EMERALD DRAGON

  A DANE MADDOCK ADVENTURE

  BOOK TWO OF THE DRAGON CYCLE

  DAVID WOOD

  ADRENALINE PRESS

  “Part murder mystery, part pulp adventure, completely thrilling!”

  When his old friend is murdered, Dane Maddock finds himself the prime suspect. To clear his name, Maddock and Bones Bonebrake must find the legendary Bachal Isu, the Staff of Christ. But a dangerous pagan cult, the Tuatha, has set their eyes on the fabled staff, and plan on using it to raise the Emerald Dragon.

  EMERALD DRAGON is the second book in the DRAGON CYCLE.

  Classic adventure for the modern reader! Fans of Indiana Jones, Doc Savage, and National Treasure will love Dane Maddock!

  Praise for David Wood and The Dane Maddock Adventures!

  “With the thoroughly enjoyable way Mr. Wood has mixed speculative history with our modern-day pursuit of truth, he has created a story that thrills and makes one think beyond the boundaries of mere fiction and enter the world of ‘why not’?” David Lynn Golemon, Author of the Event Group series

  “What an adventure! A great read that provides lots of action, and thoughtful insight as well, into strange realms that are sometimes best left unexplored.” Paul Kemprecos, author of Cool Blue Tomb and the NUMA Files

  “Dane and Bones.... Together they’re unstoppable. Rip roaring action from start to finish. Wit and humor throughout. Just one question - how soon until the next one? Because I can’t wait.” Graham Brown, author of Shadows of the Midnight Sun

  “A page-turning yarn blending high action, Biblical speculation, ancient secrets, and nasty creatures. Indiana Jones better watch his back!” Jeremy Robinson, author of SecondWorld

  “Let there be no confusion: David Wood is the next Clive Cussler. Once you start reading, you won’t be able to stop until the last mystery plays out in the final line.” Edward G. Talbot, author of 2012: The Fifth World

  “A twisty tale of adventure and intrigue that never lets up and never lets go!” Robert Masello, author of The Einstein Prophecy

  “I like my thrillers with lots of explosions, global locations, and a mystery where I learn something new. Wood delivers! Recommended as a fast paced, kick ass read.” J.F. Penn, author of Desecration

  “David Wood has done it again. Within seconds of opening the book, I was hooked. Intrigue, suspense, monsters, and treasure hunters. What more could you want? David’s knocked it out of the park with this one!” Nick Thacker- author of The Enigma Strain

  “The literary equivalent of a theme park roller coaster!” BookAnon

  Emerald Dragon- ©2022 by David Wood

  The Dane Maddock Adventures™

  All rights reserved

  Published by Adrenaline Press

  www.adrenaline.press

  Adrenaline Press is an imprint of Gryphonwood Press

  www.gryphonwoodpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  From the Author

  1

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  3

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  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  Epilogue

  Books by David Wood

  About the Author

  From the Author

  This book is, in part, a tip of the hat to one of my favorite television shows, Derry Girls. If you’re a fan of the show, you’ll likely recognize several character names inspired by the show.

  The book references the events of GOLDEN DRAGON but you do not have to read them in order.

  I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it!

  Until next time,

  David

  1

  Leaden clouds hung low in a sunless sky. A light breeze swept in off the nearby river sending chills down his spine. Only the sound of their footsteps on the cobblestone street broke the silence. An old, imposing building loomed up ahead. Dane Maddock paused to take in the sight.

  “This is the place.”

  “At least we’ll be indoors. This weather sucks.” Bones Bonebrake scowled at the overcast sky.

  “You’ve dealt with much worse,” Maddock said. The two men were treasure hunters and former Navy SEALs. Over the years, they had traveled the globe and endured all sorts of hardships. “Come on. Let’s check it out.”

  When they reached their destination, Maddock paused to run his hand over the old bricks. They were cool to the touch, damp from the morning drizzle. There was something about an old building that sparked his imagination, made him wonder what secrets lay hidden inside waiting to be discovered.

  “Built in 1780,” Maddock said.

  “I don’t even know if this is the original structure,” Bones said. “But that’s not what’s important. We’ve got drinking to do.”

  Maddock chuckled. For Bones, a visit to the Jameson Whiskey Distillery was like a trip to Disneyland. He hadn’t shut up about it since he had won a trip to Dublin.

  “Should be fun,” Maddock said. “Just don’t overdo it. Lots of places to see.”

  “You’re right about that. The Guinness brewery is just across the river. And there are at least five more distilleries within walking distance.”

  “So is Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and Trinity College,” Maddock said.

  “Seriously? We’re on a guys’ trip and you want to go to church and to school?”

  “How about the National Leprechaun Museum? It’s close by.”

  “Leprechauns?” Bones closed his eyes as if drawing upon his last reserves of patience. “I should have invited Willis.”

  “Fine, no leprechauns,” Maddock said

  “Now you’re talking. Come on. Let’s take the tour,” Bones said.

  Inside the distillery, the atmosphere was warm and upbeat. The décor was striking. Enormous chandeliers made from Jameson bottles cast a bright light on the polished, golden-brown wood of the tables and bar tops. The room was crowded with people sipping whiskey and chatting amiably.

