Treasure of Babylon, page 1
part #2 of Avalon Adventure Series
TREASURE OF BABYLON
(An Avalon Adventure)
Rob Jones
Copyright © 2018 by Rob Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
TREASURE OF BABYLON is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and occurrences are entirely fictional products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you would like to share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please go to an ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Other Books by Rob Jones
The Joe Hawke Series
The Vault of Poseidon (Joe Hawke #1)
Thunder God (Joe Hawke #2)
The Tomb of Eternity (Joe Hawke #3)
The Curse of Medusa (Joe Hawke #4)
Valhalla Gold (Joe Hawke #5)
The Aztec Prophecy (Joe Hawke #6)
The Secret of Atlantis (Joe Hawke #7)
The Lost City (Joe Hawke #8)
The Sword of Fire (Joe Hawke #9)
The Raiders Series
Raiders (Raiders #1)
The Avalon Adventure Series
The Hunt for Shambhala (An Avalon Adventure #1)
Treasure of Babylon (An Avalon Adventure #2)
The Harry Bane Thriller Series
The Armageddon Protocol (A Harry Bane Thriller #1)
COMING SOON
Plagues of the Seven Angels (Cairo Sloane #1)
The King’s Tomb (Joe Hawke #10)
The Tomb of Eternity (Joe Hawke #3) Audiobook Edition
This novel is an action-adventure thriller and includes archaeological, mythological and mystery themes. I welcome constructive comments and I’m always happy to get your feedback.
Website: www.robjonesnovels.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/RobJonesNovels
Email: robjonesnovels@gmail.com
Twitter: @AuthorRobJones
CONTENTS
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PROLOGUE
January 330 BC, Persian Empire
The young cavalry officer pulled his body down low against the charging stallion’s neck and dodged the speeding arrow by a hair’s breadth. It flashed past him and buried itself in the hindquarters of a Persian’s horse a few yards behind him. The animal roared with pain and threw the rider from its back before slamming a hoof through his skull and instantly killing him.
Bastian swivelled back up into his saddle and ordered his stallion forward into the fray. The horse was a powerful Thessalian named Arion, and now he gave its neck a quick stroke of reassurance before searching for the king. The Battle of the Persian Gate raged all around him, and he didn’t want to miss his chance to show his leader how bravely he could fight.
But where was Alexander the Great? He scanned the field and saw the king. He was on the rise of the foothills to the north, desperately searching for the wagons full of treasure. He heard a war cry and swivelled again to see a cataphract – a heavily armored rider and horse – charging toward him, the stallion’s magnificent bronze scale armor reflecting the weak winter sun as it broke through some of the snow clouds.
Bastian never flinched, but squeezed Arion’s barrel with his legs, ordering the powerful animal to increase speed and thunder toward the screaming enemy.
He galloped toward the Persian with his sword high above his head, bringing it slashing down through the icy air and slicing a terrible gouge in the enemy’s throat. The soldier clutched at his neck before collapsing to the ground. Blood pumped from the torn artery and sprayed out over the white snow around him.
Bastian scanned the field of slaughter, seeing where next he could put his sword to the best use. Spying a desperate skirmish of dismounted cavalrymen lower down the northern slope, he commanded Arion to charge once again, riding through the bloody chaos at the heart of the battle until he reached his brethren.
But he never got there. Riding into a narrow channel on his way up to the other side of the valley, a Persian in iron scale armor leaped from a jumble of rocks above him and dragged him from the horse’s back. The two men crashed to the ground and tumbled through the snowy dirt, desperately grabbing at each other’s necks to kill the other man.
Bastian got the upper hand and landed a solid punch in the soldier’s face, cracking his head back on the rocks and giving him a few valuable seconds to scramble to his feet.
He drew his weapon and watched the man crawl up off his knees. He glanced for his horse, but Arion was gone, charging off the battlefield through the gathering snowstorm. The man in plate armor was approaching fast, his sword drawn and held aloft, ready for a lethal strike. Bastion dodged the Persian’s lunge and hooked his feet out from under him, sending the man crashing onto his back in the frozen scree.
He seized the moment, snatching up his sword and moving swiftly over to the fallen man. The screams of the slain rose around him as he lifted the heavy blade and prepared to kill the man. He felt no remorse. He felt no guilt. He never wavered. He was here to the bidding of his king, and that meant destroying the enemy.
But the enemy had his own ideas, and the man rolled away from Bastian’s sword as it sliced through the cold air and struck the rocky ground beneath him with a metallic clunk.
