by Matt James
Taft smiled. “Just tying up some loose ends.”
Opening and closing his shaking hands, Creed sat forward and attempted to stay calm. He needed to remain relevant. He needed to give Taft a reason not to kill him. “Now, where were we?”
“Right here.” Taft raised his gun.
“Please,” Creed begged, lifting his hands, “don’t do this. I’ll do anything you want.”
Taft thought it over for a moment. His eyes softened, and, instead of shooting Creed, he retrieved a second manila envelope from his briefcase. As he moved, he never once took his eyes off Creed.
He handed it across the table. “Sign it.”
Creed nodded, quickly shredding the envelope to get to the papers within. Hands shaking, he flipped through the packet and signed it in the appropriate places. He blew out a long breath and gave it back to Taft, flopping defeatedly back into his plush, leather chair. The Greek swiftly looked it over, nodding when he finished.
Taft packed up his things, but not his gun. He turned, and he stepped toward the door but stopped after only a single footfall. Creed didn’t go for his gun. His eyes had returned to his fallen confidant, instead.
“One more thing,” Taft said, glancing over his shoulder.
Creed returned his attention to the Greek. “Yes?”
“My employers didn’t just send me here to have you sign over your business and tie up a few loose ends.”
“They didn’t?”
“No,” Taft said, shaking his head slightly, “they asked me to have you sign over the casino and tie up all the loose ends.” He raised his pistol, lined up Creed’s head in his sights, and pulled the trigger.
EPILOGUE
Cody, Wyoming
After spending a second night with Chaska, Jack and Bull headed back home. Jack was stunned with how little attention his group had garnered from local police. Zietz and Creed had covered for them by covering for themselves. Still… It bothered Jack, regardless. Something didn’t add up.
Hawk decided to stay in Cascade to look after Nina until she was released from the hospital. Hawk also returned home and explained his absence to the authorities—what was left of them. He said he had become friends with a senior Lakota man and took it upon himself to watch over him for a few days. Chaska confirmed that Hawk had been staying with him, not that he could recall for how long. When questioned about the state of his home, Hawk said that he was shocked to hear about it.
Hawk also convinced Nina to move west, away from the Black Buffalo’s toxic atmosphere, and live with him and his uncle in Cody. They were currently due to arrive in a couple of days. It was the best decision the couple could’ve made, in Jack’s opinion. He was hoping the younger Durham would train to become a Yellowstone ranger. Hawk had proven himself several times. Not only was he smart, but he was tough and could take a beating.
Speaking of which…
“Ouch.”
Jack struggled up the stairs of his front porch. He glanced back and waved Bull off, but not before shouting, “I’m not coming in tomorrow!” His friend rolled his eyes and nodded from the inside of his truck, pulling away without another look.
Getting to the keys in his back pocket took more effort than it should have. His body had locked up during the five-hour trek back to Cody. The entire experience had been worth it, though. They had found one of the most significant discoveries in Native American history, and now, all the world knew about it. Devils Tower and the beauty within was about to get a serious increase in interest, as was the horde of diamonds. Jack had no idea how that would balance itself out. Security would have to be increased too, that was for sure.
The entire event was already all over the news. It was trending on social media too. The attention guaranteed that vacationers from all over the world would come to Wyoming. The small towns dotting the borders of the national parks were about to become very prosperous. Unlike what Jack had found in Poland, this was something humanity could handle. Besides the diamond cave, there wasn’t anything of spending value hidden within Devils Tower. Most of what they had discovered was culturally priceless and impossible to comprehend its construction.
Same as the pyramids. Jack doubted that the architectural methodology of the Seven Sisters would ever be unlocked. He hoped it wasn’t either. It was just too damn cool. Sometimes it was better not to know.
Jack opened his front door and entered slowly. Something was off. He sniffed the air. It wasn’t smoke or even an aerosolized poison. Coffee? Whoever had illegally entered his residence was in the kitchen. And they had made coffee. What the hell?
He gingerly lifted the front of his shirt and drew his pistol, careful not to aggravate the bullet wound in his left shoulder. He stepped lightly, avoiding the creaky floorboards with ease. So far, besides the smell of freshly brewed dark roast, there wasn’t anything alarming to speak of. Nothing was out of place. Even the door had been relocked. Still, someone had invited themselves inside of Jack’s home without his permission. Typically, burglars weren’t friendly people.
They also didn’t stop to make a cup of joe.
Silently, he leaned against the wall just outside of the kitchen. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Gun up, he spun into the room and leveled his FNS-9C at the head of a seated man—a man who wasn’t supposed to be alive.
“General Raegor?”
The bald African American stood, coffee mug in hand. He wore casual civilian clothes and looked to be unarmed. Gone was his pressed uniform and his medals, as well as twenty pounds of body weight. He wasn’t quite as thin as he had been when he was sick, but he was much leaner than usual.
“You…” Jack was in disbelief. He slowly lowered the gun. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
Raegor’s grin mirrored one Jack had used many times. “Technically, I am.”
