that a sin had been committed, and she couldn’t remain. She opened the
door quietly, fearing what wrath might befall her should he decide to stop her,
then stepped out into the night.

And fled
to the only person she could think of that might be able to help her.

Father
Solomon.

Lucius Valerius Corvus Residence, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 24
^th
, 79 AD

Valerius surveyed his charge and felt all hope drain from him.
Everywhere he looked were neatly stacked piles of gold bars representing
hundreds of thousands of gold coins melted down for transport and to guarantee
their purity. His basement had been expanded quietly before the deliveries,
which then took place over months, discretely.

And now
it all had to be moved in less than a day.

Impossible!

Even if Plinius
were to arrive with the fleet as he hoped, there was no way they could evacuate
the gold in time. The treasure had been delivered in carts along the roads in
perfect conditions. Now it would have to be hand carried to the shores, into
the water, and onto the waiting boats.

Surely
an impossible task.

Which
meant there was only one conclusion that Valerius could come to.