Lost Eden Read online

  Slave master Abdullah stepped forward from his shaded overhang at the starting line. He shielded his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. He turned to his men and barked, “Get the Jeeps!”

  Tessla’s camel slammed into the handler, flinging him through the air. He landed hard, rolling aside. Tessla glanced back over her shoulder, a look of extreme satisfaction on her dust-covered face. She whipped the camel’s rear even harder, leaning forward, riding for her very life.

  Jack Rome saw Tessla riding like thunder and whipped his own camel, tearing across the sands toward the finish line. Now that he was in the open, Jack threw aside his head cloth, revealing his boyishly handsome face.

  And because he was moving at an angle from the bleachers and camel stalls, he came upon the finish line quickly. Once there, he wove his way through the milling camels and young jockeys.

  In the distance, far ahead of him, was little Tessla. She had a significant lead on him. Jack whipped his camel hard, urging the beast forward.

  Abdullah wasted no time. At his command, a half-dozen off-road vehicles roared to life. He stood in the passenger seat of a convertible Jeep. The vehicle took off, tires spinning wildly, and kicking up sand.

  Abdullah was almost thrown from the Jeep, but managed to hold on. He glared at his driver, who gave him a sheepish look of apology. As the band departed, the slaver raised his voice loudly for all to hear: “Remember, do not harm the sultan’s camels!”

  * * *

  Jack still trailed far behind Tessla. As he rode, he looked back over his shoulder and saw the off-road vehicles bounding over the desert, like steel wolves on the hunt. Jack cracked his whip and snapped his reins. The camel charged forward.

  Ahead of him, Tessla turned, disappearing behind a rocky protrusion in the sands. Jack, now riding low and hard, steered his camel toward the same rocks.

  As he rounded it, he immediately came upon little Tessla waiting for him in the shade of a rocky overhang. She’d already tossed aside her helmet, revealing a long mane of shiny black hair.

  She smiled gratefully. “You came for me,” she said in Arabic.

  “I’m a man of my word,” he told her.

  Jack removed a long dagger, raised it and severed the leather cords that bound her legs to the camel. He took her hand and swung her over onto his own mount, where she landed behind him, and clutched him tightly around his waist. He snapped the reins hard, dug his heels into the camel’s sides, and they shot off together.

  As they rode, Jack Rome looked back at the girl. “You okay back there?”

  Tessla nodded, smiling contentedly, as she saw Shan’ji getting away, too. With all of the commotion surrounding her own escape and everyone chasing her, Shan’ji was casually trotting his camel off in a different direction. It might be quite some time before anyone noticed that he, too, had escaped.

  Tessla pressed her cheek into Jack’s back and held on for dear life.

  * * *

  From behind, a dumbfounded Abdullah watched one of the sultan’s racing camels trot off into the desert, empty of its rider. Perplexed, he ordered one of his men to retrieve it.

  Suddenly darting out from the cover of the rocky buttress, the second camel dashed away. The slave master registered that one camel now bore two riders. Abdulla frantically motioned to one of his men, ordering him to take the high road over a series of sand dunes. The Jeep veered off and headed up a trail, soon bounding high overhead. Abdullah and the remaining vehicles continued forward, following the single camel with its two riders.

  Chapter Three

  Jack charged directly down the center of the canyon. Sheer rock walls rose up high from the surrounding desert now, on either side. A shadow fell over him; he looked up to see the lone Jeep bearing down on him from above.

  He spied a side path in the canyon wall. He turned the camel hard to the right, but the creature couldn’t exactly turn on a dime. The camel slowed, stumbling, then plunged into the small side opening.

  Inside, boulders were strewn everywhere; luckily, the lumbering beast was able to pick its way carefully over them. The boulders could be a blessing, Jack thought to himself, as they would surely hinder the Jeep’s path...

  They rounded a bend, coming face to face with a sheer wall. Blocked.

  “Damn,” Jack muttered. He pulled the reins hard and turned the unruly creature around. It snorted, obviously tired, and fought him. Tessla held on tight.

