The Nabatean Secret Read online

  The Nabatean Secret

  Carter Devereux

  A Mystery Thriller

  Book 4

  By JC Ryan

  Editor: Candice Royer

  Copyright 2017 by J C Ryan

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.

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  MYSTERIES FROM THE ANCIENTS

  THOUGHT PROVOKING UNSOLVED ARCHAEOLOGICAL MYSTERIES

  This book is exclusive to my readers. You will not find this book anywhere else.

  We spend a lot of time researching and documenting our past, yet there are still many questions left unanswered. Our ancestors left a lot of traces for us, and it seems that not all of them were ever meant to be understood. Despite our best efforts, they remain mysteries to this day.

  Inside you will find some of the most fascinating and thought-provoking facts about archaeological discoveries which still have no clear explanation.

  Read all about The Great Pyramid at Giza, The Piri Reis Map, Doomsday, Giant Geoglyphs, The Great Flood, Ancient Science and Mathematics, Human Flight, Pyramids, Fertility Stones, the Tower of Babel, Mysterious Tunnels, The Mystery of The Anasazi and much more.

  Don’t miss this opportunity to get this free eBook. Click Here to join the mailing list and get it now.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - Damn you, Carter Devereux!

  Chapter 2 - In it for life

  Chapter 3 - A most unusual night

  Chapter 4 - An interesting assignment

  Chapter 5 - Ruminating in a spa

  Chapter 6 - How to neutralize a nuke

  Chapter 7 - Progress was hampered by one man

  Chapter 8 - Your task is done here

  Chapter 9 - Another roadblock

  Chapter 10 - Let’s inform the President

  Chapter 11 - What now?

  Chapter 12 - What’s left is zero

  Chapter 13 - More than once too often

  Chapter 14 - A criminal of the worst sort

  Chapter 15 - Ten more days

  Chapter 16 - A hand-delivered package

  Chapter 17 - Don’t force my hand

  Chapter 18 - Damn straight

  Chapter 19 - What now?

  Chapter 20 - Click of the door being locked

  Chapter 21 - Detained somewhere else?

  Chapter 22 - More to this than meets the eye

  Chapter 23 - Where they stood on the matter

  Chapter 24 - Between a rock and a hard place

  Chapter 25 - Two sources of the information leaks

  Chapter 26 - A stab through the heart

  Chapter 27 - The morning after

  Chapter 28 - A standup argument

  Chapter 29 - We’ve got him this time

  Chapter 30 - What Kelly White was supposed to do

  Chapter 31 - The library of the Nabateans

  Chapter 32 - As long as it fits

  Chapter 33 - The result of the analysis

  Chapter 34 - The Freydís mop-up

  Chapter 35 - The gold fields of A-Echelon

  Chapter 36 - We’ll talk about your future after

  Chapter 37 - An unreserved apology

  Chapter 38 - Batten down the hatches

  Chapter 39 - Nothing of use here

  Chapter 40 - A box of chocolates

  Chapter 41 - In search of the secret library

  Chapter 42 - Congressional Oversight

  Chapter 43 - Gotcha, you bastard!

  Chapter 44 - Planning a kidnapping

  Chapter 45 - Tell us why

  Chapter 46 - The first hearing

  Chapter 47 - Jailed or worse

  Chapter 48 - Let’s get proactive

  Chapter 49 - About these quantum computers

  Chapter 50 - The IT Project

  Chapter 51 - A family visit

  Chapter 52 - His hourglass was running out quickly

  Chapter 53 - A middle-finger salute

  Chapter 54 - Let’s get going

  Chapter 55 - The dolphin pentagon of Petra

  Chapter 56 - Who were your visitors?

  Chapter 57 - The dolphin pentagon of Petras

  Chapter 58 - Welcome to the Basilicata

  Chapter 59 - Be rid of them for good

  Chapter 60 - I’ll go to your ranch with you

  Chapter 61 - Lately he couldn’t do anything right

  Chapter 62 - It’s a triangle

  Chapter 63 - They knew about him

  Chapter 64 - Excursion to San Pietro Caveoso

  Chapter 65 - The cleanup

  Chapter 66 - I, too, love dolphins

  Chapter 67 - They wouldn’t hide

  Chapter 68 - The latter could get her killed

  Chapter 69 - On the dolphin trail

  Chapter 70 - The dolphin pentagon of Matera

  Chapter 71 - The Crypt of Original Sin

  Chapter 72 - Short briefings

  Chapter 73 - Ciao tesoro

  Chapter 74 - Preparing for the hearing

  Chapter 75 - QIT Project update

  Chapter 76 - Saved by the bell

  Chapter 77 - Lunch time

  Chapter 78 - What do you do for A-Echelon?

  Chapter 79 - It would only get worse

  Chapter 80 - Enough is enough!

  Chapter 81 - Let’s take it to them

  Chapter 82 - Breaking news

  Chapter 83 - A plan of escape

  Chapter 84 - An eerie quiet

  Chapter 85 - Shaking one more tree

  Chapter 86 - Sorry, you got bumped

  Chapter 87 - The last king of the Nabateans

  Chapter 88 - Letters over Grant’s signature

  Chapter 89 - Operation Rock Concert

  Chapter 90 - One more question

  Chapter 91 - Collectively suspicious

  Chapter 92 - En route

  Chapter 93 - The French Connection

  Chapter 94 - Diplomatic maneuvering

  Chapter 95 - Thanks to his new American friends

  Chapter 96 - Eight more councilors

  Chapter 97 - He didn’t care

  Chapter 98 - The risks

  Chapter 99 - Enter like civilized people

  Chapter 100 - We’re trained to handle this

  Chapter 101 - Zero Hour

  Chapter 102 - In ten minutes

  Chapter 103 - I’m proud of her

  Chapter 104 - The one you should worry about

  Chapter 105 - Three months later

  Also by JC Ryan

  About JC Ryan

  Prologue

  US Army Garrison Patch Barracks, near Stuttgart, Germany, 2 a.m., January 11

  Sentries at the Main Gate of Patch Barracks had turned away the last of the local Fasching revelers an hour or so before, laughingly joking with them that the Barracks were too quiet for their parties. A few soldiers, somewhat worse for wear after joining the locals for the opening night of Germany’s “Fifth Season”, straggled in around midnight. They were cheerfully waved through the gate by the envious guards, who had pulled duty that night and didn’t get to celebrate.

  Since then, the night had been still, only the night sounds typical of the region breaking the silence. The cell and radio tower behind the thick trees was lit by an eerie glow from the remains of the Fasching bonfire a few miles away. It would be six long hours until sun
rise and their relief.

  The peace of the night lulled them to silence.

  Behind them, an eerie blue-white blinding flash bloomed.

  No sooner had it lit the night sky than the first sentry opened his mouth to ask, “What was that?”

  But the words never left his lips—before he’d even formed them, his lips, along with the rest of him, vanished. Had his mate not been meeting the same fate at the same time, he would have been shocked to see his comrade in arms evaporate into nihility.

  Every living being, structure, and object within an 800-yard radius of the epicenter disappeared as if he, she, or it had never been there.

  No one in the circumference of the blast zone survived to describe the beauty of the majestic, but fatal, blue-white flash. A few souls, lucky enough to be farther away, saw glimpses of it through the surrounding trees.

  No one knew what it was.

  The next person to arrive at the Main Gate of Patch Barracks found, much to his drunken confusion, nothing.

  No gate, no trees, no cell tower. No barracks. No buildings. No guards.

  Only emptiness.

  Not finding the Main Gate where he was sure it must be, the soldier sat down on the ground. Alcohol and rationality have never been good stablemates.

  His inebriated brain could not handle the duel, and mercifully, he passed out. He never heard the screams of pain and horror from the injured survivors far enough from the epicenter and fortunate enough to escape obliteration.

  Later, first responders approached with caution, finding the drunk soldier passed out where the gate should have been and the void beyond, which had always been occupied by buildings.

  They moved into the base to search for survivors. They found few, most of them critically injured and out of their minds with shock and confusion.

  Everyone capable of speaking asked the rescuers the question the rescuers had wanted to ask the survivors: What happened?

  Chapter 1 - Damn you, Carter Devereux!

  18 Months Previously; 24 Hours After the Attack on Freydís

  Graziella Marie Nabati paced the room, the very picture of an avenging angel. Most men would have quailed at her countenance, though she was coldly beautiful—like an iceberg. The man in the room with her was safe, however. Her son, Mathieu Nabati, was as angry as she, and in any case was only a hologram.

  Graziella was in her mountain hideout high in the Andes in Peru, where she took up residence when the existence of the Council of the Covenant of Nabatea was discovered by the CIA. Her luxurious, high-tech lodging was close to the Incan citadel, Machu Picchu, where she felt as at home as she’d felt in her house above the ancient catacombs of Paris.

  Mathieu, in contrast, was in his own hideout in a remote area of the Ural Mountains in the western part of Russia. His dwelling boasted the latest in quantum computing and communications equipment possible. Only his mother knew where he was and how to reach him.

  “What is our situation?” Graziella managed to whisper instead of growl.

  “Unfortunately, maman,” he answered, “it was another miserable failure. Nine of the sixteen operatives are dead, and the rest have been captured, amongst them one wounded. They are in CIA custody and have been transferred to America.

  “I have just learned they are trying to make a deal. No extradition to Russia in exchange for their cooperation. In other words, they are singing like the proverbial canaries, and they are beyond our reach. Only our care in putting several layers of go-betweens in place has kept us safe so far. But soon someone will peel away those layers.

  “As you know, the leader of the task force is aware of who hired him. Once he gives up the Director, we are exposed. If he has not done so already.”

  “You know what to do,” she stated. It never needed to be spelled out between them. As the primary guardians of the secrecy of the Council of the Covenant of Nabatea, they were of one mind. That secrecy was paramount. In its service, everyone except them was expendable.

  “Of course. I’ll see to it immediately.”

  Graziella nodded graciously. She trusted her son implicitly and with good reason. The last layer of go-between was one of the Council, but all councilors understood their position.

