Ghost's Treasure Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Note from the Publisher

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Titles by Cheyenne Meadows

  Reviews

  A Silver Publishing Book

  Ghost's Treasure

  Copyright © 2013 by Cheyenne Meadows

  E-book ISBN: 9781622320783

  First E-book Publication: November 2013

  Cover design by Reese Dante

  Editor: Jason Huffman

  Logo copyright © 2012 by Silver Publishing

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales of this title on pirate sites, you can report the offending entry to [email protected].

  This book is written in US English.

  PUBLISHER

  www.SPSilverPublishing.com

  Note from the Publisher

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.

  Please remember that the only money authors make from writing comes from the sales of their books. If you like their work, spread the word and tell others about the books, but please refrain from sharing this book in any form. Authors depend on sales and sales only to support their families.

  If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales of this title on pirate sites, you can report the offending entry to [email protected].

  Thank you for not pirating our titles.

  Lodewyk Deysel

  Publisher

  Silver Publishing

  http://www.spsilverpublishing.com

  Dedication

  For everyone who felt for Ghost, recognized his tortured soul, and asked for his story. I hope you enjoy.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Anschutz Fortner: J.G. Anschutz GmbH & Co. KG

  Barrett M82 / M98B: Barrett Firearms Manufacturing

  Energizer Bunny: Eveready Battery Company, Inc.

  Mary Poppins: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  McMillan TAC-50: McMillan Firearms Manufacturing

  Mission Impossible: Paramount Pictures Corporation

  SIG P239: Swiss Arms AG / SIG Sauer Inc.

  Superman: DC Comics E.C. Publications, Inc.

  Chapter 1

  Ghost hunkered down in the dark, surveying the bleak landscape and watching for activity from the stout cement building just ahead. Now and again, a shadow would slink, sprint, or twitch. The Wind Warriors. All former special ops men and one woman who made up a ragtag, highly skilled, and top secret mercenary team who worked for the government to wipe out the nastiest vipers around.

  Checking his watch, he moved into a ready state. From his vantage point hiding under an evergreen tree on top of a small hill, he could take out anyone that threatened his comrades and provide cover as they moved in close. While he preferred his primary occupation as assassin much better, the Wind Warriors paid well and kept his sniper skills at their peak.

  Without his night vision glasses, he'd be blind in the deep black of the moonless night. Silence reigned across the land as he lay in wait.

  He recalled another night, a replica of this one. His Navy SEAL Team Six drew the assignment to sneak in and rescue an American physician held by radical terrorists in the Middle East after being captured on a volunteer mission. The man donated his time, skills, and equipment to help the common local families that had no medical care. Instead of praise and gratefulness, he'd been nabbed and paraded around in a celebratory fashion as if the large terrorist group had captured the president himself.

  A chopper had dropped the team a distance away. Slowly, but surely, they crawled, dashed, and dove until they reached their destination, staying well under the radar of the terrorists, relying on stealth instead of sheer firepower for fear that, at the first glimpse of the approaching team, the guards would execute the doctor. As a unit, they surrounded the small house that served as a jail, blocked the exits, took out a couple of guards, then together, kicked in the doors, rushing in with guns locked and loaded.

  The physician survived the incident unscathed, unlike the one and only love of Ghost's life.

  At the very same time that was happening, a drunk driver had slammed into his wife, killing her instantly along with the beloved unborn child she carried. The man's car erupted in a ball of flame, leaving nothing but cinders by the time the fire department arrived to put out the fire. Damn bastard, may he burn in hell. A repeat offender, the man had no business behind the wheel, let alone killing innocents, like Ghost's wife and child, with his reckless driving.

  He needed someone to beat to a pulp, to focus his rage on, to take the drunk driver's life just as he'd taken sweet Lindsay's. Only the powers above took the choice out of his hands, leaving him with unequivocal and unrelenting fury without an outlet.

  Rage flamed in his gut. Quickly, he bottled the volatile emotion, tamping down on the intensity. In a few short minutes, he could release the potent brew, using the explosion to fuel his determination, his focus to wipe out each and every scum from the earth before his own demise. Not that he worried about death. Hell, he'd challenged the Grim Reaper more times than not, holding no fears, or illusions, with the probability that he would die in the line of duty, sooner rather than later. After losing Lindsay, life held little appeal anyway.

