“You doubt me?” exclaimed Birhan, immediately regretting his loud outburst. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was being called a liar. His life was so simple and pathetic, what could he possibly have to lie about? His temper was something he always ended up regretting, the beatings he had put his poor wife through on numerous occasions shames he still lived with to this day.
He took a deep breath and lowered his voice.
“It looked old. Very old. Probably shipwrecked centuries ago.”
“Oh. That makes more sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I thought you meant somebody buried a ship in the sand. That would be ridiculous. Ships are huge! A boat maybe, but a ship?” Hamid poked the cane at his friend playfully. “I thought you were playing a joke on me,” he grinned, his gums on full display.
Birhan shook his head, unable to stay mad at his companion of so many years. “I’ll take you there as soon as we’re finished tending to the herd. But you must swear not to say anything to anyone.”
Hamid grinned again. “I promise.” He looked away. “How many of them are there?”
“Huh?”
“Gold bars. How many?”
“Hundreds. Thousands. I don’t know, I can barely count my herd!”
Hamid laughed. “Then there’s more than enough for both of us!”
Birhan nodded in agreement, suddenly realizing his friend was assuming his intention was to split his find between the two of them. He felt his blood boil at the arrogance. The thought had never occurred to him to share the find. Certainly he would give him some—there was more than enough to take care of the entire village if he wanted to. But he didn’t. The more he thought about it the more he realized he just wanted to marry off his daughter to a good husband, then move to America where he could live in a big city like New York. He had seen a picture of it once and couldn’t believe his eyes.
It must be wondrous.
There were so many people, so many buildings, he had to admit he had asked what it was when he first saw it. To think that humans could live in such a place was almost unfathomable.
Where do your goats graze?
The question he had felt was perfectly reasonable but had elicited laughter from all who had gathered to see the picture. He had stormed off, irate, after decking Semere, a particularly annoying asshole who Birhan knew damned well was wondering the same thing.
Follower!
As he stewed in the indignation of the recalled memory they arrived at the farm, the handover uneventful, Sheshy the enforcer his usual camel shit self, then after a few casual pleasantries with the other herders, he and Hamid left, the sun low on the horizon. As he looked at the sky he debated if he should put this off until tomorrow. He and Hamid could simply take their herds to the same area then look at the boat in the light of day.
But what if someone else finds it?
The thought had his heart racing a little faster and his pace quickening as he decided they must return now, and carry as much of the gold back to their houses as they could, just in case.
“Is it far?” asked Hamid as they plodded forward, their weathered bare feet gently slapping the dirt path, undeterred by the long shadows hiding countless places to turn an ankle.
“No,” replied Birhan, shaking his head as he pointed up and to the right. “It’s just over that rise.” They covered the distance quickly, almost at a jog, then scrambled over the rise and back down the bank, the gentle flow of the river the only sound. Birhan dropped to his knees and began digging at the sand, quickly finding his buried discovery.
Hamid gasped, dropping and helping his friend.
“See, I told you I wasn’t lying!” muttered Birhan.
“I should never have doubted you, my friend,” replied Hamid as he scooped at the sand with a furry Birhan couldn’t match. Soon the hole in the hull was revealed and Birhan reached in, grabbing one of the gold bars inside. He pulled it out and held it up triumphantly, the shiny metal glinting in the sunlight.
Hamid gasped, reaching out tentatively, looking to Birhan for permission to touch it. Birhan nodded his permission, magnanimously handing it to Hamid, as if bestowing some great privilege.
It made him feel powerful.
It was a feeling he had never experienced before, and it was wonderful. In fact, it was better than wonderful—it was intoxicating. He sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs, his shoulders slowly drawing back as he felt himself swell with pride and ego, his friend’s eyes bulging as he examined the bar of gold worth more than they could earn in a hundred life times.
“We’re going to be rich,” whispered Hamid, reaching out and hugging his friend, thumping his arms on Birhan’s back. “We’ll be able to buy the whole herd!”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?”
The hug stopped, Hamid leaning back, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
Birhan couldn’t believe the gall of his friend. “I never said I was going to share it with you. I said I was going to show it to you. There’s a big difference.”
Hamid’s chin dropped, as did his jaw as his mouth opened wide. “But you said there’s thousands of these,” he said, shaking the bar in his hand. “How could you possibly not share it?”
The bewilderment in Hamid’s voice only leant further credence to what Birhan had suspected for years. Hamid was a complete and absolute idiot. How this naïve moron could possibly be asking such questions was beyond him.
Birhan motioned toward the gold bar Hamid was holding. “You can keep that, of course,” he said, “And you’ll get more, I promise. But I’m not splitting this with you. I have plans.”
“You have—” Hamid sputtered, suddenly stopping the tirade that was about to burst forth, sucking in a deep breath, then more calmly than he apparently originally intended said, ‘You have plans.’ What about me? What about my plans? I thought we were friends? How can you be so selfish? There’s so much here! We could help the entire village! Imagine how good our lives could be with this!”
