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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  It was an Imperial crest, worn by senior officers to identify their family, along with their unit and the emperor at the time. Acton looked back at Laura, a grin on his face as the implications of what they had discovered sank in. “It identifies this man as a member of the Roman Navy, stationed at Misenum under the Admiralty of Pliny the Elder!” The excitement was evident in his voice, and as he looked about the tent, only Laura was as excited as he was.

  “Don’t you see?” he asked the room, his hands and arms opened wide, begging for someone to get it. “Misenum was a city on the Bay of Naples where the navy for that area was stationed. Pompeii was on the other side of that bay. Pliny the Elder was the Prefect who sailed the Roman Navy to Pompeii to try and rescue the citizens. His nephew, Pliny the Younger, provided the written accounts of the eruption.”

  Silence, then finally Tucker spoke up. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning if this man’s uniform says he was under Pliny’s command, then this ship could very well be from Pompeii!”

  “Pliny the Elder” Residence, Misenum, Roman Empire

  August 25th, 79 AD

  Gaius grabbed his mother, Plinia, holding her tight as the ground quaked beneath their feet. It was approaching morning and none had slept, the terror across the bay now spreading quickly. The stars overhead had been blotted out throughout the night, the hint of the morning sun normally expected at this time lost in the orange glow pulsing against the bottom of the dark cloud from Vesuvius now covering the entire sky. A steady accumulation of ash, drifting down like a heavy snowfall, had begun hours before and was now several inches high already, with no sign of abating.

  And then there was Herculaneum.

  Hundreds of evacuees had already reached Misenum, telling of the horrors they were seeing, fewer still with word of Pompeii farther to the south. But if Herculaneum was as bad as described, Pompeii must be an absolute nightmare. Most of the household that remained after their master Plinius’ departure sat or stood on the veranda overlooking the bay, watching the calamity on the other side as if some great Greek tragedy were playing in a theatre, the characters an angry, erupting mountain, its true nature long forgotten, several towns built ignorantly in its shadow the victims, and Gaius and the others the audience, the orchestra provided by nature herself, rumbles and booms the percussion, the trumpets creatures fleeing in terror, perhaps wiser than their human counterparts who instead watched in horrific fascination.

  “Are you two mad!” exploded a voice from behind that had Gaius and his mother spinning. Gaius smiled as Barbatus stormed in, his usual tempestuous self, a comical foil to his uncle’s usually calm demeanor. How the two had become friends he would never understand, but in the field of battle strange bedfellows indeed were made.

  “Barbatus, so good of you to come. To what do we owe this honor?” asked Gaius, letting go of his mother and motioning for their guest to sit. Barbatus shook his head, waving off the seat, but taking a glass of water brought by one of the servants, which was when Gaius noticed the family friend was covered head to toe in Vesuvius’ dust. He motioned to one of the servants. “Bring water and towels so our guest can properly clean himself.”

  The servant bowed and disappeared into the bowels of the house, returning moments later with the requested items, and as Barbatus washed his exposed skin, his mouth continued to run.

  “Do you not see what is happening out there?” he demanded of them, not waiting for an answer. “Your Uncle, your brother”—he took a moment to stab the air between him and Gaius’ mother—“would want you safe, not sitting here, watching the happenings as if it were a play and you were immune to its effects.”

  “I will not leave while my brother’s fate is unknown,” said Gaius’ mother, sitting resolutely with her arms crossed, her eyes on the horizon.

  “Nor I,” replied Gaius as he returned to his seat, picking up his volume of Livy with the intent of defying the gods by reading in the face of their wrath. As he tried to read the next paragraph, he could feel Barbatus’ eyes upon him, but he was determined to ignore him. Perhaps it was the impetuousness of a seventeen year old boy, desperate to be a man, demonstrating to a real man how ill prepared he was for that role, but he found the glare continued to eat at him, forcing him to distraction as he read the same few sentences over and over, absorbing nothing.

  He snapped the volume shut, returning it to the table then turned to Barbatus.

  “Must you stare at me like that?”

  “You’re fortunate I don’t put you over my knee!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Barbatus turned his focus to Gaius’ mother. “And you, how dare you put your only son at risk like this!”

  Plinia blanched slightly, turning away from the criticism, her mouth opening to reply when Gaius jumped in, saving her the embarrassment of on excuse.

  “I stay by choice!” he yelled, leaping to his feet, his chest shoved forward, shoulders back, chin jutting outward, as fierce a look as he could conjure plastered on his face like a mask used by an actor in the theatre, the terror he felt on the inside hidden behind the façade he desperately tried to project.

  Barbatus swelled by merely taking a deep breath, his muscles rippling as he clenched his fists, the man a veteran of innumerable battles with real men, not words on a page that had been Gaius’ foes, his uncle pushing him mentally rather than physically.

  He felt his bladder muscles relax and if he hadn’t just relieved himself minutes before, he might have stained his robes right there. Instead he spun around and stormed toward his uncle’s study just as his mother screamed. He rushed to her side, as did they all, she pointing across the bay.

  And what he saw would have terrified even the bravest of warriors.

  “Uncle,” he murmured, unable to find the air to give the word volume.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, gentle, comforting, and he looked over to see Barbatus by his side, his own jaw dropped, his eyes glistening with the knowledge of what was happening across the bay.

  There will be no survivors.

  Tekezé River, Eritrea

  Present Day, One day before the crash

  “That’s quite the leap, isn’t it, Doc?”