Bastian pulled his sword back as the man got to his feet and readied his weapon once again. He stared into the Persian’s eyes and saw a desperate confusion of hatred and fear looking back at him. He was a younger man than Bastian, and more powerful, but his experience was only a fraction of the Macedonian warrior’s, and he showed it when he lunged clumsily forward.
Bastian easily parried the lunge and sent the Persian’s weapon slicing through the air to his right. Pulling his elbow back, he drove the pommel of his blade into the man’s face, smashing his cheekbone and making him howl in pain. Before another second had passed, the Macedonian cavalry officer brought his dagger from his belt and slashed it at the man. The blade skidded along the tiny iron plates which covered the Persian’s back until it reached the base of his helmet and struck the metal rim before finding the man’s neck.
Bastian drove the blade in hard, severing the Persian’s spine and killing him instantly. As the warrior’s body slumped to the ground, he clambered up onto the rocks from where the man had launched his attack and surveyed the battlefield for his faithful horse. The skirmish he had seen was over – his brothers had won and were now walking toward him and sheathing their weapons.
Glancing down the valley to the east, he saw they had been victorious, and much of the enemy was now either or dead or fleeing. Alexander’s strategy had been successful. While Bastian and his soldiers had driven straight down the valley from the settlement of Yasuj in the west, Alexander the Great had ridden north, crossed the valley west of the enemy and launched a surprise attack from the south. It was a stunning double envelopment, a pincer movement from hell, and now victory was theirs.
He returned his gaze to the men walking over to him. One of them was holding Arion’s bridle casually in a bloody hand.
“Your horse, sir,”
“I’m glad to see him again,” Bastian said, stroking the horse’s neck.
He climbed back into the saddle and cantered east toward his victorious king and commander. Rejoining the other officers gathered behind the king and his generals, he recalled his first day among these elite warriors. The day he had been accepted into Alexander the Great’s Companion Cavalry, his chest swelled with pride until he thought it might burst. Only this victory today made him prouder.
“A worthy victory, sire,” Antipater said.
Alexander said nothing, but gave a regal nod. He was still counting dead on the battlefield far below. As Bastian drew closer and brought his horse to a stop, the king turned to him, and rode his horse, Bucephalus slowly over until he was beside the young warrior.
“You!” barked the bloodied king.
Bastian could hardly believe King Alexander was addressing him personally. “Yes, sire.”
“A party of Persians is fleeing to the east. You are to go with General Antipater and slay them all. Bring back
“Yes, sire – at once.”
Followed by two soldiers from the ranks, Bastion cantered his horse over to Antipater and they galloped along the south bank of the river until they had caught up with the fleeing Persians.
The broken enemy saw them and responded at once. The elite guard formed a ring around the wagons, but others fled into the foothills.
“After the stragglers!” Antipater commanded.
“Yes, sir,” Bastian said.
The young warrior rode after the men with a handful of fellow cavalry officers flanking him. They followed the men’s trail until they found them trapped at the base of an unclimbable cliff. They were cornered and desperate. Bastian prepared to put them to the sword when the men threw down their weapons and wicker shields and surrendered. The Macedonian warrior considered slaying them anyway, but decided against it.
“Take the weapons!” he ordered. “Then bind their hands behind their backs and bring them back to the general. They’re slaves now.”
As his men obeyed his orders, he turned his horse and galloped back into the valley where he found Antipater and the other men. They had been victorious, and the elite guard were now nothing more than heaps of corpses. He was more interested to see the look on his general’s face as he stumbled backwards from one of the covered wagons and almost fell over.
“My God!” he said, pointing at the wagon.
Bastian dismounted from Arion and stepped closer to the ageing warlord. “What is it, General?”
Antipater pointed a trembling arm into the back of the cart. He was a man of great education and experience but he looked like a confused child. “I don’t know. It started to glow when I approached it.”
Bastian drew his sword. “Glow?”
“And shake the ground like some kind of earthquake.”
The young cavalry officer was well aware of the general’s great reputation in battle, but with this talk of glowing chests that could make the ground shake he wondered if the old man might be losing his mind.
“Are you certain, general?”
“Yes!” the old man snapped, and pointed at a young soldier. “You! Get over there and pull the cover of the wagon.”
The soldier approached the cart and Bastian was shocked to see the light his general had described emanating from under the cover section at the rear. As the young man drew closer to the cart the ground started to shake beneath his feet. “It’s as you say, sir,” Bastian said. “The chest in the wagon has the power to create earthquakes and shine brighter than the sun.”
