In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  Project Prometheus

  Book One

  In Her Name

  By

  Esther Mitchell

  This work is copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

  Project Prometheus

  Book One: In Her Name

  COMING SOON

  Book Two: Hope of Heaven

  Book Three: Shadow Walker

  Book Four: Blood Debt

  Book Five: Between Worlds

  Other Books By Esther Mitchell

  GUARDIANS, INC: WITCH HOLLOW

  Book One: Sight Unseen

  COMING SOON

  Book Two: Up In Flames

  Book Three: Nick of Time

  HANOVER INVESTIGATIONS

  Book One: Burden of Proof

  COMING SOON

  Book Two: Silent Night

  LEGENDS OF TIRUM

  COMING SOON

  Book One: Daughter of Ashes

  Book Two: Phoenix Rising

  Book Three: Spirit Mage

  Book Four: Mistress of Cats

  Book Five: Sister of Dragons

  Book Six: Child of Fallen Waters

  UNDERGROUND

  Book One: Tamia

  Book Two: Mind Killer

  Book Three: Terminal Hunter

  Book Four: Hero's Hope

  Book Five: Vengeful Heart

  COMING SOON

  Book Six: Deadly Designs

  FyrRose Productions.

  637 S. Cynthia Avenue

  Tucson AZ 85710

  http://www.esthermitchell.com

  Copyright © 2001 by Esther Mitchell

  ISBN: Kindle Direct Provided

  Published in the United States of America

  Publication Date: October 5, 2018

  Editor: Gail R. Delaney

  Cover Artist: Jenifer Ranieri

  Cover Art Copyright by FyrRose Productions © 2018

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

  Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Dedication and Acknowledgment

  To my soul mate and love of my life, who gave me the courage to write, and the strength to look beyond this world.

  To my "boys," without whose friendship and expertise this book might never have been finished.

  To my wonderful editor, Gail Delaney, without whose enthusiastic support, I wouldn't have seen my dreams come to life, and my amazing cover artist, Jenifer Ranieri, who continues to awe me with her talent and patience.

  And finally, to Ishtar, for the inspiration and strength to face my own demons.

  Prologue

  Aermórnosa, Ali-Antos

  9000 B.C.E.

  A storm brewed on the horizon. From the turret above the city walls, Sargon watched its fury out over the sea. Electricity prickled along his arms and neck. This was no ordinary storm. Energy hummed on the sea wind. Already the waves grew high and violent around the port of the city below. This was a storm forged of magical power, which could mean only one thing...

  "They are coming."

  The Akkadian didn't need to turn. Four others joined him along the high turret walls. Bonds of the power they swore to protect joined him and these other chosen Musir. Each left home and family, casting aside their pasts for this calling. As one, they felt this moment arrive, and they were not surprised.

  "Onuris has gathered his faithful. The Arachaena are on the waves," the voice beside him was deep and steady, touched with concern. Sargon's brow rose as he turned his gaze from the rapidly darkening sky to the giant at his right. Lugh was a wise man, known to speak his mind. Lugh's talented hands crafted the magic that protected them all, and only he knew the correct combination of nine elemental properties capable of creating true magic. Lugh, as the master craftsman, knew the magic intimately. He molded the sacred objects housed within the Crophines Astenim from it.

  Sargon turned restlessly to face the ocean once again as the ground rumbled beneath his feet. He didn't like this. It took a tremendous amount of power to disrupt an entire ocean.

  "They are stronger than we believed." This came from behind him, the only female voice among them. The Gatekeeper, Csilla, stepped forward, her soft tones wavering with the tension they all felt. This was the moment they all dreaded, the moment when time returned to them. Death was not an option as long as their charges remained unhidden.

  Through Sargon pulsed the flame of battle, and he could hear the drums of war growing louder. Onuris glutted his minions on the blood of nations, filled his own greedy maw with the souls of the dead and damned until his power rivaled even that of the Gods. Still, Onuris wanted more. He wanted the Portal of Kronos to make himself immortal.

  Sargon's eyes narrowed. He would see to it Onuris never unlocked the Portal or any other secret of Aermórnosa. His mazes and traps lined the walls and floors of the Crophines, and Lugh's magic sealed over those. Still, the artifacts remained. They must make certain Onuris and his Arachaena could not reach the keys to the Portal.

  "We must go." Mykalos, their Healer, voiced his very thought.

  Sargon nodded. "Our charges must not remain on the island. Take your charges and hide them far away from this place and use whatever means you must to make certain they do not fall into the hands of Onuris or the Arachaena."

  He turned to study each of their faces and knew they thought as he did. Once they left this place, the time they once abandoned in their service would begin again and they would again possess a single immortality -- the very thing Onuris could feed on -- their souls.

  Grimly aware of the closing jaws of Fate, Sargon pushed away from the wall and strode toward the Crophines. The First Musir, Prometheus gave up his immortality and risked the wrath of the Gods to save humanity from the darkness. As Musir, they could do no less to preserve creation from destruction. It was a price he knew they all paid willingly.

