Wrath of Poseidon (A Sam and Remi Fargo Adventure, Band 12) - Softcover

Cussler, Clive; Burcell, Robin

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593087909 ISBN 13: 9780593087909

Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

Husband-and-wife team Sam and Remi Fargo come up against an old enemy while searching for a treasure that has been lost for centuries in this exciting adventure in the bestselling series by the Clive Cussler, Grand Master of Adventure.

Ten years ago, a chance meeting at the Lighthouse Café in Redondo Beach led Sam Fargo and Remi Longstreet on the adventure of a lifetime, hunting the legendary riches stolen from the Persian King Croesus in 546 B.C. But they weren't the only ones. Someone else is after the gold, and he's willing to kill anyone who gets in his way.

When Sam and Remi run afoul of a criminal drug-running operation, their hopes of finding the treasure are dashed. But with Sam's ingenuity and Remi's determination, they survive their confrontation with the drug runners, and manage to send one of the key players to prison. Though the cache of gold is never found, life goes on. Sam and Remi marry--and years later return to Greece to find the one treasure that got away.

Time becomes their enemy when the kingpin they helped send to prison over a decade ago is released--and he has two goals in mind. Find the legendary hoard of King Croesus, and kill Sam and Remi Fargo. The Fargos know that as long as this gold is out there, no one is safe. They return to Greece for a final showdown--and one last chance to find that elusive treasure.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Clive Cussler was the author of more than seventy books in five bestselling series, including Dirk Pitt, NUMA Files, Oregon Files, Isaac Bell, and Sam and Remi Fargo. His life nearly paralleled that of his hero Dirk Pitt. Whether searching for lost aircraft or leading expeditions to find famous shipwrecks, he and his NUMA crew of volunteers discovered and surveyed more than seventy-five lost ships of historic significance, including the long-lost Confederate submarine Hunley, which was raised in 2000 with much publicity. Like Pitt, Cussler collected classic automobiles. His collection featured more than one hundred examples of custom coachwork. Cussler passed away in February 2020.

Robin Burcell spent nearly three decades working in California law enforcement as a police officer, detective, hostage negotiator, and FBI-trained forensic artist. She is the author of ten novels, and coauthor with Cussler of the Sam and Remi Fargo novels Pirate, The Romanov Ransom, The Gray Ghost, and The Oracle. She lives in Lodi, California.

