“You think they’d make it the first article?” Hawk whispered.
“No one would suspect it,” Alex answered.
Hawk threw his hand up when the bidding reached two million. He’d been authorized to go as high as five million Euros, but they were a far cry from that amount. However, he quickly realized that wasn’t going to slow the bidding down. Instead, his efforts to acquire the brazier from the Zoroastrianism era ratcheted up the competition.
By the time the bidding reached five million Euros, Alex was yapping in Hawk’s ear.
“That’s enough, Hawk,” Alex said. “We’ll have to find another way.”
“Eight million?” the auctioneer asked.
Hawk raised his hand.
“Hawk!” Alex squawked in his ear.
Before he could revel in his large bid, Amighi raised his hand and bellowed out a number: “Twenty million Euros.”
The crowd gasped as the stunned auctioneer took a moment to regain his composure. “Do I hear twenty and a half million?”
Nobody moved.
“Anyone?” he asked again before waiting beat. “Sold to this gentleman.”
One of the concierges hustled over to Amighi and slipped a clipboard with several pieces of paper into his hands. Amighi scribbled his signature in the denoted locations and handed the documents back.
The auctioneer wasted no time in moving on to a set of Zoroastrian scrolls discovered in the same dig. All the same players immediately engaged in bidding on the item, except for Amighi.
“Damn it,” Hawk muttered.
“Don’t worry about it too much, Hawk,” Alex said. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
“This isn’t a Bollywood musical,” Hawk snapped. “We can’t just sing together and watch all our problems melt away.”
“I’m very well aware of that,” Alex said. “I was just trying to find something worthwhile to say.”
Hawk looked at Courtney. He could tell she could read the disappointment all over his face.
“So, what are you gonna do now?” Courtney asked.
Hawk took a deep breath. “The only thing I can do: I’m going to take it from him.”
CHAPTER 9
Istanbul, Turkey
BLUNT TRUDGED UP THE STEPS of his Gulfstream G650 and poured himself a glass of scotch. Following his latest meeting with Katarina Petrov, he became emboldened to expose The Chamber. Almost immediately after he arrived back at his hotel, he hatched a plan for how he might combat The Chamber and, more specifically, Petrov. Blunt understood his ability to convince others that the clandestine organization had designs on reimagining the balance of power in the world would be a daunting task. But he’d make it difficult to ignore for a government entity interested in self-preservation, that much he was sure of.
The pilot gave him a courtesy announcement that they were ready to take off. Blunt buckled his seat belt and dug his fingers into the arm rest as the plane rolled steadily toward one end of the runway for takeoff. For Blunt, flying filled his mind with terror. The activity was a necessary evil in his profession, unavoidable at all cost. His recent purchase of the most sought-after luxury jet helped assuage some of his fears, but not all of them. He swallowed hard as the engines roared for a few moments before the plane lurched forward and blasted down the runway.
In a matter of seconds, the Gulfstream G650 was zooming upward, the tightly packed residences in Istanbul shrinking quickly beneath him. He watched the city lights twinkle as they ascended rapidly. After about a minute, the plane leveled off and Blunt poured himself another drink. He needed to celebrate another successful takeoff. Once he landed, he’d celebrate again over a safe landing. But that was still several hours away as the pilot plotted a course for a private airstrip near Blunt’s hidden chalet in the Alps.
Blunt reflected on his meeting with Petrov. It was exactly what he expected. She was dodgy, threatening, bullying—and manipulative. He’d spent enough time with her to know her vast array of persuasive techniques included everything from intimidating demands to flirtatious forays. And she’d tried them all during their short meeting. Blunt didn’t take the bait.
