The Forgotten Fortune Read online

  THE FORGOTTEN FORTUNE

  The Jack Reilly Adventures, Book 1

  Matt James

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright 2020 by Matt James

  ALSO BY MATT JAMES

  THE JACK REILLY ADVENTURES

  The Forgotten Fortune

  The Roosevelt Conspiracy (Coming Soon)

  THE DANE MADDOCK ADVENTURES with David Wood

  Berserk

  Skin and Bones

  Lost City

  STAND-ALONE TITLES

  The Dragon

  Dark Island

  Sub-Zero

  Cradle of Death

  THE DEAD MOON POST-APOCALYPTIC THRILLERS

  Nightmares are Born

  Home Sweet Hell

  Song of Sorrow

  In Memoriam

  THE DEAD MOON SHORT STORIES

  Nightmare at the Museum

  Scared to Death

  THE HANK BOYD ADVENTURES

  Blood and Sand

  Mayan Darkness

  Babel Found

  Elixir of Life

  OTHER STORIES

  Plague

  Evolve

  The Cursed Pharaoh

  Broken Glass

  PRAISE FOR MATT JAMES

  "Matt James is my go-to guy for heart-stopping adventure and bone-chilling suspense!"

  —Greig Beck, international bestselling author of

  BENEATH THE DARK ICE

  “Matt’s novels need a pause button. They do not stop!”

  —Lee Murray, award-winning author of INTO THE MIST

  “A talented voice in the action-thriller genre!”

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  “Matt James is electrifying!”

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  “If you like thrills, chills, and nonstop action, then Matt James may just be your next favorite author!"

  —John Sneeden, bestselling author of THE SIGNAL

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  —SUSPENSE MAGAZINE

  “Matt James has proven that true adventure is found in the fine line between myth and reality. James walks that tightrope with a master's touch.”

  —J.M. LeDuc, bestselling author of SIN

  For Ernest Dempsey

  USA Today bestselling author of

  the Sean Wyatt archaeological thriller series

  Thank you for your support, friendship, and inspiration

  THE FORGOTTEN FORTUNE

  The Jack Reilly Adventures - Book 1

  By Matt James

  PROLOGUE

  Mosul, Iraq

  2016

  After two years of ISIS occupation, American military forces launched a joint operation with the help of French, Kurdish, and Iraqi troops to retake the city of Mosul and forcibly expel the threat. It was a well-coordinated and precisely executed offensive, one that turned the tides in the war on terror.

  The late-night air was crisp and dry, and the full moon was high in the sky. If he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting to be ambushed at any moment, Jack Reilly would’ve stopped, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the soft breeze being funneled in through the pitch-black alley.

  “Go,” he said softly, getting his fellow Delta operators moving.

  He and three other soldiers bolted across the street, following closely behind Jack. He led them up the short flight of stairs to the two-story home’s front door and kicked it in. His eyebrows lifted in surprise when he removed the partition entirely from its hinges.

  I guess they don’t make ’em like they used to.

  “Contact!” he shouted, snapping his M4A1 carbine to the left. He sent a quick three-round burst into the chest of the living room’s single occupant. Unfortunately, the armed man wasn’t who they were there for, but he was another high-value target worth getting rid of.

  Rifles forward, the four specialists entered the domicile and quickly cleared the first floor. Their intelligence stated that this particular residence was being used as a safe house for a key player within the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria hierarchy, Qasem Azrael, as well as the man’s six children. He routinely traveled with them, using them as armed guards as well as his living body armor. Nothing was off-limits to Azrael.

  “Friggin’ savage,” Jack muttered, stepping lightly.

  All of them had been seen entering the building ten minutes ago, along with the man Jack just killed.

  The household was divided into five rooms; one common area, a small kitchen, and four bedrooms, two of which were upstairs. The team’s intel also said that there could be a secret basement entrance on-premise. That was the operators’ goal.

  All was quiet.

  “Dammit,” Jack mumbled. “Search every square inch of this place.”

  It didn’t take long to clear the entire home. It was evident that Azrael, and his family, had exited through other means. Once they confirmed that the house was empty, they began searching for the hidden access point. Jack came clopping down the stairs from the second story just as one of his men discovered something inside the first-floor master bedroom.

  “In here!” Miller called out.

  Jack hurried inside. The space held very little in the way of furnishings. A simple dresser, a nightstand, and a bed that sat atop a worn area rug was all that was in the bare room.

  Miller was kneeling at the foot of the bed, pointing a small handheld flashlight beneath it. The two men swiftly lifted the drooping mattress from its frame and handed it off to the duo waiting outside the doorway. Now, there was nothing on the floor except for the bedframe and the rug. That’s not what interested them, though.

  There was a slight, square-shaped lump in the middle of it.

  Jack stepped into the middle metal frame and stomped on the lump. It sounded hollow, and it gave a little under his weight. They quickly removed the frame and threw back the rug.

  “Bingo,” Jack said, reaching for the hatch’s metal ring pull.

  He stopped, thinking better of it. Backing away, he called, “Hey, Dyson, have a look, will ya?”

