Tears rolled down Romanus’ cheeks as the man carrying the hot poker stopped behind John. “Please,” he whispered. “I beg of you.”

  John stared into his eyes, and Romanus saw nothing but pure evil. “You and your family’s claim to the throne is over. The Diogenes family is finished.” He stepped back, making way for the man who would deliver the punishment, and Romanus’ heart slammed as he saw not hatred in the beast’s eyes, but uncertainty. He held out the poker, aiming it straight for Romanus’ eye, then changed position, bringing it in at an angle before stopping yet again.

  He has no clue what he’s doing!

  Romanus yanked at his bonds, shoving one shoulder out then the other in an attempt to loosen the restraints holding his head. He couldn’t let this amateur deliver the blinding. An arm came loose and he yanked it free. He reached over to free his other arm when John took action.

  “Restrain him!”

  The guards rushed forward and one grabbed his free arm. He continued his struggle, and it took five men to finally restrain him, one of them placing his shield on his arms, another on his chest, restricting his breathing. Two men gripped his head and held it in place, though he still managed to move it slightly as the poker approached. As the tip pressed against his eyeball, he roared in agony, momentarily jerking his head free. He was restrained again, the poker reapplied, and it took a moment for him to realize the blood-curdling scream that echoed through the room was his own.

  The incompetent fool, for he was incompetent as Romanus could still see, moved in for a third attempt on the same eye as the bishops begged for the torture to stop. John ignored them, the wall of guards preventing any interference, and as the poker pressed against him once again, this time piercing the eye socket completely, the Good Lord granted him mercy, and he passed out from the pain, hoping to never awake.

  I’m sorry I ever doubted.

  52 |

  Suspected Burial Site South of Homs, Syria Present Day

  Acton climbed out of the back of the truck that had carried them from the coast. It was hours of discomfort accompanied by a little bit of agony, but judging from the landscape, they had reached their destination. Southern Syria. If they had, then they were farther south than Romanus had ever reached, which would explain why the mystery of the tablet had never been solved.

  The location was intriguing. It was far enough south that it would take years of campaigning for the Byzantines to reach, but also close enough to Jerusalem that it was believable the bones could have been taken from the original burial site to here in a reasonable amount of time with little difficulty.

  It lent credibility to the tablet’s authenticity, but also to it being an eleventh-century hoax.

  He stared at the rockface in front of them that stretched in either direction. The tablet had referred to Emesa, the pre-Islamic name for Homs, now a city of over half a million to the north, and the rock formations due south of it. From the stone climbing on either side, gently to the north, steeper to the south, this would be the first gorge in the formation referred to.

  “And this is the exact midpoint?” he asked Esposito.

  Esposito shrugged. “I don’t know, Professor. These are the coordinates you gave us.”

  Acton faced south. “Then this is the location.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  Acton chuckled. “You’d make a terrible archaeologist. If it were sitting out in the open, it would have been found long ago and looted. The fact we can’t see it is a good thing. There’s not a lot of activity in this area, and there never was historically. That’s not to say someone didn’t stumble upon the cave we’re looking for, but it reduces the likelihood. Obviously, somebody did, if those who hid the bones knew where it was.”

  “Or this is the hoax we know it to be.”

  Acton decided not to argue. “How about we look? Let’s spread out along this ridge. Remember, the tablet said the midpoint, but they didn’t exactly have precise measuring back then. According to the tablet it will be about twenty meters up behind an outcropping. Things could have changed, however, over two thousand years. Let’s just keep our eyes open.”

  Acton stood, slowly examining the rockface as the others spread out. They needed time to do this properly, the one thing they didn’t have. More manpower would be nice too. He stopped. The tablet referred to an ancient burial site in the hillside. If that were the case, then there had to be a way to reach it without scaling the rocks from handhold to handhold. Ancient religious figures, families, mourners, all could have made the journey. Even after 2000 years there should still be some sign of a pathway, perhaps mostly eroded away, but still there nonetheless.

  He stepped farther back, slowly scanning from left to right, searching for anything that suggested a pathway leading from the ground they now stood on to about sixty feet up.

  And he spotted something.

  He jogged about a hundred yards to the left of their current position and kicked at the rockface. There was an outcropping, barely two feet across at its widest, that slowly rose upward. Two thousand years ago, it just might have been double that width or more—a comfortable climb to a tomb.

  “Over here!” he shouted. “This might be what we’re looking for. Just let me test it for stability.”

  The others gathered as he carefully made his way up, testing each step with a stomp of his shoe. As he got higher, he began searching for handholds as well, the drop not high enough to kill him yet, but definitely high enough to leave him gravely injured.

  He stopped. Ahead, the ledge he was on was barely six inches wide. Enough for a toehold at best. The segment was only about four feet, but there was no margin for error. He drew a deep breath and extended his right foot tentatively. He pressed it tight against the rockface then put some weight on it.

  It held.