  Abdullah and his men came to a stop where Jack and Tessla had disappeared. Boulders blocked their way. In frustration, the slaver cursed colorfully in Arabic, “Son of a filthy whore!”

  Suddenly, a massive shadow appeared over the slave master. Abdullah looked up in surprise—and horror.

  Camel hooves crashed down on Abdullah’s Jeep, completely crumpling the hood. The beast kicked furiously, trying to gain traction. One of the huge feet shattered Abdullah’s window. Finally, the camel leaped off, hitting the ground running.

  Steam spewed from the Jeep’s engine. The vehicle was completely destroyed. The slaver, enraged, hurried over to the second Jeep, and ordered the driver forward.

  The Jeep following from above now headed back down and circled into the canyon from the far end. Jack saw the Jeep coming at him fast. There was nowhere to escape; nowhere to even run. Jack and the vehicle were on a head-on collision course.

  As a last resort, the handsome young Jack Rome reached inside his robe, retrieved an Army-issued pistol. He held it before him, taking careful aim while clutching onto the camel’s back.

  One of Abdullah’s men had the same intent. He stood in the passenger seat and took aim, but with an automatic rifle. It was a jousting match, but with guns instead of lances. Both men charged each other: one in a Jeep, one on a camel.

  Jack pulled the trigger rapidly. Gunshots echoed through the canyon. His aim was surprisingly accurate, and the results were better than he could have expected. A bullet ripped through a front tire, sending the Jeep careening out of control. It slammed into a canyon wall, crumpling.

  Jack and Tessla didn’t know whether those inside the Jeep were hurt or dead, nor did they care. The young hero, with their former captive clutching tightly to his back, thundered by with barely a glance at the smoking Jeep. Tessla kept her eyes shut and held on.

  The canyon soon opened again into a wide stretch of empty, flat desert. Jack was riding low again on the camel, urging it to run faster and faster. He occasionally looked back. From behind, the last remaining Jeep was gaining on them. Abdullah stood high in the passenger seat, aiming at Jack with his own automatic weapon.

  Jack Rome reached inside his robe again, this time removing an Army-issued walkie-talkie. He held the reins with one hand, and clicked on the radio with the other, speaking rapidly.

  “Crooney,” Jack shouted, breathless. “Are you there?”

  But there was no response.

  Jack and Tessla were on a path they saw would soon end in a steep cliff. Jack knew that below was a thousand-foot drop.

  “Crooney!” he cried desperately. “Do you read me?!”

  Harsh crackling came from his walkie-talkie, and then, “Keep your panties on, boy. If the Colonel knew what I was doing, he’d have my hide.”

  “I’ll deal with my father later,” Jack countered breathlessly.

  “Where are you?” Crooney’s voice questioned.

  “I’m coming up on you fast,” Jack told him.

  “You need a bird?”

  A bullet suddenly whizzed past Jack’s ear. “Hell, yeah, I need a bird!”

  Another bullet shot the radio out of his hand, luckily missing any flesh. Jack and Tessla were rapidly approaching the cliff’s edge.

  Before them, a massive military helicopter rose up from just beyond the cliff like a black-winged angel. Jack grinned broadly, relieved. The chopper hovered directly in front of them. Two soldiers were standing at its open side hatch.

  The Jeep was closing in on Jack, and Abdullah stood and took careful aim. Jack pulled b
ack hard on the reins, and the camel came to a screeching halt, kicking up dirt and rocks that showered down over the edge of the cliff and into the gorge far below.

  An American soldier reached down from the chopper’s hatch. Jack swung Tessla around. “You’re going to be okay now,” he told her.

  Tessla nodded, and hugged him hard around the neck. Jack lifted her up and into the soldier’s waiting arms, who promptly hauled her aboard the chopper.

  “Now, it’s your turn, Superman,” the soldier shouted to Jack.

  As Jack reached out for the man’s proffered hand, a gunshot rang out. Jack lurched forward. A bloody flower blossomed on his right shoulder. The camel, completely spooked, bucked violently. Jack pitched forward over the cliff, and down into the canyon.

