by Rob Jones
THE VAULT OF POSEIDON
(Joe Hawke #1)
Rob Jones
Copyright © 2015 by Rob Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
THE VAULT OF POSEIDON is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and occurrences are entirely fictional products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you would like to share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please go to an ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Other books by Rob Jones
The Joe Hawke Series
The Vault of Poseidon (Joe Hawke #1)
Thunder God (Joe Hawke #2)
The Tomb of Eternity (Joe Hawke #3)
The Curse of Medusa (Joe Hawke #4)
Valhalla Gold (Joe Hawke #5)
The Aztec Prophecy (Joe Hawke #6)
The Secret of Atlantis (Joe Hawke #7)
The Lost City (Joe Hawke #8)
This novel is an action-adventure thriller and includes archaeological, military and mystery themes. I welcome constructive comments and I’m always happy to get your feedback.
Website: www.robjonesnovels.com
Facebook: http://bit.ly/RobJonesNovels
Email: [email protected]
Blog: http://robjonesbooks.blogspot.com
Twitter: @AuthorRobJones
DEDICATION
To the first step
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
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
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PROLOGUE
The Ionian Sea, Greece, September 1943
Gottardo Ricci scrambled along the crumbling shaft of the island’s largest marble mine. The bright Mediterranean sunlight spilled in at the entrance and stung the eyes of the elderly Italian archaeologist as he clawed himself forward through the filthy grit and sand. Checking that the bag was still over his shoulder, he made one final attempt to free himself from the terror behind him.
Then his worst fear came true – a second gunshot thundered through the cavern almost deafening him and sending a burning, searing pain racing through his leg. He had been shot a second time, and now both legs were wounded and bleeding heavily.
He heard the man’s voice once again.
“You have something that belongs to the Reich, Dr Ricci.”
The voice was cold, emotionless.
Ricci twisted in agony to see the man approaching him from behind. He thought he had gotten further away from him than this. He was wrong.
Now, just a few yards away, walking calmly along the dimly lit mineshaft was SS-Sturmbannführer Otto Zaugg of the 4th Schutzstaffel Polizei Panzergrenadier Division. He was tall and powerfully-built, with blond hair and ashen white skin.
The Nazi officer raised his pistol to Ricci’s head and smiled grimly. “You hand the document over to me now, and perhaps I will let you live. I have studied you for many months, Herr Doktor, and I know you have a beautiful wife and two sons. You do not want to die, and yet now both your legs are wounded. You will never walk again, but if the bleeding is stopped, you never know… perhaps you will live to see your children.”
“You are just a Nazi,” screamed Ricci, the sweat running off his forehead and into his eyes. “All you know is murder!”
The archaeologist glanced forward – the end of the tunnel was so close. He thought about screaming for help, but the entrance to the mine was on an isolated stretch of the coast. There was no one out there to hear his screams.
“Give me what I want, Herr Doktor!”
“Never. You can take this back to Himmler and tell him I hope it kills him!”
Zaugg laughed. “Who says I am going to give anything to Himmler? Perhaps I want it just for me.”
“You’re insane.”
“And you’re bleeding to death. Don’t make me kill you for it – just hand it over and you will live. I can have army medics in here in minutes.”
“You can take this document from me, Zaugg, but you can never have what’s here.” Ricci tapped the side of his head.
“And is that really worth dying for?” Zaugg said.
“You really have to ask if stopping the Nazis from annihilating the entire planet is worth the life of one fading archaeologist? Of course it is, you fool! You are a Nazi. You will always be ignorant, with or without my discovery! Without my knowledge the clue trail will be lost to history.”
“You give us less credit than we deserve, Herr Ricci. Now you have proved the existence of the Ionian Texts, all that remains is to start the search for the greatest treasure in history.”
“You have no idea what you’re fooling with,” Ricci said, a look of concern now appearing on his thin face. “We’re talking about the greatest discovery in human history. Older than time itself.”
“We’re talking about gold,” Otto Zaugg replied, laughing. “We’re talking about wealth and power.”
Ricci tried to laugh, but the pain stopped him. “Gold? You mean the Ahnenerbe didn’t tell you? Perhaps they thought a simple Panzer officer wasn’t capable of understanding. This is about more than simple gold, Major. This is about the greatest secret in the world, and without my knowledge and research you and your army of ignorant, racist apes will never uncover the truth. Your Ahnenerbe will never find what they seek so desperately.”
“You lie!” screamed Zaugg. He aimed the pistol once again at Ricci’s head, his hand trembling with renewed rage. “You’re simply playing for time. Trying to save your own wretched skin.”
