A James Acton Box Set - Books 4-6 E-Book

J. Robert Kennedy

• Herausgeber: J. Robert Kennedy
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

USA TODAY and BARNES & NOBLE #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR • “A MASTER STORYTELLER” • OVER 800,000 BOOKS SOLD • OVER 3,000 FIVE STAR REVIEWSArchaeology Professor James Acton has a knack for getting into trouble…The mysteries of yesterday demand to be solved, but in the world of Archaeology Professor James Acton, sometimes it's safer to leave the past alone. Enter a world where the past and present confront each other, where friends and enemies aren’t always clear, where history invades the present with a vengeance, and where no one man can survive without the help of the woman he loves. And a few good men.The James Acton Thrillers Series: Books 4-6 includes three full-length novels including the USA Today Bestseller The Templar's Relic in this action-packed series described as “a little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones.” If you like your action and intrigue mixed with history, then you’ll love J. Robert Kennedy’s USA Today Bestselling series.900+ pages. 3000+ five-star reviews. Find out why readers have fallen for USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy’s thrilling series!Buy the box set now and get three full-length novels that will leave you breathless!Included Novels:THE TEMPLAR'S RELIC (***A USA TODAY BESTSELLER!***)THE CHURCH HELPED DESTROY THE TEMPLARS.WILL A TWIST OF FATE LET THEM GET THEIR REVENGE 700 YEARS LATER?A construction accident leads to a miraculous discovery–an ancient tomb containing four Templar Knights, long forgotten, on the grounds of the Vatican. Not knowing who they can trust, the Vatican requests Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer examine the find, but what they discover, a precious Islamic relic lost during the Crusades, triggers a set of events that shake the entire world, pitting the two greatest religions against each other.FLAGS OF SINCHINA IS ABOUT TO ERUPT IN CHAOS!Archaeology Professor James Acton simply wants to get away from everything, and relax. A trip to China seems just the answer, and he and his fiancée, Professor Laura Palmer, are soon on a flight to Beijing. But while boarding, they bump into an old friend, Delta Force Command Sergeant Major Burt Dawson, who surreptitiously delivers a message that they must meet the next day, for Dawson knows something they don’t. China is about to erupt into chaos.THE ARAB FALLTHE GREATEST ARCHAEOLOGICAL DISCOVERY SINCE KING TUT’S TOMB IS ABOUT TO BE DESTROYED!An accidental find by a friend of Professor James Acton may lead to the greatest archaeological discovery since the tomb of King Tutankhamen, perhaps even greater. And when About the James Acton Thrillers:"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J. Robert Kennedy."Though these books are part of the James Acton Thrillers series, they are written as standalone novels and can be enjoyed without having read any of the previous installments."James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"The James Acton Thrillers series and its spin-offs, the Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers and the Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers, have over 3000 Five-Star reviews and have sold over 800,000 copies. If you love non-stop action and intrigue with a healthy dose of humor, try James Acton today! 

Leseprobe

A James Acton Box Set

Books 4-6

by

J. Robert Kennedy

THREE COMPLETE, FULL-LENGTH NOVELS FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY

Master Table of Contents

The Templar's Relic (A James Acton Thriller #4) -- A USA Today Bestseller!

Flags of Sin (A James Acton Thriller #5)

The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller #6)

About the Author

Also by the Author

The Templar's Relic

A James Acton Thriller

by

J. Robert Kennedy

USA Today Bestseller

#1 Barnes & Noble Overall Bestseller

#1 Bestselling Action Adventure on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple and Kobo

From the Back Cover

FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY

THE CHURCH HELPED DESTROY THE TEMPLARS.

WILL A TWIST OF FATE LET THEM GET THEIR REVENGE 700 YEARS LATER?

A construction accident leads to a miraculous discovery—an ancient tomb containing four Templar Knights, long forgotten, on the grounds of the Vatican. Not knowing who they can trust, the Vatican requests Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer examine the find, but what they discover, a precious Islamic relic, lost during the Crusades, triggers a set of events that shake the entire world, pitting the two greatest religions against each other.

Join Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer, INTERPOL Agent Hugh Reading, Scotland Yard DI Martin Chaney, and the Delta Force Bravo Team as they race against time to defuse a worldwide crisis that could quickly devolve into all-out war.

At risk is nothing less than the Vatican itself, and the rock upon which it was built.

From USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy comes The Templar’s Relic, the fourth entry in the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series, where once again Kennedy takes history and twists it to his own ends, resulting in a heart pounding thrill ride filled with action, suspense, humor and heartbreak.

About the James Acton Thrillers

"James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"

Though this book is part of the James Acton Thrillers series, it is written as a standalone novel and can be enjoyed without having read any of the previous installments.

About J. Robert Kennedy

With over 700,000 books in circulation and over 3000 five-star reviews, USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over thirty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers. He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

"A master storyteller." — Betty Richard

"A writer who tells what we are thinking but sometimes afraid to say." — Bruce Ford

"Kennedy kicks ass in this genre." — David Mavity

"One of the best writers today." — Johnny Olsen

"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy." — Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

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Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.