The young Macedonian officer watched in horror as a burst of bright sparks enveloped the soldier and grew so intense he thought he might have to look away. He shielded his eyes and then he saw something that scared his soul for the rest of his life.
The fire swallowed the soldier in a bright flash.
The soldier was gone, and both Bastian and his general knew why the Persians had been riding so far away from the wagon. Anyone who approached it was consumed by its fire.
“We must take this to the king,” Antipater said. “It may have a use in battle.”
Bastian had his doubts. “This is not for man to play with, sir,” he said. “Whatever it may be, it has the power of the gods themselves.”
Antipater growled, “We take it to the king!”
Riding twenty paces either side of the wagon, Antipater ordered the men to lead the horses on. They obeyed and started to walk, pulling the thirty-foot harness straps taught and then turning the cart’s old wheels back to the west.
Bastian kept a good distance from the wagons as they made their way back to the great king. It was a short journey, winding through a dry riverbed, but no one spoke as they returned with their spoils to their leader. They had all seen the fire, but no one knew what was inside the wagon. No one knew what the Persians had been trying to hide in it. No one knew why their enemy had tried to flee, but they all knew that whatever it was, it had the power to consume a man in fire and turn him to dust.
It had the power of the gods.
1
London, Present Day
“A walnut veneer drinks cabinet?”
“It’s what the lady ordered.”
Mitch Decker watched the men as they carefully carried the antique wooden cabinet up the steps and disappeared inside his beloved vintage Grumman Albatross float plane. They were standing inside an aviation hangar in London City Airport’s Private Jet Centre, and the wind was blowing the rain in through the open doors.
The former US Marine took his hat off and rubbed a hand over his tired face. “But walnut veneer? This is just a cargo plane, not a luxury hotel with wings!”
A man with a beanie pulled down to his eyebrows popped his head out the door and looked down at Decker. “Take it up with the lady, mate.”
“I intend to, believe me.”
As he spoke, another man stepped into view. He was wearing blue overalls and carrying a couple of silk scatter cushions. “Excuse me, guv.”
“Oh, sure,” Decker gave the man a double take. “Wait a minute – silk cushions?”
“For the leather couch, guvnor,” the man said cheerily, and hopped up inside the aircraft.
Decker’s jaw dropped. “For the leather… Just hang on a damned minute!”
“Is there a problem, Captain Decker?”
Decker turned to see Selena Moore a few steps behind him. She was standing with her hands on her hips and slowly raised her eyebrows to invite a response from the former pilot. “Well?”
“Is there a problem?” Decker said. “Yes, there’s a problem!”
“And would you care to articulate it?”
“Would I care to articulate it?”
“Are you suffering from echolalia?”
“Am I what?”
“You keep repeating whatever you hear. I just wondered, and please don’t bother the workmen.”
Decker took a step toward her and shoved his hands in his pockets. He knew what she was doing. “I know what game you’re playing.”
“And what game would that be?” Now she was smiling.
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“Distract you, Mr Decker? Whatever from?”
He twisted his lips and gave a knowing nod as he looked at her smile. She was beautiful. “Distract me from the fact you’re turning my plane into one of London’s most luxurious locations.”
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don’t be so silly. I said it needed a woman’s touch and you agreed.”
“A woman’s touch, sure,” he said, pushing the brim of his hat up his forehead an inch or two. “Not King Midas’s touch.”
A man walked past with a plasma screen and Selena shuffled in front of him to block Decker’s view. “Do stop exaggerating, Mr Decker.”
The former US Marine shook his head in disbelief, but turned to her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I thought we agreed you were going to call me Mitch?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Must have slipped my mind, Mitch.”
The fitters stepped out of the aircraft and the man with the beanie walked up to them. “Right you are, then. We’re all done.”
“Oh, good!” Selena said. She turned to Decker and held him by the arm. “Shall we go in?”
“To see the damage you mean?”
She slapped his shoulder. “I mean so we can see what a woman’s touch can bring to a filthy, greasy old cargo plane.”
He gave her a look and gestured toward the open door. “After you, Lena.”
Since he’d landed in London and parked her up, the interior of the Avalon had been transformed beyond recognition. When he’d left the aircraft, he’d said goodbye to the plane he bought years earlier to be a cargo plane – a mostly empty space in the rear cabin where he could strap down the cargo boxes and not a frill in sight. Now, he felt like he was stepping into the penthouse at the Mark Hotel.
“What do you think?” she said proudly.
“I think the only thing missing is Madison Avenue.”
“What do you mean?”