This time, Ricci managed to laugh through the searing pain in his ruined legs, but once again he was sobered by the sight of the dark blood pouring out of his thighs into the dirt of the mine. It slowly congealed in grisly pools around him.
“I’m too old for games, Major.”
“In all the months we’ve had you under surveill
ance, Dr Ricci, I never took you for a fool, but now I begin to wonder.”
“You are the fool if you think you can control this power.”
The pistol thundered in the silence of the shaft, and Ricci felt the third bullet tear into his stomach. He doubled over in agony. The pain rose like a burning tide of fire which enveloped him until it was all there was in his life.
He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to stifle his screams. He saw his children playing on the beach, his wife opening a bottle of wine. Memories of long ago flashed before his eyes.
Then his mind raced with the unfolding horror of the moment. After all these years of research, it had all been for nothing. All these years of hunting for the evidence he so desperately wanted and finding it buried deep in the mines, just as he always knew it would be. But now it was going to end like this – with his death and the Nazis getting their hands on such unbridled power.
And worst of all was the knowledge that it was all his fault. It was his years of diligent research, of trawling through the artifacts, poring over the texts, believing in the legends when all those around him mocked and ridiculed him, that had led to this discovery. And it was his own foolishness that had allowed the Nazis to follow him and take his discovery away.
It pained him even to think about it.
The SS officer walked over to Ricci and put his boot on the dying man’s shoulder to hold down his body while he wrenched the sack away from him. He jerked at it, pulling with such force he snapped the strap.
Ricci looked up at the Nazi once again, perhaps for the final time. Outside, he now heard the familiar cry of the kestrel he had watched just that morning, gliding in the thermals above the cliffs in the sunrise. He thought about what would happen if the Nazis found what they were looking for – what they had used Major Zaugg to find.
Zaugg opened the sack and looked at the piece of ancient, crumbling text inside and his smile faded. Ricci saw the Nazi’s face change expression instantly.
The archaeologist spoke through dry, cracked lips. “Now the truth dawns! The Ahnernerbe lied to you. What you are looking at is evidence of something a thousand times more powerful than mere gold. What you are looking at would give you the ultimate power over mankind – but only I can find it!”
Zaugg looked down at Ricci, a greedy smile crossing his lean, unshaven face.
“I think not, Dr Ricci. You overestimate yourself and you underestimate the Reich. If this is what you claim it is then you are no longer necessary. Whatever this leads to, we do not need you.”
Ricci realized his blood pressure was dropping. He felt suddenly cold and clammy in the hot dry air of the mine. Dizziness overtook him.
Suddenly now, Zaugg aimed the Mauser squarely at the elderly archaeologist’s head and offered one final, narcissistic smirk.
“Before you die,” Zaugg said coolly, “I want you to know that I will find this, and the Reich will rule the world – all thanks to your brilliant discovery, but now I must bid you farewell.”
He squeezed the trigger.
A roar of gunfire.
Ricci’s world went black.
CHAPTER ONE
London, Present Day
Joe Hawke sprinted to the edge of the high-rise with all his might and leaped off the building with as much velocity as he could muster. He sailed into the air and started to wonder if he could make the gap and land on the roof of the adjacent building a few meters lower. Below was a ninety meter drop to a concrete staircase, but Hawke never looked down.
He landed smoothly, using the classic parachute landing fall he was trained to do by the Special Forces, and seconds later was on his feet and sprinting across the roof of the second building.
It was night, and the air was cold. Below in the streets he heard the sound of traffic and was aware of the faint orange glow of the streetlights. Above his head he heard the growl of a Boeing 747’s engines, lost somewhere above the thick clouds of London as it lumbered towards Heathrow Airport.
Hawke had gotten into parkour as a way of keeping fit after leaving the military, and it worked well, except he had learned the hard way to practice it at night when he couldn’t be seen. For some reason, the authorities didn't take too kindly to people leaping from public buildings and doing handstands on the edges of high-rises, but that didn't stop him from freerunning.
He would have preferred to keep fit by running on a beach, but for now he lived in the city and this was the only option. He wasn't about to run on a treadmill in a gym like a hamster on a wheel.
Sprinting forward to a low pebble-dashed wall which ran along the side of the second building, Hawke reached out, grabbed the ledge with his hands and performed a smooth two-handed vault, swinging his legs over the wall and landing like a cat on the far side.
