“And you must be Professor Acton,” said the woman, pure southern drawl giving away her country of origin. “A pleasure,” she said, reaching out for Acton’s hand. “I’m Tiffany Reese, United Nations. This is Reginald Wangari from the International Monetary Fund.”
Introductions finished, Acton asked the obvious question. “Why are you here?”
“Is there someplace more private we can speak?” asked Reese, motioning toward the gathering throng of armed students.
Laura nodded. “Follow me,” she said, then turning to the students and her ex-SAS head of security Leather, said, “False alarm, everybody go back to whatever it was you were doing.”
They walked to the main tent in silence then stepped inside, the cool air reminding Acton that he was going commando. Laura pointed to the table. “Please have a seat,” she said. “Can I get anyone something to drink?”
“Water, please,” said Reese quickly, her thin white blouse already sticking to her body.
“I’ll second that,” said Wangari as he pulled at his shirt. “This is nice. Air conditioning in the desert! If my grandparents had this, they may have never left Kenya!” He laughed as he took the bottle from Laura, twisting off the cap and downing half it.
“Excuse me for a minute,” said Acton. “You caught me in the shower.”
“Oh, don’t put on more clothes on my account!” laughed Reese, batting her hand at Acton. “I’d die to have a pair of shorts and a t-shirt right now. Instead they grabbed both of us out of a meeting in Dubai and had us on a plane in minutes. Can you believe they made us leave our luggage behind?”
Acton stepped behind a privacy screen with his suitcase and quickly dressed as the conversation continued on the other side.
“What could be so urgent?” asked Laura.
“There’s been a discovery. Archeological in fact, which is why we’re here,” replied Reese.
“A discovery of monumental importance,” added Wangari. “Something that could destabilize the entire region if word were to get out.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed as he slipped on a pair of underwear. An archeological find that could destabilize a region? “What did you find?” he asked from behind the partition.
“I’ll wait until you’re decent,” said Reese. “You have to see it to believe it.”
“Where was it found?” asked Laura.
“In Eritrea, along the Tekezé River,” answered Reese. “By a goat herder, no less.”
Acton finished dressing, opting to forgo his boots for expediency’s sake. He stepped out from behind the partition and took an empty seat beside Laura.
“Now, how about we see what you found?” he suggested.
Reese nodded and Wangari placed his briefcase on the table, snapping open the catches with a loud double-click. He opened the top and reached inside, removing a small bundle, carefully wrapped in cloth. He placed it on the table with a gentle thud.
Acton looked at Laura, curiosity etched on both their faces. “What is it?” she asked.
Reese motioned toward it. “Open it.”
“Let me get my tools,” said Acton, beginning to rise.
Reese waved her hand. “There’s no need. It’s not fragile and it’s been in dozens of hands by now.”
Acton frowned, and noticed Laura doing the same.
How are we supposed to examine a find that has been handled so poorly?
He sat back down and reached for the bundle, pulling it gently toward them. Flipping it over he found the edge of the cloth, and carefully unwrapped the item, which felt to be about a pound in heft, and when he caught the first glint of the surface, he heard Laura gasp before he had the chance.
“It’s gold!” she said as he revealed the full bar in all its glory. About the size of a small candy bar, the dense metal made it deceivingly heavy for its size. Flipping it over again revealed markings that had both of them leaning forward.
“This was minted during Vespasian’s rule,” said Acton, pointing at the writing. He looked at their guests. “You found this in Eritrea?”
“Yes.”
Acton shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “It’s a curiosity, obviously, but I fail to see how this could impact the balance of power in the region, or why it merited a visit from the UN and the IMF.”
Wangari smiled then jabbed his finger at the bar of gold now sitting untouched on the table. “What if I told you there was more where that came from?”
“I’d say it belongs in a museum, and ask the same questions.”
Wangari grinned. “I knew I’d like you,” he laughed. “Your file doesn’t do you justice. Look,” he said, leaning in and lowering his voice, “enough dancing. Full disclosure. What if I told you they found an ancient ship buried in the sand, and it contained tens of thousands of these bars worth over one billion dollars?”
Acton’s chest tightened and his eyebrows raced up his forehead. “I’d say you better get it some place safe before every criminal in the world tries to get their hands on it.”
“If the find is authenticated, we intend to do exactly that,” replied Reese.
“So why are you here?” asked Laura. “I fail to see how this involves us.”
“We are here, Professors, because you are the closest experts to where the hoard was found, and about the only two in the region that the permanent members of the UN Security Council could agree on to send.”
“Send?” asked Acton, red flags suddenly springing to attention.
“Yes, send,” said Reese. “We need the two of you to come with us to Eritrea and confirm the find, and if it proves genuine, extract it, prepare it for delivery, then see it safely out of the country.”
Acton looked at Laura, his eyes wide in shock, then at the two suits. “Are you kidding?”
Reese suddenly became serious, any trace of her Southern hospitality erased. “I never kid when it comes to lives, Professor Acton.”
Acton shook his head slowly. “Can we at least think about it?”
