Keepers of the Lost Ark
Page 21
Suddenly a massive rumble shook the area and Acton pushed as hard as he could up the final steps, then sprinted with the others away from the ancient stone structure. He glanced over his shoulder and gasped as rock, dust, and debris shot out of the earth, chunks of stone of all sizes raining down on them. Laura dropped to the ground, covering her head, and he threw his body over hers as they were peppered with debris.
And then it was over.
An eerie silence fell over the area, punctuated with the occasional sound of a falling rock, but nothing else. The dust began to settle, a gentle breeze clearing away the haze of pulverized rock, and Acton slowly rose to his feet, helping Laura up. They all cautiously approached the hole where the church had been, and Acton gasped.
All that was left inside was a pile of rubble, as if a controlled detonation had been executed flawlessly.
“The Ark!”
It was futile, but he had to know. He rushed forward and picked his way down the steps, still intact, carved into the outer wall and relatively safe from the detonation clearly triggered underneath the church. He climbed over the rubble, toward where the Ark should be, and was startled to find Laura beside him.
She cried out and pointed. Acton collapsed on his haunches at the sight of fragments of their chamber strewn about, along with twisted pieces of gold and shattered wood, nothing left bigger than a fist to suggest what had once been here.
The Sons of Tamrin had succeeded.
The Ark was no more.
The prophecy could be fulfilled.
“What now?”
Acton turned to see Dawson and several of the others behind them. Acton shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Does it have any power left?”
“I don’t know if it ever did.”
“Okay, we’ll send a cleanup team in to collect everything we can. Let’s get you guys out of here before anyone else shows up.”
They climbed the steps in silence, a nearby Seahawk powering up.
“What about us?” asked the Russian.
Dawson looked at the prisoners and shook his head. “You’re civilians, and this isn’t our jurisdiction. You’re free to go.”
Acton frowned. “I’d give you a stern lecture about stealing ancient relics, but I think it would probably be wasted.”
The Russian shrugged. “Probably.”
Dawson flicked his wrist at them. “Cut them loose.”
Spock and Jimmy drew their knives, cutting the ties binding the surviving Russians. The leader approached, his hand extended. Dawson shook it, then, reluctantly, Acton and Laura.
“Until we meet again.”
The Russians walked away, picking up their dead laying on stretchers, and Acton shook his head.
“Why do I think that was probably a mistake?”
Dawson grunted. “Because it was. But there’s nothing we can do about it.” He headed for one of the Seahawks. “Let’s get out of here before more Ethiopian regulars arrive. Somebody has to have noticed all these boys arriving.”
Acton took one last look at the church, now a pile of rubble. “I can’t believe it’s gone.”
Laura gripped his hand. “I know.”
Her voice cracked, and he tore his eyes away from what once was. “Hey, what’s with the tears? I thought you didn’t believe in it?”
She shook her head. “I never said that, I just said I wasn’t sure. What if it was real? And now it’s gone, all because we tried to preserve it.”
Acton put an arm over her shoulder and held her close. “No, because Father Amanuel tried to preserve it. This isn’t our fault.”
She sighed. “I guess not, though I do feel somewhat responsible.”
Acton paused, spinning back toward the church. “Speaking of Father Amanuel, where do you think he went?”
Laura turned and they both peered into the hole. “Hopefully he escaped somehow. He didn’t deserve to die.”
Acton frowned, spotting a piece of what was once an intricately sculpted cherub. “No, but he may wish he had.”
58 |
Acton Residence St. Paul, Maryland
Acton winced as Laura stepped into the bedroom, toweling dry after a long soak in the bathtub. She was covered in bruises and scrapes, and he blamed himself. “I think you got the worst of it this time.”
She rotated her shoulders gingerly. “Lucky me.” She dropped the towel on the floor then flopped on the bed, her legs spread, her arms outstretched. “Flip me over so I can dry the front.”
Acton chuckled. “I’m dressed, what if I just got on top of—”
“Don’t you even think about it!”
He grinned then picked up her towel, gently drying her off. “I think you’ll be calling in sick for a few days.”
“I think my boss will want to know why.”
“Tell him the truth.”
“What, that my husband shoved me down a set of stone stairs carved into the bedrock in Ethiopia because Russian art thieves were shooting at us while they tried to steal the Ark of the Covenant?”
“Exactly!”
She eyed him. “He might just believe me. Who could make something like that up?”
His phone vibrated on the nightstand and he leaned over to grab it. It was a text message from a number he didn’t recognize. He swiped his thumb and gasped at the photo attached. “Well, if you need proof…” He handed the phone to Laura with the photo of the Ark, obviously sent by Dawson.