  *****

  Temple of Ishtar

  Syria, 1987

  Mukamurra Alzena Binte Samirah, High Priestess of Ishtar, and now Revered Mother of the Poet-Priestess, smiled fondly at the dark-haired girl seated beside her. Her daughter, reared to take her place as High Priestess, until the day six years ago when the temple Oracle declared young Manara destined for a greater and more deadly fate. Now, Manara asked the questions Alzena both expected and dreaded ever since the Oracle's revelation. Reverently, Alzena touched the clay tablet on the low table and sighed.

  "There is a reason for everything, my daughter. These tablets contain prophecies handed down through our line since the days of Sargon." She clasped one of the girl's slim hands marveling at the beauty already apparent in Manara. "Your birth fulfilled many of those prophecies. You were born with a special purpose, my darling, and you must be protected from those who would thwart that."

  Manara's expression was neither kind nor accepting as she fingered the edges of the tablets. Alzena sighed. First the girl's brother, now her -- rebellion appeared to run in the blood.

  "But why must I wait so long, Mother? Most of my age-mates already serve in the public temple. You cannot mean to hold me back because of a few old stories!"

 
; Alzena smiled sadly, glancing at her own reflection in the mirror above the table. Already Manara's beauty surpassed her own. Fear tripped through Alzena's blood. Beauty was a curse, and it would mean danger for Manara as she grew to womanhood. She would be a temptation hard to resist for any man, and men often put aside reason in the pursuit of passion. For all their sakes, the girl must keep away from men.

  "Darling girl, even stories have power if you believe in them with all your heart. Sargon may be dead in the flesh, but his spirit walks closely with your own. Legend says, once a century a man is born who is capable of channeling Great Sargon's spirit. He is a man capable of waging war most terrifying and vowing love most enduring. He will come for you, my child. You will be his link to the justice he seeks. When you most need him, he will be your strength and your solace." She stroked the girl's cheek as sadness crept into her bones. This child was sacred, untouchable, and still Alzena feared for her daughter. After all, as Ishtar's High Priestess, she alone knew the tales never written. Tales of terrible prices paid in the name of love and vengeance. One day, she would be forced to pass them on to Manara, but today was not that day. "But, my darling girl, beware. Of all men, only he will have the power to break your heart."

  As the girl pondered her mother's words, her deep gray eyes narrowed. Alzena shuddered at the determination there, and she knew. If such a man came for Manara, his quest might prove in vain. Manara was a cautious child. She would guard her heart with her life. Alzena feared Manara would pay for her choice with her soul.

  Chapter One

  Lebanon

  January 2, 2000

  The noonday sun glinted off the Mediterranean Sea in sapphire and diamond shafts, reflecting light against dark sunglasses. Salty seawater sprayed up against the prow of the sleek speedboat, carrying with it the pungency of fish and seaweed. His jaw clenched as he shifted gears, watching the shimmer of approaching land dance in and out of view like a desert mirage.

  Sidon. Matthew Raleigh's stomach clenched with bitter memory. He was well-acquainted with the deceptively quiet Lebanese city. He'd been here too many times in a past he'd just as soon forget as a Navy SEAL, Air and Land operative on prowl-and-growl missions. His lips curved in a wry grimace. He wasn't a SEAL anymore -- there was at least that much mercy left in the world. Not that what he did these days brought him much peace either. Good thing he wasn't looking for peace anymore. To deaden the pain in his soul and help reduce the nightmares that regularly stole away sleep, he formed Project Prometheus -- a special mercenary organization dedicated to ending terrorism. A futile enough cause. He scowled. The men who'd hired Prometheus' mercenaries had business in Lebanon. Scum was still scum. That never changed.

  Matt pulled his mind from the dark thoughts creeping in. He needed to concentrate on the mission. Was the team ready? He brought them in under the cover of night yesterday. He hoped they made it to the pre-arranged safe house but he had no way of being sure. They were on radio silence and for safety's sake and he couldn't go to find them until he was ready to join them. Matt glanced at his wristwatch. Besides, he was already on his way to meet with their CIA contact, codenamed Star.

  Uneasiness clutched Matt. He didn't like that no one at Langley had ever actually seen Star. There was no picture -- not even a physical description -- though the Agency claimed Star was a miracle worker. Matt scowled. He didn't believe in miracles or miracle workers. From the little Matt knew, he surmised Star was an important figure in Lebanon, well connected with an extensive knowledge of the local area. Matt also guessed Star, whoever he was, probably had connections to arms dealers or some other dubious operation. Great. Just what they needed -- a contact they couldn't trust.

  Matt pulled the speedboat up smoothly beside the dock and cut the engine, secured the vessel and then leapt to the pier, his eyes searching for a spy.