Wangari smiled, spreading his hands out as he stood up. “Of course! Please, talk about it among yourselves. We’ll wait outside. But”—he tapped his watch—“we leave in ten minutes.”
“If we agree,” added Acton.
Wangari smiled again with a nod. “Of course, Professor Acton, of course. You are of course free to choose, but I am confident you will come to the correct decision.”
“And should you not,” said Reese, holding the flap of the tent open, “we will be…” Her voice drifted off, then she smiled, again all pleasant. “Well, never mind that. I’m certain you’ll come to the right decision.”
And Acton was certain he heard in her tone two important, unspoken words.
Or else.
Market Road, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 24th, 79 AD
Avita huddled under a blanket, her three young children surrounding her, the boys on either side, her daughter in her lap. All had their heads under the blanket to keep the ash out, which made their slow, arduous journey all the more terrifying, her imagination filling in the blanks of the horrors she heard on the other side of the thin canvas of the wagon.
The wagon suddenly came to a stop, Labeo cursing from the front, the incredibly brave and loyal servant refusing to be relieved, instead remaining at the reins the entire time. Avita lowered the blanket to see what was happening and almost immediately regretted it, her imagination not doing the devastation justice.
The entire area before them had a dull orange glow that seemed to pulse with an energy all its own. Sunlight was nowhere to be seen and she wasn’t even certain what time it was. Leaning forward the night sky was a rippling mass of black clouds, strange flashes that looked almost like lightning streaking across, yet no rain fell. Houses all around them burned, at least those that had the misfortune of being thatched or topped with wood. Others had collapsed inward, the weight of the falling ash proving too much, and her mind flashed back to her own home and the collapse of the south wing just as
they were leaving.
It had leant a feeling of permanence in their flight, a warning to never come back, to leave Pompeii be, to allow its victims to rest in the peace their final moments denied them.
“Let us in!” cried a man’s voice. “Please, my wife can barely walk, she’s pregnant!”
“Off with you!” yelled Labeo. “Out of the way or I’ll run you down!”
“No, please! Have mercy on us!”
Avita crawled forward and looked down at the source of anguish so close and saw a man she didn’t recognize, his tear streaked face blackened from the ash, his hair now an unnatural gray, his wife, on the street, clinging to his leg, her head on her chest in exhaustion.
Upon seeing Avita, the man immediately turned his attention to her. “My lady, please, have mercy! At least take my wife!”
“No!” cried his wife, “I won’t leave you!”
Avita looked at Labeo who shook his head slightly, and she knew he was right. If they took them, then when would it stop? Their tiny caravan was already barely moving along the coastal road, it clogged with broken carts abandoned by their owners and people, many dead or dying, ash almost as high as the top of the wheels.
But part of being Roman was to be compassionate to other citizens when in need—or at least that was the way she was raised. And if this wasn’t a time of need, she didn’t know what was.
“Let them come up, then make haste,” she said, Labeo frowning for a brief moment then nodding. The elation in the desperate man’s eyes was evident and it momentarily warmed Avita’s heart as he helped push his wife up into the carriage. The man followed and Labeo immediately flicked the reins, their procession moving forward once again as the two new passengers situated themselves in the now cramped quarters.
Avita handed them a flask of water as the children eyed the new arrivals with curiosity, especially the swollen stomach of the wife. The woman looked at her and forced a smile on her weak face.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering then shutting as her head collapsed on her husband’s chest. He kissed the top of her head then drank some more water, pouring some on his hands then wiping his face free of the ash. He had a hacking cough that slowly subsided as he drank more water, then suddenly he grabbed his stomach and spun around, sticking his head out the canvas and vomiting, his shoulders heaving with each wretch, the horrible sounds almost like strangled screams, loud enough to wake his wife who turned to tend to him.
Avita held her children tight, the sounds terrifying them all, it so close and within sight that it brought a dose of reality to their until now sheltered exposure to the disaster. After several minutes the man turned back, wiping a black grime off his chin as if he had vomited the very ash that surrounded them.
“Back under the blankets,” she ordered, covering her children’s heads and putting her own mouth and nose under the covering. The man took several more drinks then seemed to relax, his cough gone and his breathing returning to normal. “I’m Avita,” she said, finally realizing introductions had never been made.
“I’m Flora,” replied the young woman who motioned toward her husband. “This is Seneca.”
The man nodded, handing the water to his wife. “Thank you again for taking us. You wouldn’t believe how bad it is out there,” he said, his voice raspy but gaining strength.
“It’s unlike anything I could have ever imagined,” agreed Avita. “It is as if the gods have abandoned us.”
Flora shivered in fright, snuggling closer to her husband. “I fear how far this hell has spread.” She lowered her voice, leaning forward. “People are desperate out there. I fear if we don’t get out soon, we never will.”
Avita glanced ahead but could see nothing, the canvas cover supplemented with blankets that hung over the normally open front.
“Labeo, how goes it?” she called.
A head poked between the blankets, covered in black, streaks around the eyes and mouth where he had tried to wipe them clean. “Not well, my lady. This ash continued to deepen and the horses are having a hard time of it. I have lost sight of the second carriage—I fear they may have broken an axle.”