  He smirked in memory of the officer who labeled him suicidal right before he turned in his resignation from the elite military squad. The decorated idiot didn't have a clue. Just because he no longer had anyt
hing to live for didn't mean he was ready to allow evil in the form of power hungry humans to shorten his lifespan. Not before he managed to destroy more than his fair share.

  The Wind Warriors allowed him to do that. Take out top-ranking drug lords, chase them into their dens, and commence with whip ass before blowing the whole operation sky-high. A chance to take out the devil incarnate on his road to eventual salvation or hell. He didn't care which.

  "Ghost?"

  The name, whispered over the communication tool next to his ear, brought him back to the present. "Mark."

  Kaboom. Mass chaos ensued. His rifle barked as he laid down cover for the small band of mercenaries as they swarmed the building, daring the enemy to provide the smallest target so he could hasten their trip to hell.

  Chapter 2

  "Let's see what goodies we have here." Josie kneeled on the old sheet she'd draped across the floor a couple of minutes before, her attention fixated on the cardboard box sitting in the middle. Leery of spiders or other creepy crawlies, she hesitantly reached in, plucked the first book from the top and turned it over to read the front. Nothing rang a bell, so she used a dishrag to clean the spider webs and dust from the novel, then set it aside.

  She had impulsively decided to attend an estate auction that morning after she woke up early and yearned to get out of the apartment to do something different for the day. Like many others, she had walked through aisles and aisles of tables laden with glassware, trinkets, and toys. Nothing caught her attention. Until the auctioneer began selling boxes of unsorted stuff. Once he'd announced a hefty box full of old books, her interest piqued enough for her to move in front of the portable stage. An inner voice had nagged her, demanding she purchase the container, take a chance. Besides, if all else failed, she could donate the books to the library she worked for and receive a tax donation in the process. For the selling price of ten bucks, she couldn't lose.

  Reaching in, she pulled out one hardback book after another. The titles and authors failed to jar her memory or step up to the level of a rare classic. Nonetheless, she refused to be discouraged. People made startling finds in estate auctions all the time. While she might not come up with an original copy of the Declaration of Independence worth millions, finding an old second or third printing of a piece of fine literature remained in the realm of possibility.

  Her pile grew taller as she dug her way to the bottom. Plucking the final volume, she wondered at the uneven weight of the copy. Not much, but enough for her research librarian senses to pick up. The faux red leather binding reminded her of the old encyclopedias salesmen used to carry door to door in hopes of selling enough sets to pay their bills. Dust and several old webs told a story of years being stored in a box, without anyone putting hands on the item. Heck, the whole container fit the same bill.

  Wiping across the bottom, she discovered another interesting tidbit. The pages wouldn't part. They weren't stuck. No. They were simply carved to appear real. Puzzle pieces began to click as she studied the item in her hand. This wasn't a book at all. Instead, she'd bet the imposter served as a small flat box used to hide valuables.

  Excitement washed over her as she deftly ran her fingers over the sides, then the top and finally the bottom, searching for a latch or some way of entry. Finally, her thumb brushed across a slight protrusion. With a gentle nudge, she felt the lock give only to stick again.

  "Dang it." Jumping up, she headed into the kitchen and returned with a butter knife. With exquisite care, she worked at the lock, finally managing to force the old metal apart by bending the hook. Sure, the box wouldn't be usable again after she broke the latch mechanism. However, curiosity overrode her caution. Something important had to be inside. At least important to someone in the past.

  Slowly but surely, she opened the lid, letting it fall to rest on the sheet. Inside was what appeared to be white linen handkerchiefs wrapped around oddly shaped objects. Gently picking the first up, she pulled away the layers of cloth until the mysterious treasure dangled from her fingertips.

  "Oh, my." The words of reverence couldn't begin to describe her feelings at holding such an object.

  A long golden interlaced chain dangled from her fingers. The centerpiece was a golden cross decorated with beautifully carved sapphires, each one matching the next in size, shape, and color. One side of the cross sported a white pearl while the opposite arm lacked the added decoration. Despite an obviously long time spent tucked away and forgotten, the whole item sparkled in the sunlight streaming in from her living room window. Certainly no expert, she considered the possibility of high quality costume jewelry before tossing aside the notion. The weight and sheer precision of the piece spoke of money, expertise, and rarity. Flipping the medallion over, she squinted, valiantly searching for a mark or writing of any sort. Finding nothing, she fingered one of the brilliant blue jewels.