  Young Tessla screamed and lunged forward, but the soldiers held her back.

  Chapter Four

  Twenty years later...

  Tehran, the ancient capital of modern-day Iran, was teeming with vibrant life on this warm, sunny day. The city and its people were a mixture of old tradition and modern technology; old architectural structures were honorably kept intact next to new glass-and-steel skyscrapers. This unique and lively city was interwoven with modern streets and medieval corridors and automobiles juxtaposed in traffic against mule-powered wagons and men on bicycles.

  Jack Rome entered the Swiss Embassy building, which served as liaison between the USA and Iranian governments, and made his way across the polished marble floors to the elevator. He used his silver-handled cane to push the elevator call button.

  When Jack Rome reached his office, he leaned the ornately carved walking stick against his executive desk, glancing out his full-length window and down into the city.

  The last two decades hadn’t been kind to Jack. Although still ruggedly handsome, the man’s features were haggard, and an eternal melancholy could be seen in his hard, azure-blue eyes.

  “The world is as crazy as ever, Sigmund,” he commented, glancing over at a small fish tank nearby. Jack peered closer, and frowned. “Sigmund?”

  Jack limped over to the tank. His little goldfish floated upside down in the water.

  “Ah, hell.” He retrieved the dead fish with a small net, stepped into an adjoining bathroom and sadly dropped the little guy into the toilet.

  Jack flushed, watching the fish swirl around and around until it disappeared. “On to the Big Fishbowl in the Sky, my friend,” he said reverently.

  His intercom buzzed as he stepped back into his office, and Jack’s secretary’s voice came through the speaker. “Jack, there’s a Miss Morgan here to see you.”

  “Sigmund is dead, Angie,” Jack told her.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Jack. I’ll get you a new fish.”

  “Don’t bother,” he sighed. “Maybe my next pet should be a fern.”

  “Should I tell Miss Morgan that you are now in mourning and to come back tomorrow?”

  “No, no.” Jack smiled a little at her humor. He had liked that fish, though. “Buzz her in, please.”

  As he sat behind his desk, a very exotic-looking woman with huge brown eyes and hair like blue-black night stepped hesitantly into his office. She looked oddly familiar to him. Jack tried to place her.

  She closed the door just as a janitor walked by. The janitor watched her enter Jack Rome’s office, and casually removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It was a photo of the same woman.

  Hidden from view among mops and brooms, the janitor dialed a number on his cell. A voice with a thick Russian accent answered, “Yes?”

  “She’s here,” the janitor said simply, and hung up.

  As the woman seated herself in front of him, her beauty was not lost on Jack Rome. He blinked once or twice, caught himself and tried to maintain a semblance of professionalism. “Miss Morgan?”

  The young woman nodded, scanning the room. Her lovely eyes had a sadness about them, as if she were carrying a great weight. As her eyes settled back on Jack, they widened even more, as if in recognition.

  “And you are Jack Rome?” she asked.

  “You got him.” Jack smiled his still-boyish smile. “Do I know you?”

  The young woman ignored his question. “I need your help, Mr. Rome.”

  Jack paused, wanting to press the matter of knowing her, but backed off. He leaned back in his chair. “Help in what capacity, Miss Morgan?”

  “I need you to help me find my son.” There was desperation in her voice now.

  Jack leaned forward, concerned. “What happened to your son?”

  Miss Morgan took a breath, keeping her emotions at bay. “My son...my boy...has been kidnapped.”

  “And he’s here in Iran?”

  She nodded stiffly. “Yes.”

  “Are you an American citizen? Where do you live?” Jack tried again to place her. Those eyes...

  “I live in the United States,” she told him.

  He leaned back, but continued to question her. “Do you know who kidnapped him?” he asked.

  Miss Morgan nodded again. “Yes.” She looked down now. “My ex-husband.”

