“One ship has been loaded and is now in the center of the bay with Tacitus aboard.”
Plinius grunted as he toweled himself dry, pleased it was someone he could trust. “Good, good. He shall marshal the fleet until I arrive.” He tossed the towel back to the slave who rushed out of sight, Plinius shoving his shoulders back, his elbows out from his sides as he stretched with a groan. Staring at the ceiling as he did so, he noted the massive cracks stretching across it like lightning bolts frozen in time.
Perhaps we should get out of here.
“A second ship is almost loaded, I suggest we get you aboard now.”
Plinius nodded, the thought appealing from a self-preservation point of view, but only if one took a short-term look on life. Titus would surely have him executed should he not save the gold.
“How much is left?”
Valerius shook his head. “Easily six more boats worth. We must abandon it, My Lord, and return once this disaster has ended.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then I fear all is lost, and the Emperor will have no use for his gold.”
Plinius detected the note of frustration in Valerius’ voice, and forgave the man. Valerius could have fled in the night, but he hadn’t. Valerius could outright challenge him right now, but he didn’t. He was a brave man, but all brave men had limits.
And he was certain Valerius was eager to travel south and seek word of his family. Plinius had to admit he worried of his nephew and sister as well. The boy was still young in many ways, but he could begin to see the makings of a man in him, and this was just the type of situation that could trigger that change.
Would he find him sitting on the terrace, watching with the wonder and naiveté of a schoolboy, or perhaps huddled in his bedchambers, gripped by fear?
Or would he find a man, who had saved the household by ordering its evacuation.
As Plinius shoved aside a curtain, he gasped, fearing he might never know, for the darkness that enveloped them all, despite the hour, had engulfed the entire bay as well.
Tekezé River, Eritrea
Present Day, One day before the crash
Command Sergeant Major Burt Dawson watched as the gold literally flew out of the hold, Professor James Acton not concerned with the gold being damaged, merely tossing it through the hole. He had been at it for at least a good thirty minutes, and a work crew of locals had been set up, two raking the gold away from the entrance as it hit the ground, others taking the gold, safely out of the path of Acton’s pitches, and piling it on pallets supervised by the UN personnel, a forklift waiting nearby to lift the pallet onto the back of a waiting truck which would immediately leave for the capital under heavy escort.
And if it weren’t for the Ethiopians continuing to amass only several hundred feet away, he’d have rested easy. But a billion dollars of gold was an incredible temptation, especially to a corrupt regime that would certainly melt down a significant portion of it, distributing it among their loyal followers.
And me without my gun.
“There’s room for two now!” yelled Acton from inside the hold.
“Hold your fire!” called Laura as she dropped to her knees. The flurry of gold bars paused as she climbed inside, then resumed almost immediately, moments later doubling in intensity. Dawson hadn’t seen inside the hold personally, but judging by the picture Acton had taken, and the small pile of gold sitting on the pallet, he was pretty certain barely a dent had been made, but it appeared the professor had made a wise decision by deliberately clearing space for a second set of hands.
If it were up to Dawson he’d simply use the two front loaders that waited nearby, but fortunately for historians everywhere, he wasn’t in charge. Which was made crystal clear by the fact he had absolutely no weapons on him. He and Niner had just completed an undercover op in Odessa in which they proved the Russians were supplying much more than just weapons and money to the Russian-speaking separatists, but actually busing in hundreds of troops from Russia, in plainclothes, to attack and occupy the government buildings, and once secured, hand them over to locals to defend.
He hated seeing history repeat itself, and he feared this was the Sudetenland all over again, with the American president playing the part of Neville Chamberlain. Hitler had used the same excuse of protecting German speakers’ rights, the exact same phrasing the Russian President now used. And the West did little, as Western Europe was too dependent upon Russian natural gas to heat their homes in the winter.
Fools!
How could anyone become so dependent upon a former enemy that the very welfare of their citizenry became tied to the whims of a country that had never truly achieved democracy, and for over a decade, while the dependency grew, led by a virtual despot? As far as he was concerned the Europeans deserved to freeze should the Russians choose to shut off the taps. There would be some short term pain while new sources were found, but once they were, the Russian’s would lose their leverage when their major customer said “thanks, but no thanks, we’ll stick with North American natural gas”.
The Europeans had to act now, and act quickly, to begin the transition, but also stand up to the bully that was a resurgent Russia. They had already essentially seized a sizeable chunk of Georgia and never handed it back. Now they had the Crimea, and all eyes were on Eastern Ukraine. What of Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, Armenia, and Moldova, not to mention another half dozen countries, all within the Russian sphere of influence, with significant Russian populations? Were they all fair game simply because the Russian President wanted to restore the Soviet Union?
He frowned as he spotted the two Russian security observers standing nearby, one on a satellite phone. He had worked with Russians before, and there were a few he trusted. It wasn’t necessarily the soldiers themselves that he didn’t trust, it was their taskmasters. These soldiers were as loyal to their country as he was to his, and they followed orders just like he did.
It was their leaders he didn’t trust at all.
