Ever since he’d heard the legend, he’d striven for this moment, this time when he would uncover one of the greatest weapons known to the ancient world. Jackson would be called a hero back in England. The king would, no doubt, honor him with great riches, land, titles, and anything else Jackson desired.
For Francis Jackson, all of those things were great, but he understood what his discovery really meant for his king and country. England would be an unstoppable military force for a thousand years.
The dust cleared before the light of Jackson’s torch as he shoved the blazing end of the shaft into the space over the sarcophagus. His eyes blinked rapidly as he peered into the hollow box. He swallowed hard, hoping his eyes deceived him. His vision, however, was fine. A terrible reality instantly swelled in his heart.
Save for the skeleton of an unknown Viking, the sarcophagus was empty. Jackson leaned over and examined the covering once more. A simple image of a long shaft with a pointed blade at the end had been engraved into the stone. He stood up straight again and examined the tattered clothing of the ancient warrior. The shield displayed the intricate braids known to the Norsemen.
A cannon fired off in the distance, shaking his mind from its heavy despair.
Jackson’s men turned to him simultaneously, confusion filling their eyes.
“That wasn’t one of ours,” Jackson’s voice weighed heavy with the realization.
“Whoever it is, they aren’t targeting us, sir,” the second in command reported what Jackson had already surmised.
“They must have spotted our ships.”
Another cannon fired, this time from a greater distance. It was followed by several more like it.
“The battle for Copenhagen has begun,” Jackson said. “We must return to our ship at once.”
“But sir,” one of the men protested, “we can’t just leave empty handed.”
Jackson surveyed the room. There were a few trinkets of historical value lying around: pieces of armor, some ancient swords and knives, a helmet or two. No treasure though. “Take what you like, gents, but travel light. We have to hurry. I don’t know how long this bombardment will last, and they’re only doing it to cover our tracks. Amidst the chaos, we should be able to make our way back out to the ship undetected.”
The men grabbed what they could, scattering to the far edges of the room like pigs scrambling for the last scraps of slop a farmer throws out. Jackson watched them carefully to ensure no one was eyeing his movements. Slowly, he lowered his hand down into the sarcophagus and pried loose a small disc from the ribcage of the skeleton. His eyes shot around quickly, still wary someone would notice what he’d done. The round object fit easily into his jacket pocket. It was no larger than the palm of his hand, and only about a quarter of an inch thick, seemingly made of pure gold.
He handed out orders in rapid succession, directing several of the men to move the covering stone back into place over the narrow entrance. It had taken several hours of work to get it out of the way. Only minutes would be required to put it back. “Once you’re done, make your way back to the ship, lads. They won’t wait for us all night.”
Jackson’s crew obeyed and quietly slipped back out of the cave and into the cool night air. He made sure all of his men were clear before he took one last glance around the room. His mission had failed. The king would be extremely disappointed. Jackson would be deemed more than a failure. He would be called a charlatan for having promised so much, only to discover an empty tomb.
The crown’s resources were extensive, and sending a fleet to Copenhagen for a second siege of the city wouldn’t hurt the British finances. The king’s most trusted military advisers told Jackson that even though they believed him to be crazy, they would be more than happy to keep the rambunctious Danes in their place with another attack on their prized city.
It was of little solace to Jackson. His career would be over. He wondered about the strange object in his pocket. Jackson prayed silently that it would give him a second chance.
Chapter 1
Sean’s reflexes were instant. His right hand squeezed the throttle and twisted it back while his left hand released the clutch, launching the motorcycle out onto the street like it was shot out of a cannon. He tried not to be as obvious as tucking in right behind the car he was chasing. He couldn’t exactly hang too far back either. Whoever was driving seemed to be in a hurry.
Sean allowed another car to pass on his side of the road, and two more on the other side before doing a quick U-turn and falling in behind the three vehicles as they sped down the road. His Triumph Thruxton’s engine was more than enough to keep up with the black Cadillac CTS that had caught his attention, but keeping up wasn’t necessarily his priority at the moment.
Sean had been cruising down Main Street in the thriving south side district of Chattanooga. He’d come to the city to close the deal on a new home close to where he’d pulled off the road. Getting a house back in his hometown was something Sean had been planning on doing for quite some time. For the longest time, he’d believed that a place on the beach down on the gulf coast of Florida would make him happy. While it brought a certain amount of joy, his hometown always beckoned him to return. He loved his place just north of Atlanta, and he’d always keep that residence, but the pace of life and the seemingly endless traffic had got to him over the years. Returning home had always been in the back of his mind.
He’d grown up in Chattanooga, living in the scenic city for much of his early life before going away to work for the government, and eventually the International Archaeological Agency based in Atlanta.
Sean was amazed at how much things had changed since he’d lived in Chattanooga. The town boasted the fastest Internet in the world outside of South Korea, with the gigabit fiber optic network. Some people were calling it the Portland of the South, and it seemed new startups and companies were flocking to the area every year.
When one of his realtor friends, a feisty Italian woman with a penchant for finding great homes, called him about a place, he didn’t hesitate to hop on his motorcycle and drive up to check it out. Two weeks later, he was back and signing the paperwork.
While visiting, Sean had decided to catch up with a few old friends. He’d had lunch with some college buddies earlier in the day. After making a few stops downtown, he made his way back over to the south side to meet up for dinner with an old colleague of sorts.
Sean had known Charlie Fowler for ten years. He’d been a useful resource on top of being a fascinating person. Charlie had a knack for finding information, especially when it came to historical artifacts. With the growth of the Internet, Charlie’s abilities only grew more impressive. He could uncover information in a fraction of the time it used to take him when the only way to do things was drive down to a records hall and search through scores of paperwork and files.
There’d been more than one occasion when Sean and his friend Tommy Schultz had required Charlie’s assistance with a few difficult archaeological questions.
Presently, Charlie ran an antique shop in an old mill in the Northshore area of the city. At sixty-eight years old, he could have retired, but Sean knew Charlie was too stubborn to ever stop working. When Sean called a few hours before to make dinner arrangements, Charlie had been reluctant, saying he needed to get a little more work done before heading home for the night. After a bit of coaxing, he’d agreed to meet Sean for a quick bite, a fact that had made the younger man laugh out loud prior to hanging up the phone.