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Books by J. Robert Kennedy

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 Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

Rogue Operator Containment Failure Cold Warriors Death to America Black Widow The Agenda

The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

Payback Infidels

The Templar's Relic: Table of Contents

Get 5 Free eBooks!

Table of Contents

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Acknowledgements

Don't Miss Out!

Thank You!

About the Author

Also by the Author

“And when the sacred months have passed, then kill the polytheists wherever you find them and capture them and besiege them and sit in wait for them at every place of ambush. But if they should repent, establish prayer, and give zakah, let them [go] on their way. Indeed, Allah is Forgiving and Merciful.”

Koran 9:5

“The Jews say, “Ezra is the son of Allah”; and the Christians say, “The Messiah is the son of Allah.” That is their statement from their mouths; they imitate the saying of those who disbelieved [before them]. May Allah destroy them; how are they deluded?”

1

Port of Acre, Dominion of Saladin July 12, 1191

“We are defeated.”

Malik nodded, his chest aching with the shame of it. It was a statement nobody could dispute. The infidel hordes had broken through the gates about an hour ago and continued to pour in, despite the valiant effort put up by the starving defenders. Malik had tended to the wounded, stacked and burned the dead, and distributed the rations to the hungry civilians. He had done it all. And it was all in vain.

Why had this happened?

If they had surrendered at the start, when it was obvious there was no way to win, this all could have been avoided.

Pride.

It was pride that made the elders decide to fight, to weather the siege.

And for what?

It was over.

The last stand of Acre was over. Tens of thousands were dead. The rest were dying. And after holding out so long, could they expect any restraint from the angry Christian soldiers now pouring through the once mighty gates?

We’re all doomed.

Malik looked at Ali, his Imam since he was a little boy. “What are we to do, Imam Ali?”

“Besides pray to Allah?”

Allah hadn’t come through so far, so why continue?

“Yes, sir, besides pray.”

“Nothing.”

Malik opened his mouth to object when Imam Ali held a boney finger up to stop him.

“We shall do nothing, as I am too old.” He put his arm over Malik’s shoulder, guiding him deeper into the mosque. “But you, you are young and still fit. You shall take our holiest of possessions and save it from the infidels.”

Malik’s heart pounded. He stumbled, Ali catching him.

“Are you all right, my son?”

Malik nodded. “Yes, Imam, just overwhelmed with the—” Malik wasn’t sure what to say. Honor? Responsibility? Death warrant? “Honor.”

Imam Ali smiled.

I guess I chose the right word.

Though he wasn’t sure he wanted the honor. Right now, after almost two years of constant battle, he simply wanted to sit in a corner somewhere and wait for the blade of a Christian knight to end his suffering. The last thing he wanted was the responsibility of saving the parchment. “But how, Imam? How can I save it?”

“You shall be provisioned for two weeks of travel, disguised as a poor laborer”—he stopped and looked at Malik—“which shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, smiling. Malik was about to open his mouth to protest some more, when the aged Imam spoke again. “You will be sent out of the city by way of the ancient tunnels.”

Malik stopped.

Ancient tunnels?

“What ancient tunnels?”

“Tunnels carved long ago by Allah’s will and the labor of his devotees. They lead out, past the city walls, and under the camps of the infidels. When you reach the end, head south to Jaffa and seek the Imam there.”

Tunnels? Under the city?

Suddenly he felt like he might make it. Yet a question begged to be asked. “If there are tunnels, Imam, why haven’t we used them to save our people?”

Imam Ali patted the young man on the top of his head. “You are a good boy. Allah would be pleased. If we evacuated our population through these tunnels, there would be so many spread across the desert, that the infidels would surely capture some, then find the source and enter our city that much sooner.” He paused and sighed, his eyes peering into the distance. “Why Saladin hasn’t come this time, we’ll never know. We had held out hope that he would save us, but he hasn’t.” He glanced back at Malik, a sad smile on his face. “We were foolish. We thought Allah would protect us from the infidel hordes, but Allah obviously had other plans for his children. If only the great Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, were here. Such a warrior! He, he would have found a way to save us and push the infidels back into the sea. Especially that deviant Richard the Lionheart.” Ali spat on the ground, as did Malik. It was just something that was done.

“When do I leave?”

Shouting erupted from the street, the strange tongue of the infidel echoing off the ancient walls. Imam Ali grabbed Malik by his robes and hurried him into the sacred chamber containing the ancient scroll so revered. He lifted it off its pedestal and carefully rolled it, placing it into a tube-shaped case sitting under the display. Giving the case a hug while staring up to the heavens, Imam Ali handed it over to his young student. “Come, we must hurry!”

The shouts from outside sounded closer. Screams of the defenders violated the stillness of the mosque as they were slaughtered, their weakened state no match for the well-fed Christian army. Imam Ali pulled Malik toward the entrance to the cellars, grabbing a torch off the wall. Malik had enough presence of mind to do the same.

