“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “You?”
She rolled her shoulder, wincing. “Other than almost dislocating my shoulder when you threw me over the edge, I’m fine. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be dead right now.”
“Think nothing of it.”
He turned toward the wreckage and sighed, his heart sinking as he realized their work had just quadrupled, and they had no time left. Suddenly his eyes opened wide and he pointed.
“Look!”
Everyone turned to see where he was pointing.
At the foot of the pile of dirt sat half a dozen partially buried skeletons, still in uniform, the embankment having given up its secrets at last, as if wanting to return its guests to their home, so far away.
Near Market Road, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 25th, 79 AD
Avita lay on her back, gasping, as Flora used a broom she had found to sweep the ash out of the doorway, closing it triumphantly with a bang and a smile. It did help muffle the terror on the other side somewhat, and for a moment Avita allowed herself to relax, closing her eyes and concentrating on her breathing. A wind howled outside, blowing the ash about through the small cracks in the reasonably well-built house, when suddenly the stench of rotting eggs filled her nostrils, causing her to gag. An old story once told by Plinius had her jumping to her feet and grabbing the blankets. She stuffed one under the door, using the others to block the shutters that covered the one window in their refuge.
“Hold your breath for as long as you can!” she yelled, huddling with the others in the farthest corner. She took a deep breath, realizing it was horrible air she was proposing they hold, but the wind outside was strong and she hoped that whatever it was they were smelling would soon be blown past them.
After what seemed an eternity, but was barely a minute, her son gasped, sucking in lungsful of air. His nose curled up and his eyes watered, but he seemed none the worse for wear. She let the breath she was holding out then drew in her own first breath. It was still pungent, but not like before, and she tapped the others around her.
“It’s okay to breathe,” she said. “It still smells, but it seems safe.”
Gasps and cries of relief erupted from the others as everyone took their fill. Avita tossed the blanket aside, it now stifling under its cover, and stood, looking around for what she did not know, she just felt she needed to look like she was taking action for the children’s sake.
Flora stepped to the door and opened it slightly just as the ground began to vibrate, shaking everything in the small house. A clay jar danced across a wood table then shattered on the floor, keepsakes hung on the walls swayed back and forth.
“Come here children!” she ordered, gathering them in the center of the room where there was little that could fall on them. She looked to Flora who shook her head.
“It’s not safe outside, the ash is even thicker.”
Avita nodded, now on her knees, holding her children tight. “Join us,” she said, the tone of her voice revealing to the only other adult in the room exactly the state she felt they were now in. Flora smiled, tears glassing over her eyes as she knelt beside them. The two boys made room for her to join their tiny circle of humanity, and they all put their arms around each other.
As the vibrations increased, she found it harder to keep her balance, all of them gripping each other harder and harder as whatever it was neared. The children were crying now, and the room began to glow an unholy orange. Avita held her children as tight as she could and, looking up at Flora, began to sing a lullaby she knew her daughter loved.
Flora, tears pouring down her face, looked down at her swollen belly and joined in, the first words gasps of agony as she realized her child would never be born, and would never hear its mother sing. They made eye contact, both faces burned by salty tears, their expressions ones of twisted torture as the rumbling continued to approach, the sound deafening to the point where they were now shouting the words at the top of their lungs. Her daughter screamed first, then the boys and when Avita finally registered what was happening, she saw Flora’s eyes widen in agony just as Avita felt her own clothes catch fire, her skin melting in an instant, the intense heat pulling at her, causing her to fall to her side and slowly curl up into a ball beside her children and a stranger with child, to be discovered millennia later, exactly as they had died, their agony and horror preserved for all time.
Asmara International Airport, Eritrea
Present Day, Day of the crash
Acton gave Laura a final wave as she ducked into the Boeing 737 carrying her and their archeological find to Rome. He had been asked by Reese to travel with the gold, along with the other UN observers, and had readily volunteered, hoping to steal a few moments to simply be in the presence of so much wealth and history.
He also felt responsible for it somehow.
They had been able to excavate and preserve the skeletons of the crew that had been exposed in the collapse, and they were now on the plane with Laura, along with dozens of artifacts that in Acton’s opinion—an opinion shared by his fiancée—confirmed this was a boat and crew that had witnessed the disaster at Pompeii in 79AD. The theory he and Laura had batted back and forth on the flight to Asmara was that Emperor Vespasian had hidden a stash of gold in Pompeii or the surrounding area, most likely as a hedge against a coup attempt, and his son’s soldiers had tried to evacuate it during the eruption.
And they had almost succeeded, escaping by boat with the hoard but not before the flash of superheated gases killed them instantly, leaving their ship to sail itself along the prevailing winds of the season, and toward the mighty Nile, where if greeted as a ghost ship, would have been given a wide berth and left to its own designs, finally washing ashore in what was now Eritrea. Time and superstition would have it buried, only to be discovered two thousand years later by a goat herder, a simple widower with a history of tragedy.
And the allure of Pompeii’s gold would claim another life.
