The Blood Line

  The Blood Line: An Archaeological Thriller

  The Relics of the Deathless Souls, Part 5

  Tom Hunter

  Copyright © 2018 by Tom Hunter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  One

  In a shabby little inn tucked away in the outskirts of Carthage, Tunisia, a drone server hovered patiently by Samuel, waiting for someone to relieve it of its burden. The archaeologist was far too engrossed in the map rolled out before him to notice their food had arrived, so it fell to Waleed to get up and pass out their order of brik. He tutted, as he reached past Samuel to take the food from their hovering servant, but Samuel either didn’t notice or ignored him.

  Basile reached out to Waleed as he moved round the table, hungrily stuffing a portion into his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning as it exploded on his taste buds.

  “Adventuring is hungry work,” he joked, as Waleed came to sit back down next to him. “I had no idea that cooking tuna and egg inside malsouka dough could be so delicious. It seems like forever since we last had a proper meal. Come on, Samuel. Eat up! You’re missing out. If you’re not careful, someone will take your share.”

  “Hmm?” Samuel looked up, frowning. A look of understanding came over his face when he saw Basile waving some brik at him. “Oh. Right.” He reached out for some food, but when he grabbed the brik, a dollop of tuna dropped out of the dough into the middle of the map.

  “Trust you to make a mess without even trying.” There was no bite to Shafira’s words, as she took a napkin and mopped up the spillage. “I guess it wouldn’t be right if you didn’t leave scraps of food in your wake. If you were tidy, I’d be worrying that Pin was using mind control on you.” She patted him on the thigh under the table, taking advantage of the fact they were sitting next to each other to show a little affection.

  “Shall we get a bib for him?” suggested Waleed, pretending to signal to a drone server that they wanted to add to their order. “Or have we got the budget to continually buy him new shirts?”

  “Very funny, guys,” snarked Samuel as the others laughed. “You’d find it difficult to keep things tidy too if you were sharing your seat with an ancient artifact.” He adjusted his position, trying to get comfortable. He hadn’t wanted to risk losing the scepter, so it had been wrapped in a coat and shoved in between the chair arm and his leg. The gems set into the sides were sharp and pointed.

  “Yeah, right,” laughed Basile. “Any excuse. Just admit it, Samuel. You’re a slob.”

  “So where are we heading next?” Josh broke in abruptly. Despite the jocularity, the pilot couldn’t bring himself to join in the levity. After nearly losing Shafira, right now, he wasn’t the same laid back guy he used to be. Maybe he never would be again. “With all the rush at the island, I lost my notes, which is assuming they’re even accurate now, given everything that’s happened. Shouldn’t we be focusing on our final destination?”

  Samuel opened up his little notebook, consulting his records before looking back at the map laid out in the center of the table.

  “Okay, so we were somewhere around here.” He waved his hand vaguely over the sea depicted to one side of the map. “If my calculations are correct, we left the VTOL here, and right now, we’re here.” He pointed decisively at Carthage.

  “Thanks for that, Einstein,” sneered Josh. “I know where we’ve been. I know where we are. What I need to know is where we’re going next.”

  Samuel looked back in his notebook. “The next and, hopefully, final stop for us is the dig site in Dougga.”

  “What do you mean, hopefully?” asked Waleed. “I thought there were only three parts to St. Augustine’s secret: the hat, the scepter and the descendant of the saint who was destined to wield it?”

  “As far as I know, that’s correct,” nodded Samuel. “All my research suggests that the artifacts’ true power is locked to those who are ‘of the blood’ of St. Augustine’s line. But we may not find one of St. Augustine’s descendants at Dougga. We might be confronted with yet another riddle, a last line of defense to protect whoever they are. Or perhaps we might find a record of lineage but we still have to track down the descendants.”

  “Great,” groaned Waleed. “So we might have to go all ‘round the world, scooping up the blood relatives of a horny saint as we go. This is going to take forever!”

  “You know, I find it highly unlikely that the ancients could have accurately predicted family lineages,” remarked Josh. “There are just too many variables at play.”

  “Once upon a time I would have agreed with you,” said Basile. “But after everything I’ve witnessed, now I’m not so sure. After all, at the dig site in Egypt there were scrolls that didn’t just predict that we’d be trapped; they also told us how we would be able to communicate with Shafira by getting into a specific position using technology that would have been way beyond their comprehension. Is it really so unlikely they could also track down their beloved saint’s family tree? Perhaps they might not be able to tell us their precise address, but surely it’s not outside the realms of possibility that we’ll have details of who can help with the artifacts?”

  “I guess,” shrugged Josh.

  “In any case, we need to go to Dougga,” pointed out Samuel. “It’s useless speculating on what we might find when we get there. We know we’ll find something that’ll help us on our quest, and we can plan our next step once we know what it is.”

  “It seems so strange to be so close to the end.” Akhenaton spoke quietly, almost as though he were talking to himself more than the group. “I wonder what the Knights will do once we’ve recovered all the artifacts. What will be our reason for existing? Are there other artifacts yet to be discovered that will need us to protect them? Or will we be scattered to the four winds, with no one to notice our demise? We have lived in the shadows for centuries. Will we die in them too?”