Birhan’s chest tightened as he realized the monumental mistake he had made. He’s going to tell everyone! And if everyone knew, he might lose it all.
And that was unacceptable.
Seeing red, the blood pounding in his ears, his heart racing as if he had sprinted all the way to the village, he grabbed his dagger from his belt and raised it high, his friend of over three decades gasping as he did so, then plunged it down hard, burying the blade deep into Hamid’s chest. Hamid cried out, clutching at Birhan’s arm as he tried to stop the assault, but Birhan had already withdrawn the blade and buried it deep again, and as his friend’s cries turned into whimpers, he continued his frenzied attack until finally there was silence.
And prying the gold bar from Hamid’s death grip, he shoved it in his pocket then rolled the body into the hold of the ship that was the key to his future, and no one else’s.
“Pliny the Elder” Residence, Misenum, Roman Empire
August 24th, 79 AD
Plinius stood with his arms outstretched as his servants dressed him in his uniform. His man Dento tugged on the ties for his abdominal plate and Plinius grunted, the fit a little too tight for his aging—and expanding—frame.
“Not so tight, Dento, I did just feast with the Emperor.”
“I apologize, sire,” replied Dento, the apology subdued but Plinius was certain delivered with a slight smile. He felt the ties loosen slightly.
“Better.” They were tied off and he inspected himself, bending all of his key joints, making certain his mobility wouldn’t be impaired. He nodded with approval. “Is my ship ready?”
Another servant nodded. “Yes, sire, it is manned and ready, and we have a favorable wind.”
Footfalls from the hallway caused Plinius to turn toward the door as a man, exhausted, skid to a halt. Plinius immediately recognized him as Valerius’ trusted man, Costa. He waved him in, concern growing as he realized it could only be bad news.
Costa stepped into the room, gasping for breath, bowing deeply. Valerius flicked his hand, indicating the man should rise. “Dispense with the formalities. What is it?”
“Sire, forgive me for this message is almost two hours old. I used the Cursus Publicus to get here as quickly as possible, but—”
“Yes, yes, what is it?”
“Sire, my Lord asks for rescue. The situation is dire. The air can barely be breathed, a dust has fallen like snow and is already to the waist in some areas. Rivers of thick, glowing liquid flow down the mountain and toward the sea, cutting off escape to the north. If help isn’t sent soon, all might be lost.”
Plinius motioned for Costa to follow him as he strode from his chambers and toward the front of the house where his carriage awaited to take him to his cutter. “And your lord’s family?”
“Still at the residence last I heard, sire.”
Plinius shook his head, sending a silent thought to his friend. Save your family, Valerius! Plinius turned to his man Dento. “Call up the fleet. Have them sail at once to begin rescue operations at Pompeii.” He turned to Costa. “What of Herculaneum?”
Costa shook his head. “I fear the worst there as well, sire.”
Plinius frowned, his lips pursed, as he climbed into the carriage, motioning for Costa to join him. He looked down at Dento. “Have the Second and Third sail for Herculaneum, the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth to Pompeii. They are to assist in evacuating the civilians. Have the First rendezvous with my cutter for a special mission. And have Tacitus take command and join me at Valerius’ residence with as many men as he can. Take a swift horse, deliver the orders personally.”
Dento bowed and without hesitating ran to the stables, moments later emerging on one of the estate’s best steeds, riding it hard toward the port. Plinius looked down at his nephew who had emerged from the house.
“Gaius, should what is occurring across the bay reach here, I want you to order the evacuation of the household. Do not hesitate.”
Gaius nodded, the look of concern and worry on his face obvious. Plinius held out his hand and the young man took it. He squeezed. “You have always made me proud, and your father I know would have been as well. I would be honored to call you son.” He squeezed Gaius’ hand harder. “Now heed my words. Should things turn here, save yourself and your mother.” He let go of his nephew’s hand, a smile forced on his face. “We shall see each other again, soon.”
The reins were flicked and the carriage began to move, and as Plinius sat back for the short trip to the harbor, he had an overwhelming sense he would never see his nephew again.
Omhajer, Eritrea
Present Day, Six weeks before the crash
“Father! What happened!?”
Abrihet leapt to her feet, tossing the laundry she was folding aside as her father stumbled through the doorway, kicking it closed with his foot. Lumbering toward the wood table that occupied the center of their one room home, he leaned against the top and dropped something with a thud, it hidden under his shirt, several clinks causing her eyebrows to pop in curiosity.
She turned up the lantern that sat near the pile of folded laundry she had been working on and frowned as she saw her father’s clothes covered in dark brown stains, his entire body covered in dirt.
“What in God’s name have you been doing?” she cried as she saw the mess he was in. “Are you okay?”
He pulled his shirt out from under the load, revealing a sight that had her pause in mid stride, her brain simply not comprehending what she was seeing.
Then she gasped.
“Is that gold?” she cried, the glare her father gave causing her to slap both hands over her mouth as her eyes opened wide.
