The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers)

THE GREATEST ARCHEOLOGICAL DISCOVERY SINCE KING TUT'S TOMB IS
ABOUT TO BE DESTROYED!

The Arab Spring has happened and Egypt has yet to calm down, but with the dig
site on the edge of the Nubian Desert, a thousand miles from the excitement,
Professor Laura Palmer and her fiancé Professor James Acton return
with a group of students, and two friends: Interpol Special Agent Hugh
Reading, and Scotland Yard Detective Inspector Martin Chaney. It's
work for the professors and their students, and a vacation for the two law
enforcement officers, but as Reading quickly discovers, he and the desert
don't mix, and Chaney is preoccupied with a message he has been asked
to deliver to the professor by his masters in the Triarii.

But an accidental find by Chaney may lead to the greatest archaeological discovery
since the tomb of King Tutankhamen, perhaps even greater. And when news of
it spreads, it reaches the ears of a group hell-bent on the destruction of
all idols and icons, their mere existence considered blasphemous to Islam.

As chaos hits the major cities of the world in a coordinated attack, unbeknownst
to the professors, students and friends, they are about to be faced with one
of the most difficult decisions of their lives.

Stay and protect the greatest archaeological find of our times, or save themselves
and their students from harm, leaving the find to be destroyed by fanatics
determined to wipe it from the history books.

From J. Robert Kennedy, the author of ten international bestsellers including
Rogue Operator and The Protocol, comes The Arab Fall, the sixth entry in the
smash hit James Acton Thrillers series, where Kennedy once again takes events
from history and today's headlines, and twists them into a heart pounding
adventure filled with humor and heartbreak, as one of their own is left severely
wounded, fighting for their life.

J. Robert Kennedy is the author of eleven international best sellers, including the smash hit
James Acton Thrillers series. The Protocol has been on the best seller list in the US and UK since its release,
including occupying the number one spot for three months.

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Published Internationally by J. Robert Kennedy, Ottawa, ON
Canada

Copyright © 2013 J. Robert Kennedy

Cover and Inside Artwork Copyright © 2013 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.

V1.0.3

For our dear Harriet Richards, whose mind was taken from us long before her death. You will be missed.

“All Muslims are charged with applying the teachings of Islam to
remove such idols, as we did in Afghanistan when we destroyed the Buddha
statues. God ordered Prophet Mohammed to destroy idols. When I was with the
Taliban we destroyed the statue of Buddha, something the government failed to
do.”

Sheikh Murgan Salem al-Gohary, Dream TV2 Interview

Nov 10, 2012

“Egypt’s Justice and Development for Human
Rights warned against the ongoing incitements from a large number of men of the
Islamic religion to destroy the Pyramids and other Pharaonic antiquities,
deeming them pagan symbols of pre-Islamic Egypt…. these calls have greatly
increased after the victory of the Muslim Brotherhood candidate, Dr. Muhammad
Morsi.”

El-Balad Newspaper

July 17, 2012

PREFACE

One
of the most famous figures in history is Cleopatra. Much is known of her as she
was the last Pharaoh to lead her kingdom, and died at a time where Roman
culture kept written records of events that shed much light upon her.

We know
much. She was born Cleopatra VII Philopator in Alexandria, Egypt, in 69 BC. She
was married three times, the first two times to her brothers, as was Egyptian
custom, then finally to the Roman Mark Antony, a romance that inspires to this
day. Before Antony, she famously consummated a relationship with Julius Caesar
himself, producing a son Ptolemy Caesar, nicknamed Caesarion (literally translated as Little Caesar). She also had
three children with Antony.

Cleopatra
was not truly Egyptian. Alexander the Great, a Greek, conquered Egypt, and
after his death, Egypt was ruled by the Ptolemaic dynasty. This dynasty
famously refused to learn Egyptian, speaking only Greek. Cleopatra changed that
however. She learned Egyptian, embraced its ancient culture, and declared
herself the reincarnation of the goddess Isis, a popular figure throughout
Egyptian history. After her death, her son Caesarion was named Pharaoh by his
supporters, but he was promptly put to death on Octavian’s orders, Egypt
subsequently becoming a Roman province.

There
are several versions of Cleopatra’s death claimed by history, however whether
or not it was one snake or two, or whether she was bitten on the arm or the
breast, are irrelevant. She died by her own doing, willingly. One misconception
is that she was killed by an asp. Asps were not indigenous to Egypt, however
the belief today is that all poisonous snakes, including king cobras, were
called asps. It would make sense that a king cobra was used, as this creature
held an important place in Egyptian culture. The famous death masks we are so
used to seeing, the most recognizable perhaps the blue and gold mask of King
Tutankhamen, actually represents a king cobra, the ridge of gold and blue surrounding
the face the hood of the snake.