“We must stop for them!” cried Avita, her head emerging from under her blanket.
“No, my lady. There is no time nor can we take the increased load, it is too hard on the horses. Even with the extra two they are struggling. If we do not escape the city soon, we never will. The others can follow on foot.”
“But—”
Labeo cut her off, rather impudently she thought if the situation weren’t so dire. “My lady, please, think of the children. My lord was very clear in his orders. I am to stop at nothing to save you.”
Avita nodded, resigned to the fact that no matter how distasteful the decision had been, it had been the right one. The priority had to be the children. The others in the supply wagon could walk, and if lucky, catch up, for they seemed to be barely moving. A brisk walk wouldn’t even describe how slowly they appeared to be progressing, and if it weren’t for the air outside, she would suggest it was indeed better to walk.
A tortured whinny from behind had them all turn.
“What is it?” asked Avita.
Labeo’s head disappeared for a moment then the cart came to a halt. His head poked back in for a moment. “It’s the second carriage, they’ve just caught up but have just lost one of their horses.” He turned to Seneca. “Are you well enough to help?” The man nodded, climbing to his knees then out the front. Labeo looked at his mistress. “I’ll get water and some food. I’ll be back shortly.”
Labeo disappeared behind the blankets and Avita felt the carriage rock as the two men stepped down. The horror on the other side of the canvas continued, strangled screams, wails of sorrow, cries of children, and the near constant shaking of the ground terrified her even more now that they weren’t moving and their only protection, Labeo, had gone, despite him only paces away.
Suddenly she heard a shout behind them and the distinct sound of two swords clashing. She spun around, the children spilling to the sides as she pushed a blanket out of the way and peered into the darkness behind them. She gasped at what she saw. The servants in the supply wagon were nowhere to be seen. Seneca was leaning against the body of one of the horses, his stomach opened by a blade, his life force pouring onto the ash that was up to his waist. Labeo was fighting their attackers, but was outnumbered three to one. Avita knew he was a skilled swordsman, but he was already wounded on his right arm, near the shoulder, and he was now forced to fight with his left in his weakened state.
He thrust forward, plunging his blade into the nearest man, his screams of pain added to those coming from every home and every street within earshot. As Labeo withdrew, he was set upon by the other two and before he could parry the next attack, he was struck in the leg. He fell to one knee, turning his head toward Avita’s carriage, their eyes meeting.
“Go!” he yelled as a blade was thrust through his back, his eyes bulging, his chest bursting forward as his shoulder blades pulled back. Blood burst from his mouth as he gasped then before he collapsed into the ash, his lips moved once more, mouthing his final word again.
“Go!”
Avita pulled back inside as his body disappeared into the blanket of ash. She dove for the front of the carriage, throwing the blanket aside and climbing into the seat once manned by Labeo. Grabbing the reins, she flicked them, yelling at the horses to proceed. They jerked forward, straining against the weight they carried, and after several false starts, they began to move, Avita letting out a sigh of relief.
As a strong hand gripped her arm, yanking her onto the street below.
She cried out, covering her face as she hit the ground, but surprised at the lack of pain, the ash acting like a massive cushion protecting her from the hard stone underneath.
“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”
The lechery in his voice was obvious even to her, her upbringing affording her little opportunity to ever hear s
uch a tone, it simply not tolerated in polite company. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt her breast pawed by the animal and she spun around, her fist clenched, opening it as it emerged from the ash, filling the man’s face with the powder. Cursing, he stumbled back and began to cough, visibly sucking in the thick ash with each gasp. Realizing what was happening, he covered his mouth with his robe and fell to his knees, his sword falling from his hand.
A cry from the cart had her heart in her throat as she realized the horses were continuing forward without her at the reins, her children still in the rear. She scrambled through the ash, trying to grab hold of the cart as it began to pick up speed but stumbled and fell, losing sight as she collapsed into the powder. With the presence of mind to hold her breath and close her eyes, she began to push herself to her knees when somebody gripped her by the hair, painfully hauling her to her feet. She cried out in agony, her children responding with their own cries as they heard their mother in pain. She looked up and saw the blade of her assailant’s sword swing toward her neck. She twisted her head to the side, her hair ripping from her scalp, and sunk her teeth deep into the man’s arm. Crying out in pain he loosened his grip, his swing slowing as he tried to wrench his arm loose.
Avita yanked herself free and jumped to her feet, rushing after the cart. Grabbing the side, she tried to pull herself up and cried out as she began to slip. Suddenly a hand reached out from behind the blankets hanging over the front and grabbed her arm. As she was pulled inside she saw Flora emerge, her tear streaked face grimacing with the effort.
Avita pulled herself the rest of the way and grabbed the reins, flicking them hard, screaming at the struggling beasts who immediately responded. The cart began to pick up speed but Avita had little confidence they would be able to escape their attackers. She looked about for something, anything that she might be able to use as a weapon but saw nothing. Turning back, she was about to ask Flora to search for something when the pregnant woman pushed through the blankets, holding a hammer. Without a word she handed it to Avita then plunged back into the rear and out of sight, Avita switching the hammer to her left hand.
Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) Page 7