It was plain to see that Raegor had not died of cancer. He had been sick, though. Not even the government could fake Raegor’s physical condition during his treatment. The man had been a shell of himself at times. Jack opened his mouth to say something but was stopped before he could utter a word.
“Look, Jack,” Raegor quickly said, “I know I owe you an explanation—and you’ll get one.” His eyes were apologetic. It was plain to see that it had pained him to lie to Jack. He glanced at the gun. “Please...”
Jack did his best impersonation of Bull and incoherently grumbled under his breath. He holstered his pistol and crossed his arms, unhappy with being misled by a man he had respected so much.
“What’s this all about?”
Raegor stood and gently placed his half-empty coffee mug on the kitchen table. It still steamed, which meant that it was fresh. Probably his first cup, Jack deduced. It meant that he had only just arrived.
“For nearly a decade,” Raegor explained, “I’ve been in charge of a deep-black outfit called TAC.”
“Never heard of it.”
Raegor smiled with a sense of pride. “Of course you haven’t.” He stepped around the table. “The ‘Tactical Archaeological Command’ is responsible for finding and, if necessary, protecting the world’s rarest and most valuable historical discoveries.”
“So, you’re treasure hunters?”
Raegor shrugged. “In a way, sure.”
Jack scratched his head. “Well, that’s a new one.”
“We are headquartered here in the States and have agreements with several other agencies around the globe. Not everyone wants to see their history sold off piece by piece by warlords and dictators.”
“And if they do?” Jack asked. “What happens if you are unable to ‘legally’ get involved with someone that is more than happy to play pirate?”
Raegor slyly smiled. It was all the answer Jack needed.
He did call TAC a deep-black outfit, after all.
The general continued. “Most of the men and women beneath my command have extensive combat experience and have a gift for getting in and out of places they aren’t supposed to be. But there are al
so those who couldn’t fight their way out of a hammock if their lives depended on it.”
That made the corner of Jack’s mouth curl up. “I believe they’re called ‘nerds,’ sir.”
Now, it was Raegor’s turn to grin. But the light-hearted moment didn’t last long.
“A week ago, one of my top agents went dark while he was on assignment. He had been undercover, gathering intel for us. We fear that he’s been found out.” Raegor’s face faltered. “No one knew where he was, and why, except for me and a handful of people within TAC. Understandably, we have some concerns.”
“An inside job?” Jack asked, reading the tea leaves.
“Honestly, I have no idea—possibly.” Raegor sounded spent. “There’s a lot of money to be had out there, Jack,” he cleared his throat, “like what you found in Poland—here in Wyoming too.”
Before he could ask Raegor how he knew about either discovery, the enigma spoke up again. His next words weren’t at all what Jack was expecting to hear. “I believe you’ve already met Agent Marker.”
Jack was floored when Edith, the fit Georgia peach from Devils Tower, materialized inside the dark doorway to his guestroom. ‘Eddy’ leaned against the doorframe and kindly nodded to him. “Hello, Jack. It’s nice to see you again.”
He rubbed his face hard. “I wish I could say that the feeling was mutual.”
Jack was irritated, and he did his best to keep his cool. It was evident that everything she had told him up on the summit had been a lie. She didn’t climb Devils Tower for the fun of it. She was up there for the same reasons as him. They had both been looking for an entrance into the monument.
Raegor stepped forward and got to the point. “I sent Agent Marker in when we caught wind of Roosevelt’s letter finally being found.” He eyed Jack. “We’ve been searching for it for some time.” He tilted his chin at the woman. “Oh, and you can thank her for keeping the authorities off your backs.”
“How?” Jack asked. Now he knew. It hadn’t been just Zietz inadvertently protecting Jack and the others. They also had a guardian angel doing the same thing, but on behalf of the government.
Eddy smiled. “I have my ways, same as you.”
“Jack,” Raegor said, his tone serious, “the letter?”
Knowing it was the right thing to do, Jack carefully slid the Ziploc-sealed letter out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it over. “There’s not much there,” he explained, “but it’s still historically valuable. It proves that President Roosevelt did, in fact, hide the Seven Sisters from the world. He did it for the right reasons too.”
Jack decided to leave Chaska’s family history out of it. The old-timer had done enough. He deserved to live the rest of his life in peace.
Raegor opened the plastic baggy and slowly flipped open the folded piece of paper within. He nodded. “Roosevelt loved nature, and he had a deep respect for the Native American culture. It makes sense that he would try to protect them both.”
The next time he looked at Jack, he said something that stunned him. “We need your help. I need someone outside of TAC that I can trust. I need someone willing to get their hands dirty, and someone that can appreciate exactly what we are trying to do, and why.” He cleared his throat. “Plus, if it helps, while Agent Marker was investigating the battleground at Devils Tower, she found something at the base of a short cliff that might interest you.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack’s left eyebrow rose.
Eddy stepped forward. “I discovered a very large jacket filled with very large diamonds.”
Zietz!
“Wait a second…” Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you bribing me?”
“No,” Raegor replied, “but maybe—just maybe—the Yellowstone NPS sees a sizable increase in their funding if you play ball.”