  The young African American entered the room and dropped to his hands and knees. Rolling onto his side, he did what he was trained to do. Keno Dyson was a sure-handed demolitions expert. He was also well-versed in their applications. In this case, he was looking for a tripwire.

  It only took him ten seconds.

  “Hello there.” He looked up at Jack. “Good thinking, sir.”

  Jack grinned and waited for his man to disarm the device. The effort only took a minute, but in a mission like this, it seemed like it took closer to an hour. Every second was precious in raids like this. Soon, Azrael’s people would figure out what was happening and come to check things out. Jack expected that the guard he had taken out was to check in regularly. It was only a matter of time now.

  He glanced over his shoulder and found a pair of boots. The rest of the man was out of his line of sight.

  Not this time.

  Miller reached for the hatch ring this time. He yanked it open with a shrieking protest of warped wood. Jack got moving, clanging down the utilitarian metal ladder, even before the basement entrance had been made entirely accessible. He descended fifteen feet before finding earth again. The floor was stone, and the room, like the ladder, was unmarkable.

  Jack flicked on his rifle’s barrel-mounted light and shouldered the weapon. “What the…?”

  It wasn’t a basement at all.

  There were concrete-reinforced passages to the north, south, east, and west. Jack was standing inside the access point of an elaborate tunnel system covertly hidden beneath Mosul.

  This
was how they moved around the city so fast!

  “Ho-ly shit, sir,” Dyson said, arriving next.

  “Holy shit, indeed,” Jack replied, sneering in disgust. The smell was unbearable. Regardless of where the odor was coming from, he stepped away with Dyson to give Miller and Lansing room.

  “Uh, which way, sir?” Miller asked, seemingly as confused as the rest of them.

  Jack trusted what his gut was telling him and headed north. They moved in a single-file line, keeping their guns pointed away from each other’s backs. As always, Jack led the way. He was one of Delta’s finest and had served with honor for the last decade. Like so many others, he had been recruited out of the Army. From the day he applied, Jack wanted nothing more than to join one of the Special Forces divisions. And after a brief conversation with a member of the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), General Solomon Raegor, Jack knew his calling was with the legendary SFOD-D, the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta.

  He connected with Raegor the moment he met him, learning a great deal from the man. Unfortunately, five years later, the general passed away from pancreatic cancer. It crushed Jack. He had been the second man in Jack’s life to succumb to the disease. First, it was his grandfather, who, like Raegor, had been a great and honorable man.

  The tunnel wound like a snake for a quarter of a mile before the team saw natural light again. When they stopped, they also saw movement. Jack raised a fist, stopping his men in their tracks. Then, he signaled them to drop to one knee. They stayed in this position for thirty seconds and watched as a slightly built man disappeared up a ladder similar to the one they had descended.

  No, not a man, Jack realized. It was a boy.

  “Azrael is here.”

  Jack stood, signaling his men to do the same. They moved toward the exit, keeping their pace steady and controlled. As fiendish as the ISIS leader was, Azrael’s death could wait until the opportunity properly presented itself. They were trained never to rush into anything.

  He slowed and carefully stepped over a pile of rubble. It contained equal parts of brick and stone. The damage had been caused by the passage’s builders. They had forcefully broken through the wall of the local sewer system to connect their tunnel network to it.

  Ugh, Jack thought. So, that’s what that was!

  Jack slung his carbine over his shoulder and ascended the ladder without haste. Above his head was an open manhole. It allowed the moonlight in. It was the light Jack had spotted earlier. He had some past experience with maintenance hole covers. They were hard to move for a grown person, let alone a child.

  In one motion, Jack drew his sidearm and rocketed his head and right arm out of the opening. Up ahead was an alley similar to the one they had been in minutes earlier, at the beginning of their night raid. In the soft, flickering glow of a bent streetlight, Jack saw the same boy disappear across a road, and then reappear on the other side. He ducked through a second, artificial light source and then vanished into the shadows beyond.

  But before he slunk away, the youngster glanced back the other way. Jack ducked back into hiding, leaving just his head above the surface. The child’s eyes stopped on Jack, though he wasn’t positive if the kid did, indeed, see him, or not.

  Slowly, he lifted himself entirely out of the sewer, keeping his pistol pointed forward. Seeing nothing, he holstered his sidearm and opted for his heavy-hitting M4, a weapon with far superior accuracy. He kept the barrel light off and used his keen eyesight to his advantage.

  A shadow twitched further ahead. Was the boy baiting him, or was he scared and in need of a rescue?

  Shit… Jack didn’t like this.

  “Move,” he whispered without checking the location of his teammates first. He knew they were already in position behind him. He loved these guys. They were always exactly where he needed them to be.

  Unlike the child, the four operators avoided the first streetlight, ducking behind a pair of burned and bombed-out vehicles before attempting to cross. Jack held out his left hand and slowly bounced it up and down as if he was leisurely dribbling a basketball. The motion was for his people to move at the same speed. Then, he jabbed a thumb into his chest.

  “Me first.”

  Dyson, Lansing, and Miller weren’t happy. They never separated from one another. It was too dangerous for multiple reasons, especially when they were deep into enemy territory.