When he first entered into an alliance with The Chamber and its upper tier of leadership, the mission seemed like a good one: to insure no despot became too powerful. In fact, Blunt considered it a noble purpose. He was a patriot, his love for country unquestionable. However, he’d seen enough so-called patriots sell out the U.S. for their own self-interests. The Chamber would combat such misguided efforts with unconventional tactics. Possessing the ability to strong-arm any politician meant they could either put a self-serving leader in his place or expose him for who he really was. If he valued power, he’d toe the line. If he thought he was above the rule of law, all his dirty laundry would be aired before the public. No leader had bucked The Chamber and survived politically. To refuse their demands resulted in career suicide.
Blunt had witnessed how such tactics were able to rein in several leaders. He’d also seen arrogant politicians exposed, the equivalent of a public defrocking. All of it delighted Blunt, who focused on the end result rather than the method. He took no joy in the dirty and underhanded approach to The Chamber’s control—but it was effective.
However, under Petrov’s leadership, The Chamber had transitioned from a group that was utilizing its power to be a noble watchdog to swimming in its own corruption. Sadly, it exacerbated the problem it once hoped to squelch. But Blunt had hatched a scheme that would bring The Chamber to its knees. All he needed was a few weeks to put his plan into motion.
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, reflecting on his relationship with Petrov. There was a time when she was the woman he wanted more than any in the world. She was classy, gorgeous, and a sharp tactician. He surmised they’d make an unstoppable team, one that could keep world leaders in check. But over time, he saw Petrov for who she was: a deviant woman with ulterior motives. It taught Blunt the valuable lesson that motives were far more difficult to discern than anything else when it came to reading people.
The moment he realized she wasn’t who she seemed was during a tryst in the Bahamas. He suggested they go after the Deputy President of South Africa, who was abusing his government position to increase his wealth—and all on the backs of the country’s poor. But Petrov shrugged Blunt off, instead directing The Chamber to pressure a handful of men they caught collaborating to drive up commodity prices on The Merc. At first, Blunt enthusiastically agreed. However, it wasn’t long before he discovered that she had figured out a way to fatten her own bank account in forcing the men to renege on their scheme or face grave consequences from the authorities. The collaborators knew they were busted and had no other option, so they complied. But Petrov still managed to leverage them into doing her a few favors that led to her making several million dollars in a matter of weeks.
Blunt’s affinity for Petrov ended right then and there. In his mind, she was no different than the men she sought to take down. He smiled as he thought about how surprised she’d be when his plan came to fruition.
But Blunt was jolted back to reality was the Gulfstream G650 began to rock and sway as they descended.
“What’s going on?” he shouted.
“Sorry, Senator Blunt,” the pilot said. “We seem to be having some mechanical issues right now. I’m not sure how this is going to turn out. Just sit tight and let us figure out how to get out of this.”
“What do you mean?” Blunt demanded, his fingers digging back into the arm rests. “Are we in danger?”
“Affirmative, sir,” the pilot answered. “We’re probably going to crash.”
Blunt grabbed his bottle of scotch and poured himself another drink. He threw it back, but only managed to get about half of the liquid in his mouth as the jet pitched and rolled.
Dear God, don’t let me die like this.
Blunt heard the alarm from the cockpit go off, blaring throughout the plane.
I’m going to di
e.
CHAPTER 10
Vienna, Austria
HAWK WATCHED AS BEHDINAN AMIGHI strode to the back of the room and handed all his paperwork to one of the concierges. Despite Hawk’s best efforts to remain discreet, he abandoned them when he noticed Amighi disappearing through a doorway. Amighi’s behavior confirmed Hawk’s suspicions that the Iranian museum curator was acting on behalf of Al Hasib. Hawk reasoned that if Amighi was indeed overseeing a large collection of Zoroastrian artifacts, he wouldn’t have come for one brazier and then left immediately afterward.
Hawk casually stood and meandered to the back of the room. He asked one of the attendants where the restroom was and followed the directions.
“What are you doing, Hawk?” Alex asked over the com.
“I’m going to get what we came here for,” he said through his teeth.
“Just wait. I’m still running facial recognition on several of the people in the room. He’s not the only candidate who could be working with Al Hasib.”