They wound their way down a spiral staircase and eventually emerged into a room filled with scrolls and artifacts collected over the years by the Imam, who considered himself a scholar, and indeed was renowned throughout the region, taking great pride in his collection and his writings. This was their history. This was their knowledge. And today, it could all be lost.

Imam Ali stopped at a desk, grabbed a piece of parchment and a quilled pen, then began writing rapidly. When done, he carefully folded the page and placed his seal upon it. He handed it to Malik. “Keep this with you. Should you be faced with a situation where you think a word or two from me might help, break the seal and let them read it. If not, when you reach Jaffa, show it to the Imam.”

Malik nodded, tucking the letter away inside his robes.

The sound of the outer doors to the mosque crashing open echoed down the staircase, startling both of them.

“Come, quickly!” hissed Imam Ali. “There’s no more time!”

He rushed over to the far wall and pushed aside a tapestry that appeared from the dust to not have been moved in years. Malik bent over and looked under the old cloth, expecting to find a hidden door, but instead found his Imam saying a prayer.

In front of a wall.

A wall no different than any other wall in the room. Imam Ali finished his prayer and placed his right hand on a stone, a stone that appeared like all the others in every way. Then he placed his left hand on another stone. Malik wasn’t sure what was going on.

Has the old man gone mad?

With a grunt, the elderly Imam pushed forward with both hands. Malik gasped as the two stones receded into the wall, sounds echoing from behind the stone betraying the presence of some mechanism activating. Moments later the sounds stopped and Imam Ali looked at Malik with a smile.

“Have faith in Allah.” He shoved against the wall, but nothing happened. “And help an old man.”

Malik nodded, placed his torch on the floor, then stepped forward, pushing with all his might on the stones his Imam toiled against.

And it moved. Slightly. But then, as they continued to push, it continued to recede and eventually a gap, large enough for a man, appeared between the wall and what was apparently a secret door.

Imam Ali shoved Malik through the gap, handing him a torch. “Now, push the door closed, then follow the tunnel to its end. It will open facing south.” He handed Malik several bags. “Food. Water.” He touched Malik’s arm. “Allah be with you.”

Malik nodded, stepping back into the darkness. He pulled the torch through, revealing the narrow tunnel.

“Now push!” ordered the Imam.

Malik leaned his back against the wall and pushed with all his might, the ancient doorway slowly closing, then with a final click, he heard the mechanism activate, sealing it in place.

The Imam’s voice was muffled though clear enough. “Go!”

Malik didn’t need to be told twice. He turned, eyeing the tunnel ahead of him, and stepped forward into what, he did not know.

2

Northern Wall, Vatican City Present Day

Ermes Sabatino looked up as one of the men yelled for an excavator to stop. “What now?”

It was like this job was cursed. This had been going on for almost three months. They were replacing an ancient storm drain and sewer line that ran on the Vatican grounds with a more modern one, but since day one there had been problems. Because it tapped into the Rome lines, permits were needed. These were constantly delayed or lost. There were extra inspections, environmental assessments, and any other myriad of delays thrown in his face. This should have been a three-month job, yet they were already at the three-month mark and excavation had only begun two weeks ago. And equipment kept malfunctioning, some of it sabotaged.

It was as if someone was trying to stop the job.

But why?

It’s only a goddamned sewer!

He stopped and looked at where he was, then made the sign of the cross. The mighty machine turned off.

Okay, this might be bad.

 Had they hit a gas line? He peered through the window of his trailer and there was no indication of panic. If anything, he’d call it excitement. He grabbed his hard hat and shoved it on his head as he stepped from the air-conditioned cool and out into the midday heat. Jogging over to the gathering crowd, he pushed his way through, and when he reached the site, he gasped. The teeth of the excavator had broken through the ground, revealing a chamber underneath.

He felt the ground shift under him. “Everybody get back!” he yelled. “This ground may not be stable.”

He began to step back when he felt the ground give way and he plunged into the depths below. Several others cried out as they fell along with him. His arms flailed, searching for anything to grab onto, and found nothing but empty space. Then he hit. Hard. His head snapped back but the helmet did its job, absorbing the blow. He looked about and couldn’t see anything, just darkness around him and a light above, blocked by dust.

“Are you okay?” yelled a voice from overhead.

He wasn’t sure. He sat up. Nothing felt broken. “I’m okay!” He looked about though couldn’t make out anyone else. “Who else is here? Are you okay?”

“It’s Luca. I think I broke my leg.”

“Filippo. I’m okay.”

A flashlight snapped on. It was Filippo.

“How many are missing?” he called up.

“Three of you fell in!”

“Okay, we have one injured man down here. Call for an ambulance and the fire department. We’re going to need some special equipment to get us out of here.”

“I’m on it!”

Sabatino looked around. “And send some flashlights down here.”