Spotting something on the horizon, he grabbed the binoculars from around his neck and raised them, scanning for the bright dots he had seen. Two MiG-23s zoomed into view, racing toward their position. He pointed and announced to the general public.
“We’ve got incoming. Two MiG-23s from the south-east!”
The entire camp turned, all becoming silent except for the hum of the diesel generator nearby. Within moments the dull roar of the MiG engines could be heard over the chugging generator, the spots on the horizon growing in intensity.
The Eritrean soldiers rushed to the bank of the river, dropping to the sand and aiming their weapons at the other side, many with their guns pointing in the air. Several technicals, merely pickup trucks with 50 caliber machine guns mounted in the rear took up position as tanks roared to life.
This is going to go to shit, quick!
He motioned for Niner to follow him and he ran toward the opening in the hold of the ship, the steady flow of gold having halted. He dropped to his knees and found the two professors kneeling at the entrance, looking out.
“You two need to get out of there, now!” he ordered, holding his hand out for Professor Palmer. She took it and he pulled her out, Acton scrambling after her. Dawson pointed to the other side of the embankment the hull of the boat rested against. “Get to the other side, the sand will provide good cover. If shooting breaks out, keep low and move north until you’re out of range, then turn east. There’s a village only a few miles from here. I’ll find you there.”
Acton nodded and grabbed his fiancée by the hand, scrambling up the embankment and out of sight, a large group of the civilians doing the same as the dozen unarmed security “observers” were left with no weapons to help defend against any potential attack, and no authority to order the Eritreans to hold their fire.
“What do you think?” asked Niner. “What’s our job here? To protect the gold, or protect our citizens?”
“Officially we’re not here to protect anything, me
rely observe, and in all honesty act as human shields against any Ethiopian aggression. The thinking is that they won’t dare risk killing soldiers from the Security Council nations.”
“Did anyone tell the Eritreans that’ll only work if they don’t fire first?”
“I met the commander. Unfortunately the bulb seems dim. And from what I saw of his troops, I don’t think he’ll be able to control them once they get scared.”
The roar of the jets’ engines filled the area now as the two MiG’s rushed their position in what Dawson was certain was merely a show of force to intimidate. They would break off at the last second, banking away, careful to not cross the border.
But if a single Eritrean soldier fired out of fear, all hell could break loose. Ethiopia’s military was far more massive and they had arrayed an impressive amount of armor already. Their ability to cross the river would be limited, but they’d be able to pound this position without mercy.
Dawson spotted Reese talking with the Eritrean commander, his uniform impressively adorned with large amounts of gold and medals that were most likely earned by his troops and not himself. He was arguing animatedly with Reese, using grand hand motions to belittle the slight woman. Dawson had to admit the diminutive woman was an odd choice for the assignment in a nation where women weren’t respected, but when her finger jabbed back, pointed up at his throat, the glare she delivered and the words unheard at this distance, caused the man to check himself, then walk away, yelling for his troops to hold their fire.
Before Dawson could say anything Reese spun toward him, pointing. “Where are the professors?”
“I’ve sent them over the ridge, toward town.”
She nodded approvingly then surveyed the camp as it emptied out of non-combatants. “We need to get that gold—”
She was cut off by a burst of gunfire. Dawson’s trained ear told him it was a single AK-47 that fired off half a mag before being joined in by a chorus of assorted weapons. He spun toward the river to see the two approaching MiG’s break off exactly as he had expected they would, but as they did, the entire southern bank of the river lit up as muzzles flared with return fire.
Dawson shoved Reese to the ground as he and Niner hit the deck. Looking about for better cover than a nearby canvas tent, he spotted the two large front loaders less than fifty feet away, their massive steel scoops several feet in the air, but facing away from the incoming fire. Dawson pointed and Niner nodded. They both grabbed Reese, hauling her to her feet and positioning themselves between her and the river as they rushed toward the loaders.
A tank fired behind them, followed by another, the massive explosions on the other side of the river immediately escalating the response. They reached the first front loader and Dawson scooped Reese up with a yelp from the woman and tossed her inside. Niner swung up and over the lip, reaching out and pulling Dawson up just as the response to the escalation pounded the shore, their temporary shelter shaking as the mighty rounds began to hammer the beach.
“Jesus Christ, we’ve got to get out of here!” cried Reese, huddled in a corner, curled up into a ball as she cringed with each report.
No shit!
Dawson turned himself around so he could see what was happening and wasn’t impressed. Two of the six Eritrean tanks were in flames, having taken direct hits, and dozens of their troops were lying dead or wounded, the number made even more significant with his limited field of vision. The last of the civilians cleared the berm he had sent the professors over, but several were dead, including the talkative and rotund Tucker from the meeting, his mangled corpse near one of the tanks.
He must have thought it would be good cover.
Dawson frowned. From small arms fire, a tank is fantastic cover. But as a primary target, it’s lousy. If the enemy has armor, and their small arms fire is coming from across a large river, the tank is the last thing you want to hide behind. Where they were now was safe for the moment unless the Ethiopians decided to hit targets of opportunity, of which this loader would definitely qualify.