During the flight Reese had time to fill them in on the whole story. The goat herder had murdered his friend in a greed infused rage over what was more than enough to change the lives of every citizen in his country, then only to be turned in to the local priest by his daughter, the priest nearly dying while trying to protect the daughter from the victim’s family.
Reports indicated the father had apparently been hacked to death in the village square, his body scattered, his daughter repeatedly raped in revenge before the priest, badly beaten, was able to save her by organizing a group of the local women to come to her aid.
Laura had cried when she had heard the story.
The local priest managed to get word to the Holy See who then contacted the UN. Once the Eritreans found out what they had on their soil, they had very cleverly—or at least that was Acton’s opinion—leveraged its intrinsic value, rather than its raw value. They announced that in exchange for a substantial sum of money, they were willing to hand over the find, otherwise they’d melt it down and use it to fund the state treasury. Negotiations ensued between the Eritreans and the Italians, along with many other universities and countries, all trying to come to some agreement, quietly behind the scenes.
It wasn’t until economic sanctions were threatened that a deal—a very generous deal—was struck. It was amazing how quickly governments became agreeable when faced with the threat that any precious metal held by that country wouldn’t be recognized on the international markets.
The massive Antonov began to power up nearby, the engines so loud any hope of conversation was impossible. As he watched the Boeing carrying most of the UN delegation including Laura back to Rome taxi onto the runway, he turned to Dawson and Niner, both watching the last of the coffins being loaded into the cargo hold of the Antonov.
Six had died.
The same number of skeletons found on the wreck.
He frowned as he thought of Tucker, a man he had only known for hours but who was so frien
dly, so jovial, he knew his impact would be felt for some time. The two Russian observers had been killed as well, along with one from the British and French teams. The sixth had been a UN bureaucrat that Acton hadn’t met, apparently the first to die in the command tent.
Reese walked over, clearly not happy, her head still shaking from an animated conversation that had been taking place out of earshot with several Eritrean bigwigs. Her face was flushed.
“What’s wrong?” asked Acton, but Reese couldn’t hear him, the roar of the Antonov’s engines now overwhelming. She shook her head, pointing at her ear, then motioned that they should follow her to the waiting plane. They boarded through the cargo door, Acton looking at the coffins for a moment, his attention diverted almost immediately to the cellophane wrapped pallets of gold bars. Even muted behind the semi-translucent wrap, it was mesmerizing, and he noted that none could take their eyes off the stacks of bullion until they entered the part of the plane set up as a passenger cabin near the front.
As soon as the door was closed behind them the roar of the engines was subdued significantly. Acton turned to Reese. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.
She leaned in, as did Dawson and Niner.
“First off, this wasn’t the agreed upon transportation. There was supposed to be a special UN charter but the Eritreans cancelled it, instead arranging this behemoth.”
“And that’s a problem, how?” asked Acton.
“That wouldn’t be a problem except that they insisted on providing private security, six of them. They all work for the company this plane was chartered from.”
Dawson frowned. “Let me guess, Russian?”
Reese’s eyebrows narrowed. “How’d you know?”
Dawson shrugged, motioning at their surroundings with his eyes. “It’s an Antonov in good condition. It’s a fairly safe bet it’s Russian or former Soviet Union.”
“Well, you’re right. It’s Russian. And the agreement was there would be no more than two security personnel from each Security Council nation. Now there are six, and if the original two hadn’t been killed, there’d be eight.”
“Not to mention crew,” added Niner.
“So at least another two!” cried Reese. “This is totally unacceptable!”
As if to punctuate her point, an announcement over the PA was made in Russian only as the plane began to taxi.
“It looks like we have little choice,” said Dawson. “Let’s just keep an eye on things.” He eyeballed two of the security guards standing near the cockpit door. “Are they armed?”
“No!” Reese shook her head vehemently. “I insisted on no weapons and they agreed. As far as I know, there isn’t a weapon on this plane.”
Dawson didn’t say anything, none of them did, but Acton could tell the two Delta operators were thinking the same thing he was.
No weapons? Yeah, right!
Acton took his seat, buckling in, Dawson and Niner sitting beside him, Reese in the row ahead. The plane raced down the runway and they were airborne in seconds, the powerful engines thrusting them into the back of their seats. As the vibrations worked their magic, Acton found his eyes closing, his body starting to drift into sleep as he gave in to his exhaustion.
But something gnawed at the back of his mind, his subconscious replaying the day’s events, trying to figure out what was bothering him. Suddenly he bolted upright in his seat, Dawson and Niner staring at him.
“What’s wrong?” asked Dawson.
Acton looked around to see if anyone else had noticed his sudden movements, but no one seemed to be paying him any mind. He turned to Dawson.
“I might be going crazy, maybe I miscounted, but…” His voice drifted off as he began to doubt his own memory. He shook his head. “No, I must be wrong.” He shook it again, this time with more certainty. “No, I’m definitely wrong.”
“What are you definitely wrong about?” asked Niner.
