Brian Sadler Archaeology 04 - The Bones in the Pit

by Bill Thompson

  Later that afternoon he dropped a bulky envelope into a UPS box on Charing Cross Road in central London. It would end up at the Vatican tomorrow. Job complete. Twenty thousand dollars earned. Another satisfied customer.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  London/Dallas

  The library’s entryway buzzed with activity. Paramedics attended to Jeffrey Montfort and Brian Sadler, who lay on the floor awake but woozy. The two members who had happened upon the crime in progress sat at a desk with a policeman giving their statements. The general manager of the Monument Club conversed quietly with a detective from Scotland Yard who was glad to learn there were security cameras everywhere.

  Brian and the librarian declined to go to the hospital; although their heads throbbed mercilessly they were otherwise OK. The EMTs drew blood for testing; it was their opinion the men had been drugged with a powerful, fast-acting sedative.

  Within a couple of hours the Scotland Yard man had gathered facts and viewed video footage. What he learned was that a man entered the Club through a door that opened to the alleyway behind the building. As they did every day at the same time, the kitchen help had taken a smoke break, propping the door open to allow re-entry. The man easily slipped into the building unnoticed. The first video camera showed him walking down the rear service hall and through an empty kitchen.

  He rode an elevator to the third floor library where he presented a fake membership card to Jeffrey Montfort and requested to see two volumes. Montfort had dutifully registered the man’s fictitious name and brought the books he requested. The stranger had sat in his own carrel as Brian and Jeffrey worked on the Borland project. After accosting the men and stealing the binder, the intruder had left the building through the front entrance, simply blending into the pedestrian traffic along the Thames.

  “The intruder wanted the laptop,” the detective said. “What’s the significance of it?”

  Brian explained that it had belonged to the late Lord Arthur Borland, who was working on a project to find a lost manuscript. He truthfully told the officer that he had no idea exactly what the significance of the book was and explained how it played a part in the Fifth Avenue bombing.

  Brian was left with the laptop and a promise to call Scotland Yard immediately if he had anything more to report. After everyone cleared out he and Jeffrey went downstairs to the bar. As a member of the staff the librarian ordinarily wouldn’t be allowed in the member areas, but after today’s events the general manager made an exception. They sat by the window, Brian with his usual late afternoon martini and Jeffrey with a gin and tonic.

  They discussed the events of the afternoon. Their heads were clearing, thanks both to the passage of time and the soothing effects of the alcohol. Brian mentioned how unfortunate it was, when they were so close to having the manuscript copy, they had lost it to the thief.

  Suddenly Jeffrey Montfort perked up and said, “How hard do you think it would be to access Lord Montfort’s email account? Would you have to access his laptop to get to mail or is there another way?”

  Surprised that the librarian had suddenly changed the subject, Brian responded, “I don’t get where you’re going with this, but to answer your questions, I bet he got email on his laptop. So all I need to know is how big a password freak he was – if both his laptop and his mail account are password protected I’ll have to figure them out. Maybe his wife knows what they are. I’ll check it all out tonight at the flat. Why do you ask?”

  “If you can get in, I feel confident we’ll have the manuscript again!” Jeffrey explained that Lord Borland had requested scans often as he reviewed things in the library. To make it simpler Jeffrey had programmed Borland’s email address into the scanner. He could press a single button and send the scan to Arthur’s email account instead of having to enter the information every time.

  “While the pages were scanning today I scrolled to Lord Borland’s information so all I had to do was push a button when the scan was finished. The last page went through just as the intruder came towards me and I tried to push the ‘send’ button before I passed out. I hope it worked. The man destroyed the scanner but I would think the scan would have been sent instantly when I pushed the button. Don’t you?”

  “We can only hope,” Brian said excitedly. “Good thinking, Jeffrey. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  Later that evening Brian sat in the flat with Arthur’s laptop on his dining table. He called Carissa Borland and gave her a rundown of the afternoon’s events. She was shocked at what she heard and apologized for his involvement in Arthur’s problem.

  “I was already involved, Carissa. Remember this all started with the bombing in New York.”

  Brian told her how he had found Arthur’s laptop. He requested permission to try to access it and she immediately agreed.

  “You may not find much. I think he used it mostly to organize things. He had email but we really didn’t use it. He used the Internet for research but that’s about it.”

  They talked about passwords. She had no idea what his might have been. Brian asked her for a lot of things to try – names of current and past pets, dates of birth, mother’s and maiden names and nicknames they called each other. He thanked her for the help and soon was entering word and number combinations. It proved less difficult than Brian had expected. On the eleventh try he entered “CarissaSwann0917,” her maiden name and date of birth. The locked screen went away and desktop icons appeared.

  He clicked on Mail and entered the same password. It worked. “Arthur, you should have been more careful,” he murmured, “but thanks for being low-tech.” He eagerly opened the inbox and saw just a few entries. Only one was new – from the library of the Monument Club. He opened the mail and its attachment and saw the now-familiar first page of the Templar Manuscript. He was thrilled. “I’ll be damned. Thank God for Jeffrey’s quick thinking.” He emailed the librarian and told him the good news.