  He shuffled forward, then repeated the process half a dozen times before reaching the next wider segment. He leaned against the cliff face for a few moments, steadying his nerves. He had expected there might be some rock climbing, but he hadn’t exactly been asked for an equipment list, nor had he been in a state of mind to offer one. When he had described where they were headed, however, he would have expected his captors to plan ahead.

  “What’s the problem? Get moving! We don’t have any time to waste!” shouted Esposito from below.

  Acton glanced down at him. “If you think you can do better, you’re welcome to come up here.”

  Esposito tapped his watch. “Time is a commodity not to be wasted, Professor. Not in this part of the world.”

  Acton growled but continued, and was pleased to find most of the rest of the ledge was wide enough to walk along with relative ease. He reached a larger outcropping and found the path didn’t continue past it. This had to be it. He carefully surveyed the area, but found no opening in the rockface. If this wasn’t the location, then it must be farther up the hill, and the path to it long eroded away.

  He stepped as close to the edge as he dared, then took another look as the sun continued to rise. And a smile slowly spread at the shadow cast by part of the stone in front of him. A nearly perfect semi-circle. He hurried back to the rock and examined the edge creating the shadow. It was a separate stone.

  It was a sealing stone.

  Time had worn it away, but it had done its job, preserving whatever was behind it from man and beast, wind and rain.

  And it terrified him.

  Everything the tablet had stated so far had been true, if what lay beyond this stone were indeed a burial site. Was he about to disprove the greatest story ever told? And what would those below him do if he did?

  You’ll be dead in a heartbeat.

  They wouldn’t hesitate to kill him to prevent the truth from getting out. He would face that problem later. For now, he was trying to save Laura’s life. He leaned over the ledge. “I’ve found it!”

  Excited utterances from below didn’t sound happy. They, like him, obviously were hoping there would be nothing here.

  “We’re going to need some equipment to break through the sealing stone, however. Do you have anything?”

  “Yes. We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  Acton decided it was time to think. He sat with his back against the sealing stone and watched the sun slowly climb in the sky as those below got busy. He stared all the way up and wondered if his friends at the CIA or in Delta were actually watching. It was a distinct possibility. He gave a wave, wondering if they could see him. Laura would have contacted Kane, he was certain of that. She also would have figured out the general GPS coordinates like he had. Between her and Reading, they would have guessed that he would eventually show up here, so if the CIA was so inclined, they would be watching.

  But could they put people in to get him out?

  And if they did, would he have already fulfilled his obligations to the Keepers, or would they be killed before he had the chance to save his wife?

  53 |

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  Leroux rose as Morrison entered the operations center. Their boss examined the various feeds on the main display as he made his way to the center of the room where Leroux’s station was located.

  “Sitrep?”

  “We’ve confirmed it’s Acton and we assume his abductors.” Leroux turned to Tong. “Show him the clip.”

  Tong tapped a few keys and the clip showing Acton waving at them appeared.

  Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “That’s satellite footage, isn’t it? Not drone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then how—”

  “We assume he’s being cheeky, sir. He’s hoping we’re watching because of past history.”

  Morrison grunted. “One of these days we won’t be. Delta?”

  “Delta is forty-five out and Leather’s team is fifteen. But there’s a problem. Several, in fact.”

  “I don’t like problems.”

  “Well, you’re really not going to like this. Leather’s team captured the border guards when they—”

  “Why the hell would they do that?”

  “The guard drew on them. They had no choice. They tied them up and dropped them off a few minutes from their post. A regular patrol, however, found the post abandoned so have put out a call. Troops are moving into the area to search for what they’re reporting as AWOL soldiers.”

  Morrison sat in a nearby chair and Leroux thankfully dropped into his own, his body still protesting being there. “That’s good, isn’t it? It means they don’t know what really happened.”

  “Yes and no. It’s good like you say, but it’s bad in that scores of troops are entering the area, cutting off their primary route of escape. There’s no way Leather’s team is getting out the way they came in.”

  Morrison pursed his lips, exhaling loudly through his nose. “And there’s more?”

  “Yes. Delta was forced to take out a group of five Wagner personnel—”

  “Good.”

  “—and their bodies have been discovered. Wagner is mobilizing everything in the area. It cuts off any escape to the east, north, or south.”

  Morrison closed his eyes for a moment. “Just once, just once…” He exhaled. “Okay, what do you recommend?”

  “We need to put some airpower on standby. The USS Iwo Jima is offshore. She could put an Osprey in there for extraction, and four SuperCobras for ground support. It would at least give them all a fighting chance. They might be able to rescue Acton, but there’s no way in hell they’re getting out of there alive.”

  “This is going to need approval.” Morrison pushed to his feet. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Oh, and one more thing.”

  “Ugh. There’s more?”

  “Professor Palmer is asking for a feed to our coverage on her husband.”

  “You told her we have it?”

  “No, but she’s a smart lady. She knows we’re capable.”

  “Fine. Declassified grade only.”

  “We’ll dumb it down, sir.”