  Waleed looked to his friend. “Don’t worry. You Knights are an intelligent lot. You’ll figure it out… I bet,” he said, finally.

  “Speaking of Knights, how likely do you think it is they’ll give us trouble when we go sniffing around Dougga for the final key to unlock St. Augustine’s secret?” asked Josh. “I’m not really in the mood to deal with more angry crusaders. Wouldn’t it be nice if they just handed over the lineage for a change?” He put on a silly voice, pretending to be a Knight. “Here you go, mighty adventurers. We’ve done all the hard work for you. Now you go save the world!”

  “That would be great, but what’s the betting we’ll have to fight for it? Again.” Basile chuckled.

  “That’s one bet I won’t be taking,” said Waleed.

  “Doesn’t it make sense for us to head out as soon as possible?” said Shafira. “None of us know what’s waiting for us, but the quicker we get to Dougga and track down the lineage, the faster we can figure out what to do for the best. What matters is we prevent Pin from becoming even more powerful, right? That man has too much power as it is with the hat in his possession.”

  “Right,” nodded Samuel. “I just wish that I’d had the opportunity to pluck the crown off of Pin when we were on the island. We could have thrown it out of the plane when we were halfway across the sea and that would have been the end of the matter. No descendant would have found it lying fathoms under the ocean.”

  “Well, you didn’t,” snapped Josh. “So instead of wasting energy on wishing for what might have been, let’s just work with what we’ve got. Why don’t we have a look through Fatima’s fi
les one last time to see if there’s anything extra that we missed. There could be some information on the jump drive we could use to save ourselves time.”

  “Good call. I noticed there was a computer for public use by the entrance to the inn. I’ll go and check the drive there.” Samuel stood up to go, but when he reached into his pocket for the drive, a panicked look came over his face.

  He turned to his coat, careful to keep the scepter covered as he rummaged through his jacket pockets.

  “What is it?” asked Shafira.

  “The jump drive.” Samuel gulped. “It’s gone.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Josh. “It must be here somewhere. Everyone – check your things. One of us will have the drive.”

  Frantically, the team checked their pockets and bags, but there was no sign of the drive anywhere.

  It was gone.

  “Don’t worry, Samuel,” urged Shafira. “I’m sure the drive was just broken or lost during all the drama. So we don’t get to look through the files again, so what? It’s not the end of the world.”

  “I hope you’re right,” sighed Samuel. “But I’ve got a horrible feeling that Valentina stole the jump drive from me. That would explain why she was always so keen on being all touchy-feely. She wasn’t trying to flirt. She was stealing from me.”

  “Even if she take the drive, it’s not like she can do anything with it,” Waleed pointed out. “We dumped her at sea. In all likelihood, she’s still adrift on the ocean wave miles from the nearest computer, moaning that she needs a manicure. I really wouldn’t stress about it.”

  “I don’t know.” Samuel shook his head. “I have a gut feeling we aren’t that lucky. You know what they say: hope for the best but plan for the worst. I think we’re going to have to assume that Valentina has the drive and the capability to do something with it. We’re up against it now with no time to waste. We need to find the fastest route to Dougga.”

  “Can we at least finish our food?” asked Waleed around a mouthful of Brik.

  “Not just that. Can’t we at least spend the night here?” added Josh. “I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m bushed. Time might be of the essence, but I’ll be useless if I don’t have a decent night’s sleep.”

  “You and me both,” agreed Basile. “We’ll make better time if we’re fresh. We hit the road now and we’ll end up falling asleep at the most inconvenient time.”

  “All right,” Samuel decided. “Finish up down here, and we’ll rent a few rooms. We can finalize our plans in private and get a decent night’s sleep before heading out first thing in the morning.”

  Beaming at the thought of a brief respite from adventuring, Waleed happily reached out for some more food, but he was alone in wanting to eat. With the loss of the jump drive, Samuel and the rest of the gang had well and truly lost their appetites.

  Two

  Gord’s corpse lay on the table in the grand dining hall at Pin’s base. The sumptuous feast that had been put on for the Bruard’s visit was long since cleared away, the hall now serving as a temporary mortuary. Pin’s kitchen staff were hard at work preparing the customary funeral food of rice, vegetables, and soups to place outside the entrance to the complex in a bid to appease the messengers from the other world who would soon come to escort Gord’s spirit away.

  Tenderly, Pin draped Gord’s coat over his body, having just returned from the roof where he’d called out Gord’s name three times as Korean tradition dictated.

  “Travel well, old friend,” he murmured, lightly tapping Gord’s chest. “Travel well.”

  “How touching,” scoffed Pae, as Pin stepped back, breaking the mood. “Such effort for one who was nothing more than a gorilla, a thug who wasn’t even a true Korean. I would have thought you’d only honor family or close friends in this fashion. Could it be you genuinely cared about Gord? I would have thought such brotherly emotion would be beyond you for one such as him. Don’t tell me I’ve misjudged you after all this time.”