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Prologue I
 
 
Sardis, Persian Empire,
546 BC  
      
The steep Acropolis of Sardis loomed against the night sky, while, far-below at the city’s edge, flames consumed the reed-thatched buildings. General Mazares, dispatched by King Cyrus II of Persia the moment he’d learned of the revolt, had ridden through the night, leading a unit of armed heavy cavalry. According to the imperial messenger, the Ionian mercenaries were set to spark the revolt at dawn.
Apparently, they’d gotten an early start.
“Fools,” Artaban, his lieutenant, called out over the sound of hooves as the horses neared the gates. A wooden building exploded near the gold-refining works. “Do they not realize that Cyrus will crush them?”
“There is nothing left to crush,” Mazares shouted.  “I’m surprised that there’s anything left to burn.”
It was the second time they’d marched upon Sardis. The first was when King Cyrus’ army had broken the siege of the wealthy Lydian capital, captured its king, Croesus, then plundered his vast treasury. If not for this revolt, Mazares would be accompanying the bulk of Croesus’s treasure back to Ekbatana.
“The quicker we quell this rebellion, the sooner we get home.” He eyed the flames, swirling from several structures just outside the gates.
As they neared the inferno, Mazares realized the purpose of the fires. He and his horsemen were almost blinded. Waiting for them the insurgents, with their backs to the blaze, had the advantage. Within moments, Cyrus’s cavalry was attacked by a shadow army of soldiers armed with spears, axes, and swords.
     Dividing his men into two flanks, Mazares led the left; Artaban led the right. The deafening clash of metal rang through the night as his horsemen, blinded by the flames, battled the unseen enemy. Mazares thrust at an armed silhouette. His blade struck something solid. The rebel’s shield. Shouting, Mazares ordered his right flank to close in, while Artaban did the same with the left, sweeping in behind the rebels, who suddenly found themselves sandwiched between both flanks. Spurring his horse to rear, Mazares blocked the thrust of a spear, and drove his blade into his opponent’s chest, piercing through the man’s inadequate armor.
Pulling his sword free, he wheeled his mount to the right, then swung at the next man, felling him as well.
Within minutes, it was over. The insurrectionists fled. The flames of the wooden structures, no longer being fed, began to die, as a smoky dawn in the eastern sky burned along with the embers of the failed revolt.
Mazares surveyed the scattering of bodies—none of them his men. The speed with which they put down the insurrection troubled him as he met up with his second in command. “Tell me, Artaban. Does it not seem suspiciously convenient that the fire was confined to the outer wall? And that the skirmishers dissipated, almost the moment we rode in?”
“And why wouldn’t they?” Artaban nodded back at their troops who were awaiting further orders. “If you were a group of outnumbered mercenaries and you beheld Cyrus’ immortal cavalry charging…?”
Immortal, they were not. But the ease with which they won this so-called battle would certainly add to their legend.
It did not, however, lessen Mazares’ concern.
It was something more than the desertion of the city gates. His unease grew as he led a contingent of horsemen into the city.
“A trap?” asked Artaban.
“I fear something else, entirely.” He raised his hand. His men halted in the agora, looking down the empty streets on all sides. Before his departure from Sardis, King Cyrus had appointed a satrap to govern the newly conquered city in his stead. “Tabalus’ guard could easily have quelled the insurrection as small as it was. So why have we not seen any of his guard on the streets?”
“Perhaps the satrap is part of it?”
“Let us hope not. Magos, take charge. If there is any evidence that the rebels are regrouping, end it. Artaban, bring back one of those rebels. Alive.”
“And where will you be?” Artaban asked.
“I intend to find out whether the king’s trust in Tabalus has been misplaced.”
As his officers took off in opposite directions, Mazares and a handful of his horsemen rode to the acropolis, only to discover the palace guards, sprawled on their backs in front of the great carved cedar doors, both standing wide open.
 “Dead,” Mazares said. “Find Tabalus.” He strode past the guards, down the long hall into the throne room. A few minutes later, two officers returned, escorting the frightened governor between them.
Dressed in night clothes, Tabalus, attempting to regain his magisterial dignity, scrambled onto the throne. “Well met, General Mazares. I prayed that you would arrive in time,” he said. 
“Who is behind all this?”
“I cannot say. My spies were thwarted at every turn, one even impaled. I managed to get a messenger out moments before the rebels besieged the Acropolis.”
One of Mazares’ men nodded. “The satrap speaks the truth. “We found him bound to his bed, and his chamber door barred from the outside. The rest of the palace staff were shut up in the Scroll Room.”
“None of this makes sense.” Mazares paced across the polished marble floor, trying to fit the pieces together, certain there must be something they were all overlooking. An answer of sorts finally came when Artaban returned, dragging one of the rebels into the palace. He threw him to the ground at the base of the dais. “Tell your satrap what took place here tonight.”
The man, groveling on hands and knees, lifted his head, swallowing past a lump in his throat as he looked at the disheveled governor. “We were paid—generously—to burn what was left of the buildings near the city gates.”
Mazares noted the soot on the man’s face and clothing. “Who paid you?” 
“I know them not.”
Artaban drew his knife and held it to the rebel’s neck.
“I swear,” he said, his eyes beseeching. “The one thing I can tell you—they were not from Sardis. They were not even Lydian.”
“How do you know?” Mazares asked.
“One had a boar’s head tattooed on his upper arm.”
“A boar’s head?” Mazares asked. “Are you certain?”
The man nodded.
Samian pirates. The marauding Samian ships were notorious, not only for their red ocher hulls and scarlet sails, but also for their boar’s-head prows. “What would Samians be doing in Lydia?”
If anything, Tabalus appeared even more shaken. “I fear I may know something about that. But it is best said in private.”
Mazares nodded. The guards removed the rebel, leaving Mazares and Artaban alone with the satrap.
“Two nights ago,” the governor said, “one of my spies informed me that he saw Pactyes meeting with a few Samians.”
Pactyes, a Lydian, was the newly-appointed Overseer of the Imperial Mint and Gold Refineries, a position bestowed upon him by King Cyrus. Although Mazares had counseled the king against such an appointment, Cyrus insisted that a Lydian figurehead was necessary to prevent the newly-conquered Lydians from revolting once the Persian army left. “You’re certain of what you saw?”
“I am. I even...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2021
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593087909
• ISBN 13: 9780593087909
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 512
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland