“Yes, sir!” The Lieutenant rushed off to coordinate the evacuation as Reese beamed her appreciation to the Colonel and then Acton, hugging him hard.
“Thank you!” she whispered in his ear.
“James!”
Acton spun around and saw Laura, dressed to the nines, and Reading jogging toward them. Acton let go of Reese, who seemed to not want to release her grip on him for a moment, then finally capitulated as he started to pull away. He ran over to the love of his life and grabbed her in his arms, picking her up over his head then kissing her hard. He had been sure he was going to die at so many points during this ordeal, he had almost written off any hope of seeing her again.
When their lips finally parted he stuck a hand out to greet Reading, who took his friend’s hand in his and pumped hard, clearly relieved he was okay. Acton stepped back, still holding Laura. “What’s with the outfit?”
“I had to play millionaire,” she said, twirling with one hand over her head. “You like?”
“Very becoming,” grinned Acton. “Anything I need to know?”
Reading laughed. “Only that she intimidated the medals right off a Sudanese general who wasn’t cooperating.”
“That’s my girl!”
The Bravo Team members waved a greeting as they approached, Laura giving Niner and Dawson hugs, expressing her relief they were okay.
“In no small part thanks to you, I hear,” said Dawson. “Red tells me you funded their little enterprise?”
She batted the words away with her hand. “It was nothing; I did what I had to do. It was you guys”—she nodded toward Red and the others—“that put together the plan and got the job done, and I thank you for it.” She squeezed Acton by the waist again. “I have you to thank for getting him back for me.”
“And Niner to thank once again for keeping me alive,” added Acton with a slight bow to the man.
“Nothin’ doin’, Doc.”
Several soldiers jogged up to them. “Please follow us, we’re evacuating immediately.”
Acton and the others followed and they were split into several groups, Acton, Laura, Reading and Reese, the four civilians, loaded onto one Black Hawk, it immediately lifting off. Acton looked down at the still smoldering compound and shook his head. He leaned back and closed his eyes as he wondered what had happened to the gold, and whether or not it would ever be recovered, and those responsible brought to justice.
“Why were you sorry?”
“Huh?” He opened his eyes and turned to look at Laura.
“In your message, you were cut off. You started to say you were sorry.”
Acton had to think back on what he had said, then he suddenly remembered. “Oh!” He turned and took her hands in his, his finger rotating her engagement ring back and forth. “What I was going to say, was ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to marry you’.”
A smile spread across Laura’s face as she leaned in to kiss him. After pressing her lips against his for several blissful seconds, her mouth migrated up his cheek to his ear.
“Perhaps we should take care of that sooner rather than later.”
Rijeka, Croatia
Two days later
Major Anatoly Kaminski picked up one of the large gold bars, this one much heavier than its predecessor, the old gold being melted down and re-poured into standard 400 Troy ounce bars, over twelve kilos each, or twelve times as heavy as the ancient Roman bars were.
And these were stamped with nothing indicating their true origins. They would be spread around the world, sold at private dealers, cleaned through questionable banks and jewelers, with the proceeds going to fund Omega Team operations aimed at restoring the Soviet Union. A quarter was supposed to go back to the Eritrean generals that had allowed their mission to succeed, but Kaminski had been informed that part of the deal would never be honored, there no way the Eritreans would dare protest lest they lose the two billion the IMF and UN had agreed to pay.
He slowly turned the alluring metal, his own reflection now showing in its lustrous surface, when he paused. There was something on his chest. He dropped his chin and looked down to find a red dot bouncing up and down in the center of his shirt. His mouth opened wide as his head popped up to find the source.
But it was too late.
His chest tore open with a momentary, horrendous pain, then he dropped to the floor, dead.
Dawson moved his sight to the next target, squeezing the trigger as he cleared his zone of hostiles, the rest of the team doing the same. It hadn’t been hard to find the Russians. They were able to pull the registration number off the Russian satellite photos, and eventually trace it back to Croatia, which wasn’t a surprise. He knew they wouldn’t take it anywhere near Russia, they wouldn’t want it being traced back to them, but he also knew they had to take it somewhere fairly civilized, but whose ties weren’t that strong to the West.
And there was little doubt the Russians were involved what with the retasking of their satellite. And once this mission was completed, a plain manila envelope with the satellite photos would be placed in a location along with the two uncooperative prisoners such that the Russian leadership would get the message.
We know.
The all clears sounded over his comm, the building lightly defended by less than a dozen men. They clearly hadn’t been expecting company but Dawson couldn’t risk them not having squeezed off an SOS. He activated his comm. “Open the doors, send in the transports.”
He was situated above the smelting plant, on the catwalk that ringed the activity below. The gold had only arrived here earlier that day so he was hoping most of it hadn’t been converted yet but from his vantage point there appeared to be a fairly substantial stack of bars much larger than he remembered.
The doc is going to be pissed.