She stared at it, sighing. “It’s so sad. Something so precious lost because of greed.” Her eyes narrowed and she gripped the phone in both hands, using her thumbs to zoom in on the photo.
Then gasped, her eyes shooting wide. “Oh my God!”
Acton tensed. “What?”
“Look!” She handed the phone back to him and Acton stared at the zoomed in image, not sure what his wife was excited about.
Then he saw it.
And nearly fainted.
“The poles! They’re intact!”
Laura sat upright, her pain forgotten, as they both stared at the photo. “The real Ark had a broken one!”
A smile spread across Acton’s face. “That clever bastard! He switched it while we were fighting over it. There must have been a secret passage. He probably already had a fake in place, just in case anyone followed us.”
A tear rolled down Laura’s cheek as she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “So, it’s still out there, somewhere. It’s a miracle he was able to switch everything in time.”
Acton smiled, squeezing her tight. “And God doesn’t waste those on fake artifacts.”
THE END
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While writing this novel, a great tragedy happened. A good friend of mine, Glen Goudie, passed away, apparently from two aneurysms and a stroke. He was only in his early fifties. Glen and I worked together for years as IT consultants on government contracts, both of us Project Leaders on sister projects at one point. We became friends, and after I left, maintained casual contact including the occasional lunch.
A few weeks before this writing, I had thought I should call him to do lunch. It had been years, and becoming lost in the solitary life of a writer is a trap too easily fallen into. I was too busy at the time, and in a lot of pain, so said the typical thing one says in these cases: I’ll call him later.
I rarely use Facebook beyond communicating with my readers. I find it a major time-suck, filled with drivel. Yes, there are lots of funny things there, and interesting things about friends and family, but I just don’t have the time for that. A couple of weeks ago, I did have some spare time one evening, and clicked that little F.
And found out my friend had died the night before.
It hit me a little harder than I had expected, since I hadn’t seen him in so
long. I think it was because we were similar in age, had similar careers until I became a writer, and he even started dating a Filipina after his divorce. It made me think that his fate could be mine. It also made me think about how we so often think there’s plenty of time left to do something, to see someone, to try some new thing.
And then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, there isn’t.
Dying with regrets I think is unavoidable, but when one of those regrets could have been avoided by just picking up a phone, or blocking off an hour for lunch, that is sad. There might be reasons. In my situation, I’ve had many health issues over the past decade that have caused me to lose touch with a lot of my friends, and what makes it worse, is that many have no idea why.
When I reached out to some friends to find out exactly what had happened to Glen, I discovered email addresses no longer worked, and realized just how out of touch I was. Thankfully, one still did, and he responded with what I needed to know, and warmed my heart by suggesting he and another friend from my past come and visit me at my home, since I couldn’t come to them.
It’s easy to forget how isolated some people can become through no fault of their own. So, if you have an old friend or family member you haven’t heard from in a while, perhaps there’s a reason, and a simple phone call, email, or visit, might brighten their day.
I know it always brightens mine.
As usual, there are people to thank. My dad for all the research, Ian Kennedy for some explosives info, Brent Richards for some weapons info, and, as usual, my wife, daughter, and mother, as well as the proofing and launch teams.
To those who have not already done so, please visit my website at www.jrobertkennedy.com then sign up for the Insider’s Club to be notified of new book releases. Your email address will never be shared or sold, and you’ll only receive the occasional email from me, as I don’t have time to spam you!
Thank you once again for reading.
JAMES ACTON WILL RETURN!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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The Templar Detective Thrillers
The Templar Detective
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress
The Templar Detective and the Sergeant's Secret
The Templar Detective and the Unholy Exorcist
The James Acton Thrillers
The Protocol
Brass Monkey
Broken Dove
The Templar’s Relic
Flags of Sin
The Arab Fall
The Circle of Eight
The Venice Code
Pompeii’s Ghosts
Amazon Burning
The Riddle
Blood Relics
Sins of the Titanic
Saint Peter’s Soldiers
The Thirteenth Legion
Raging Sun
Wages of Sin
Wrath of the Gods
The Templar’s Revenge
The Nazi’s Engineer
Atlantis Lost
The Cylon Curse
The Viking Deception
Keepers of the Lost Ark
The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers
Payback
Infidels
The Lazarus Moment
Kill Chain
Forgotten
The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers
Rogue Operator
Containment Failure
Cold Warriors
Death to America
Black Widow
The Agenda
Retribution
State Sanctioned
The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries
Depraved Difference
Tick Tock
The Redeemer
Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Ser
ies
The Turned
Published Internationally by J. Robert Kennedy, Ottawa, ON Canada
Copyright © 2019 J. Robert Kennedy
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, J. Robert Kennedy, is an infringement of copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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