“Then why would he bid on one object and then leave? He’s not an operative either, so he wouldn’t have any idea how such an action would look to a professional watching him.”
“I don’t know, Hawk, but I’m simply asking you to wait before making a move.”
“There isn’t time,” he said before spotting Amighi down the hallway.
“Hawk! Would you listen to me?”
“Gotta go,” Hawk said, adjusting the volume on his com.
Hawk hustled toward Amighi, who was walking with one of the Im Kinsky staff members.
“Mr. Amighi,” Hawk called out.
Amighi turned around. “Yes? May I help you?”
“I hope so,” Hawk said, offering his hand. “Alistair Barrington, private collector of antiquities. I was wondering if you might reconsider reneging on your bid.”
“Mr. Barrington,” Amighi began in his heavily accented English, “in my line of work, such erratic behavior at a distinguished auction house is ill advised.”
Hawk looked at his watch. “You still have five minutes to change your mind. And if you do, I’d be willing to give you two million dollars.”
“Such a generous offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Amighi said as he turned to rejoin the auction house attendant, who’d stepped a few feet away and out of the conversation.
“Well, that was quite a jump in your bid, Mr. Amighi. I’d hate for it to draw undue scrutiny upon you while going through customs as you exit the country.”
Amighi stopped and strode back toward Hawk. “I’m sorry, Mr.—” Amighi paused and snapped his fingers, acting as if he’d already forgotten Hawk’s legend.
“It’s Barrington, Mr. Amighi. Alistair Barington.”
“Oh, right. Mr. Barrington, I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry and I had specific instructions not to lose this particular artifact. So, despite your threats, I’m still declining your offer and would appreciate it if you would respect my desires. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a winning bid to pick up and a plane to catch.”
Hawk took a deep breath and let out a long breath. He watched Amighi continue down the hallway, eventually disappearing into a room at the end.
“Damn it,” Hawk muttered. “That’s got to be the package.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said a faint voice in his ear.
Hawk turned up his com so he could hear Alex again. “You heard all that?”
“It was quite the performance, Mr. Barrington,” she said, chiding him. “Do tell, what is the crown jewel of your personal collection?”
“I haven’t acquired it yet,” he snapped. “But I’m about to, one way or another.”
“Just keep an eye on him. I’m still working through everyone in the room.”
Hawk sighed. “If you just heard my entire conversation with Mr. Amighi and you still think someone else in that room is bidding on an artifact with the flash drive attached, you’re crazy.”
“The fact that no one else attempted to place a bid after Mr. Amighi raised the price to twenty million makes me question everything.”
“Twenty million would wipe out the reserves of some of these cells who would be trying to get their hands on it,” Hawk countered and paused for effect. “All of them except for Al Hasib.”
“I’m telling you, Hawk, I’ve seen some of these guys before. Mr. Amighi may have had all the money, but that doesn’t mean he’s Al Hasib’s man. What if he was a diversion for anyone like you watching?”
“You’re driving me nuts with your conspiracy theories here,” Hawk snapped. “What are you going to tell me next? That the moon landing was faked?”
“I’m not saying you’re not right. I’m simply suggesting that you need to wait before moving on Amighi.”
Hawk leaned against the hallway wall and glanced back in the direction of the main auction area. He checked his watch and then looked up to see Courtney striding toward him. He discreetly held up his hand and gave her a barely discernible headshake. She obviously received the message as she turned around and headed back to the main room.
To pass the time as he waited for Amighi, Hawk watched other attendees drift in and out of the auction, most of whom either went to the restroom or talked on their cellphones. One of the concierges scolded a gentleman speaking loudly as he paced around. The loud talker acted offended by the polite request and stormed toward the exit. Hawk gave the concierge a slight shrug, which was met with a faint smile and a head bob. Based on the attendant’s affable demeanor following the encounter, Hawk figured it was the first time the man had encountered a rude patron.
