THE
CYLON
CURSE
A JAMES ACTON THRILLER
J. ROBERT KENNEDY
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"James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"
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BOOKS BY J. ROBERT KENNEDY
The Templar Detective Thrillers
The Templar Detective
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress
The Templar Detective and the Sergeant's Secret
The Templar Detective and the Unholy Exorcist
The James Acton Thrillers
The Protocol
Brass Monkey
Broken Dove
The Templar’s Relic
Flags of Sin
The Arab Fall
The Circle of Eight
The Venice Code
Pompeii’s Ghosts
Amazon Burning
The Riddle
Blood Relics
Sins of the Titanic
Saint Peter’s Soldiers
The Thirteenth Legion
Raging Sun
Wages of Sin
Wrath of the Gods
The Templar’s Revenge
The Nazi’s Engineer
Atlantis Lost
The Cylon Curse
The Viking Deception
The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers
Rogue Operator
Containment Failure
Cold Warriors
Death to America
Black Widow
The Agenda
Retribution
The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers
Payback
Infidels
The Lazarus Moment
Kill Chain
Forgotten
The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries
Depraved Difference
Tick Tock
The Redeemer
Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series
The Turned
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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Table of Contents
Beginning
Author's Note
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Acknowledgments
Sample of Next Book
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Thank You!
About the Author
Also by the Author
For Malcolm Stone.
You will be missed.
“Lordship for many is no good thing. Let there be one ruler, one king, to whom the son of devious-devising Kronos gives the scepter and right of judgement, to watch over his people.”
Homer’s Iliad 2.118-206
“It has been said that Democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.”
Winston Churchill, 1947
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Cylon of Athens is an actual figure from history, and is where the inspiration for this novel came from, not the television series Battlestar Galactica created by Glen A. Larson, inspired, I assume, by the same source material.
PREFACE
What we now refer to as Ancient Greece, during the time of Cylon, was, in fact, the city-state of Athens. Nations did not exist, and it was the city or town that exerted control over an area.
Many of these cities were ruled by tyrants. What one must remember, however, is that the definition of tyrant was quite different from today. Today, a tyrant is thought of as someone evil, leading with an iron fist, ignoring the will of the people. In ancient times, a tyrant was someone who usurped control in what we might now call a coup d’état. Yes, often they ruled with an iron fist, though these were different times, and applying our values to events of millennia ago, would be perhaps misguided.
In 632 BC, when the historical events of this novel take place, Athens was experimenting with the first forms of democracy, while city states surrounding them were led by unelected rulers, including the tyrant of Megara, Theagenes, the father-in-law of an Olympic hero and aristocrat, Cylon of Athens.
It was with Theagenes’ encouragement that Cylon began an undertaking he was certain was for the good of the city he loved.
And to fulfill a prophecy, as most tend to be, too vague to interpret with certainty.
1 |
Phaleron Delta Necropolis
Athens, Greece
Two days from now
Archaeology Professor Laura Palmer sprinted toward the screams of terror and the rattle of gunfire as her husband ushered their two young companions to safety. She couldn’t see what was going on, the dig site deep enough that anything beyond its edge was out of sight, but what she h
eard suggested an attack at the main gate.
An attack fiercely resisted by the newly arrived security team she was funding.
These were her people, and if anything happened to them, she’d be responsible.
Though that notion was foolish.
She rushed up the ramp leading to the parking area and the main gate, staring toward the gunfire. Several of the security team were writhing on the ground, the attackers obviously taking her team by surprise, the others continuing to resist valiantly.
Bile filled her mouth as she spotted one who couldn’t possibly be alive, but she had to know. She made for his still form when small bursts of sand and stone tore toward her and she froze for a moment, the scene unfolding as if in slow motion.
“Move!”
Somebody shoved her from behind and she hit the ground hard, the impact bringing her back to reality. She rolled out of the way then cried out as the bullets meant for her tore into the man who had just saved her life. He fell down the ramp and out of sight, and she scrambled toward the open pit to check on him when more gunfire cut off her foolishness. She pushed to her feet and leaped behind a car, using the wheel as cover.
“Professor! Are you okay?”
She glanced over and spotted one of the security team taking cover behind the next car. “Yes.” She held out her hand. “Gun!”
He tossed her a Glock and three magazines. “You know how to use that?”
She ignored the question, instead checking the weapon then taking up a prone firing position under the car. She opened fire on anything moving near the front gate, wondering what she must have done in a previous life to deserve this.
Why can’t we go anywhere without something going wrong?
2 |
Temple of Apollo
Delphi, Ancient Greece
632 BC
Cylon’s heart hammered as he climbed the last few steps after waiting all day. He couldn’t recall feeling so ill at ease, even when in the thick of Olympic competition in the races. The pressure to win had been tremendous, the relief felt after crossing the finish line victorious, orgasmic.
But this wasn’t the Olympics. This wasn’t a race against his fellow citizens. This was an audience with Pythia, the high priestess of the Temple of Apollo, known in the whispered halls of Athens as the Oracle of Delphi.
The mystery shrouding her and those who had preceded her was something he had always dismissed as superstition, but as each step brought him closer, the heavy fog billowing out of the ground, the flickering flame that took only the edge off the darkness, and the full moon that lit the night sky, all contributed to his uneasiness.
For what was said in the following moments could change his destiny.
He took the final step and suppressed a gasp at the sight of a woman, covered in the finest cloths, prone on an altar in the center of the temple. A gentle breeze blowing across the hilltop had the shimmering layers she wore fluttering, obscuring her form and features, and he dared not judge whether she was beautiful lest he offend Apollo himself, whose choice in whom to speak for him was no doubt wise.