“They’re launching boats!” yelled Niner, his head poking around the other side with a view of the river.
“Ballsy,” observed Dawson who jerked back inside, another tank erupting as it took a hit to the turret, the crew attempting to bail as the fuel foolishly strapped to the back in jerry cans ignited. He looked at Niner. “They’re going to run out of military targets soon.”
“Which means we’re probably next,” agreed Niner. Another explosion ripped apart its target too close for comfort, sending a shower of sand over them, metal shrapnel clanging against their makeshift shield.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Reese, causing the two Delta operators to spin toward her. She was holding up a gold bar, her mouth wide open. She scrambled from her corner and shoved her head over the edge, the three of them now staring at the massive hole in the side of the now nearly completely exposed boat. The embankment had been blown away, the hull collapsed inward, the gold exposed for everyone to see, a few of the bars scattered across the sand.
“Status on the crossing?” asked Dawson.
Niner twisted his head around the side. “About half way across, taking heavy fire. Looks like the current is dragging them a bit, though. If they get across I think they’ll be about half a mile downstream.”
Reese grabbed Dawson by the shoulder. “We have to save the gold!”
“My job is to protect you,” he replied, “not the gold. I’m here strictly as an observer. My Rules of Engagement are zero—do not engage, only observe, leave if necessary.”
“But you’ll protect me?”
“Because you’re an American citizen, and I’m an American soldier. My sworn duty is to protect you, regardless of these temporary Rules of Engagement.”
Reese seemed to think about this for a moment. “Then I choose to stay with the gold.” She seemed to be satisfied with her reply. “Now what are you going to do?”
Dawson shook his head, turning away so she wouldn’t see the eye roll.
I’ll knock you out cold and carry you over my shoulder if I have to.
He turned to reason with her when she held up a finger, her glare matching that she had delivered to the Eritrean commander. “And don’t you dare think you’re going to carry me out of here!”
A quick glance at Niner and he saw him stifle a smile, shoving his head out the side to check on their situation. Dawson didn’t have the luxury of hiding his face. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
Reese pointed at the gold. “If we don’t get that out of here before the Ethiopians get here, there’s going to be a war.”
Dawson knew she was right. These two countries had fought a war recently, with over one hundred thousand killed and little settled. If Ethiopia were to steal a billion dollars of gold from the Eritreans, there was no way the Eritreans would let that go unanswered. All-out war would most likely ensue, this impoverished country spending over twenty percent of its GDP on the military compared to Ethiopia’s barely one percent. It was the classic little guy who boned up on martial arts to protect himself from the bigger bullies, and when no one challenged him, became the bully to show off his skills.
Eritrea wouldn’t hesitate to attack, regardless of their inability to win against the much larger foe.
Thousands would die, perhaps tens of thousands.
All over a pile of gold that would probably fit in the very scoop they were hiding in.
Bingo!
His eyebrows popped as he turned away from Reese and stared at the gold. Niner darted back inside as several rounds pinged off the massive vehicle.
“I recognize that look,” he said. “What’ve you got in mind?”
Dawson remained silent for a moment. The gold wouldn’t fit in this scoop, but they had two machines, and they just might be able to get most if not all of it, less some strays, into the two scoops and then head down the beach, over the embankment, and deeper into Eritrean territory.
He turned to Reese. “Any word on whe
n we can expect a response from our naval forces?”
Reese shook her head. “I don’t know if anything has been called in. I know I didn’t, there wasn’t any time and the comm gear is in the tent.”
Shit!
He looked at Niner. “Do you know how to drive one of these things?”
Niner nodded. “Yup, same training you received. Which means like you I haven’t done it since.”
Dawson chuckled knowingly. They had been trained on how to operate most vehicles, but vehicles such as this weren’t usually part of an op. He had no doubt it would come back to him as soon as he sat behind the seat. He turned to Niner.
“We’re going to get this gold out of here,” he said.
“Great idea!” replied Niner in an overly agreeable voice. “How?”
Dawson pointed down at the scoop they were in. “We’re going to scoop it out and take it inland.”
Niner’s eyes opened wide for a brief moment then his head began to bob. “That’s just crazy enough to work. Just one thing, though.”
“What?”
“The professor is going to be pissed.”
Dawson nodded, realizing they were about to destroy what was apparently a significant piece of history, but he could see no way around it. He was certain even Professor Acton would agree saving potentially tens of thousands of lives outweighed preserving an old boat from destruction.
“No choice.”
Niner shrugged, poked his head out and looked at the second loader sitting nearby then took cover again. “Looks like she’s still in one piece. It’s a military loader by the looks of it, so there’s some thin armor plating around the cabin. It should hold off the small arms fire, but if they open up with a fifty on us we’re sardines in a can.”
Dawson nodded, just thankful there was going to be some protection. “Okay, you get the other one fired up, I’ll get this one going, but first I’ve got to call in an airstrike.”
Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) Page 10