  With great tenderness she laid the necklace down on the sheet and began to painstakingly unwrap the second item stashed in the fake book. A bright swath of whiteness glimmered. Resisting the urge to hurry, she delicately loosened every piece of cloth from the piece before holding the prize in her palm. A small cameo stared back at her. The raised picture reminded her of an odd looking tree or perhaps a sprig of broccoli. Either way, the perfectly conditioned piece spoke of age and mystery.

  As she picked at the handkerchief, a slight sound of metal plummeting the short distance to the floor caught her attention. Glancing down, she found a golden ring. She picked the band up and gave the item a closer look. The square top was actually small triangles in various shades of green. By the weight, she judged the material solid gold with some sort of gems on the decorative flat surface.

  Her gaze traveled back to the chain and cross as her mind whirled with astonishment and a near certainty that she stumbled across something big. Really big.

  Obviously of great worth, she needed to find a safe place for them until she could determine what exactly they were and the best future home for all three objects. Glancing around, she frowned.

  Her one bedroom apartment lacked more than the bare essentials. A hand-me-down sofa sat against one wall facing a small television perched on a secondhand stand. The spartan decorating style carried through the rest of the living space. No hiding place came to mind. None at all.

  Handling the three historical pieces with great care, she wrapped them in their protective linen and tucked them back in the makeshift book. The ruse would work for a day or two. Until she could find a much better place for them.

  Standing, she carried her newly discovered treasure and tucked them away in her underwear drawer. The rest of the books she'd donate to the library as none of them seemed to pan out. No matter. The ample surprise at the bottom more than made up for the lack of quality literature.

  Where am I going to store them?

  A bank safety deposit box came to mind. As quickly as she came up with the idea, she tossed it aside. While a great place and relatively safe, she couldn't dispel the concern over some money exchanging hands and a locksmith entering the bank vault and easily liberating her find from the supposedly safe container. No. She needed something more foolproof, more sneaky. In the last place someone would think of looking.

  An image formed in her head, causing her to grin like a Cheshire cat. That's it! With renewed energy and determination, she hurried back to the cardboard box, reloaded the books, grabbed her purse, and scurried out the door. Her idea called for a quick stop at the local hardware store.

  Chapter 3

  "You'd think as a research librarian, I could find out something by now." Josie's fingers pelted the keyboard like a steady rain on unyielding stone. She'd already tried various searches only to come up empty-handed each time. Nothing on the internet even began to look like, or sound like, the newly discovered treasures, which lay hidden in the purse locked away in her locker.

  "Miss? Oh, miss?"

  She glanced up to find a young blonde lady staring at her with a frown of impatience o
n her face. "Can you help me, please?"

  Josie plastered on a smile. "Sure. What are you looking for?"

  "Information on the Civil War."

  "What part of the Civil War?"

  The girl shrugged. "I don't know. I just have to write a research paper about the Civil War. The professor didn't specify what part."

  Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, Josie led the girl to the history section of the vast metropolitan library. The entire building took up a city block with a dozen side rooms storing everything from old microfiche machines to card catalogs to donated historical documents. Books and journals were crammed into the main area patiently waiting for an avid reader or researcher to pluck them from the shelves and discover their secrets.

  "Here we are." Josie stopped at one of the side rooms just off the main area. "This is the Civil War area."

  The girl's mouth fell open. "How am I going to find anything?"

  A rueful grin formed on Josie's face. "You decide what you want to write about, then go digging. Or, you go digging until you decide what you want to learn about, then you dig some more."

  "But…"

  Josie spun around and took off at a fast clip. No way would she sit at a table and handhold the girl through her project. If the student wanted to get through school, she needed to learn to do things herself. What better time than now?

  Heading back to her desk, Josie stopped when she found a middle-aged man not only sitting in her worn wooden chair but plucking away on her keyboard. Anger and annoyance shot to the fore.

  Hastily striding over, she glared down at the man. "Excuse me."

  He barely spared her a glance.

  "This is my computer, not a public computer to be used."

  "It wasn't in use."