“High Priestess, Cylon of Athens seeks your guidance.”
Cylon flinched at the chorus of voices, only now noticing the dozen priestesses surrounding him, positioned between the pillars supporting the roof of the holy temple.
“What is his question?”
The voice was serpent-like, and he was certain it came from the shadows, or at least echoed from the darkness.
He drew a long, slow breath, calming himself unsuccessfully, then stepped forward. “I seek the guidance of Apollo on this most holy of days. Should I follow my father-in-law’s urgings, and seize the reins of power of my great city, and return it to the path of strength and order it has so foolishly forgotten?”
The hissed response was almost immediate. “Theagenes is wise and strong, and the gods respect the power that he wields on their behalf. Your family is one of honor, you are a hero of the people, and should you act wisely, you will succeed in unifying the citizens of Athens. But be warned. Patience is key. Take action not this day, but on the day that honors Zeus. To not heed this warning will result in a tragedy that will haunt you until the day you depart this plane of existence, and journey on to the next.”
His chest swelled with pride as his eyes burned with tears that threatened to rush down his face. He had her blessing, and his. Apollo, the god of light, through his Oracle in this world, had assured him of victory, and with the Olympic celebrations occurring next week, there was little doubt that this was when he was to make his move and usurp power from those who would weaken the city he loved.
He bowed deeply. “Thank you for your generous guidance.”
“Wait,” hissed the voice from in front of him, and from the shadows. “Give him the token.”
A priestess emerged from the darkness with her hands extended in front of her. In her palms, she carried a plush purple pillow with a gold, tear-shaped amulet perched in the center. She stopped in front of him, saying nothing.
“Wear this to give you the strength of Apollo. Should you succeed, blessed will be all who wear it. But should you fail, all who possess it shall know nothing but misery.”
His hands trembling, he reached out, uncertainly, an internal debate raging on whether he wanted to touch something associated with such a prophecy.
Yet he couldn’t refuse.
No one refused a gift from the Oracle.
He picked up the amulet with both hands, holding it above his head. “I thank you, Oracle, for such a generous gift, and will heed your words.”
“I grow tired. Leave us.”
The writhing form in front of him abruptly collapsed onto the altar, all movement ceasing save her heaving chest, the wind that had kept her robes in motion and the flames’ flickering suddenly failing, leaving the curious fog to rise unfettered, enveloping the altar in a shroud of secrecy that had him backing slowly away as the priestesses that had surrounded the proceedings receded into the dark.
He placed the amulet around his neck, rubbing the small token between his thumb and forefinger as he closed his eyes, trying to remember every word that had just been said. He opened his eyes and turned, hurrying down the steps, toward the bottom of the hill and his waiting entourage. And with each step, his confidence grew, and by the time he reached the bottom, he had no doubt that not only was Apollo on his side, but that it was his duty to save his people.
And become Tyrant of Athens.
3 |
Dimotiki Agora
Athens, Greece
Present Day
Karan Damos watched as the woman in front of him carefully unwrapped what he hoped would be yet another valuable artifact that he could sell to his collectors. She had provided him with several over the past months, all fetching good prices, his commissions helping his bottom line handsomely.
Too bad it was all illegal.
That didn’t bother him, though he suspected it did her. She always seemed uncomfortable, always treated the artifacts with loving care, and always sought assurances from him that they would find a “good home.”
He, of course, said all the right things to her, even if he couldn’t care less where they ended up.
He wanted the cash they provided, and once in hand, where the artifacts ended up were of no concern to him. Artifacts, iPhones, jewelry, whatever. It was all his business. Some called him a fence, but in his mind, he was simply a purveyor of lost and found goods.
Someone lost something through carelessness, and his suppliers found them.
Then brought their loot to him for their twenty to forty cents on the Euro.
This woman commanded much more, for what she trafficked in was unique. Rare. Priceless in some circles. He had agreed to the unthinkable, taking only a 25% commission on whatever he managed to get.
He could have lied to her, but if he were found out, it could affect his entire business. There was honor among thieves. To a point.
He
smiled at the bronze blade in front of him, expertly cleaned, the imperfections of time remaining to add to the authentic feel. No collector wanted truly mint condition. A shiny, perfect blade might as well have been made in a Chinese factory. Something that clearly appeared ancient, however, could command a huge price, especially on the Dark Web auction sites he frequented.
“Beautiful.”
She nodded. “It is, isn’t it?” She tapped the hilt. “I expect an excellent price for this.”
“Of course. It will be auctioned tonight. You’ll have your share in the morning as per usual.”
“Excellent.” She paused, staring about the rear of his small appliance repair shop, a front for his illicit dealings. “I have a more valuable item.”
He grinned. “Do you have it with you?”
She shook her head. “No. It will be difficult to obtain, and I want certain assurances before I do.”
“Such as?”
“I want seven figures. Minimum.”
His eyebrows rose. “It must be quite the item.”
“It is. Trust me, there will be a bidding war for this item, I assure you.”
His grin grew. “I like the sound of that, but it might take time.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Seven figures is too big for me. I’ll have to make some calls.”
“How long?”
“You should know by tomorrow if your minimum can be met.”
“That’s fine, but no later. Outside people are being brought in, and once they arrive, it might be too late.”
“Why not stick to the small things? Nobody has noticed so far. We’ve both made a tidy sum. Why risk it on one big score?”
She shook her head. “Somebody has noticed. That’s why these outsiders are being called.” Her fingers drummed on the table several times before ending in a definitive rap. “No. One last item, then I’m done. It will give me all I need.”
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