The Navigator - Cussler Clive - Страница 38
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“Carina has told me about the generosity of your foundation,” Austin said.
Baltazar dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand and turned his attention to the statue.
“At long last. The Navigator. Truly remarkable. I applaud your decision to make him the centerpiece of the exhibition, Miss Mechadi.”
“He was the natural choice,” Carina said. “Even with the damage to his face, he projects a dignity and intelligence. Then there’s his air of mystery.”
Baltazar nodded. “What do you think of our mute friend, Mr. Austin?”
Austin thought about his conversation with Saxon. “Maybe he would be more talkative if we could ask him the right questions.”
Baltazar gave Austin a strange look and turned his attention back to the statue. He walked around the Navigator, his eyes roving over every square inch of bronze.
“Have you had an expert look at the statue?” he asked Carina.
“Not yet. It’s going to be transported to the Smithsonian where it can be readied for the tour.”
“I’ve been a bit concerned about security in view of the attempt to steal the statue,” Baltazar said. “As Mr. Saxon’s unauthorized visit shows, security is lax. The statue might be particularly vulnerable while it is being moved. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for a trucking company to come in this morning to move the statue under guard. They should be here in a short while. If you don’t mind, of course.”
Carina pondered the offer. As more people knew where the Navigator was, the less secure it would be.
“That’s very kind of you,” Carina said. “I’d be glad to accept your offer.”
“Good, then. It’s done. I know it’s early in the morning, but I suggest we celebrate our success with a toast.”
He signaled his valet who set the case in his hand on a shelf and unsnapped the lid. Inside the case was a bottle of Moet. The valet popped the cork, poured from the bottle into three champagne flutes, and passed them around.
They clinked glasses, and Baltazar held his high. “To the Navigator.”
Austin studied Carina’s benefactor over the rim of the glass. He looked as if he had been carved in stone. Under the charcoal pin-striped suit, Baltazar had the powerful body of a wrestler. Even with his wide shoulders, the head that rested on the thick neck still seemed too big for his physique.
Baltazar was unaware of Austin’s scrutiny. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Carina and seemed to be studying her every move. Austin had detected a veiled hostility behind the warm smile. He wondered if Baltazar was interested in Carina and resented Austin’s friendship with the lovely Italian woman.
The valet began collecting the empty champagne flutes. The others were focused on the statue and no one noticed when the valet took Carina’s glass and slipped it into a plastic bag, which he tucked into the case. Then he went over and whispered in Baltazar’s ear. A moment later, Baltazar glanced at his watch and said he had to go.
Carina ushered him to the door. When she came back, she apologized to Kurt for cutting his visit short but said she had to prepare the statue for the movers. They agreed to stay in touch by cell phone and meet later in the day for their drive to Virginia to see the National Geographic photographer.
A BLACK YUKON with dark-tinted windows was parked close to Austin’s Jeep. A glance at the license plate told Austin it was a U.S. government vehicle. His conclusion was confirmed when the back door of the Yukon opened and a man in a dark blue suit and sunglasses got out and flashed a badge under Austin’s nose.
Holding the door wide, the man said, “Someone wants to talk to you.”
Austin didn’t take kindly to orders from rude strangers. He smiled. “If you don’t take that toy badge out of my face, you’re going to end up eating it.”
Austin expected a hostile reaction, but, to his surprise, the man laughed, then he spoke to someone in the SUV. “You’re right,” he said. “Your pal is a hard case.”
A loud guffaw issued from the vehicle’s interior. A voice Austin hadn’t heard for a long time called out: “Don’t get too close or he’ll bite you.”
Austin peered into the car and saw a large man seated behind the steering wheel. He was smoking a cigar and had a wide grin on his broad-featured face.
“Oh, hell, I should have known it was you, Flagg. What brings you here from Langley?”
“Folks at the very highest levels of government asked me to collect you. Get in. Jake here can follow in your NUMA car.”
Austin tossed the keys to his Jeep to the other man and got into the Yukon. He had worked with John Flagg on a number of CIA assignments but hadn’t seen his former colleague in years. The Wampanoag Indian from Martha’s Vineyard worked behind the scenes as a troubleshooter and rarely came to the surface.
They shook hands, and Austin said, “Where are we going?”
Flagg grinned and said, “You’re going on a boat ride.”
Chapter 21
THE MOVING VAN ARRIVED at the Smithsonian warehouse twenty minutes after Austin had departed in the Yukon. Carina was relieved to see the unmarked truck back up to the warehouse. She had seen firsthand the ingenuity and determination of the ship hijackers.
The truck’s rear doors opened and two men dressed in generic gray uniforms and matching baseball caps climbed out. One man activated the tailgate-lifting platform and the other unloaded a wheeled dolly and a large wooden box. The driver got out of the cab and came around back with a fourth man.
“You must be Ms. Mechadi,” he said in a slow Southern drawl. “My name is Ridley. I’m in charge of this gang of gorillas. Sorry we’re late.”
Ridley was a husky man with a blond marine brush cut. He and his crew carried sidearms in belt holsters and had portable radios clipped to their pockets.
“No apology needed,” Carina said. “I just finished wrapping the statue to be transported.”
She led the way into the warehouse. Ridley chuckled when he saw the figure swathed from top to bottom in padding and tied with rope. “Whooee! Kinda looks like a big sausage.”
Carina smiled at the apt comparison. “The statue is more than two thousand years old. It’s already been damaged, and I wanted to do whatever I could to protect it.”
“Don’t blame you a bit, Ms. Mechadi. We’ll take good care of it.”
Ridley stuck his curled thumb and forefinger between his lips and let out a sharp whistle. His men came into the warehouse, placed the wooden box on the dolly, and lined the container with additional pads. Using straps to keep the statue steady, they lowered it into the box, and moved the loaded dolly out of the warehouse. The tailgate lifted the load to the level of the cargo level and the movers pushed it into the truck.
Two movers got into the back of the truck. One man produced a rifle and sat on the box, as if he were riding shotgun on a stagecoach. The other closed the door, and Carina heard it lock from the inside. The driver got behind the wheel and Ridley came over with a clipboard, which he handed to Carina.
“Have to ask you to sign this form, just to make it all legal.”
Carina scrawled her signature across the bottom of the form and handed the clipboard back to Ridley.
“That’s my car over there,” she said. “I’ll follow you to the Smithsonian.”
“No need, Ms. Mechadi. We know where to go. We’ll take care of things, and you can go about your business.”
“This is my business,” she said with characteristic firmness.
Ridley’s eyes grew hard as he watched Carina walk to her car. He swore softly under his breath and climbed into the cab, where he made a quick call on his cell phone. He talked for a few moments and clicked off. He turned to the driver and barked: “Move!”
With Carina’s car tailing it, the truck pulled out of the warehouse complex onto the road. The vehicles wound their way through suburban Maryland neighborhoods. Carina began to relax. Ridley and his men seemed competent and efficient, almost in a military fashion. Although she didn’t like firearms, she was comforted by the fact that the movers were armed. Unlike the defenseless crewmen aboard the containership, they would be able to put up a fight.
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