Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) (14 page)

Reese
nodded a welcome to the Chinese woman as she reached the edge of the circle
surrounding Acton and the UNESCO representative. “That’s why
you
are
here,” Reese replied. “To monitor the security situation, advise your
prospective representatives here on the ground, and myself, so an informed
decision can be made as to when it is no longer safe to remain.”

The
Chinese woman fixed her stare on Reese. “Ma’am, it is my opinion that that time
has come and gone. It is already no longer safe to remain here.”

Reese
didn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m open to hearing your evidence.”

The
Chinese woman nodded and a man in a matching jumpsuit Acton hadn’t noticed
plugged a memory card into the TV, the television automatically switching the
signal source. A series of satellite photos began to loop on the screen,
showing night vision shots.

“What
are we looking at?” asked Tucker.

“These
are satellite images taken by my government less than fifteen minutes ago,”
replied the woman. She pointed out several bright clusters of dots. “These are
tanks, artillery and armored personnel carriers moving into the area. They will
arrive by dawn. We also have evidence showing a number of gunships moving into
the area, along with at least one thousand troops only hours away. The time to
remove the gold is now!”

Reese
watched the photos cycle by one more time, then nodded. “You assume they are
going to attack. The Eritreans have significant forces here as well, and the
United States government has pledged to defend our position, several vessels
just off the coast on standby should it become necessary.”

The Chinese
woman smiled, her eyes narrowing as she glanced over at Dawson and Niner. “Yes,
I’m sure the American military is prepared to support us, just as they did in
the Crimea.” She sighed as the two Russian observers glared at her. “That is
the problem with you Americans. You assume the other side is as peace-loving as
you
claim to be. The sad reality is that in most of the world that isn’t
so.” Her smile broadened. “Present company excluded, of course.”

Reese
bowed slightly. “Let’s hope you’re wrong in your interpretation of intentions.”
Reese turned to Acton. “Begin your extraction immediately.”

Acton
nodded, heading out of the tent, Laura by his side, before anyone else could
suggest otherwise.

For his
interpretation of events was exactly that of the Chinese woman.

Tomorrow
the Ethiopians would attack, and even if the American Navy responded, it might
be too late for those stuck on the ground in the initial assault. He looked at
Laura and he could tell by her concerned expression she had the exact same fears
as he did.

He
plunged inside the hull, determined to work as fast as he could, otherwise yet
another piece of history might be lost to violence, and if he were right about
his theory as to the origin of this ship, more lives lost to Vesuvius’ wrath.

Lucius Valerius Corvus Residence, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 25
^th
, 79 AD

Plinius woke to a scream, pushing his aging bones to an upright
position on his bedding. The house rocked violently and this time several more screams
erupted from nearby. He scrambled to his feet, brushing himself free of the
fine layer of ash that coated him from head to toe, then coughed, a twinge of
fear pushing itself above that which he had felt since first arriving ashore
yesterday. He had decided a brave face was necessary to keep the troops
motivated, but late in the evening even he too was beginning to give in to his
fears and had decided sleep was the best way to hide his true state.

He was
shocked to now find he had actually been able to sleep.

He felt
weak, his chest tight, his lungs gasping for air, an attack of what his
physician called asthma beginning. He covered his mouth with his robe, leaning
against one of the pillars and steadied his breath. Spying a carafe of water
nearby, he poured himself several glasses, downing them and feeling the tension
relieve slightly, the cough at least abating.

But he
knew if he didn’t get out of here soon, he was at great risk.

Outside
was certain death for him which was why he had insisted on staying inside
despite the risk of collapse. He had never shrunken in fear from anything in
his life, but this situation was testing him like nothing before. He had
weathered storms at sea that would send the bravest of men running for the
mountains, not to mention famine, drought, fire and more.

But
never before had he seen the wrath of the gods, the very earth itself spewing
forth death, blanketing everything in its path as if to snuff the very life out
of any beauty that may have once been. And now he felt his lungs burning in
response, increasing his fear, and again increasing the stress on the essential
organs.

Forcing
a brave face and a smile, he marched from the room and out into the common
area. The soldiers continued to move the gold, slower now than when he went to
bed, but with no less sense of urgency he was certain. He surveyed the small
group, finding none asleep and all standing in archways, Plinius wondering if
it was someone’s knowledge of architecture that led them there, or just dumb
luck.

Valerius
stepped forward. “My lord, I highly recommend we leave. The north wing just
collapsed and we lost several of our men on the roof and two of my slaves. The
house has become too unstable.”

Plinius
pretended to ignore the recommendation, instead motioning for washing supplies
to be brought. A slave rushed over with a bowl of water, towel over his arm.

“And the
gold?” he asked as he bent forward and sank his hands into the bowl of cool
water, rinsing his face several times, then washing the back of his neck.

“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.