  No one, Matt realized as he surveyed the docks grimly. The din on the pier was maddening, with orders and insults thrown around in coarse Arabic and men jostling about like fish in a barrel. Not a single one of them with the sophistication his Intel said was Star's style.

  Sunlight glinted off polished metal and Matt's attention whipped to his left. There. Beyond the dock master's digs. A large, black sedan, gleaming with a fresh coat of wax sat brazenly in the midday sun, oblivious to its high visibility.

  Matt shook his head in disgust. Some spy. Aware he was probably under surveillance by someone, he approached the vehicle cautiously. As he drew near, the rear window slid down, revealing an older gentleman with sharp, dark eyes and aquiline features. His beard and moustache were neatly trimmed and more silver than black. Dark eyes fixed sharply on Matt's face.

  "You are late."

  Matt's gaze flashed to his watch. It was exactly 1200 hours.

  "No, I'm not."

  A smile twitched at the old man's lips. "You are cautious. Very wise."

  "Star?"

  The man inclined his head in affirmation. "Come. Get in. We have much work to do."

  As Matt opened the sedan's rear door, a flash of white caught his eye. His gaze returned to the dock in time to see a woman in swirling white robes slide from a sleek white horse. He froze. Déjà vu slammed into him like a cruise missile, driving away his breath. Jumbled images raced through his mind, too fleeting to make sense of. The clash of swords and screams of the dying were ghostly echoes in his ears as images of blood and the writhing of naked flesh mated in his mind. A shiver of recognition lunged through him. None of it was real of course, yet he couldn't erase one certainty from his mind -- somewhere, somehow, he knew that woman.

  "Mr. Raleigh?" Star's impatient query reached through the shock, and Matt blinked as he remembered how to breathe. With an unsteady inhalation, he climbed into the car and closed the door but continued to watch the woman. Slowly, her dark, unveiled head turned and he caught a glimpse of her startled expression as the car pulled away. Then, the car was speeding away from the docks while Matt's skin crawled with the danger he'd seen reflected in a pair of haunting eyes.

  "Where are we going?" Matt asked the man beside him as the car sped through the narrow streets of Sidon three minutes later, its destination a mystery to him. If there was one thing Matt despised, it was a mystery.

  "Are you aware of your mission?"

  "Yeah," Matt answered in a mutter. "What kind of answer was that?"

  The older man seemed fascinated with the empty husks of bombed out buildings that lined the streets. "Amazing how quickly things change, is it not? One day a building is built, the next it is gone. Like that." Star snapped his fingers in emphasis. "Not unlike your ambassador's two daughters, no? One day alive and happy, the next, mailed back to the embassy in tiny pieces."

  Matt scowled at the reminder of why he took this case. Those little girls were innocent and some butcher used them as a political statement. Damn it, Star didn't have to sound so smug about it. Suspicion knotted Matt's stomach. "Is this all leading somewhere?"

  Star shot him a warning look. "Look around you, my friend. The United States supplied the bombs that destroyed these buildings, the guns these children carry. There are many here who would gladly see Americans suffer for the suffering they have bestowed on Sidon."

  This was an all-too-familiar rhetoric. "And you?"

  Star shook his head. "Children should never be made to suffer for the mistakes of their elders. I am a peaceful man. All I do is caution you to tread lightly."

  "Why do you think the State Department called in mercenaries rather than using the SEALs? The political fallout would be catastrophic if something went wrong. My team has no political affiliations."

  Star looked surprised. "You merely act upon what you have been paid to do? What has happened does not make you angry?"

  "Hell yeah, it pisses me off," Matt snapped. "It should piss anyone off. Two little girls abducted and then butchered? It's sick, no matter who it happened to!" He glanced at Star. "Did you get IDs on the photos State turned over to the CIA?"

  Sta
r nodded somberly as he took a photograph from the briefcase beside him and handed it to Matt. Matt looked down into the face of a man in his early thirties with clean-shaven good looks and dark eyes that stared right through the camera. He had, Matt decided glumly, the look of a fanatic.

  "Who is he?"

  "Ra'id Asim Ibn Hassan Sharif al-Mawsil. He is Iraqi. A distributor of crude oil, I am told."

  "A business man?"

  Star shrugged. "Business and war often go hand-in-hand here. He distributes weapons on the black market to terrorist training camps in Tunisia and Chad, and supplies his own private army as well. He was an asset of the Central Intelligence Agency during the United Nations stand-off in Saudi Arabia."

  Matt's gaze narrowed on the classically handsome face in the photograph. "A spy, huh?"

  Star nodded. "Let us wait until we have reached your men, then I will show you where Ra'id has taken up residence lately."

  Matt sighed, nodding grimly. One thing for sure, it was already shaping up to be one hell of a new year.

  *****

  Mawsil Petrol Corporation

  Damascus Headquarters

  "Sir! Sir!" The door burst open and a dozen guns snapped up, safeties off, and then lowered at a gesture from the man behind the wide desk. Steady, umber-tinted eyes regarded the newcomer shrewdly.