  Morrison left the room, muttering to himself about retiring, and everyone grinned at each other.

  “Sonya, would you take care of the feed for Palmer?”

  “I’m on it.”

  Leroux’s head collapsed onto his desk. “Kill me now.”

  Child’s chair stopped spinning behind him. “Umm, boss?”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got activity.”

  “Where?”

  “At Acton’s position. Someone’s approaching.”

  54 |

  Suspected Burial Site South of Homs, Syria

  Acton was a little miffed. It turned out his captors’ contact had come prepared. He had an assortment of climbing equipment as well as rigging for raising and lowering supplies. Acton had risked his neck needlessly. When he had asked why no one had said anything, he didn’t like the answer any better than the revelation.

  “You never asked.”

  Prybars and rock hammers were hard at work on the sealing stone. He preferred a more delicate approach, but time was of the essence as Esposito had indicated, and he had a sense that once inside, nobody but himself would be concerned with proper protocols. Whatever they found would be taken by the Keepers back to Rome.

  Or worse.

  A vehicle approaching had everyone stopping. Esposito stepped to the edge and waved, a greeting shouted in Arabic.

  “Visitors?” asked Acton.

  “Fellow Keepers. They’ve been waiting nearby for word that the tomb actually exists.”

  “You already had people here? Then why are we here?”

  “Because you’re the expert. Besides, they never would have found it. It was your expertise that got us this far.”

  Acton frowned. “Yay me.”

  A man climbed up one of the ropes they had rigged and hugs were exchanged with the others.

  “We’ll speak English for the benefit of Professor Acton,” said Esposito. “Did you bring what we need?”

  “More than enough, I’m sure.” The new arrival handed over a small package then nodded toward the sealing stone. “This should make quick work of that.”

  Esposito smiled. “Good thinking.” He tossed the package to one of the others then gestured to the ropes. “Professor, I suggest we head down below.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to blow the entrance.”

  Acton’s eyes rolled back as he sighed. “If you use too much, you’ll destroy whatever is inside. If you’re not careful, you could take half the hill down on top of it.”

  “I’m willing to take that risk if it saves us hours of work.”

  Acton shrugged as he grabbed the rope and swung over the side. “It’s your choice. Just don’t get mad at me when things go horribly wrong.”

  55 |

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  “Looks like they’re friendlies.”

  Tong grunted at Child’s observation. “That’s a matter of opinion. Friendly to the Keepers, not to the professor.”

  “Got me there. At least they didn’t come in with guns-a-blazin’.”

  “What the hell are they doing?” Leroux peered at the live image as the small ledge they had been working on was cleared. Something had been tossed and some work done at an angle they couldn’t see clearly, and now everyone was evacuating. “Oh shit, they’re blowing it.” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s get some more eyes on that Syrian-Wagner unit nearby. When this thing blows, they’re within earshot, even if it isn’t visible.”

  “On it,” replied Tong who then retasked some of the team as Leroux refocused his attention on the hostiles in the region. A flash from Acton’s position lasted only a moment, and they had no audio, but the reaction from the Syrian position was instantaneous.

  Those on the ground turned south.

  Leroux checked the feed of Acton’s position and found it obscured with dust from the detonation, the fine particulate slowly dissipating, and while the initial explosion might not have been visible, the aftermath likely was, giving the Syrians an exact location for the source of what they had just heard.

  “That doesn’t look good,” muttered Child as Leroux frowned.

  The Syrians and Russians were rushing toward their vehicles, and half their number were soon heading south to Acton’s position.

  Less than ten minutes away.

  56 |

  Suspected Burial Site South of Homs, Syria

  Acton cursed as he slowly rose, debris from the far too large blast scattered everywhere, the windshield of their vehicle pockmarked. An argument broke out among Esposito and the new arrival responsible for the detonation, but Acton ignored it. These idiots had just set off a blast that could be heard for miles, and the dust they had thrown up could be seen just as far.

  Anyone with a gun and curiosity was heading here.

  And there was no time to waste. He grabbed one of the ropes and tested it. It still held. He climbed up the rockface then rolled onto the ledge. The sealing stone was no more, the blast effective—he just hoped it wasn’t too effective. If what they were looking for was directly on the other side, then it could have been destroyed in the explosion.

  As he approached, checking above for any loose rocks that might fall on him, he was of mixed feelings. He didn’t want this responsibility. He wanted to just go home and hold his wife, safe with the knowledge the Keepers weren’t coming after them. If the blast had destroyed everything, then there would be nothing to find, nothing to explain. Yet the scientist in him still wanted to solve the mystery. Was the tablet real? Were His bones inside? And if they were, then did it mean He was just a he?

  He closed his eyes for a moment as the bickering continued below, out of sight. He said a silent prayer, begging for forgiveness should what he discover cause anyone pain or harm, then opened his eyes and stepped through. Light poured through the entrance, revealing a small forecourt with several tunnels branching off from it. It appeared to be a natural formation expanded by hand.

 

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