He heard the sounds of several plastic flashlights smashing nearby.

“In a bucket on a rope, you idiots!”

“Sorry, boss!”

“Let me see that,” he said to Filippo, putting his hand out for the flashlight. Filippo handed it over and Sabatino played the beam around the area. It was ancient, filled with dust and cobwebs. Several large stone boxes occupied the room. He stepped over to one, searching for the word, trying to remember what it was called.

Then he shivered.

Sarcophagus!

3

Outside Acre, Dominion of Saladin 1191 A.D.

Malik squinted at the sun.

Late afternoon.

The exit, or entrance, depending on which way you were traveling, was not well marked, which was clearly by design. Buried behind a myriad of rocks, exiting had involved shoving aside what turned out to be a fairly heavy hollowed out rock. When Malik had emerged from the hole and replaced the rock, he was amazed at the simplicity of it all. The stone looked like any other. Though hollowed, it was substantial enough that a single man would still struggle to move it.

He swept his foot over the sand, hiding any indication that the stone had moved, then cautiously stepped out from the rocks, surveying the area. He was alone. Squatting in the shade from one of the large rocks, he examined the provisions.

Two weeks?

It occurred to him perhaps the old man didn’t eat much or had forgotten to give him a bag.

But his first priority was to put some distance between himself and the city. To the north, he could see the dust from the infidels and smoke from fires burning in the city. The siege had been brutal. He had heard whisper of several surrender attempts, though none had been accepted. Saladin had managed to hold off the hordes by attacking the infidels from the outside every time the walls were breached.

Though not this time.

He wondered why. What had changed for Saladin to not come to the city’s aid once more? Could the Christians have defeated him? Were his forces too weakened to stage an attack?

He plodded through the hard rock and hot sand.

It was frustrating. He was a boy, not schooled in the ways of the world yet, but to him the fall of Acre, his home since birth, was blasphemous. The stunning mosque he had worshiped in since he was a boy, and lived in after the death of his parents from a pestilence, was a holy place, a place infidels should never tread.

Yet it had fallen, and they had tread there.

It had been almost ten years that he had lived there, and those years had left little memory of his real parents. And for that he sometimes wept, his guilt-ridden mind unable to cope.

Though one day he would earn his place in Paradise, in Jannah, and see them again.

He smiled at the thought.

The neighing of a horse tore him from his reverie.

Malik dropped to a knee and looked around, finding no one. Lying down, he slithered up the embankment he was on like an asp. Cresting the top, he peered down below. His heart hammered. Four horses. He looked closely. Three men were sitting inside a fair-sized tent, enough to comfortably fit them. In front of the tent, tea brewed on a small fire as the men relaxed, obviously avoiding travel during the heat of the midday sun.

These weren’t Christian soldiers. And with a spare horse, if they were men of God they would surely lend him the horse, perhaps even escort him all the way to Jaffa. Malik stared up at the heavens.

Allah be praised for bringing them to me!

He was about to rise to his feet and announce his presence to his saviors when he heard a noise to his left.

What was that?

It sounded like a child. A child sobbing. He slithered back down the embankment, then ran farther to the left, toward where he guessed the sound had come. Again he crawled to the top, and, peering over the side, stifled a gasp.

Below, hidden behind a large stone that sat behind the tent, were four children, varying in age from what he would guess to be barely ten, up to his own age of fourteen. They were all shackled together.

Slave traders!

A long shadow cast over him, the raging sun blocked. He turned over and saw the silhouette of a man reaching down to grab him.

The fourth rider!

Malik reacted quickly, and the only way he could at this moment. He raised his knee then extended his foot—hard and fast. The desired target hit, the man gasped in pain, grasping his now scrambled eggs as he fell backward. Malik leaped to his feet and in a split second made a monumental decision. He could flee, and perhaps save himself, though more likely be captured by the four men on horseback, or he could fight, perhaps preventing his own discovery, and even accomplishing something noble in the name of Allah.

He picked up a rock and raised it over his head with both hands, dropping to his knees beside the man writhing in agony, his eyes closed. Malik dropped the stone hard. It immediately drew blood from the man’s forehead. Before the man could react, Malik hit him again. And again. Several more blows and it was clear the man was no longer a threat. In fact, Malik wasn’t even sure if he was alive.

He tossed the stone aside and dropped back on his haunches, holding his blood-soaked hands in front of him.

Forgive me, Allah!

He had never struck a man before, and he had certainly never killed a man. Tears filled his eyes as he looked down at the man, unmoving, even his chest failing to rise and fall with the life-giving breaths it should.

He must be dead.

Malik wiped his hands in the sand, ridding them as best he could of the blood staining them. He rose, searching for the man’s companions, but found himself alone. As he stepped away he stopped. Around the man’s chest was a leather cord, and attached to that was a ring with keys. Keys that might fit the shackles imprisoning the children he had found. He yanked it off the man’s neck, the cord snapping with little effort.

