The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET

by Scott Mariani

  ‘When really you didn’t give a shit.’

  ‘I had to win their trust,’ she said. ‘It was the only way we could make sure we got them all in one place. We had to protect Harry’s interests.’

  ‘The man you just killed.’

  ‘That’s right. I hated Harry. He was a cruel bastard and a terrible husband. I hated him, but I’d have stayed with him for his money.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been simpler just to divorce him?’

  ‘He’d have killed me for trying. And even if he hadn’t, there was a prenuptial agreement. I would have ended up with nothing.’

  ‘Nothing but your freedom.’

  ‘You think I hadn’t thought about it? But then you came along, Ben. You changed everything. When I met you, that’s when I started looking for a way to ditch him. I was only sorry that I had to lie to you. I never wanted that to happen.’

  Ben said nothing. There was nothing to say. A cold chill had settled in his stomach.

  ‘I want the treasure, Ben. I’ve wanted it ever since Morgan got drunk that night aboard the Scimitar.’ She snorted. ‘Typical man, trying to show off to a woman he fancied and compete with his father at the same time. It was so easy to get him talking. I just kept pouring the drink down his stupid throat, and made sure he could see down my top. Works every time.’

  ‘So you were just using everyone. Like you used me. Everything you told me was a lie. There was never anything between us.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not true. When I told you I loved you, I meant it. I want us to be together.’

  ‘You love me, but you’d let me believe you were a hostage? You’d knowingly put me through that?’

  ‘What can I say? I had no choice. I had to find a way.’

  ‘To get what you wanted.’

  ‘For us.’ Her eyes brightened with excitement. ‘For you and me.’

  ‘What if I’d been killed?’

  ‘Not you. Not so easily. I knew you’d come back.’

  ‘While you just spent the week relaxing, working on your tan with a cool drink at your elbow.’

  She looked hurt. ‘It hasn’t been easy for me. Smiling at that bastard, keeping him happy, pretending everything was all right when I couldn’t wait to see you again. We’ve done it. We’re free now. We’ll be rich. What Harry had was peanuts compared to what we’ll have. Think of all the things we can do. The life we’ll be able to lead together.’

  ‘So you and I run away into the sunset with the gold. Is that how you see it?’

  She laughed. ‘Why not? Why can’t it be that simple? What’s to stop us? I love you. And you love me.’ Her smile wavered. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’

  He let out a long sigh. ‘Yes. I love you.’

  ‘Then let’s be together,’ she said. ‘Like we talked about that night in Paris.’

  Ben was silent.

  ‘Well? Aren’t you going to answer me?’

  ‘Forget it, Zara. It’s over.’

  ‘Please, Ben. I need you.’

  ‘You’re insane,’ he said. ‘I can’t understand what kind of monster you are.’ He pointed down at Paxton’s body. ‘You’re worse than him. I love you, but I hate you.’

  Her face seemed to twist. Her teeth bared a little, and the sparkle in her eye went dull. ‘Fine. If that’s the way you want it. I’ve always been alone. I’ll survive.’

  As she said it, she hooked three fingers onto the bowstring and the sinews in her forearm tightened as she drew her hand back to anchor against her cheek. The arrow shaft scraped softly back into firing position on its launcher. The thick glass fibre limbs of the bow tensed, cam wheels rotating, cables tightening, loading vast amounts of energy behind the razor-sharp arrowhead that was pointing right at his heart.

  ‘You’d shoot me?’ he said.

  Her knuckles were white on the handle of the bow as she held it at full draw. She nodded. ‘I gave you the chance to share the treasure with me. To share a life with me. You didn’t want it. Your choice. I’m sorry, but you’re not giving me any other way out.’

  ‘You could turn yourself in. Try and make some amends for what you’ve done.’

  She laughed. ‘Get real.’

  He raised the heavy pistol and squared the sights right on her, centre of mass. Her laugh froze on her lips. Confusion flashed in her eyes.

  ‘Now it gets more complicated,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two pounds of pressure on this trigger. You put that arrow in me, and all it takes is a tiny squeeze as my muscles go into a spasm. Just an ounce. And you’ll be dead at the same instant as me. We both hit the floor at the same time. No more treasure for you.’

  She didn’t reply. They circled each other.

  ‘Now you have a choice,’ he said. ‘Put the bow down, face the consequences. Or I’ll shoot.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  He pulled the trigger. The Desert Eagle boomed and recoiled in his hand. The crack of the shot echoed out to sea.

  Zara screamed and fell back. The arrow clattered harmlessly down, unfired. The string and cables hung loose from the bow, all the tension gone out of it. The cam wheel that Ben had shot off the end of its top limb bounced and rolled across the boards like a huge coin.