  Pin pondered the question. “If I’m honest, you’re right,” he finally confessed. “I don’t-didn’t hold any true love for the man. However, he was a valuable resource and his loss was entirely down to the incompetence of my men, an insult I am unlikely to forgive or forget any time soon. All of this is intended to rub salt in the wounds for the men still standing after the humiliating defeat McCarthy handed them. An archeologist defeating countless trained mercenaries? Whoever heard of such a thing? If I were one of them, I would never be able to show my face in public again. I would kill myself in the wake of such ignominy. As it is, let them take this funeral as an opportunity to reflect on their failures and make it an impetus to do better. This must be the last time that McCarthy shames us like this, or heads will roll by my own hand.”

  “I understand, old friend.” Pae patted Pin’s shoulder in consolation. “You are doing the right thing. I will allow you this time to bid a faithful servant goodbye, and then we need to look to the future. After all, McCarthy is still out there, working against us. We must neutralize him at the earliest opportunity. He will not cease his actions just because you’re in mourning. Meanwhile, I think it is time for me to return to Mongolia to focus on the front there. I am concerned that our soldiers are losing ground without me. They require motivation that only my physical presence can provide.”

  “I don’t think that would be wise,” advised Pin. He closed his eyes, drawing on the power of St. Augustine’s papal cap. Although he wasn’t currently wearing it, he’d been using it so much that it was becoming easier for him to psychically tune in to its vibrations to enhance his powers of persuasion. “We must make Samuel our number one priority. While he remains unchecked, who knows what kind of damage he could do to our plans? No, we must recover the scepter from him. Once we have done that, all we’ll have to do is snap our fingers and Mongolia will fall at our feet no matter what our troops have done. We need to make St. Augustine’s artifacts our only goal. We have to get to the final one before McCarthy does so we hold the balance of power. Nothing else matters.”

  “What is this final artifact you speak of?” asked Pae.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Pin replied. “The details about its true nature remain hazy, despite my extensive research into it. However, I had a dream last night, a dream I believe was inspired by St. Augustine himself bestowing his blessings on me. We had defeated the archaeologist and his friends, who lay dead before me, so all that remained was for me to take possession of the scepter. However, whenever I attempted to touch the artifact, I could feel the blood literally boiling in my veins! I had to step back or I would have erupted into flames. The same thing happened time and again, despite my best efforts.”

  “That sounds horrific,” observed Pae. “Are you sure that it wasn’t just a nightmare inspired by your recent failures?”

  “No!” protested Pin hotly. “There was more to it than that. I believe that my dream was telling me that the true power of St. Augustine’s artifacts can only be activated by becoming part of the saint’s bloodline. Only his descendants can wield all the artifacts without harming themselves.”

  “But how can that work?” asked Pae. “Surely you’re either descended from someone or you’re not? Does this not mean that we should be looking to trace St. Augustine’s lineage? By now, there must be thousands of his descendants scattered around the globe. There may even already be some within our ranks who would be willing to use the artifacts for good. That would make our mission very easy. We entrust the scepter and hat to their care and they can continue our work on our behalf.”

  “I do not need anyone else to wield the artifacts for me. I am the only one you can trust to have your best interests at heart,” Pin said through gritted teeth, restraining the urge to slap the look of smug superiority from Pae’s face. “I believe there is more to it than direct ancestry. Throughout this quest, I have discovered that the ancients have deployed subterfuge and misdirection to protect their secrets. While I have yet to completely de
termine the nature of this final artifact, I believe that the clue to its abilities lies within Christian mythology surrounding blood and preservation. After all, many saints achieved their status due to the lack of decay in their remains, the preservation of their body being taken as proof that God has blessed them above other men. Indeed, do not Catholics believe that their wine literally becomes the blood of Christ due to God’s miracles? Every week, they drink their dead god’s blood and delude themselves they are becoming one with him.”

  “Ah yes,” chuckled Pae. “An outdated superstition that holds no bearing in these modern times. It is hard to believe that anyone could ever genuinely believe that’s what is happening.”

  “Nevertheless,” Pin went on. “Given the importance of blood in Christian tradition, I think there is more to this final piece than we currently understand, and it is important that we get this right because-” The arrival of Valentina prevented Pin from completing his sentence. In contrast to her usual glamorous appearance, she was clad in the standard issue Bruard uniform for a common foot soldier. Her face, free from makeup, betrayed the signs of an older woman she tried so desperately to cover up. She attempted to salute the Bruard, but the effect was ruined by the loud sneeze that suddenly erupted.

  If looks could kill, Pin would be lying on the table next to his henchman right now.

  “Ah, Valentina.” Seemingly oblivious to the woman’s ire, Pin beamed at the finder. “How is my favorite sea otter?”

  “As well as can be expected, thank you, Pin.” Her tone was smooth. She knew how to keep her anger under control. “All the better for the fact that I’ve managed to crack the encryption on McCarthy’s jump drive.”

  Pin and Pae exchanged a look.

  “What’s more,” she continued. “I’ve figured out where Samuel and his crew are likely to be going next.”

  “Well?” barked Pin. “Don’t toy with us, woman. Tell us what you know.”