The Navigator - Cussler Clive - Страница 74

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“Where does the Navigator come in?”

“The priestess learned through her informants that Solomon ordered two statues of Menelik cast and inscribed the bronze statues with maps that would show the way to Ophir and the tablets. A more-detailed map, written on vellum, was lost during the brotherly battle.”

“Why two statues?”

“Solomon was cautious as well as wise. He had them placed at the gates to his temple. Hidden in plain sight.”

“And the priestess?”

“In exile, she seethed with anger at the death of her only son at the hands of Menelik, Sheba’s offspring. She felt that she should have been the wife of Solomon, and that the Ten Commandments, and the power they brought, were rightfully hers. She entrusted Melqart’s son with the task of recovering the treasure and exacting revenge on the descendants of Solomon and Sheba. He failed, but passed the instructions down to the next generation. As the years passed, the prime goal became recovery of the tablets before anyone knew of their existence. A system of Watchers was set up worldwide to prevent the secret from being discovered.”

“What is your role in all this?”

“My father passed the task on to me. As the last of the Baltazars, it falls on my shoulders to carry out the pledge made centuries ago.”

“So, that’s it. You will take your revenge for this priestess, who is now a bag of dust. You believe I am descended from Sheba and intend to kill me.”

“I would rather not. I have a proposal. I wish to carry on the Baltazar bloodline. What better way to do it than to merge our two bloodlines into one?”

A stunned expression came to Carina’s blue eyes. “You can’t be serious. You think that I—”

“I’m not talking about a love match,” Baltazar said. “Consider it a business proposition.”

“And will you make it your business to kill me once I have produced your so-called heir?”

“That depends entirely on you.”

“Then kill me now. The thought of your touch revolts me.” She attempted to get by him. He stepped in to bar the way. She turned instinctively, looking for a place to run; her glance fell on the statue’s face, which was illuminated in the flickering torchlight.

“The statue. I remember now. I saw one like it in Rome. It was taken from Carthage during the Punic Wars. The Carthaginians used it to sacrifice children to Ba’al when the Romans attacked the city. That’s why your sainted priestess was exiled. She practiced human sacrifice.”

“Solomon was a hypocrite,” Baltazar snapped. “He worshipped the old gods, but when his priests rose up against him he gave in to them.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you or your vile gods. I want you to let me go.”

“That’s not possible.”

A wicked gleam came to Carina’s eye. She snatched up the torch from its stand and stuck it in Baltazar’s face. He laughed at the show of defiance.

“Put that thing down before I take it away from you.”

“If you won’t let me go, I will destroy your wonderful priestess.”

She whirled around and brought the torch close to the bound parchment pages on the altar.

Baltazar’s hand moved with the speed of a cobra. He snatched the torch from her hand before the dry pages caught fire, and his fist slammed her in the face. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Baltazar looked up at the statue. The slanting almond eyes glittered in the light. The arms reached out as if they wanted to embrace him.

He glanced down at Carina’s limp body, then up at the silent statue again. He cocked his head as if he were listening.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Now I understand.”

Chapter 44

AUSTIN DROPPED THE DUFFEL BAG with his dive equipment just inside the entrance to the boathouse and walked into the study. The red light was blinking on the phone. Two messages. He pressed the button. The first message was from Carina.

“Hi, Kurt. Leaving the Met around one-thirty. Meeting was a great success! Can’t wait to tell you about it. Hope the computer enhancements of the Navigator worked out. Catching a cab to Penn Station. I should be back in D.C. by late afternoon. Will call when I’m on my way. Ciao.”

He glanced at the wall clock. It was past ten o’clock. The beep signaling the start of the second message broke into his thoughts. Maybe it was Carina calling again. The phone message was short and chilling.

“Good evening, Mr. Austin,” a metallic voice said. “We are holding the Italian property for you to view. Call this number back.”

A voice changer made the caller sound like a robot. The phone number listed on the caller ID said the caller was OUT OF AREA. Austin remembered Buck’s words when Austin had confronted him at TopkapiPalace.

My employer has other plans for her.

Carina had never made it to Penn Station. Austin pursed his lips. He mentally retraced Carina’s steps that day, hoping that he’d recall a clue to her disappearance. Carina had told no one else of her plans to go to the Met. He remembered overhearing her making last-minute plans with the museum people that morning on his phone.

Austin picked up the phone to call Zavala, but his hand froze in midair. He put the phone down as if it had turned into a rattlesnake and went out onto the deck.

The air carried a rank but not unpleasant smell of mud and rotting vegetation. Lovelorn frogs croaked soft love songs against the insect chorus. The river was a pale ghost in the light of a half-moon. He remembered the prowler who’d watched the house the night of his first dinner with Carina. The tall oak tree where he had found the footprint was silhouetted against the dull sheen of the river.

The prowler had done more than prowl.

Austin went back through the house and out to the car. He drove to the end of the long driveway, turned onto the road, and drove five miles before stopping. He removed the cell phone from its dashboard holder and punched in a number from memory.

A deep voice answered: “Flagg here.”

“I could use your help,” Austin said. “Can you come by my house? Bring a fumigator.”

“Twenty minutes,” Flagg said and hung up.

Flagg was probably at Langley. Austin didn’t know where his old colleague lived. Maybe he didn’t have a home other than the CIA headquarters, where he spent most of his time between troubleshooting assignments that took him around the world.

Austin drove back to the boathouse. He was angry at himself for not insisting that Carina stay out of view, although it probably wouldn’t have done any good. Carina was fearless when it came to her own safety.

Two vehicles pulled into the drive exactly twenty-five minutes after Austin called. Flagg got out of a Yukon. A slim young man wearing coveralls emerged from a panel truck that had the name of a pest control company painted on the doors.

The fumigator introduced himself as the Bug Man. He set an aluminum case on the study floor and snapped the lid open. He removed a gadget that looked like a Buck Rogers ray gun and pointed its flared barrel at the walls as he swiveled on his heel.

Working quickly, the Bug Man surveyed each room on the ground level and then climbed up the spiral staircase to the turret bedroom. He came down a few minutes later and went to repack his electronic gear.

“No infestation here,” he said. “The whole house is clean.”

“What about outside the house?” Austin said. He jerked his thumb toward the deck.

The Bug Man tapped his right temple with a forefinger. “Duh. Of course.”

He went out on the deck and returned seconds later.

“I’m getting something from the direction of the river,” he said.

“I think I know where,” Austin said. He got a flashlight and led Flagg and the Bug Man down the deck stairs to the base of the tall oak tree. “There was a prowler out here a few nights ago,” he said. “I found a footprint under this tree.”

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