  Halfway across the charred street, Jack was forced to step around random car parts. There was a half-melted tire, most of a spiderwebbed windshield, and a car door, among other nondescript items.

  Jack paused when the boy stepped into the light. The child shook, and his eyes were on his own feet, not the armed American in front of him. He was terrified. With nowhere to hide, Jack stopped and lowered his rifle.

  It was a mistake to do so.

  “Hey,” Jack said, speaking in Arabic, “are you okay?”

  The child didn’t reply. The only answer Jack got was a pair of sad, helpless eyes as he looked up at him. Then, the boy did the unthinkable. He raised his right hand and showed Jack something. It wasn’t a gun…it was something far more dangerous.

  It was a detonator.

  Tears streaked down the kid’s face. Jack did the humane thing and lowered his carbine, going as far as setting it down on the road. He lifted both hands and spoke softly.

  “Take it easy. You don’t have to do this.”

  The boy sniffed. “I do… I will not go back to him.” He choked back a sob. “I…can’t.”

  What did he do to you?

  The child raised his hand, and Jack did the only thing he could do. He wasn’t going to shoot the boy. He couldn’t live with himself if he did. So, Jack reached for the mangled car door and lifted it in front of him just as a burst of sunlight exploded to life. The blast threw Jack backward. He landed with the smoldering car door laying on his chest. Jack tried to climb to his feet, but he couldn’t, and it wasn’t just the half dozen injuries he sustained that prevented him from moving.

  It was also his soul.

  Jack didn’t care that the mission was a bust. Eventually, Qasem Azrael would come to justice. All he cared about was the little boy who had lived a rotten life—one that was so bad that he’d rather kill himself than return to his father.

  Jack laid his head back with tears freely rolling down his face.

  He was done with the military.

  1

  Wyoming, USA

  Present Day

  The five-hundred-pound Grizzly bear reared up on its hind legs, towering over the two men with ease. At its tallest point, the animal easily exceeded nine feet in height. The duo had stumbled upon the mother and her two cubs while looking for a lost hiker. Now, they were the ones that needed rescuing.

  Fred Osman, the missing sightseer, was last seen only two days ago in the area. His cellphone’s signal had died six hours ago, leading Yellowstone National Park ranger, Jack Reilly, to believe that the man had been seriously injured, or possibly had died. It would be rare to find a person alive given how long he’d been gone, especially with an overprotective Grizzly on the grounds.

  Well, I guess we know what killed Mr. Osman, Jack thought, still as a statue.

  Neither he nor his partner, Tatanka Durham, looked the beast in the eyes. Instead, they kept their lines of sight low. Both men held semi-automatic AR-15 rifles at the low-ready just in case the animal charged. The firearms were standard weapons for this exact reason. So far, they had avoided conflict, but only because they were trained to deal with such adversities.

  Tatanka’s name translated to “buffalo” in the Lakota Native American language—his people’s language. So, naturally, when Jack found out what it had meant, he started calling Tatanka “Bull” because of the man’s first name’s affiliation with his last.

  Bull Durham was one of Jack’s favorite movies. The 1988 comedy revolved around the Durham Bulls minor baseball team. One of Jack’s favorite quotes was when Kevin Costner’s “Crash”
Davis dared Tim Robbins’ “Nuke” LaLoosh to hit him in the chest with a ball. Nuke laughed at the ridiculousness of the taunt and warned Crash that, if he did, he could kill him. Straight-faced, Crash replied with, “Yeah? From what I hear, you couldn't hit water if you fell out of a fucking boat.”

  “Steady,” Jack whispered, speaking to himself more than anyone.

  Bull said nothing because he typically said very little. Bull’s people were one with nature, including being silent when at all possible, and enjoying her sweet song.

  The sway of the tall grass.

  Rain striking the surface of a pristine lake.

  The playful chirping of birds in a secluded forest.

  Bull was a skilled tracker. Jack’s expertise was in search-and-rescue. Together, the duo was formidable against anything Yellowstone threw at them. They rarely failed.

  The Grizzly had other ideas.

  Her low, guttural bellows genuinely frightened both men. Even as seasoned as they were, the raw power of a creature like this one was nothing to take lightly. If she wanted to, the female could charge them, reaching speeds above thirty miles per hour. No matter how hard they tried, Jack and Bull wouldn’t be outrunning her.

  Neither man wanted to shoot her.

  So, they stood their ground and patiently waited. Typically, bears backed down if left unprovoked. Mama bears were tricky, however. They tended to go above and beyond when their cubs were around.

  The only other option might be to use the extra-large pepper spray “pistol” holstered on his right hip. It reminded him of a pint-sized fire extinguisher. The high-velocity spray cannon, if aimed right, would successfully deter the animal.

  The trick to using it was to allow its recipient to get close.

  Fat chance, Jack thought.

  The Grizzly didn’t deserve to die. She was doing what all mothers would do: Protecting her children. Jack and Bull, and possibly their missing hiker, not her, were the trespassers here. But with every passing second that she didn’t give up and turn away, Jack was worried that her death was inevitable.