The Navigator - Cussler Clive - Страница 59

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He had sent his men to keep an eye on his friends. After his men had been ditched in the abandoned village, they had returned to Istanbul and kept an eye on the hotel, figuring Austin and Carina would come back for their luggage. They had followed Austin from the archaeological site to Topkapi only to lose him when he and Carina had ducked into the harem. They had seen Buck and his men go in after them and had run around to the exit.

Carina planted a big kiss on Cemil’s cheek. “How can we ever thank you?”

“There is one way. I made a bad business decision that has come to the attention of the international authorities. It would be helpful if you vouched for my character should the situation become awkward.”

“It’s a deal,” Carina said.

Cemil’s cheerful manner changed. “Your hotel is no longer safe. My men will pick up your luggage and move you to an inn where you will be okay for the night. I have a lot of friends in Turkey, but people are easily bought and sold, and I could not guarantee your safety indefinitely”

“I think Cemil is saying the climate here is no longer healthy,” Austin said.

“Your friend puts it very well,” Cemil said. “My advice is to get out of Istanbul as quickly as possible.”

AUSTIN WASN’T one to disregard good advice. But he had unfinished business to attend to. The Mercedes dropped them off at the Bosphorus dig, and arrangements were made to pick them up in two hours.

Hanley was in a shed that had been set up as a conservation laboratory. The plaster casts were laid out on a table. They were dark gray in color.

“I painted the ridges and raised areas to make them stand out,” Hanley explained. “Fascinating stuff. Where did you say you got it?”

“These designs were etched into a Phoenician statue. We’ll run them by an expert when we get home,” Austin said.

Hanley bent over the plaster of paris replica of the cat that had been entwined around the Navigator’s legs. “I’ve got three cats back home, so I got a big kick out of this,” he said.

Austin was looking at the swirling lines that were the cat’s stripes when his eye began to see patterns that didn’t seem random. He held a magnifying glass over the cat’s rib section. Almost lost in the feline’s stripes was an opposing Z symbol. Unlike the others, which were horizontal, this one was upside down.

He handed the glass to Carina, who studied the mark and said, “What does it mean?”

“If this is a symbol for a ship, it’s either sunk or sinking.” Austin stared at the pattern of lines and whorls. “I think this is more than artistic whimsy. We’re looking at a map. Those lines depict a coastline. The indentations are bays and coves.”

He borrowed a digital camera and a tripod. Carina held the casts at a vertical angle. Austin shot dozens of photos and downloaded the pictures on a borrowed laptop computer and sent them to a NUMA e-mail address.

While Hanley and Carina wrapped the casts in plastic foam, Austin put a call in to Zavala at the airport. Zavala said he would meet them the next morning for the flight back to the United States. The damaged Subvette had been loaded onto its cargo plane.

The Mercedes arrived with their baggage and took Austin and Carina to a small hotel that overlooked the Bosphorus. They turned in early, too tired to enjoy the view, and fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. When they arose early the next morning, the Mercedes was waiting to take them to the airport.

Zavala welcomed them on board with a fresh pot of coffee.

Less than an hour later, the Citation was airborne and heading west at five hundred miles an hour.

“How was Istanbul?” Zavala said as the plane sped over the Aegean.

Austin told him about the encounter with Buck and his gang at Topkapi, the mad dash into the harem, and the rescue by Cemil and his men.

“The harem! Wish I could have been there,” Zavala said.

“Me too. We could have used you when the shooting started,” Austin said.

“That’s not what I had in mind. I wish I could have been there when the harem was full of beautiful women.”

Austin should have known better than to expect any sympathy from his womanizing friend.

“I understand there’s an opening for a eunuch,” Austin said.

Zavala clamped his knees together. “Ouch,” he said. “Thanks but no thanks. I think I’ll go up and chat with the pilot.”

Austin grinned at his partner’s discomfort. His light mood only lasted a moment. Buck and Ridley were dead and their cohorts neutralized, but if Austin’s suspicions about Viktor Baltazar were correct there would be more hard-eyed men in his future.

Even worse, the baby-faced killer was still on the loose.

Chapter 34

ANGELA FELT AS IF someone had walked over her grave.

There was no reason for the icy coldness between her shoulder blades. She often stayed after hours and had never felt nervous about working alone; there was something comforting about being surrounded by the wisdom of the ages.

She thought she had heard a voice call out. She wasn’t sure. She had been focused on the Meriwether Lewis material.

The only other person in the building was her boss. Perhaps Helen Woolsey had said good night.

Angela sat back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been playing a waiting game, hoping Woolsey would leave the building by the time the Trouts returned. She could barely contain her excitement. She had much to tell them.

She cocked her ear. Silence. Something didn’t seem right.

Angela rose from her chair and walked across the silent reading room. She stepped into a darkened corridor and flicked on the light switch. The hall remained in darkness. She’d have to call the building superintendent in the morning. She started down the corridor, walking toward the glow that seeped out around the edges of Helen’s door.

She stopped and knocked softly. No reply. Helen must have forgotten to turn off her light. Angela opened the door and entered the office, only to freeze in midstep.

Woolsey was still at her desk, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her head angled back like a broken doll. Her mouth was wide open, and dead eyes stared at the ceiling. Reddish purple bruises marred her pale throat.

A silent scream echoed inside Angela’s skull. She put her hand to her mouth and fought the impulse to vomit.

She slowly backed out of the office. Her instinct was to run toward the front door. She stared down the unlit corridor, but a primeval sense of danger stopped her from bolting into the gloomy shadows. Instead of heading for the entrance, she sprinted back into the interior of the building.

Adriano’s hulking figure stepped from the gloom. He had jammed the light switch with a pocketknife and had expected the young woman to panic and rush into his arms. But she had turned and run the other way like a rabbit retreating into its warren.

Adriano’s blood was up after killing the Watcher. That had been easy. The thought of a challenge cheered him. The kill was much more enjoyable when it came at the end of a hunt.

He passed Woolsey’s office and glanced in at his handiwork. Woolsey had been the latest in a long line of Watchers embedded in the Philosophical Society. The Watcher system went back centuries. Watchers were quietly engaged in centers of learning around the world, their only job to sound the alarm at the first hint that the Secret had been uncovered.

Two centuries before, another philosophical society Watcher had warned of Jefferson’s findings. The Watcher was one of the academics Jefferson had asked to translate the words on the vellum. The destruction of Jefferson’s papers was supposed to have ended his quest, but the connection to Meriwether Lewis was discovered and that loose end had to be tied up by assassins dispatched to the LouisianaTerritory.

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