  Zara lay on the deck, still clutching the shattered bow and weeping with shock and rage.

  Ben let the pistol down at his side. Reached into his pocket and took out the little leather pouch. Drew back his arm and hurled it far out to sea. It sailed up in the air, just a dark dot against the sun, and dropped down and hit the water with a splash.

  Then he walked over to where Paxton had set down the gold statuette. He picked it up, walked to the rail and lobbed it over the side. A last glitter, and it was gone. Maybe in another few centuries, some lucky diver would find it on the sea bed.

  ‘There goes your treasure,’ he said to Zara. ‘It’s over. Finished. Was it worth it?’ He reached out his hand, took her arm and pulled her gently to her feet.

  Her tear-filled eyes searched his. Her hair was wild, jaw tight. ‘Now I have nothing,’ she said bitterly. ‘You’ve ruined me. Left me without a penny.’

  ‘I think you ruined things for yourself, Zara.’

  She hung her head in despair. ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  He paused a long time before replying. Watched her face. The kind of feelings he had for her didn’t just go away. They wouldn’t go away for a long time.

  ‘You know I could never harm you,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t turn me in,’ she pleaded. ‘I’d die. I couldn’t live in jail.’

  ‘Who’d believe me?’ he said. ‘It would be your word against mine. You and Harry covered your tracks well. Now he’s dead. You’re free. And I’m gone.’

  ‘No, Ben. Don’t go.’

  He turned his back on her and started walking towards the rail. Beyond it, the motor launch was bobbing gently on the swell.

  He put a hand on the rail and was about to swing his leg over the side, when she ran after him and gripped his arm tightly. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. ‘Stay with me,’ she murmured. She came up close to him and stroked his face. The touch of her fingers was tender and warm, and for a moment he almost gave in to it. Emotion rose up in him.

  Those kinds of feelings didn’t just go away.

  But they would, in time. He swallowed hard, and pulled away from her.

  ‘Goodbye, Zara.’

  ‘Ben—’ Her voice cracked into a sob of pain.

  He didn’t reply. Zara watched forlornly as he climbed down into the launch and cast off.

  Twenty yards from the yacht, he looked back and saw the lonely figure at the rail, staring after him, the breeze blowing in her hair. The sun was beginning to set behind her.

  He didn’t look back again.

  Epilogue

  Le Val

  The following night

  The rain was lashing down out of a starless sky as Ben got out of the Mini and crossed the puddled yard to the house. The pl
ace seemed empty and desolate as he climbed the steps to the front door, opened it and went inside. He wearily hung up his jacket, and walked down the dark passage towards the kitchen door.

  As he reached out his hand to turn the handle, he stopped and looked down, noticing the strip of light under the door. He walked in.

  ‘Hello, Ben,’ Brooke said. She was sitting reading in the soft glow of a lamp. She laid the novel face-down on the table and watched him for a moment. ‘You’re home.’

  He pulled up a wooden chair and sat down in it with a sigh.

  Brooke got up quietly. Fetched a glass from the cupboard and filled it with wine. Without a word, she brought it over to him and set it down in front of him.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m home.’

  Author’s Note

  As a historical figure, the pharaoh Akhenaten may lack the glamour and romance of a Ramses or a Tutankhamun, but no other ancient Egyptian ruler is as bizarre or shrouded in mystery. The strange story of Akhenaten has been retold many times-the famous British crime novelist Agatha Christie wrote a play about him, modern composer Philip Glass has written an opera, and for fans of Death Metal there is even a song by the band Nile called ‘Cast down the Heretic’.

  There have been many weird and wonderful theories surrounding this enigmatic king: building on the hypothesis of the famous psychologist Sigmund Freud that Moses might have been a follower of Akhenaten, some historians have proposed that Moses and Akhenaten might actually be one and the same. Going still further into the realms of fantasy, there have even been suggestions that Akhenaten was not of this earth. Certainly, anyone who has seen his likeness will testify to the man’s distinctly odd, alien appearance.

  But whoever-or whatever-Akhenaten might have been, his claim to fame was his legendary attempt to replace the state religion of ancient Egypt with one of his own devising, the so-called Aten cult. This is the first monotheistic religion on record, and had Akhenaten succeeded in making it stick, he would have altered the face of his homeland forever. Unfortunately for him, his religious coup was destined to abject failure. Almost immediately after his death, Egypt reverted to the old polytheistic religion and no effort was spared to eradicate all trace of the despised heretic and pretend he never existed.