  “This is a welcome change from the weather outside.” Bones looked around and smiled. “And to think you wanted to see little green men.”

  The tour began with a multimedia presentation about the history and making of the famed whiskey. Next, a tour guide named Orla showed them around. She was an attractive young woman with big brown eyes and wavy auburn hair. She was also a wealth of information about the history of the distillery and the Jameson family, sprinkling in anecdotes and trivia throughout her presentation.

  “John Jameson, the distillery’s namesake, was not Irish,” Orla explained. “He was a legal clerk from Scotland. It was his wife’s family who owned this distillery.”

  “Men! Always taking credit for everything. Am I right, ladies?” Bones looked around. The others in their group smirked or rolled their eyes.

  “I don’t think they’re buying what you’re selling,” Maddock said quietly.

  “I’m like Novocain. I need time to take effect.”

  “I do find your company mind-numbing,” Maddock said.

  They learned several interesting things from Orla. Jameson was the grandfather of Guglielmo Marconi, the Italian engineer responsible for the invention of radio transmission. The whiskey was no longer distilled in Dublin, but in Cork, although this historic building was the one that drew the public’s interest.

  “Got any weird or creepy stories about the Jamesons?” Bones asked.

  Orla cocked her head. “Such as?”

  “You know, lost family jewels, curses, hauntings, skeletons in the closet. The interesting stuff.”

  Maddock rolled his eyes, but the other guests perked up. Orla frowned, then smiled.

  “Here’s one. Jameson’s great-grandson, James, once paid cannibals to let him watch them kill and eat a ten-year-old girl.” This got everyone’s attention. “He was adventuring in the Congo. When the chief of a host village mentioned eating people, James said he would like to see that. The chief set a price of six handkerchiefs, and Jameson immediately sent his valet to get said handkerchiefs. Upon payment, the chief sent for a slave girl. James, who had an interest in science, took notes and made sketches while...” She didn’t need to finish the sentence. “A grim reality of that time and place in history,” Orla finished.

  A silver-haired man hurried over to them and took Orla by the arm. Anger flashed in her eyes, and she jerked away.

  “What do you want, Eammon?”

  “Orla, what have we told you about going off-script?”

  “She was just answering my question,” Bones said. “Blame me, not her.”

  Eammon rounded on Bones, elbows cocked and fists clenched. He froze when he found himself nose to breastbone with the massive Cherokee. His eyes slowly climbed to meet Bones’ flinty gaze. He took a step back, cleared his throat.

  “Well, then. Don’t let it happen again. Orla, see me in my office after the tour.” He turned and hurried away.

  “He walks like a hen with chub-rub,” Bones said. Maddock didn’t know what that meant, but several of the women in the group laughed.

  Orla led them to a bar area, where they were provided with samples of Irish whiskey, Scottish whisky, and American bourbon. They sampled the three as Orla explained the differences.

  Maddock enjoyed the Irish whiskey. It was smooth with a light, floral fragrance. The flavor was a perfect balance of nutty and spicy notes with a hint of vanilla, and it left him with a warm feeling.

  “That concludes our tour,” Orla announced. She hurried over and whispered a quick “thank you” to Bones before slipping away.

  “This was fun,” Maddock admitted.

  “Just think,” Bones said. “This city is full of distilleries and breweries just waiting for us to drop in.”

  “We do have an appointment this afternoon with Andrew Wainwright at Trinity College. He’s going to show us around,” Maddock said. Wainwright was a retired professor from England who had recently taken up a part-time position at the Trinity College Library. He was also a great nephew of the legendary explorer, Percy Fawcett. He had once helped Maddock and Bones on their search for a lost city in the Amazon. Since then, he and Maddock had maintained a friendship, mostly by email.

  “I still can’t believe you want to go to the library,” Bones said.

  “Trinity College has been on my bucket list for years. I can’t wait to check it out.”

  “I believe I can help with that,” a woman’s voice said from behind him. Maddock turned to see a smartly dressed woman standing behind him. She was tall with fair skin, russet-colored hair, and slightly tilted blue eyes. A stocky brown-haired man stood behind her, glowering at Maddock and Bones. “Are you Dane Maddock?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Inspector Fallon Walsh.” She flashed a badge and credential. “This is Sergeant Mike Doyle.” She inclined her head in the direction of the brown-haired man. “I will ask again. Are you Dane Maddock?”

  “I think you already know who I am.” Maddock couldn’t imagine what the Gardai, the Irish police, might want with him. “What can I do for you?”

  “Your name has come up in the course of an investigation.”

  “Not chance,” Bones said. “We only arrived late last night.”

  “I am aware,” Walsh said. “I spoke with the hotel manager. She’s the one who told me where to find the two of you.”

  “It’s not just a hotel,” Bones corrected. “It’s a haunted castle.”

  Clontarf Castle, where they were staying, was a twelfth-century castle that had been converted into a four-star hotel. It was also rumored to be haunted, with guests reporting a variety of paranormal activity. Bones considered ghostly activity a highly desirable amenity.