Large doors at the loading dock opened and several civilian trucks pulled in as he descended the stairs to the main floor. Niner jogged up to him. “We’ve got about eight pallet’s worth. Looks like they had to break things up into smaller batches from the plane which is good for us. They should fit in our trucks no problem. Five of them look like the old stuff, the other three the new stuff.”
“Anything in the smelter itself?”
“Negative. Looks like they were just about to start loading another batch when we hit them.”
“Anything too hot to handle?”
Niner pointed to a batch of large bars on cooling racks. “Those would be the hottest. Want me to hose ’em down?”
“Do it.”
Niner walked over to the wall and picked up a hose off the floor, moments later spraying the hot metal bars, a burst of steam revealing how hot they truly were. A forklift was lowered from the back of one of the trucks and it immediately raced toward one of the pallets, Jimmy at the controls. The first pallet was raised and transported to the first truck. Lifted inside, the pallet was lowered onto rollers then pushed to the rear of the truck by Atlas and Mickey.
Red walked up, waving his phone. “I’ve got photos of all the kills. I’ve already sent them to Control.”
“Good, but I’ve got little doubt it will just confirm what we already know.”
“Agreed.”
They both watched as a second pallet was loaded into the back of the truck. Minutes later the third pallet was loaded and the truck pulled up to the now closed loading dock doors, Atlas and Mickey securing everything so no one could see inside, then climbing into the cab of the truck, readying for the next leg of the mission.
Niner turned off the water, tentatively touching the soaked gold with his fingers then grinning a thumbs up to Dawson as he tossed the hose aside. It took another ten minutes for the rest of the gold to be loaded into the other two vehicles, and in less than fifteen minutes from the first shot being fired, they rolled out of the loading dock and into the large paved area of the quiet industrial zone of the port city of Rijeka.
Niner closed the doors behind them and sprinted to the third truck, jumping in the back with a he
lping hand from Sweets. Dawson was in the lead truck with Atlas and Mickey as they rolled through the empty streets toward the port. Dawson activated his comm. “Topcat, Bravo One, ETA six minutes, over.”
“Bravo One, Topcat, six minutes, acknowledged, out.”
A traffic light changed to red and Atlas stopped the truck, the other two lining up behind them. As they waited for the lights to cycle, a police vehicle pulled up at the opposing light, facing them. Dawson activated his comm to warn the others.
“We’ve got local police, standby.”
The light changed and Atlas eased out the clutch, the truck roaring forward, its heavy cargo straining the engines. The police car pulled forward as well as Atlas focused on changing the gears, ignoring them as Dawson laughed, ribbing Mickey in the sides as the two pretended to be having an animated conversation. They rolled through the intersection, now less than three minutes from the docks when Atlas cursed.
“They’ve turned around.”
“Keep moving,” replied Dawson as he activated the comm. “Topcat, Bravo One, we’re about to have local law enforcement trouble. Request some assistance, over.”
“Bravo One, Topcat, help is on its way, over.”
“Okay boys, just keep moving forward like we’re doing nothing wrong, rear vehicle how about you drive like an asshole.”
“Roger that,” came Red’s voice over the comm. Dawson looked at the passenger side mirror and saw the rear vehicle disappear as it swung into the center of the road, taking up both lanes as the cop car closed the gap with the small convoy.
“There’s the docks,” said Atlas as he continued to pour on the gas, the laws of physics fighting back as the truck barely passed 40kph on the speedometer. Flashing lights followed immediately by a siren had them all cursing at once as they saw the open gates of the docks start to close in response.
“Go through them,” ordered Dawson as he pulled his Taser and activated his comm. “Non-lethal force only, gentlemen.”
“Going through!” yelled Atlas as he braced his arms, the bumper slamming into the chain link gate, tearing it from its track and hurtling it to the side. He cranked the wheel to the right as he geared down then gave it gas again as he raced for the small cargo ship at the end of one the piers.
“They’re still in pursuit!” informed Red over the comm.
“Bravo One, Topcat. Heads down boys, over.”
Suddenly two Apache gunships appeared to their left, over the water, angled down as they raced toward their position. The first crossed their path, banking hard to the right to face the opposite direction, the other banking on their left side, the two helicopters taking up position on either side of the road leading to their ship. The three transport trucks blew past the helicopters then just as Red’s truck cleared, they threw on all of their lights, blinding the driver of the cop car who cranked his wheel to the left and into the water.
Atlas turned left and rushed to the end of the dock, a ramp leading into the side of the ship already down, three forklifts already in position. Atlas hit the brakes just after clearing the first forklift and killed the engine as they all leapt out. Several dozen men burst from the hold of the ship, immediately lowering the gates on the arriving trucks and climbing inside, pushing the first pallets toward the waiting forklifts. The entire process took less than five minutes and the ship was steaming for the Adriatic Sea and international waters, the Apache gunships escorting them.
Dawson walked over to one of the pallets and pulled an old Roman bar of gold from the pile, stuffing it in his pocket.
Red walked up beside him, surveying the gold. “Who’s that for?”