  Acton recognized the voice immediately, but couldn’t find the owner. The crowd parted as someone stepped forward and when the face was revealed, Acton’s eyebrows jumped with surprise.

  Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson, leader of the Delta Force’s elite Bravo Team, stood before him, along with Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung. Acton stepped toward them, hand extended, smile on his face as he suddenly felt a whole lot more secure. “Sergeant Major, great to see you!” They shook hands, as did he and Niner as Laura gave them both pecks on the cheek. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “I’ll explain later,” replied Dawson for the benefit of the room. Acton nodded, realizing their reunion could wait. “You were saying,” prompted Dawson, motioning toward the screen.

  “I was saying that this vessel could potentially be from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.”

  “And I thought that was a leap.”

  “In his expert opinion,” added Niner. “He’s renowned worldwide for his expertise in archeological matters.”

  Acton had come to know many of the Delta Team Bravo members over the years, but had to admit Niner seemed to deliver more jokes than serious lines by an alarming proportion. He was sure some psychologist somewhere would accuse him of overcompensating for some missing aspect of his childhood, but Acton never paid too much attention to that sort of thing. Niner was an expert in his field, and had saved Acton’s life the last time he had seen him. If it wasn’t for Carl “Niner” Sung, Acton might very well be dead.

  “There’s no way to be certain, we’ll need to do a proper excavation of the site,” replied Acton. “But the time period definitely fits, and might explain how a boat became lost.”

  “Lost?” asked Tucker. “I’m not sure what you me
an, Doctor.”

  “Well, the likelihood of a Roman vessel of the time sailing to this point and beaching, then abandoning a cargo like this is next to nothing,” explained Acton. “Most likely the crew either died, or the boat slipped its moorings, unmanned. If the latter were the case, ships would be sent to immediately retrieve it, unless there was some disaster occurring that either prevented a retrieval, or prevented those in the area from knowing the boat had left.”

  “Seems unlikely that a boat with this much gold on it would ever have been left unmanned,” said Dawson.

  Acton nodded. “Agreed, which is why I think this vessel was manned, at least initially.”

  “You mean they might have abandoned ship?”

  Acton shook his head. “No. Remember, at the time Ancient Egypt was a part of the Roman Empire and a major power. There is no way a vessel of this size would have been able to enter the Nile and sail down it this far unchallenged. If the vessel were abandoned, it would have been boarded, searched, and with this cargo, claimed in the name of the Empire.”

  Niner raised his hand as if in school. “If it didn’t leave port unmanned, and it wasn’t abandoned by its crew, then what are you suggesting.”

  “I’m suggesting it’s a ghost ship.”

  Tucker raised his hand, Niner having set the precedent. “A what?”

  “I’m suggesting that this vessel was manned, that all of the crew were killed somehow, and that it sailed itself south and into one of the many entrances to the Nile, was challenged by Roman vessels of the time, and allowed to continue on its way, unmolested.”

  “What makes it a ghost ship?” asked Niner.

  “If they had just been killed in battle, they would have been boarded. Something spooked those who challenged it. What, I’m not sure, but a thorough examination of the find might reveal the cause.”

  “And just how long will that take?” asked Tucker.

  Acton exchanged glances with Laura. “To do it properly, months.”

  The room erupted in protest, and didn’t calm down until Tucker raised his hands to calm them. “Professor Acton, we don’t have months.”

  Acton nodded. “No, you don’t have months with respect to the gold. Remove the gold, and nobody cares about this site again, correct?”

  Tucker nodded, smiling. “You have a keen grasp of the situation.”

  “Good. Then I don’t see why, if we use manpower rather than machine, we can’t empty the hold of its cargo beginning almost immediately.”

  “That could take days!” exclaimed someone in the back of the tent.

  “Then let it take days!” replied Tucker. “Part of our job here is to preserve the find from an archeological standpoint, not just evacuate the gold.”

  “Just whose decision is it?” asked the same voice. “Yours?”

  Tucker shook his head. “Nope, not mine.”

  “It’s mine,” said Reese, stepping forward. “As the ranking member of UNESCO ultimate authority has been handed to me.”

  Acton turned to her. “Then what’s your decision?”

  “We begin removing the gold immediately under your and Dr. Palmer’s direction, until either it is all removed, or until the situation on the ground changes to make it too dangerous to proceed slowly,” she replied, stepping in front of the monitor, taking center stage. “Remember, the priority here is the recovery of the gold. The secondary priority is preserving the find.”

  “And what about the hundreds of Ethiopians massing on the other side of the river who believe this is their territory?” asked the same voice, the woman it belonged to stepping forward, her black jumpsuit with Chinese flag on the shoulder suggesting she was one of the two there to represent this permanent member of the UN Security Council. It made Acton wonder immediately if that was why Dawson and Niner were there.

  And if Dawson and Niner, two Special Forces operators had been sent, then most likely the same type of personnel had been dispatched from all five Security Council member states. Acton had to wonder how these ten people could possibly work together. The Americans and Brits, no problem. The French? Probably. The Chinese? Most likely not. The Soviets—scratch that, Russians? He wouldn’t trust them with a ten foot pole. In fact he had come to think of them as Soviet Union 2.0 over the past few years, recent events in the Ukraine only confirming his long held belief that the Russian President was a man who simply couldn’t be trusted, the ex-KGB spy yearning for the “good old days” where the CCCP acronym was feared, the hammer and sickle certain to raise heart rates around the world.

  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 25th, 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.