Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) by J Robert Kennedy

merely because the dowry in question was
so low, the Muslims satisfied that none of their men would have taken it, and
among the Christians, they could care less, many simply happy that Birhan had
found a mate.
    But now?
With a Christian murdering a Muslim?
    We
could have a bloodbath on our hands!
    “Who is
it?”
    “It’s
me, Father, David!”
    Father
Solomon breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the voice of his altar boy,
David. He removed the bar and opened the door slightly, letting the young man
inside, then before closing it up again, taking a look.
    A small
crowd had gathered.
    “What
has happened?” asked David, his voice a whisper. “There is talk in the village
that Birhan killed someone?”
    Father
Solomon barred the door once more, nodding. “It appears he killed Hamid.”
    David’s
hands clasped at the cross around his neck. “It can’t be!”
    “I’m
afraid so. Apparently it was over some gold that Birhan found.”
    “Gold?”
David’s eyes widened with a look Father Solomon recognized too well.
    “A lot
of it apparently.” He motioned to Abrihet. “Watch her for a minute, I need to
go to my office.”
    David
nodded and sat beside the still sniffling young woman, a woman who was almost
ten years older than the boy now expected to provide comfort, but there was no
choice. He rushed to his rectory and sat at the desk, grabbing a pen and pad of
paper, quickly writing out the situation and requesting instructions from the
Vatican. If there was a significant stash of gold nearby, it could cause the
entire village to disrupt into violence that could spread across the entire
area. He needed the local authorities—which meant all the way from the capital
as there were none that could be trusted here—to be dispatched with the full
understanding that the Vatican knew what was happening. If the Eritrean
authorities were to arrive with no external oversight, all of their lives might
be forfeit.
    A scream
from the church had him leaping to his feet, tearing off his letter and folding
it as he ran. Pounding on the doors had his heart leap into his throat, shouts
of “Let us in!” and “Send her out!” growing in intensity.
    And
Abrihet looked terrified.
    As did
David.
    Father
Solomon handed the letter to David. “Take this to the Bishop. Tell him it is
urgent we get help otherwise I fear the worst.”
    David
nodded, his hands shaking as he took the folded piece of paper.
    “Go out
through the back. If there are people there, tell them where we are, then when
they are busy coming in here, you can slip away.”
    “But
Father, you’ll be killed!”
    Father
Solomon shook his head, a gentle smile on his face as he took the boy’s face in
his hands. “Have faith that God will protect us.” He said a silent prayer, only
his lips moving, then let go of the boy. “Now go!”
    David
sprinted for the rear of the church then into the rectory. Father Solomon heard
the door open then slam close, no altercation taking place, those gathered
mostly Muslim therefore unfamiliar with the layout of the church. If David were
able to escape unseen, he just might be able to get them help.
    By
tomorrow.
    More
pounding on the door and more shouting had Abrihet springing from the pew and
into his arms, her entire body trembling.
    “We have
your father!” shouted a voice, everything suddenly becoming quiet. “If you want
him to live, you’ll come out now!”
    Why
do they want her?
    It made
no sense. Birhan he could understand. He was the murderer. But why would they
want the daughter? She had done nothing. She was innocent in all this. Why
would they want her?
    Then it
occurred to him, and it made him physically sick, his stomach churning and his
mouth filling with bile as he fought the urge to vomit. He looked down at the
poor girl and realized she had no idea the danger that now faced her.
    She
looked up at him, her eyes filled with innocence. “I must go,” she whispered,
her bottom lip quivering.