Cleopatra’s
death is documented, the date, August 12, 30 BC is known, and it is accepted she
was entombed with her beloved Antony.

What is
not known is where they were buried, and why we have been unable to find the tomb
of the most famous, and most recent, of all the Pharaohs.

Liberty Island, New York, New York

Today

Randy Douglas sipped his Diet Coke through the too narrow straw that
seemed to turn every drag into a fizzy mess of bubbles rather than the cool
treat it should have been. It was always disappointing when that happened, and
he never went back to a place a second time if it did. But here he had no
choice. This was where he worked, and every time he bought his lunch with
fountain drink, he’d comment to the staff member about the straws to no avail.

Maybe
someday they’ll listen.

He
popped the top off the drink, setting the plastic rim and offending straw to
the side, instead drinking directly from the cup as he finished his cheeseburger
and fries. Sitting at the far corner of the patio overlooking the bay, he
watched the Liberty Island ferry approach, a sight he had seen hundreds of times
before, over hundreds of lunches.

Lunches
that were none too healthy.

He patted
his paunch, something he never thought he would let happen, but since retiring
from the New York Police Department after thirty years of service, he had gone
shack whacky at home with his wife, so decided he had to work in order to stay
sane and save his marriage. A friend had hooked him up in this cushy gig as a
security guard with the US Park Police.

He
eyeballed four men walking off the ferry, his cop instincts kicking in. They
appeared Middle Eastern, their faces cleanly shaven, and wearing the latest
Western fashions, they shouldn’t have stuck out. But they did. Perhaps it was
the fact they weren’t smiling, but that wasn’t it.

Randy
took a sip from his open cup, and watched as the four men stepped off the dock
and onto the red stone walkway that ringed the island. The four turned to the
right, walking along the edge of the seawall, and it wasn’t until he saw the
group break away from the throng that he realized what had made him single them
out.

And no,
it wasn’t their assumed religion.

It was
that they were four single men, all with the same ethnicity, not smiling, and
walking separately. He had seen enough crimes go down in his career to know to
look for groups of people who were together, but weren’t. Those not good at it
were too obvious. They kept checking their speed so they wouldn’t catch up,
they’d stop when another would stop. It could be quite comical sometimes, if it
weren’t for the fact you knew they were about to commit a crime, but couldn’t
do anything about it until they had actually begun.

What
a screwed up justice system we have.

Catch
them on the way to the act, with paraphernalia, weapons and tools of the trade,
they get a slap on the wrist so they can go off and do it again. Catch them in
the act, they could go away for life. Why not treat the two crimes equally? If
they’ve got the plans to the bank, the equipment to crack the vault, and the
guns to hold the hostages, charge them as if they had robbed the bank rather
than the intent to rob.

But he
was just a cop.

Emphasis
on
was
.

He stood
up and tossed his trash into the bin, holding onto his half-full cup, the ice
cold beverage still cooling him on this hot spring day. It was gorgeous,
perfectly blue skies, only a slight haze from the polluted city today, the air smelling
fresh and crisp, everything in bloom with new life all over the island. Walking
past the stark white gift shop, he slowly closed the distance between him and the
four men, four men who seemed to have no interest in Lady Liberty. Where almost
every head was turned up to gape at the 151 foot high statue atop its nearly
equally high base, theirs were all turned to the right, looking out at the bay.

He
looked as well, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Pleasure craft,
commercial vessels, ferries. Nothing that seemed odd to him. He looked back at
the group, and nearly froze, his mind fighting its natural instinct to flee.
But he pushed through it, his pace barely slowing at the sight of a group of
four men leaning on the railing that surrounded the island, and a third group
of four men slowly approaching from the opposite direction. All Middle Eastern,
all well dressed, all cleanly shaven.

These
two new groups were
not
on the ferry he had just watched arrive with the
first group, so must have come in on earlier arrivals before his lunch.

Twelve
men, all, in his mind, acting suspicious.

But was
it just his cynical cop mind assuming crimes where none were? Life on Liberty
Island was boring, the biggest thing he had to deal with was tourists angry
about line ups.

No, this
was different.

Twelve
men, all converged on the south side of the massive structure, all pretending
to not be together, not one of them within five feet of another, all leaning on
the railing, looking casually out at the bay.

I’m
calling this in.

He
pulled his radio off his belt and clicked the Push-to-talk button.

“This is
Douglas, I’ve got a possible situation in Sector Six, on the south side
walkway, requesting backup, over.”

The mike
squawked, then he heard his asshole supervisor’s voice come over the radio.
Great,
here we go again.
Randy couldn’t stand this guy, and the feeling was mutual.
Pete Yakovski seemed to hate anyone who had been on the force, and after some
digging, Randy had found out why. Yakovski had applied, and been rejected,
numerous times, once even making it into training which he failed.