  “We didn’t share our itinerary with the manager.” Maddock’s suspicion was rising.

  “Your friend mentioned your plans while he was trying to get off with her this morning,” Walsh said.

  Maddock flicked a weary glance at Bones, who shrugged. Some things never changed.

  “Fine. How can I help you?”

  “I’d like you to take a ride with us over to Trinity College. We’d like the benefit of your expertise.”

  “I’m not a scholar,” Maddock said, puzzled. “What do you need my help with?”

  “It’s part of an active investigation, so I’d rather not talk about it here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I know what this is about.” Maddock had no reason to doubt Walsh and Doyle were who they claimed to be, but he had run into enough shady characters in his time to be wary of the unexpected.

  “You will cooperate with our investigation one way or another.” Doyle took a step forward, fists clenched. The pugnacious sergeant looked like he was itching for a fight.

  “Leave it, Doyle,” Walsh said. “He is not a suspect.”

  “Not yet,” Doyle grumbled.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s grumpy by nature.” Walsh said. “You were scheduled to meet with Professor Andrew Wainwright today?”

  “That’s correct.” Maddock couldn’t imagine Wainwright getting tangled up in anything illegal. Then it hit him; the inspector had used the past tense when mentioning the appointment as if it was no longer on the docket. A cold feeling of certainty hit him like a gut punch. Something bad must have happened to the old scholar.

  “Why were you meeting with him?” Doyle demanded.

  “He’s an old friend.” Maddock wasn’t going to volunteer any unnecessary information. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you,” Walsh said, “Professor Wainwright has died.”

  2

  “Wainwright is dead? How?” Maddock was stunned. He had spoken to the man only a few days ago and everything sounded fine. Of course, Wainwright was not a young man. He could have expired of natural causes. Maddock hoped that however the old academic had passed, he had gone peacefully.

  “The cause of death is yet to be confirmed, but we are treating it as suspicious.” Walsh was choosing her words carefully. “We were hoping you could provide us some assistance.”

  “Why me?” Maddock asked.

  “We have need of your expertise,” Walsh said. Behind her, Doyle coughed into his hand and made a face.

  “Maddock isn’t a detective,” Bones said. “He can barely find his own ass to wipe it.”

  “We will explain when we get there,” Walsh said, ignoring Bones.

  “We’re wasting time,” Doyle said. “Let’s take him into custody along with this mog.” He flicked a glance at Bones.

  “That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” Bones said. “Maybe you and I should get to know each other a little better. We could meet up when you’re off duty.” His eyes locked with Doyle’s.

  “Let it go, Bones. He’s only doing his job.” Maddock downed the last of his whiskey and stood. “I’ll text you when they’re finished with me.”

  Bones protested at first, but he begrudgingly agreed. “If I haven’t heard from you in an hour, I’ll come looking for you.” He cast a meaningful glance at Doyle, who grinned wolfishly.

  “Please, gentlemen, no pissing contest,” Walsh said. “No one here wants to clean up your mess.” She turned to Maddock. “Shall we?”

  The officers put Maddock in the back seat of their vehicle but did not handcuff him. He took this breach of protocol as a hopeful sign. He rebuffed Walsh’s attempts to make conversation as they made the short drive to Trinity College.

  Despite the tense situation, Maddock could not help but absorb the atmosphere of the picturesque college as the two Gardai led him across the campus. As they trod the cobbled walkways past the manicured lawns, he felt he had been transported back to the seventeenth century.

  “Your first visit to Trinity?” Walsh asked.

  Maddock nodded. Doyle snorted and Walsh shot a warning glance in his direction. Maddock frowned. They obviously didn’t believe him.

  Outside the museum, a garish sculpture stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a bronze sphere, a jagged section of its surface cut out to reveal a smaller sphere inside, along with gears and supporting structures. Walsh saw his frown.

  “That sculpture is called Sfera Con Sfera, or Sphere Within Sphere, by Italian sculptor Arnaldo Pomodoro. According to the artist, the inner ball represents the Earth, and the outer ball symbolizes Christianity. There are several versions of it on display at different sites around the world.”

  “Looks like they’re rebuilding the Death Star,” Maddock said. Walsh flashed a grin before fixing her expression again to one of disapproval. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

  “The Old Library,” Walsh said. “Every tourist’s preferred destination.” She eyed him carefully as she spoke.

  “Perfect,” Maddock said. “That’s number one on my list.”

  “I have no doubt,” Doyle muttered.

  A sign up ahead declared the Old Library temporarily closed. A uniformed officer stood guard. She was thin and pale with a long nose, jet black hair, and a perpetual sneer. Her nameplate read J. Joyce. She nodded at Walsh, forced a tight smile in Doyle’s direction.

  “SOCO has just left, Inspector,” she said to Walsh. “He left the spot taped off, per your instructions.”

  “Thank you,” Walsh said. “We shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Praise Bono,” Joyce said. “I’m fed up with angry tourists demanding a peek inside.”

  “We’ll put you up for a commendation.” Doyle smirked as he shouldered past the officer and pushed open the door.

  “He must be fun at parties,” Maddock said.

 

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