The keys slipped from his fingers, and as if in slow motion, slid down the loose end of the cord, falling through the air, Malik’s mouth gaping in horror as they clattered against a rock. The sound roared across the landscape as Malik’s heart pounded, his ears filling with the rush of blood, removing all stillness from the setting.

He dropped to the ground.

Listening for the others, he steadied his breathing, the din in his ears hindering his ability to listen for the telltale sounds of feet on sand. He closed his eyes and said a short prayer, asking Allah for strength and guidance.

The roaring quieted. He opened his eyes and looked.

No one.

And no sounds.

He carefully picked up the keys, this time gripping them tightly, and crawled toward where he had seen the children. He found them, still alone, still shackled.

“Pssst!”

The small hiss, meant to attract their attention, sounded like the horns of the Christians. One of them looked up, a boy about his age. Malik put his finger to his lips, urging him to remain quiet. The boy nodded, then tapped the others on the shoulders, his own finger to his lips, then pointed to Malik. One was about to say something when the older boy put his hand over the young one’s mouth, shaking his head. The little one nodded.

Malik crawled down the embankment and quickly reached the cover of the rock. Without saying a word, he showed the keys to the older boy, whose face lit up with a smile and wide eyes. He grabbed the keys and flipped through them quickly, selecting one he had obviously seen used before. He slid it into the keyhole on the shackles gripping his ankle and turned. They fell to the ground.

This got the other kids excited.

“Me next!”

The older one slapped his hand over the young one’s mouth and they all froze, listening for the slavers. The murmur of their voices was all that could be heard, and it hadn’t changed.

The oldest one unlocked the remaining children, then they all quickly ran with their back to the rock, putting as much distance as they could as quickly as they could between them and the slavers. As they left the captors behind, the scrambled combination of ducking and running turned into an all-out run, with Malik and the oldest alternating between dragging and carrying the others, who were quickly exhausted.

Malik spotted a group of rocks and pointed. The older boy nodded and they adjusted their direction toward the stones and the precious cover they would provide. Within minutes, they were safely tucked in behind the stones, Malik and the eldest peering out for any sign of pursuit, the other three lying on their backs, gasping for air, one crying softly.

Satisfied there were no pursuers, Malik sat, his back to a rock, and calmed his hammering heart. The eldest held out his hand, saying something that had Malik’s heart drumming again. He spoke in the tongue of the invaders.

He was an infidel!

4

Corpo della Gendarmeria Office Palazzo del Governatorato, Vatican City Present Day

“Out of the question!”

“What do you mean? How can you say that? It’s protocol, we’ve always done it this way!”

Inspector General Mario Giasson, head of the Corpo della Gendarmeria dello Stato della Città del Vaticano, or the Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City State, stared at Father Jonathan Brandis.

Where has he been this past year?

“I’m sorry, Father, but with two serious security breaches”—he held up a finger—“at least two serious security breaches, in the past year, there is no way I can let a team of outside archaeologists swarm all over the city.”

Father Brandis dropped into a chair, clearly frustrated. “But Monsieur, this is an archaeological find. Surely you don’t propose we destroy it and continue on with the construction.”

Giasson ran his hand over his shaved head, willing the tension into his fingers and away from the pounding headache he now had. This was quite possibly the worst scenario they could be facing. They were using the sewage upgrade as an excuse to seal off the entrance to the Vault discovered several months ago, and it was clear someone was trying to stop it, or at least delay it.

And now this.

This threatened to not only stop the entire project indefinitely, but bring in outsiders, who might stumble upon the Vault, which was absolutely not acceptable.

Unfortunately, Father Brandis was right. There was no avoiding it. The discovery had to be investigated, there was no choice. This was history, and it needed to be preserved.

But they also needed to seal the security breach and it couldn’t be done from the inside, as that would expose the Vault. It had to be done from the other end.

He turned to Ermes Sabatino who had sat patiently through the exchange. “Can you reroute?”

Sabatino nodded. “Of course. The good news is that the Roma side of things won’t need to change, so no new permits. We can reroute the new pipes around the discovery, depending on how big it is.”

“What about sealing the old pipe?”

Sabatino shrugged. “No change there. We can still tear up the half we were going to do regardless. Cap the Vatican side, fill in the rest with stone as requested. Why you don’t just use dirt is beyond me, but hey, it’s your project.”

Dirt is too easy to dig through. Concrete can be bored through. Stone, when removed, collapses.

But of course, Giasson couldn’t tell him the real reason. In fact, if he could do the job himself, he’d be out there right now. There were only a handful of people who knew about this ancient, secret passageway, and he could trust them. He chuckled to himself.

Maybe I’ll call Hugh, James, and Laura, and have them come out and help me.

He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got just the two archaeologists who’d be perfect for the job!”

Father Brandis leaned forward. “Who?”

“World renowned.”

“Who?”

“Well respected, one’s even been in numerous magazines.”

“Who?” Brandis was getting frustrated.

“And, we can trust them implicitly.”