Ten minutes elapsed before Amighi finally emerged from the room at the end of the hallway, carrying a crate. Amighi had to walk past Hawk to exit the auction house. Hawk pressed his body against the wall to appear more discreet. He glanced around and noticed the hall had cleared out. Then Hawk prepared to make his move.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while, Alex, so I’m assuming I’ve got the green light on this,” Hawk said.
Nothing but static flickered over the transmitter in his ear.
Hawk was entirely surprised by the tech breakdown. He was in an old stone building that often presented communication issues, though the coms had been working fine a few minutes ago. But with the Al Hasib bag man rumbling toward him, Hawk could only guess that he’d been made and Amighi was doing what he could to suppress Hawk’s ability to contact anyone.
Despite a quick glance at Hawk, Amighi didn’t break his stride as he drew nearer.
Hawk abruptly stepped out in front of Amighi, impeding his path.
Amighi stopped and sighed, cocking his head to one side. “Please, Mr. Barrington, I’m in a bit of a hurry, and I would appreciate it if you would step aside.”
Hawk didn’t move. “I made you a generous offer, but you refused. So, we’re going to need to talk about this in a different manner.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t be to accommodate you at the moment. Good day.”
Amighi attempted to step around Hawk, who shuffled to the side in order to continue blocking Amighi’s exit route.
Hawk pointed at the crate. “I need to inspect what’s inside.”
“You’re more than welcome to come visit my museum in Iran,” Amighi said. “But I need you to step aside now, or I will call for security.”
With his hands jammed inside his coat pocket, Hawk rubbed his thumb over a syringe. He flicked the cap off the syringe and, in a quick fluid motion, jammed the needle into Amighi’s neck.
Amighi could barely protest before he collapsed. Hawk caught the man’s body and dragged him and the crate into the bathroom across the hall.
***
ALEX FIDDLED WITH HER HEADSET as she repeatedly called out Hawk’s name. “What’s wrong with this damn thing?” she muttered while plugging and unplugging the wires in an attempt to get her com working again.
“Hawk, can you hear me?” she said.
Nothing.
She
hit her computer a few times—partially out of frustration, partially out of hope that it would rectify the situation.
“Hawk, please acknowledge me?” she pleaded.
Still nothing.
She watched aghast as Hawk shoved a syringe into Amighi’s neck and dragged his limp body into the men’s restroom.
“Hawk, you’ve got the wrong guy,” she said, knowing she was delivering a message that would not reach its intended recipient.
She shook her head and glanced back at her other monitor, the one that had the profiles of two men in the main auction room with known connections to Al Hasib—and another man who didn’t seem to exist.
“Hawk!” she cried once more.
Alex could do nothing more than watch him embark on a futile mission to retrieve the flash drive from an artifact that didn’t contain the flash drive he desperately sought.
CHAPTER 11
Somewhere in the German Alps
BLUNT TOOK A DEEP BREATH and braced for impact like the pilot encouraged him to do. Before assuming the crash position by bending over and tucking his hands behind his head, Blunt took one last peek out of the window. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn’t. The ground was racing toward them.
Though he’d never been really religious, Blunt was raised Catholic. He formed the sign of the cross and said a little prayer.
Dear God, if you exist, please save me right now.
Blunt squeezed his eyes shut as he braced for impact. With the first bump, Blunt fully expected to hear it followed up by an explosion. He just hoped whatever was about to transpire would happen quickly. But it didn’t.
After the jet’s initial hit on the ground, the plane lurched upward, bouncing several times. Each time the bottom dropped out, Blunt felt it in his stomach and prepared for the worst. But the worst never came.
Instead, the plane skidded to a stop on a grassy hillside.
Blunt let out a sigh of relief and shook his head. He lifted his head from the position he’d been trained to assume in the event of a traumatic landing. He poked his head toward the window, glancing outside to see exactly where he was. In the darkness, all he could see were the shadowy outlines of a forest.
Brady Hawk Series, Books 4-6 Page 31