Conspiracy Thriller 4 Book Bundle
Scott Mariani, Laurence OBryan, Adam Palmer and Richard Heller
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Sacred Sword
The Istanbul Puzzle
The Moses Legacy
The 13th Apostle
Copyright
About the Publisher
The Sacred SwordSCOTT MARIANI
The Sacred Sword
To B.D., without whose inspiration
this story would never have been written
Table of Contents
Title page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Acknowledgements
Read on for an exclusive extract from The Armada Legacy
About the Author
By the same author
Prologue
The Fortress of Masada
Roman Province of Judea, The Holy Land73 a.d.
They will soon be upon us, said the young man called John, turning around from the battlements with fear in his eyes.
His commander, Eleazar ben Yair, made no reply. Leaning out over the craggy, sandy fortress wall he shielded his eyes from the blazing sun and scanned the scene below. Far beneath them, swarming like a gigantic colony of ants around the foot of the mountain as they laboured in the dust and the choking desert heat, the teeming masses of the Roman Tenth Legion were close to finishing the construction of the enormous stone siege ramp.
Eleazar knew in his heart that John was right. The siege would soon be over. Within a matter of hours, thered be nothing to do except watch helplessly as column after column of soldiers marched up the ramp and stormed the battlements, the sun glinting off their armour and massed spear heads. Nothing to do but wait for the slaughter to begin.
Had they really thought that a rag-tag handful of defenders, many of them women and young children, could hold out indefinitely against the crushing might of Rome? Had they really believed that the fortress of Masada would prove impregnable?
Eleazar himself had seen what his sworn enemies were capable of. Three years earlier, hed been one of the few Jewish rebels whod managed to escape from the carnage that the Roman army had inflicted on his home city of Jerusalem, razing it to the ground and claiming a million innocent lives in retaliation against the Jews who dared to defy Caesars rule. The army now encamped around the mountaintop fortress of Masada, commanded by Lucius Flavius Silva, the Governor of Judea himself, had been sent to destroy the final pocket of resistance. Silvas forces had built an impassable siege wall that stretched for seven miles around the base of the mountain, ensuring that no rebel could escape and nobody could come to their aid. Along the walls perimeter stood the Romans siege towers and giant catapults. They were terrifying, but nothing struck fear into the rebels hearts like the assault ramp and the promise of what was to come.
Nobody can resist such an army, John quavered. The Romans will rape our women, slaughter our children in front of us and make slaves of us all.
Eleazar closed his eyes in sadness. He already knew what had to be done. Over nine hundred people. As their leader, he had no choice but to make the fateful decision himself. He turned away from the battlements to face the young man. I would rather die a free man than submit to that, he said softly.
Then what shall we do?
We shall deliver our souls to God, Eleazar replied. All of us. The Romans will find none alive.
But before addressing the grim task that lay before him, he had to ensure that one special duty was taken care of.
He reached down to his belt and drew out the glittering sword that hed carried with him from Jerusalem. Reverently clutching the bronze hilt with both hands, he raised the blade to his mouth and kissed the cool steel.
The sword must be hidden, he said. Whatever happens, it cannot fall into the hands of the Romans.
They prayed.
And then the final plans were begun.
Chapter One
Near Millau, Midi-Pyrénées, Southern France
December 2nd
The present day
It was as Father Fabrice Lalique was driving home through the dark, misty night that he saw the car behind him again.
Up until then, the fifty-three-year-old priest had been reflecting on the hours hed just spent with his parishioners Pierre and Madeleine Robichon in the nearby village of Briande, trying to quell the latest bitter dispute between the couple. It was his duty to minister to the social and family problems of his diocese; and God knew that the turbulent Robichons had more than their fair share of those. Hed eventually left them settled and in peace, hands clasped across the kitchen table, but the reconciliation had had to be painfully, exhaustingly coaxed out of them and hed been at it far longer than intended.
The Volkswagen Passats dashboard clock read almost eleven. A heavy blanket of fog hung over the whole Tarn valley, and as Father Lalique headed back along the deserted country roads away from Millau he had to blink and strain to see where he was going. He couldnt wait to get back to the warm, cosy little rural retreat on the edge of the village of Saint-Christophe where hed lived alone these many years, pour himself a much-needed glass of Armagnac and go to bed. A nip of brandy might help him forget his own problems, and the worry that had been haunting him for the last several days.
Fabrice sighed. It was probably just a figment of his imagination. Maybe the responsibility of his job was getting to him at last. Perhaps Doctor Bachelards advice about early retirement was worth taking after all when an overtired brain began cooking up ideas that you were being followed and watched, it could be a sign that it was time to take things a bit easier.
Thats all it is, he thought to himself, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his chin. Foolish to imagine otherw
The sudden dazzle of headlights behind him seemed to fill the interior of the Volkswagen. The priests heart skipped a beat and then began to thump wildly as all the anxiety came instantly flooding back. He narrowed his eyes at the rear-view mirror, trying to make out the shape of the lights.
Was it the Mercedes again? The same Mercedes hed been sure was tailing him yesterday on his way home from the church in Saint-Affrique? And the day before, and last Tuesday as well ? He stared so long into the mirror that he almost missed the bend ahead and had to swerve to avoid the verge.
Damn this fog, he muttered. But hed been driving these roads for over a third of a century and knew every inch of them. Hed soon see if he was being followed. Any second now wait for it yes, there it was. He swung the car hard right as the junction came up and accelerated as hard as he dared down the narrow lane that would take him the long way round towards Saint-Christophe. He glanced back at the rear-view mirror. Nothing. He felt the heart palpitations begin to subside. There. See? Youre an idiot.
Then the lights reappeared in his mirror and his mouth went dry. He hung another sharp right, then a left, taking him deeper into the web of country lanes. The lights stayed right there in his mirror.