  Most of the historical background in this novel is based firmly on actual facts. The three rebel priests who conspired to steal the condemned treasures from under Akhenaten’s nose are entirely fictitious-though I believe that, given what the wayward pharaoh was up to and the degree of hatred and resentment he stirred up, it’s not wildly beyond the mark to suggest that such a ‘heist’ might have been planned or even taken place. After all, so little is known about that time-scholars are even unable to agree on the exact dates of Akhenaten’s reign. With amazing new discoveries being made each year, who knows what secrets the desert sands may yield up in the future?

  I hope you enjoyed reading The Heretics Treasure. Ben Hope will return again!

  Scott Mariani

  Acknowledgements

  As ever, I’m indebted to the team of people who have helped make this book possible:

  A big thank you to ‘D’, the real Ben Hope, and all at Prometheus Medical for advice and information. I’m also grateful to Elizabeth O’Connell at the British Museum for kind help in translating hieroglyphics.

  To Broo and Robin of the Wade & Doherty Literary Agency: thanks again for your wisdom and support (and champagne, too!). And last but by no means least, I’d like to specially acknowledge all the team at Avon, whose energy, dedication and enthusiasm are an ongoing inspiration.

  SCOTT MARIANI

  The Shadow Project

  AVON

  Epigraph

  Technological progress is like an axe in the hands of a pathological criminal.

  Albert Einstein

  The dogma of Christianity gets worn away before the advances of science.

  Adolf Hitler

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  The Sonoran Desert

  An hour’s drive from Maricopa,

  Arizona Early May

  Rock and dust, scrub and cactus and the blinding white sun beating down. Nobody ever came out here.

  The dust from two off-road vehicles drifted upwards into the still air as they bounced and lurched across the arid wilderness. The big silver Subaru 4×4 in front crunched to a halt on the stones, doors opened and three men got out.

  One of them didn’t want to be there. He stood out from the other two, and not just because he was the only Japanese guy and they were white Europeans. He was also the only one with a .45 auto to the back of his head and his wrists bound behind his back. Tape, not cord. Cord would leave a mark, and his captors didn’t want that. A length of the same silver duct tape was pressed firmly to his face, muffling his protests. The T-shirt he was wearing was damp with sweat.

  His captors knew his name – Michio Miyazaki – and that he was a scientist. Beyond that, it wasn’t their concern why this was happening to him.

  The bright red Jeep Cherokee following the Subaru pulled up alongside. Its driver killed the engine, stepped down, ran her fingers through her blond hair and wiped the sweat on her jeans. There was no sound except the ticking of hot metal and the feeble protests of the prisoner as the two men started marching him away from the vehicles.

  The Jeep was Miyazaki’s, as was the technical equipment in the back. When this was over, it would look as though the scientist had been out here on a research trip, collecting samples. That fitted his profile. He was unmarried, single, no kids, tended to keep to himself, and he wasn’t a well man. Nobody would question what was about to take place.

  The woman walked around to the passenger side
of the Jeep, opened the door and lifted out the small container she’d been riding uncomfortably beside through the desert. This was one item that didn’t belong to Miyazaki. It was a pale blue plastic lunchbox, with tiny air holes pricked in the top. What was inside weighed almost nothing. The woman held it away from her at arm’s length. With her other hand she grabbed a shoulder bag from the footwell, then shut the Jeep door and trotted to catch up with the others. As she joined them she could hear the prisoner pleading with them through his gag.

  They all ignored him.

  ‘This’ll be fine,’ the taller of the two white men said in their own language, glancing around him. The stocky guy with the muscles straining under his cotton shirt kept the .45 aimed at Miyazaki’s head.

  The woman set the container down on the ground and stepped back, happy to get some distance from it. She reached into the shoulder bag and pulled out a pair of thick leather gauntlets. Tossed the right glove to her colleague, then the left.

  ‘You do it,’ she said. ‘I’m not touching that thing.’

  The tall man pulled on the gloves. The one with the gun swept his foot out and Miyazaki crumpled on his back into the dirt. He was crying now, tears streaking the dust on his face.

  The tall man walked over to the container and squatted down beside it. The others watched as, very carefully, he unsnapped the lid, lifted a corner, peered inside, dipped his gloved hand into the container and stood up with the thing in his fist.

  Miyazaki started struggling and protesting with renewed energy when he saw the glistening brown scorpion trapped between the man’s fingers. He’d spent his life deeply involved in one small specialised corner of science, but he had enough knowledge of other disciplines to know that these people had done their research well. This was an Arizona bark scorpion, one of the most lethal arachnids on the planet.