  Jack nodded with both sympathy and understanding. “There are many legal issues here in Iran when it comes to custody,” he told her gently. “This is a country where fathers are often given sole custody of their children. You will need an attorney. We do have a legal specialist here at the Embassy—”

  “You misunderstand. The father isn’t Iranian, Mr. Rome. He’s a fugitive from America.” She paused and looked directly into his eyes for the first time. “And I only want you to help me. You, and no one else.”

  Jack blinked again. “Why me?”

  She gazed at him long and hard, and just a hint of a smile appeared on her face. “My name is Tessla Morgan. But you can call me Tess. Twenty years ago, you saved me from the camel races.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, recognition dawning on him. His mouth dropped open. He searched for words, fumbling, until he managed to say, “Are you hungry?”

  Chapter Five

  At that very moment, when Jack Rome asked Tess Morgan out for a bite to eat—which changed their fates forever—another important event that would change their world was taking place miles away in the desert.

  A massive, full-scale archaeological dig was in progress. Trucks and tents and equipment were everywhere. Workers, swarming like ants, removed dirt and debris from within an ancient stone temple that had been carved centuries ago directly into the side of a sandstone cliff.

  Boris Karakov was a wealthy Russian tycoon, in fact, a giant in the pharmaceutical industry. He followed his assistant through the manmade tunnels and passages. His assistant held a torch to lead the way. More workers brought wheelbarrows of dirt past them to the outer portion of the site.

  Boris coughed suddenly, and stopped. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself as he used a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. His assistant, Dimitri, noticed the blood and rushed back to him. Boris Karakov waved him off, irritated.

  The two moved forward again and soon came upon a stone room.

  In the center of the room was another man, an Iranian, this one bound to a chair and gagged. Two Russian soldiers guarded him. The man in the chair was clearly terrified. Karakov and Dimitri spoke in Russian.

  “We caught him taking pictures of the Garden Chamber,” Dimitri told his boss.

  “Who is he?” Karakov demanded.

  “We searched his tent,” Dimitri explained. “He is a journalist from Tehran, posing as a worker. We confiscated all his equipment, even photos of his wife and children.”

  Karakov was struck by another coughing fit. He turned and wiped his mouth again; there was more bloody sputum. Dimitri glanced at his sunken cheeks, his pale and clammy skin, but said nothing.

  Karakov composed himself and glared at the man’s wide, frightened eyes. “It is a pity, then,” he said to his assistant, “that he should die so tragically in an accident. What should it be this time, Dimitri?”

  “An acci
dental fall down a shaft?” Dimitri suggested.

  Karakov grinned. “Very good. Please send my condolences to his family.”

  Dimitri nodded to the soldiers, and led the way out of the room for Karakov. The horrified reporter started hollering through his gag, clearly begging for his life, but his pleas were ignored.

  Karakov and Dimitri soon heard two gunshots ring out. Karakov didn’t even wince. In fact, he smiled.

  “Now,” he turned to his assistant, his smile fading. “Give me a progress report, Dimitri.”

  “We are still removing debris from the Garden Chamber...”

  “And the passageway mentioned in the text?”

  Dimitri spoke respectfully, and reluctantly. “We will find it, sir. We are close. So very close.”

  Karakov frowned. “And what of this woman? The boy’s mother?”

  “She’s being taken care of as we speak,” Dimitri replied.

  * * *

  Jack Rome led Tess Morgan through the busy streets to one of his favorite cafés. Tess was no stranger to Persian food, so he ordered practically everything on the menu—finger foods, grape leaves, and small pastries. The two sat opposite each other near a window. Tess talked while Jack ate hungrily.

  “...And after the divorce, the United States government brought charges of fraud against him. When he told me he was going to skip town, I never dreamed he would take our son.”

  “How do you know they’re here?” Jack wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

  “He has business here,” Tess explained. “Some scheme to recoup his losses.”

  Jack, his hunger finally satisfied, sat back and took a sip of strong coffee. “Do you know where to find them?”

  Tess drew her long hair back, unaware of the simple beauty of the act. “More or less,” she told Jack, “but I can’t do it alone. I need help. I need your help.” Tess set her own coffee down and locked eyes with him. “Jack...all this time...I thought you were dead.”