He was now on a narrow path leading to the elevator shaft at the end of the car park. He made a fast speed-vault over a low wall just in front of the elevators, keeping his hips level and flying over it as if it weren’t even there. He landed with no loss of power or speed inside the covered elevator housing and sprinted forward to the doors.
Hawke stepped inside and looked at his watch: nearly midnight. The elevator doors opened and he was at street level. He ran through a grimy underpass, his breath visible in the flickering greasy yellow of a faulty strip light, and emerged into a courtyard at the bottom of the tower block.
He saw some teenagers huddling together in the gloom of a distant stairwell, probably a drug deal, he thought, or maybe guns. They looked at him for a second, judging the threat. Not his problem, lucky for them. Not tonight. Jogging out of the courtyard he was now on a main road. A night bus trundled lonely into a gathering mist as Hawke jogged home. With a simple wall-run he launched himself over the top of a three meter wall and cut ten minutes off his journey.
Almost home now, he jogged home through the dark. A light drizzle swept over the streets and his mind turned to thoughts of a warm shower and a cold beer. Tomorrow his brand new life began.
*
The doors of the British Museum burst open.
“Here they come.” Hawke stood against the far wall in the standard security guard pose – hands crossed in front of his body, sunglasses on and covert earpiece headset concealed in his right ear. His first day of work in Civvy Street had arrived at last. Time to settle down, he thought.
“Just keep your eye on everyone,” he said. He was talking to Farrell, one of his employees, hired just two days ago as part of his expanding new business.
Moments later the room filled with the best of London’s high society, or at least those who thought they were the best. Like a servant, a security officer was there to be seen and not heard, and Hawke understood what this meant better than anyone. Spending so many years as a Royal Marines Commando in the notoriously tough Mountain and Arctic Warfare Cadre and then serving in the elite Special Boat Service meant he knew how to take orders and blend into the background.
Now he was watching the room slowly fill up with honored guests. He was at a special exhibition, providing security for the museum because of a visit by the enigmatic Sir Richard Eden MP, here in his capacity as head of a new fundraising committee for the Council of British Archaeology.
Archaeology was Eden’s first and only love, but his day job was as a Member of Parliament who was particularly concerned with national security. There were rumors that he was soon to make an announcement concerning a discovery on a Greek Island that could change the world. Public interest in Eden was consequently running at an all-time high, so the museum had put on extra security in the form of Joe Hawke.
Hawke hadn’t decided how this new civilian life as a security guard measured up to his former existence, but he was making a go of it. For former Special Forces soldiers it wasn’t bad work – especially if you owned the company like he did. Many of the lads ended up doing door duty on pubs. Compared to them, Joe Hawke had it easy, even if it meant he had to stay in his old hometown London and put his dreams of escape
on hold.
“They’re all here tonight, boss!” said Farrell’s voice in Hawke’s earpiece.
Hawke watched as the celebrity guests slowly trickled into the plush exhibition room of the museum. It was a different world to anything he knew. Growing up had been tough, and the military tougher. Hawke didn’t know much about Champagne cocktails and ancient artifacts, but he was willing to learn.
He was at heart a soldier who had loved his work. After leaving the SBS everything seemed like a let-down, except when his sister told his girlfriends they were dating a cross between James Bond and Indiana Jones. Hawke winced whenever she said it, but it didn’t do any harm.
“Is that Princess Eugenie?” said Farrell.
“Pack it in, Farrell,” Hawke said. “Focus on the job.”
“Yes, boss.”
Hawke monitored the large room for any anomalies. His job was to protect the museum and its guests. Sir Richard Eden had his own security detail headed up by a woman he had not been properly introduced to, who was now standing a few yards behind the MP, silently surveying the room.
She was startlingly good-looking, and he guessed in her mid-twenties. For some reason he was surprised that she looked so young, but everyone was starting to look young to Hawke these days.
He refocused his attention on the gathering. A far-cry from the muddy ditches of commando life, he was now surrounded by dukes, duchesses and a princess, as well as various charity CEOs, the King of Tonga, the Beckhams, and Sir Alan Sugar, who was laughing with Sir Richard’s eldest daughter Harriet. Hawke watched the high and mighty as they mingled and worked the crowd, sharing in-jokes and investor tips and sipping from cut-glass flutes twinkling in the chandelier light.
Carefully concealed behind his sunglasses, he rolled his eyes. And some people actually have to work for a living... He thought about his mates still serving in the commandos and the SBS on active duty. That was a different world, and now he had to adapt to this one. Maybe one day his company would be big enough for him to sell up, and then he could retire somewhere exotic, just like he always dreamed of, but until then, it was this. There were worse fates.
