On the Fifth Day
Authors: A. J. Hartley
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Fiction - Espionage, #Thriller, #American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +
Book Jacket
Fiction, Thrillers, Fiction - Espionage, Thriller, American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +
The death of a priest is met with suspicion by his brother Thomas, who knows that his sibling died while researching Christian symbols. But Thomas and curator Deborah Miller aren't alone in retracing the priest's final steps. They're followed by fanatics desperate to hide the secret stumbled upon by Thomas's brother-and willing to kill to keep it buried forever.
Fifth Day
A. J. Hartley
b
BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK
On the Fifth Day
"A. J. Hartley is a rare discovery: a writer capable of chal
lenging a reader as much as he thrills. His latest novel,
On
the Fifth Day
, careens at a breathless pace from dark crypts to exotic sunlit shores. Full of historical mystery, rife with intrigue and suspense, here is a tour de force sure to keep pages turning deep into the night."
--James Rollins,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Black Order
The Mask of Atreus
"An exhilarating thriller rooted in the dark side of history and myth. Enormously entertaining. Reading
The Mask of
Atreus
is like looking down a very dark and very scary tunnel--you have no idea what's looking back, waiting to pounce. Hartley is one terrific writer."
--Jeff Long,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Wall
"This is exactly the kind of archaeological thriller I love--
from its gripping opening on a battlefield in the waning days of World War II to its roaring finish.
The Mask of
Atreus
is rich and dramatic--a compelling novel that will grip you in its swift, dark currents and sweep you over the falls . . . outstanding."
--Douglas Preston, author of
The Codex
and
Tyrannosaur Canyon
c o n t i n u e d . . .
"Rich with historical and archaeological detail, this wellconstructed debut . . . celebrates the power of legend while delivering an engrossing mystery that skips nimbly between continents and cultures. . . . This intricate and absorbing thriller augurs well for Hartley's career."
--Publishers Weekly
"Absolutely spellbinding . . . Compulsively readable . . . the terrible beauty of ancient Greece collides with the mer
ciless obsessions of the twentieth century."
--
Eloisa James,
New York Times
bestselling author
"
The Mask of Atreus
is the perfect debut--a high-octane thriller crammed full of long-buried secrets, treacherous betrayals, jaw-dropping twists, and a healthy dash of ro
mance. Deborah Miller is an engaging, sympathetic hero
ine, who you can't help but root for. Move over Michael Crichton--A. J. Hartley is right at your heels."
--J. A. Konrath, author of
Whiskey Sour
and
Bloody Mary
"Reminiscent of the best Dan Brown intrigues."
--The Charlotte Observer
"Intriguing. A labyrinth of history and mystery."
--Steve Berry,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Templar Legacy
"I find
The Mask of Atreus
engaging because it's a rare accomplishment: a genuinely thrilling thriller that's also intelligent and brilliantly written. They said it couldn't be done." --Phillip DePoy, author of The Fever Devilin Mysteries
"Terrific . . . A. J. Hartley provides a fabulous whodunit made fresh by its deep historical and archaeological base and an endearing heroine."
--Midwest Book Review
Titles by A. J. Hartley
on the fifth day
the mask of atreus
Fifth Day
A. J. Hartley
b
BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Unless otherwise noted, all scripture references are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author Copyright (c) 2007 by A. J. Hartley.
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ISBN: 1-4362-4773-X
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To Finie,
ever graceful and unbowed.
PROLOGUE: THE WRATH OF GOD
He would have to go back to the village soon. He had been swimming for almost an hour, and though it had been little more than languid floating about, he was getting tired. The moon was up, and while he had gotten used to the darkness of both sky and sea, he couldn't help an occasional shudder that could not be blamed on the warm oil-like water. The sea was extraordinarily calm, the waves unwinding onto the shore so softly that he barely heard them over the sound of his own breathing and the slow, rolling splash of his breaststroke. He would have to go back to the village, and tomorrow he would have to go home. Whatever he had sought in these tropical is
lands, he hadn't found it.
Except that that wasn't entirely true. He hadn't found what he had been looking for, but he had, perhaps, found something else in the silent tranquility of the sea these past three nights. He was going to have to abandon his search--his quest, he thought of it, always with mixed emotions--but his time on the island might make that a little easier, might stay the nag
ging, driving impetus to bring him back here, or drive him somewhere else.
But where else was there to go? If it wasn't here, maybe it wasn't anywhere.
It wasn't a thought he had permitted himself to consider before, and he smiled to himself, rolling onto his back and staring up at the stars, clustered in their millions in ways he had never been able to see in the States. Given time, he thought, he could probably count them . . .
He allowed himself to drift on the current, feeling the wa
ter chill beneath him as the beach shelved fast away, kicking suddenly, propelling himself out to the thin outcrop of rock that tapered into the sea like the tail of some great volcanic lizard. He remembered the hope--no, the conviction--he had 2
A. J. Hartley
felt surging through him when he first saw that jagged spit of stone: surely it would be here.
But there had been nothing, and his meager resources were long exhausted.
Normally the bay would be dotted by the lanterns of sim
ple fishing boats, but tonight he was alone as he had been for the previous two evenings, made king of the sea by the locals'
blend of commonsense science and a whiff of superstition. He could swim here for another week and have the horizon to himself. But what would be the point . . . ?
He felt the movement in the water beneath him like a sixth sense. For a second he thought something had touched him, but it hadn't been that. Something had glided past him. Some
thing big.
His unease about the dark, the stories of sharks and stranger creatures heard in half-translated snatches from the villagers, all came rushing over him in a second. He righted himself, treading water vigorously, getting his bearings, figuring out which way would get him most quickly to land. He struck out for the rocks.