“Funny!” he laughed loudly for she assumed the benefit of the neighbors, then lowering his voice, hissed “Keep quiet!” He pointed at a chair.
She nodded and sat in one of the three surrounding the table as her father dropped into his usual chair, it the only one with arms. He looked exhausted, even more so than usual.
And terrified.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, reaching out and grabbing his arm, then motioning toward the pile of gold bars with her chin. “Where did you get these?”
“I found them,” he said as he shoved some khat toward his mouth.
She swatted his hand away. “That’s the last thing you need right now,” she scolded. He glared at her for a moment and she feared a beating but he nodded, shoving the deleterious weed back in his pocket. “Where did you find them?” she asked.
“Near the river, buried in an old boat. Actually, the boat was buried, these were in it.”
“A boat?”
“Yeah, a big one. Very old.”
She frowned. “How do you know it doesn’t belong to someone? They might come looking for it.”
He shook his head. “Like I said, very old.”
“What’s that all over your shirt?”
He looked away, staring at the floor. She leaned in, the light from the lantern bright enough for her to see it was a rusty color, not the mud stain she had thought.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, then lowering her voice, she stood, backing away slightly. “Is that blood?”
He turned toward her and nodded, tears pouring from his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to show him it, but he wanted half.”
Abrihet’s eyes widened in horror with each word. “You mean…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. The blood wasn’t his, it was someone else’s. And it was a lot. She sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, anger taking over as she realized that once again her idiot of a father had let his temper get the better of him, and it would be up to her to try and straighten things out. The last time he had mouthed off to the foreman and lost his job. It was her begging and offering to do laundry for a year that had got him his job back.
What is it going to take this time?
She feared what the answer might be.
Her eyebrows narrowed as she tried to look as intimidating as she could.
“What did you do, Father?”
“I killed him!” he sobbed, his head dropping on the table, his shoulders heaving with each cry.
Melting her heart.
The last time he had cried was when her mother died. Since then she hadn’t seen a tear roll down his cheek until tonight.
But he killed someone!
She walked over and put her arms around him from behind, squeezing him tight, trying to comfort the man she knew loved her, but rarely showed it.
“Killed who?” she finally managed to ask, terrified at just asking the question.
“Hamid!” Another gasped breath and a sob. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!”
Abrihet let go of her father, stepping backward toward the door, disbelief at what she had just heard written all over her gaping face. It can’t be! Her father’s best friend since before she was born, his only companion, the only one who had never turned his back on him over his temper.
Uncle!
Her father had killed her mother’s brother, the man who had introduced them, who had as a boy helped accumulate the dowry that had been of such little value that her father was the only one low enough in the village to accept it.
Love had grown, but now, as she looked at him from behind, his shoulders still heaving in grief, all she saw was a twisted monster. Her eyes shifted to the pile of gold on the table, and she realized it was greed that had driven him to kill, and what this curse of a treasure would bring next, she could only imagine.
All she knew was that a sin had been committed, and she couldn’t remain. She opened the door quietly, fearing what wrath might befall her should he decide to stop her, then stepped out into the night.
And fled to the only person she could think of that might be able to help her.
Father Solomon.
Lucius Valerius Corvus Residence, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 24th, 79 AD
Valerius survey
ed his charge and felt all hope drain from him. Everywhere he looked were neatly stacked piles of gold bars representing hundreds of thousands of gold coins melted down for transport and to guarantee their purity. His basement had been expanded quietly before the deliveries, which then took place over months, discretely.
And now it all had to be moved in less than a day.
Impossible!
Even if Plinius were to arrive with the fleet as he hoped, there was no way they could evacuate the gold in time. The treasure had been delivered in carts along the roads in perfect conditions. Now it would have to be hand carried to the shores, into the water, and onto the waiting boats.
Surely an impossible task.
Which meant there was only one conclusion that Valerius could come to.
Today would be the day he died.
And he was prepared for that.
His heart ached with the pain his wife and children would feel, but the family honor would remain intact, and for dying trying to save the Emperor’s treasure, he was certain his family would be taken care of.
Even if they couldn’t evacuate the treasure in time, if he remained behind to protect it from looters, his emperor would still have his gold.
But if what he saw outside the last time he looked was any indication, the chances of looters or himself surviving were slim to none. The ash was now approaching chest height in places and the roof was starting to show signs of weakness, the columns cracking. His guard, two dozen of Rome’s finest, had been initially deployed to try and keep a path clear to the beachfront, but he had redeployed half of them to the roof to shovel off the rapidly accumulating ash. Their shifts were short and arduous, the air thick, and they were fighting a losing battle. Only moments before he had ordered them to concentrate only on the structure immediately above where he now stood, prepared to sacrifice the rest of the house so the treasure could be evacuated should help arrive.
He shook his head then ran up the stairs, locking the door behind him, the key around his neck having never left his side since the door was first installed. Only Plinius and the Emperor himself had copies. As he entered the grand hall he found half a dozen of his guard lying on the floor, being tended to by one of his female slaves. They struggled to rise but he waved them off.
Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) Page 4