Acton smiled, a little embarrassed. “Well, I was pretty sure for a moment there that I remembered seeing seven coffins in the cargo hold, not six.”
“Maybe we should check it out.” Dawson undid his lap belt and leaned over the seat, tapping Reese on the shoulder. She jumped, apparently still wired, then undid her own belt, turning around to face the three men.
“What’s wrong?”
Apparently their concern over something was obvious. “Probably nothing,” replied Dawson. “But we’d like to take a look at something in the cargo hold.”
Reese shook her head. “Not possible. The agreement is that once this thing is airborne, nobody is allowed in the back until we land. That way nobody can be accused of tampering with the gold.” She nodded toward the two doors in the rear that led to the hold. Acton turned and saw two guards standing at each door. “Their orders are to let no one by, and they don’t answer to me.”
“Who do they answer to?” asked Niner as he turned back to face the top UN representative on the plane.
“I have no idea. The Eritreans, perhaps? They’re the ones that hired them. This entire situation is bullshit, like I said before—it wasn’t part of the plan. Right now we’re just trying to get the gold to safety, then we can point all the fingers we want at who screwed up what. But for now?” She shrugged. “There’s eff all I can do about it.”
Acton didn’t like the sounds of that, but then again this was a UN operation. It should come in ten times over budget and not accomplish its goals, other than to line pockets of people both inside and outside the organization.
Cynical much?
He knew from countless encounters with the UN that they were an inept, bloated bureaucracy that spent other people’s money haphazardly with few if any checks and balances. Yes, many of their mandates and many of their people had good intentions, it was simply that they were staffed far too often by people from countries where graft was a way of life, and to suggest anyone was untrustworthy within the bureaucracy would immediately label you a racist or bigot.
And now they were all stuck on a Russian transport plane, unarmed, with a billion dollars of gold in the hold, and half a dozen Russian guards that no one had vetted.
Acton sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “If there’s nothing we can do, then there’s nothing we can do.” He closed his eyes. “Like I said, I’m probably mistaken.”
He closed his eyes as the others returned to their seats and tried to forget everything that had been said over the past five minutes.
Unfortunately, all he could picture was the cargo hold with six coffins in a single row, with a seventh tucked between the large pallets of gold.
Near Lucius Valerius Corvus Residence, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 25th, 79 AD
Costa hit the ground, tossed through the door by his master. He rolled in the thick powder, looking up and seeing nothing but a dense, dark, roiling sky, a faint orange glow reflecting off the underside. It matched every description of Hades he had ever heard, and if he didn’t know better, he would believe that the world of the damned had been unleashed on the living.
But he wasn’t a superstitious man, nor a religious man. He had never believed in such things, and in his mind this was a horror of nature, not gods from Olympus. It was a horror that could be survived, that had to be survived, and if he were careful, would be survived brilliantly.
Voices surrounded him, his master yelling at Plinius, other cries in the night as people rushed for the water, somebody yelling ‘Hold your breath!’. The stench was unbelievable and he took the advice, holding it for as long as he could, finally, when he could take it no longer, he gasped, sucking in semi-fresh air, then listened.
Silence.
At least in the immediate area.
For there was no silence in Pompeii this day.
A dull roar groaned from the ground, his ear pressed against it as he remained lying down. The cries of a panicked city filled the air like the background music of the damned, mixing with the gentle white noise of the ash as it continued to fall lik
e snow, the sound real or imagined in his hypersensitive state.
He pushed himself to his knees, barely able to see over the depression his body had made in the ash.
He was alone.
He stood up and gasped, jumping back as he spotted Plinius kneeling nearby.
“My Lord! I thought you had gone to the ship!”
There was no reply. Costa stepped over to the Prefect and tapped him on the shoulder.
Again no response.
He knelt down and looked at the man’s face and Costa’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
He’s dead!
Costa breathed a sigh of guilty relief then stood, looking down at the shore. The boats were setting sail, and he wished them well—he truly did. But his fate was not with them. His family he was certain had escaped, they having left yesterday with the others. Their future however was not secure. It never would be.
But underneath the pile of rubble that was once the Lucius Valerius Corvus residence sat enough gold to set every slave free in the empire.
And all he needed was two bars of it to secure his family’s freedom and future.
He circled to the front of the house and it was clear there was no way in, at least none that was obvious. Returning to the back, the nearly equally devastating sight did present one hope the front didn’t—the still intact archway Valerius had stepped through carrying the slave girl.
He stepped through and grabbed a still burning torch from a sconce next to the door. Holding it out in front of him, he could see the collapsed columns and roofing spread out in front of him, and as he held his flame out, moving it slowly to spot any openings that might give him access to the basement, he stopped, a smile spreading across his face.
Gold!
The glint was unmistakable. He dropped to his knees, crawling forward and reaching under a slab of stone that sat askew across a piece of wood. A single gold bar lay discarded on the floor, probably abandoned by a soldier when they were ordered to leave. He gripped freedom and stuffed it in a pocket, the weight substantial and unexpected.
Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) Page 13