“Who!”

Giasson smiled. “Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer.”

5

Outside Acre, Dominion of Saladin 1191 AD

Malik drew his knife and held it out in front. The boy’s eyes bulged and he held up his hands, waving them at Malik. He pointed at his chest. “John.”

Malik assumed it was a name. He slowly lowered the knife. Obviously this boy had been kidnapped by the slavers. And if he was a boy, he wasn’t a soldier.

He’s just a kid like me.

And if they were to get out of this alive, they would have to work together. Malik pointed at his own chest. “Malik.”

“Mahh-lick.”

Malik nodded, then pointed at the boy. “Jan?”

“Jaawn.”

“Jaawn.”

John nodded then pointed at the boys Malik had rescued. He clasped his hands together and bowed. “Thank you.”

Malik had no idea what the words meant, though the sentiment was clear. He smiled and nodded, then reached into one of the bags over his shoulder, pulling out a skin of water and some food. The boys eagerly drank and ate, it clear they hadn’t done so in some time.

After a few minutes of rest, Malik rose and surveyed their surroundings again. There was dust on the horizon, possibly from horses, but the sun was almost set. He was sure the slavers wouldn’t pursue them in the dark—it would be dangerous, and they’d have no trail to follow.

Yet it was clear they couldn’t stay here. Malik surveyed their surroundings and spotted a depression nearby. He tapped John on the shoulder and pointed. John nodded and gathered the three young boys.

“Keep quiet, and follow us,” said Malik.

The boys nodded.

So they’re not infidels.

He stepped out from behind the rocks and ran toward the depression, his hands gripping two of the boys, John and the third boy taking up the rear. Within minutes, they were in the depression and out of sight of any possible pursuers. The sun was a mere sliver now, the stones casting long shadows, the sand kicked up by the hooves of horses now settled. It appeared their pursuers had given up.

For now.

Now was the time they would have to put more distance between them and the slavers, and pray the winds covered their tracks.

“Let’s go,” Malik whispered, then pressed on. They walked for hours until finally the young ones could go no more. Then they each took turns carrying one, then two, until at last both John and Malik collapsed in exhaustion. Malik had no idea how far they had traveled, though what was clear to him was that his mission, his mission for Allah, was not being accomplished. He pressed his hand against his precious charge tucked under his robes.

He lay, staring at the stars, praying for guidance, when fatigue finally overcame him. But his dreams were restless, tormented, filled with nightmares of pursuit, of the siege, of the collapse of the outer wall, the infidel hordes pouring through.

He awoke with a start, John leaning over him, shaking him.

“What, what is it?” asked Malik as he pushed up with his elbows.

John said something in the infidel tongue, then pointed. The snort of a horse caused Malik to spin toward the sound. His heart leaped into his throat.

Three infidel knights on horseback stared down at them.

6

Acton Residence Stowe, Vermont Present Day

I can’t believe I’m about to do this!

Professor James Acton swung his parents’ SUV into their driveway and came to a stop under the carport. With a quick mirror-check of his teeth then his hair, followed by a deep breath, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Turning off the engine, he climbed out and looked about the neighborhood he had grown up in, the neighborhood where, as a kid, he had dreamed of this day. What would it be like? What would she be like? Who would it be? He smiled and shook his head as he opened the door.

“I’m home!”

He heard footsteps as the love of his life, Professor Laura Palmer, came out of the kitchen. “Hello, dear,” said Laura, her face and an apron she was sporting covered in flour. “Your mother is just showing me how to make tea biscuits.”

Acton chuckled. “I think the flour goes in the bowl, babe.”

His mother poked her head out, clucking at him. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

Acton felt his chest tighten and tears filled his eyes. “But I don’t want to.” His voice was dead serious.

Laura smiled then gasped, her hand darting to cover her mouth as Acton dropped to one knee.

“Ellsworth!” screamed his mother. “Shut off the game and get in here!”

Acton stretched his hand out and pulled Laura closer. “Two years ago I thought I was happy. I had a great job, great friends, traveled the world, and was intellectually satisfied. But when I met you, I realized I had a hole in my life, a gap that had gone unfilled for so long, an emotional hole that I didn’t know I had. These past two years with you have been the best of my life.” He grinned. “Despite almost getting killed on several occasions.”

“Oh, James,” whispered Laura, tears streaming down her face. He quickly glanced at his parents as his father walked into the room. His mother was biting her finger, tears streaking her cheeks.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I love you, and that I always want to be with you, so”—he choked up—“I’m sorry, I rehearsed this a thousand times, but I’ve gone blank.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small velvet case, and flipped it open, revealing a diamond solitaire engagement ring. “Laura Angela Palmer, will you marry me?”

Laura extended the fingers on her left hand and nodded. “Yes!” she whispered.

Acton slipped the ring on her finger, his mother jumped up and down, his father turned to hide a tear that had escaped, and Acton rose, taking Laura in his arms. He kissed her gently then whispered in her ear, “Thank you.”