  Peter Nikolaev, the Director of the Federal Security Service (FSB) of Russia, was about to suffer a fatal incident.

  Nikolaev was a fit and vital man of fifty-seven years, as well as an important government official. His death would cause repercussions, no matter how it occurred. However, a violent death, even an auto accident, would raise more questions than a natural one. Mathieu set his mind to arrange the perfect assassination.

  His first task was to locate Nikolaev.

  After discreet inquiries, he learned that the Director had taken a holiday and was currently skiing the forty miles of groomed slopes located within the Rosa Khutar ski resort, site of the XXII Winter Olympics.

  Mathieu, an expert skier, immediately recognized the opportunity to take care of the matter himself, which would avoid involving yet another person who would then have to be eliminated in an escalating series of incidents.

  He notified his mother that he would be taking a small ski-holiday and that everything would be fine by the time he returned.

  Twelve hours later, he inconspicuously followed Nikolaev as he made his way to one of the high-speed chairlifts and headed for the Ozernaya slope.

  Once more, Nikolaev was making it easy for Mathieu.

  Ozernaya was a perfect slope for speedy carving. Nikolaev exited the lift and prepared for his run. Mathieu was a few chairs behind him. When he got off the lift, rather than carving the slope like Nikolaev, he made his run in a straight line, easily overtaking his target. With no one to witness it and ignoring Nikolaev’s indignant shout when they approached a line of trees at a speed of close to seventy miles an hour, Mathieu shouldered him ever so slightly—enough to steer Nikolaev straight into the trees lining the run. There was no time and no room for Nikolaev to counteract—the collision with one of the trees ended Nikolaev’s life abruptly.

  Travelling at thirty-three feet per second, Mathieu was almost ten yards away by the time Nikolaev met with the tree. He had no reason to check that Nikolaev was indeed dead. Even if he had survived the collision, he wouldn’t survive for long in the extreme temperature. Other skiers would overrun his tracks and obscure the reason for Nikolaev’s accident.

  It was the perfect crime.

  Mathieu was on his way back to his hideout by the time Nikolaev’s body was discovered. When he arrived and contacted his mother, he found her watching news coverage of the “tragedy.”

  Tears streamed down her face for the loss of another noble Nabatean from their bloodline.

  “Well done, my son.” She sighed. “Our secret has been sealed again.”

  “Thank you, maman. I believe our immediate problem has been solved.”

  “True, but we have another, and it will not be so easily dismissed,” Graziella said. “Our operatives were captured with the four devices we gave them to defeat the electronic defenses of that accursed Freydís. It won’t be long before US security forces have reverse-engineered it, and then our advantage is gone.”

  “One problem at a time, maman. I agree, it is a setback, but there is little or nothing we can do about it. At least it can’t expose the identities of the rest of the Councilors.”

  She nodded slowly. It was a relief.

  Nevertheless, Damn you, Carter Devereux!

  Chapter 2 - In it for life

  In an undisclosed location, the captured Spetsnaz operatives from the Freydís raid were being interrogated. Tales of rendition and enhanced interrogation techniques frightened them, though no such methods were being used—neither sanctioned by President Samuel Houston Grant’s administration.

  Nevertheless, they refused to give up information, trying to negotiate terms to keep them out of the hands of the Russian government.

  Indeed, the interrogators and the captives had reached the
point of playing penny-ante poker together while the captives’ request for asylum was considered.

  Among other things, urgent messages were flying through secure channels regarding the Devereuxs’ and the Canadian government’s willingness to drop trespassing, reckless endangerment, and other, more serious, charges.

  Only if so could the US offer protection to the Spetsnaz operatives in the form of the promise they’d be held in American prisons.

  Every last man of them agreed an American prison was a cakewalk compared to what they’d face in Russia. Or rather, not face. There, the likelihood was a bullet in the back of the head. An American prison sentence could even come with the possibility of parole and being free men someday.

  Even then, the request would also have to clear the highest levels of government.

  However, interrogators convinced the operatives that before any consideration whatsoever could move forward, their case could be strengthened by a practical demonstration of their willingness to cooperate. One such gesture would be for them to demonstrate how the strange devices that defeated Freydís’s electronic surveillance worked.

  CIA technicians were on standby to immediately reverse engineer the devices. Then they’d upgrade every vulnerable technology.

  Eager to demonstrate their sincerity, the Spetsnaz operatives were just as eager to demonstrate the devices as the technicians were to receive the information.

  Before the outcome of the asylum request had even been determined, the most important answer the Spetsnaz squad leader could give, who gave them their orders, had been rendered moot. Peter Nikolaev was dead, and with him the chain of information that could lead to the Nabateans and their group.

  ***

  The Secretary of the Treasury of the United States, Jason Sullivan, took a secure call from Peru a week after the death of his fellow Councilor.

  “Jason, I trust you are well,” purred Graziella.

  Sweat started to pearl on his forehead as he fought to control his voice. A personal call from the chairwoman of the Council of the Covenant of Nabatea was a rarity—used only in cases of extreme importance.

  “Certainly, Graziella. Never better.” It was a lie he hoped he could pull off. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you and the rest of the Council decided on my request to relinquish my office?”