Dawson knew Red trusted him implicitly and it would never occur to him that he had taken it for himself. “I owe somebody.”
Red nodded then looked up as an announcement came over the PA system.
“Mission accomplished. We are now in international waters!”
Cheers erupted from the throngs of soldiers that had taken part. Dawson felt the ship roll slightly as they turned south, their final destination Italy, the gold of Emperor Vespasian, the charge of Plinius, and the testament to the heroism of Valerius and his men, finally returning home, to join the remains already awaiting their arrival.
The ghosts of Pompeii finally able to rest.
St. Paul, Maryland
Two weeks later
“Stop fidgeting!”
“Hey, you try standing here while someone who claims they know how to tie a bowtie fails miserably at it.”
“Sorry, but as somebody who mastered this simple task when he was a boy, I refuse to be belittled because I never learned how to do it facing someone else!”
Acton slapped his best friend’s hands out of the way. Gregory Milton, Dean of Acton’s university, winced, but not from the slap. Acton immediately became serious and walked over to the other side of the room, grabbing Milton’s wheelchair. He pushed it over to his friend. “Sit now before you over do it.”
Milton dropped into the chair and sighed. “You’re right, I need to save it for the ceremony.”
“Why don’t you just sit in the chair? Nobody would care. I certainly wouldn’t.”
“No effin’ way. I don’t want that chair in a single wedding photo. Years from now I want to look back on the day my best friend finally tied the knot and not have to remember almost becoming a cripple.”
Acton understood his friend’s desire, especially since when Milton had been shot the doctors had proclaimed he’d never walk again. But here he was, standing at the mirror trying to help his friend put on a bowtie.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Milton, spreading his legs as wide as he could. “Sit here,” he said, patting the tiny piece of exposed chair.
“Hey, I’m almost a married man.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, you’re too flat chested to be my type.”
Acton laughed and parked it right between Milton’s legs. He leaned back and Milton forward and watched in the mirror as the bowtie was finally done to perfection.
“There you go, see, I told you I knew how.”
The door burst open, Reading poking his head inside. “You about ready—oooh, a little rumpy pumpy while you’re still single, Jim?”
Acton shook his head, roaring with laughter as he pushed himself up from the chair, Milton smacking him on the ass.
He turned to his friend, his eyes starting to glisten.
“Let’s go get me married.”
Hamashkoraib, Sudan
Three weeks later
Kerieme stretched, looking in the mirror at his graying beard. He swore he had aged another ten years while waiting for the American to email him where the van had been left. True to his word, the email had arrived and he had found it, all locked up and in good working order, except for a chunk of the deliveries being used or missing. He had cursed the man countless times, but eventually forgave him when he realized it was the American and others like him that had helped rid their town of at least three militias and apparently freed a large group of slave women.
And he had kept his word.
Clearly the American was a good man, and though an infidel, Kerieme had never bought into the entire ‘us versus them’ mentality that seemed to consume so many of his faith. Was the person a good person? Then he didn’t care what religion they were.
“A package arrived for you a little while ago.”
It was his wife’s voice calling from the kitchen that had his eyebrows jump. A package? He couldn’t recall the last time a package had arrived at his house, if ever. He always had to drive to Khartoum for his pickups and deliveries. For something to actually be delivered to him personally was unheard of.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, it’s a box.”
He entered the kitchen, pecked his wife’s cheek, then sat down at the table, picking up the package. It had a decent heft to it for its size. He pulled out his knife and cut through the string, then the brown paper revealing a small, pl
ain box. He sliced open the tape and folded open the top. Inside was a cloth wrapped around something rectangular. He picked it up, again surprised at the weight and placed it on the table, his wife now sitting beside him, her own curiosity piqued. Unwrapping the cloth, they both gasped at what was revealed.
A gold bar, glistening in the sunlight that poured through the window, and a handwritten note.
Thanks for the loaner.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Many current events have inspired this book. No, Vesuvius didn’t blow its top again, but I’ve always been fascinated by Pompeii and it is one of those bucket list destinations that I hope to visit some day. The history is fascinating and Pliny the Younger’s accounts riveting reading in themselves. Many of the details including the time lines were taken directly from his letters to add authenticity to the story. Any inaccuracies I will plead artistic license rather than error!
Eritrea, Ethiopia and Sudan aren’t even remotely close to being on the list, especially after reading the way their women are treated. Though it took place in Nigeria, the plight of the poor, mostly Christian school girls kidnapped by Boko Haram—whose name, translated into English, literally means “Western education is a sin”, says it all—heavily influenced this book in ways I hadn’t anticipated, a theme developing of women as the victims, then in the end, it being the women in Pompeii who save themselves from the predators, and the two women of the UN group that actually free the others.
At the time of this writing at least 200 of these girls are still missing, and there are new reports of fresh kidnappings of women by the same group. The fact that this type of activity goes on is disgusting. The fact that these types of groups actually receive funding from people educated or successful enough to have money to give, is even more so.
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