So, they are bribing me.
Jack looked out his kitchen window and pictured the world beyond. If he said yes, his life would change forever—and the Yellowstone rangers would have the best funding imaginable. But he would no longer be a park ranger. Jack would, once again, be a soldier. Well, a government agent. And this time it would be very different. He wasn’t going to war. At least, he didn’t think he was.
He looked back and forth between the two ghosts, settling his sights on Raegor. Jack sighed and shrugged. “It’s nice to be needed.”
Raegor’s eyes perked up. “So, you’re in?”
“I…”
He paused his reply and returned his attention to the window. He thought about asking if Bull could come along. But he knew his friend wouldn’t leave his beloved park or his nephew. The Durham men were finally getting along. Jack didn’t want to break that up. Bull’s life was here, not abroad. His life was Yellowstone. It saddened Jack to think that his time with Bull by his side might be over—but not forever. He would visit his friend and mentor as frequently as he could.
He’ll be safe too.
Raegor stepped forward. “I won’t lie to you, Jack. This won’t be a cakewalk.”
Jack faced Raegor. A shit-eating grin formed on his face. “I never did like cake.”
Raegor’s eyes hardened, and he stood tall. He was all business. “Are you in, or am I wasting my time?”
Jack glanced over at Eddy. She gave him a playful wink.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m in.”
The End
Read on for a free sample of The Lost City of Terror
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MATT JAMES is the international bestselling author of more than two dozen action-packed titles (published in multiple languages), including the thrilling JACK REILLY ADVENTURES, DARK ISLAND, SUB-ZERO, CRADLE OF DEATH, and the intense DEAD MOON series. He has also partnered with USA Today bestselling author David Wood, co-writing BERSERK, SKIN AND BONES, and LOST CITY.
His major influences are Indiana Jones, the Uncharted video game series, National Treasure, the Goonies, the classic Harryhausen films, and history itself.
Matt lives in South Florida with his wife and daughters. He enjoys pizza, cold beer, and the work of his favorite authors (Greig Beck, Ernest Dempsey, Jeremy Robinson, Matthew Reilly, and James Rollins).
Visit www.MattJamesAuthor.com for more information.
Copyright © 2020 Matt James
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The right of Matt James to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design © Matt James used under
Creative Commons licenses
Prologue
1926, Mato Grosso, Brazil
One Year After Colonel Percy Fawcett’s Disappearance
The man’s agonised wails echoed through the jungle canopy. Birds and monkeys voiced their displeasure, adding to the cacophony. Colonel Hearst could take it no longer.
“Damn and blast!” he exclaimed.
He drew his Webley and walked over to where Doctor English was tending to the man. The blast of the revolver cut the man’s screaming short, splattering blood, brain matter, and skull fragments all over the tree he had been sitting against. English recoiled from the shot, clutching at his ears.
“Dammit Hearst!”
“He was going to bring the savages down on us! Pack up, quickly. We need to move before the tribe finds us.”
Their search party of twenty had been cut down to three in the past two days. They had been searching for signs of Colonel Fawcett, his young son Jack, and Raleigh Rimmel, but instead had stumbled upon a hostile Amazonian tribe. Although Hearst’
s men had fought bravely, the unfamiliar terrain and sheer viciousness of the tribespeople had overwhelmed them.
Hearst, English, and one other soldier had escaped, but the man had been hit by a poison arrow. His hallucinations had started hours afterwards. Hearst considered what he had just done a kindness.
“Where shall we go?” English asked as he hurriedly packed his instruments into his backpack.
The colonel looked around at the thick jungle that surrounded them. “Away from here.”
“Blast it, Hearst, if we keep stumbling around blindly, we are sure to perish in this godforsaken place!”
“If we don’t, then those savages will skin us alive. Take your pick, doctor. I know which I prefer.”
Hearst holstered his revolver and picked up his rifle. He rattled his canteen, distressed at how little water was left in it. Their supplies had all been lost in the attack. He knew that they either had to find a friendly tribe soon or they would succumb to the fate English had mentioned.
Not for the first time, Hearst cursed the day he had decided to take up the search for Fawcett and that blasted Z of his. He had been expecting a knighthood on his return to England, but that seemed highly unlikely. Why would he be knighted for losing an entire contingency of men?
“Shall we bury him?” English asked.
“And be caught trying to dig a hole? No. Say a prayer if you must, but make it quick. We need to move.”
With that, he set off into the jungle, hacking away at the thicket with his machete. English said a quick prayer over the dead man before hurrying after the officer, wishing he was back in England with his wife and daughter.
The two men made their way through the jungle for a solid hour, their progress agonisingly slow. Sweat soaked their clothes and poured off their foreheads. Insects stung and bit at their exposed skin. Vines and branches cut into their flesh. The “Green Hell” was slowly taking its pound of flesh from their bodies.
“Wait, I can go no further,” English said, collapsing onto a huge tree root. “We have seen no sign of the tribesmen. Perhaps they have given up?”