She hugged him harder. “No, thank you. You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world.”

Acton glanced at his mother who had stopped jumping, now simply clapping her hands together. “I’m not sure about that, have you seen my mother?”

Laura let go and looked at Dorothy who stepped forward and grabbed Laura in her arms. “Congratulations, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Acton.”

Dorothy pushed her back, holding her shoulders. “Call me ‘Mom’. I’d really love it if you would.” More tears burst from both women, who hugged each other again.

Acton looked at his dad and shrugged. “Women.”

Ellsworth tilted his head slightly and, palms facing upward, said, “Whatcha gonna do?” He extended his hand and Acton grasped it. He felt his father squeeze it then pull him, giving a rare hug. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Acton’s chest ached and he didn’t trust himself to say anything. He took a deep breath then stepped back.

“Now let’s see that rock!” said his mother, and Laura obliged by extending her hand.

“It’s not much, I’m sorry, but I’m only a professor.”

Laura smiled, never taking her eyes off the diamond. “It’s perfect, James, absolutely brilliant.” She looked at him then buried her head in his chest, hugging him hard. He returned the hug and they just stood there.

“Let’s give them some space,” whispered his dad.

Acton opened his eyes slightly to see his dad physically pull his mother away from the room, her smile as large as any he recalled seeing.

“I love you,” he whispered in Laura’s ear.

She looked up at him and smiled. “I love you too.”

The phone rang, but Acton pushed it out of his mind. This was their moment and he didn’t want anyone to ruin it. The last time they had visited his parents he had wanted to propose, though the timing had been bad. It had been three months and nobody had tried to kill them lately, so he felt now was the time. With the way their life had been these past couple of years, death could come knocking at any minute.

“It’s for you, Jim!”

It was his mother. He gave Laura a squeeze and pushed away, smiling. “Well, at least it’s not a military chopper this time!”

She laughed and took his hand, following him into the kitchen. Acton grabbed the phone. “Jim here.”

“Professor Acton, it is Mario Giasson, how are you today?”

“Hi, Mario, I’m fine. In fact, I just proposed to Laura.”

“And did she accept?”

“What, you thought she wouldn’t?”

Giasson laughed. “My friend, when I proposed to my wife, I wasn’t certain if I would ever see her again.”

Acton chuckled. “She said ‘yes’.”

“Then congratulations, my friend.” He paused. “Perhaps the timing is bad, but I would like to offer you and your fiancée a job.”

“Huh?”

The room turned to look at Acton.

“We have made a discovery here. Quite interesting. And with the security breaches, I don’t trust bringing in outsiders that I’m not personally familiar with.”

“Are you sure you want us? Every time we go to the Vatican, all hell breaks loose.”

Giasson cleared his throat and Acton made a mental note to watch his language, even the mild expletives.

“There is no danger. This is an archaeological find, discovered while construction was underway. We need some experts to examine what we’ve found.”

“And what is it you’ve found?”

“Something I think you both will find very thrilling.”

7

Outside Acre, Dominion of Saladin 1191 AD

They had traveled for days. Perhaps even weeks. Malik wasn’t sure anymore. The knights had taken them with them, though seemed to be going in circles, for what purpose, he didn’t know. And apparently neither did John. These infidels apparently spoke a tongue different than John. Which was something Malik found interesting. He had always assumed that the infidels all spoke one language, like his people did. At least, however, these knights were treating them well, simply urging them to follow their horses, and providing them with food and water when Malik’s supply ran out.

But what was their purpose? Were they going to deliver them to someone else when they came upon a town? And what about his mission? Malik had to get to Jaffa, yet couldn’t just head out on his own. These were the infidels and would likely kill him should he try to leave. Besides, he felt an obligation to the boys he had rescued.

Malik wasn’t sure what day it was when they came across another group of infidels on horseback. This group, of at least a dozen riders, had several score of what appeared to be prisoners with them, all roped together at the ankles.

John tried to communicate again, and this time appeared to have great success, conversing with one of the knights. At one point John collapsed against the horse, hugging the knight’s leg, the man patting the boy on the head. John looked at Malik and smiled wide, it clear they had been saved.

They traveled with the now large group, Malik, John and the other three free of the ropes binding the others. Malik dared not talk to those who were bound, terrified that if the infidels knew he was Muslim, he and the other boys would be taken prisoner.

He had to figure a way out. He had to complete his mission; it would only be a matter of time before his secret would be discovered. All it would take would be for one of the little ones to say something in his native tongue.

Then they’d all be doomed.

And he couldn’t have the safety of one of Mohammed’s greatest treasures resting on the mouths of babes. He needed to escape.

One of the infidels yelled, pointing ahead.

Malik looked and his chest tightened in dismay.

On the horizon were thousands of souls, prisoners and infidel soldiers, all amassed at the foot of the Al ’Ayadiyeh hill, a hill he knew well since childhood.

It appeared there would be no escape.

Allah forgive me.

8

Ciampino Airport Rome, Italy Present Day

Both Acton and Laura stared at the limousine with Vatican markings. The last time this had happened, it hadn’t turned out good. Acton led the way down the stairs from Laura’s leased Gulfstream V. The ridiculous amount of money she had inherited from her brother when he died allowed them to live a life of luxury if they chose to, but they didn’t. They lived a normal life, except for the fact they traveled when they wanted to, in the style they wanted to. And they sponsored their own digs when funding from other sources wasn’t available.

So a G-V to Europe wasn’t out of the ordinary, especially if time were of the essence. And the last time they had landed in Rome, a limousine much like the one that stood before them now had resulted in a harrowing experience.

The door opened.

And Giasson stepped out.

“Professors, it is okay, come, come,” he said, waving his hand for them to join him.

Acton breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, glancing back at Laura who also appeared relieved. They descended the stairs and one of the ground crew at the charter terminal unloaded their bags. The chauffeur loaded them in the trunk as the traditional cheek kisses were exchanged.

“It is so good to see you again, Professors. After last time, I decided it best I should pick you up myself.”

Laura climbed into the back of the limo and Acton followed her.

“It’s appreciated, Mario,” said Laura, settling in. “I haven’t sat in the back of a car since without feeling some trepidation.”

Giasson climbed in and the chauffeur shut the door. “Nothing to worry about on this drive, I assure you.”

Acton looked at Giasson.

He looks tired.

“So, why have you brought us here?”

Giasson leaned forward. “We’re in the process of sealing the secret entrance to the Vault.”

“Not the one in the—”

“No,” interrupted Giasson. “That one must remain. I mean the one that was used to abduct you.”

“Ahh, okay. That makes sense.”

Giasson massaged his temples. “We’ve been trying to get this going for months, since the very day after those events were concluded. But we’ve run into delay after delay. Inexplicable delay after delay.”

“What do you mean?” asked Laura.

“Because the passage actually is just a link to the sewage system that’s been there, shared with the city of Rome for over a century, we need permits from the Italian federal and Rome municipal governments to proceed with the work. We’re calling it a modernization of that portion, claiming a cave in.”

“Cave in? How’d you get them to believe that?”

“I planted a small explosive charge on the ceiling and detonated it.”

Acton smiled. “So there was a cave in.”

“Absolutely,” said Giasson with a grin. “Which of course demanded a repair. His Holiness naturally was in on the plan and ordered Vatican City to take the opportunity to upgrade that part of the sewage line rather than just repair the old line. And that’s when the problems started.”

“Such as?”

“Delays in getting permits. An unusual number of environmental assessments, building code inspectors, engineering studies—it never ended. Also, almost every form we ever submitted was lost. Replies were lost. We ended up having to hand deliver our paperwork. In all my years I’ve never seen such a thing.”

“Sounds like somebody was trying to keep you from plugging their leak.”

Giasson nodded. “It didn’t end there. Once we had everything in place, we had a hard time getting contractors. People wouldn’t bid on the job, or they’d drop out. Once we finally got a firm, after offering a large bonus sum, equipment began to be sabotaged or stolen.” Giasson shook his head. “It is terrifying that they have this much power.”

“Surely you haven’t called us in because of this,” said Laura. “You found something?”

Giasson nodded. “Once we finally started excavating, we stumbled upon something.”

Laura leaned forward. “What?”

“Some sort of crypt.”

Acton and Laura exchanged excited glances. Acton motioned with his fingers. “Details!”

“I don’t have any. Some of the construction workers fell in the hole and discovered several sarcophagi. They were pulled out and the area stabilized so it would be safe for a team to go in. But with all the problems we’ve been having, I wasn’t about to let more outsiders inside the city to investigate. Which is when I thought of you.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you. And so does His Holiness.”

Acton sat back in the leather seat, eyeing Giasson. “There’s something you aren’t telling us.”

Giasson frowned. “You are very astute, my friend.” He snapped open a briefcase, removing a file folder. He flipped it open, revealing a sheaf of papers. “These have been found on the job site, inside paperwork. Everywhere.” Flipping through them, it was evident they all were the same. Each contained the symbol of the Triarii, with a red cross through them.

“So the Keepers of the One Truth are involved.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Acton took Laura’s hand. “Which means none of us are safe.”

9

Al 'Ayadiyeh Outside Acre, Dominion of Saladin 1191 AD

Tears streaked Malik’s cheeks. He couldn’t help it. He was terrified. Screams echoed off the hill at their backs as the infidel Frankish soldiers charged with sword and lance, a massacre unlike anything he could have imagined, beginning. He held on to the other children, shielding their eyes from the horrors he couldn’t help but take in.

His eyes, unblinking, red, blurred as the thousands hemmed in by the horses and tents of the invaders, pushed themselves back toward the hill and away from the advancing army. Women and children pled to Allah, the men prayed as they shielded their wives and loved ones from the onslaught.