  Just to be safe he forwarded the email to his own mailbox then he hid the laptop behind the gas logs in his fireplace. He called Nicole’s office but got her voicemail. He gave her a summary of the afternoon’s events and said he was off to bed. He asked her to call tomorrow when she got a minute.

  After the things he had gone through, Brian Sadler slept like a rock. He heard nothing until his phone alarm woke him at six am.

  -----

  This afternoon in Dallas had been spectacular. After a long week of trial and another stunning victory for Nicole Farber, she had taken the afternoon off. Dallas was hot as hell in the summer but in the months before and after it was a wonderful place for those who loved to be outdoors. She put the top down on her Mercedes convertible and drove from her office in Uptown to the West Village. She took a table on the shaded patio at Cru Wine Bar and ordered a glass of her favorite, which happened to be the best Chardonnay offered. Nicole certainly could afford it – she was the highest paid female lawyer in Dallas and her success rate at defending those accused of white-collar crimes was unparalleled. After her lunch she relaxed a bit longer over a second glass, then drove to the Ritz-Carlton Residences where she lived. She parked her car in the building’s garage, raised the top and took an elevator to her condo.

  Nicole changed into shorts and a t-shirt and walked to a park a few blocks away. She jogged for awhile, stopping when the wine from lunch made her more tired than usual. She sat on a park bench under a tree for an hour and enjoyed the day. Walking home in a small breeze felt nice. As she strolled down McKinney Avenue she glanced at her phone and saw she’d missed a call from Brian. She listened to his voicemail, concerned when she heard that he’d been accosted but relieved to hear everything was OK. She desperately wanted to call him back – this news was one more reason to be concerned about what was going on – but it was after ten in London. He’d be dead to the world by now, she figured. She had to wait until tomorrow.

  She ran in to the grocery store around the corner from her condo building and grabbed a few things for dinner. Dinner on the
patio tonight after this gorgeous day.

  At home she opened two huge sliding patio doors of glass. The breeze made her place feel better – there was no need for air conditioning today, although it wouldn’t be long before it was a necessity.

  After a hot shower she stayed in her bathrobe, fixed a martini and sat on the patio watching the sun sink behind the downtown buildings a couple of miles away. She thought a lot about Brian and hoped everything was OK. He loves adventure so much but I don’t want him to get hurt. She had never loved anyone before and she wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. But her pragmatic legal mind had analyzed her feelings and concluded that this was it. She had been in love with Brian Sadler for a while. Sadly they were literally a world apart on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Be content, she told herself. As the old song went, true love never runs smooth. She went to bed and thought of Brian, hoping he was not in danger and wondering what she could do to help him.

  Nicole awoke at six am, opened her floor-to-ceiling shades and the patio doors. It was a breezy Dallas morning and the sun was ready to pop over the horizon. She climbed back into bed and called Brian – it was noon in London and he was at work. He told her all about the events at the library.

  “What’s going on with all this, Brian? Could John Spedino still be masterminding all this even after he’s been arrested?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he put things in place before he was arrested and they’re just now playing out. Or it could be someone else. I haven’t figured out why the manuscript’s so important but now that I have a copy I can start working on it. I just wish I knew who’s behind all this. Spedino’s the logical choice but it just doesn’t make sense.”

  Brian expressed his continuing concern for her safety. “The godfather’s settling scores, Nicole. The way I see it you’re the only one left to settle and even from jail he may be dangerous. I wish you’d let the FBI give you protection.”

  She thanked him for his concern and promised to watch her step, telling him to watch his too. “Frankly I was relieved to hear he was arrested. I think that puts an end to the problems he might have created for me.”

  Brian said he wasn’t so sure.

  They talked for a minute about her plans to come to London soon. He told her how excited he was to be with her again soon. They agreed to talk again after six his time tonight.

  She had to be at the County Courts building downtown at nine am for a hearing. It wasn’t far; she drove the Mercedes from the garage south onto Pearl Street and began to wind through the canyons of buildings. Traffic was moderate as she started down a hill on Akard Street. The light ahead was red; she hit her brakes but got no response. She pumped harder, frantically pushing over and over. Instead of stopping, her convertible was gaining downhill momentum. She had seconds to decide what to do before she’d run the light and enter an intersection full of opposing traffic. Cars were right beside her in the next lane; she couldn’t move to the curb and hit a parked car so she decided to take a chance. She slammed her palm onto the horn as she continued to pump the useless brake pedal. Her other hand gripped the steering wheel as she sailed through the light and entered the busy downtown intersection at nearly thirty miles per hour.

  Everything happened in a split second. She heard honking as she clipped a car, swerved to the right then saw a Dallas city bus ten feet away from her passenger door. She jerked the wheel to the left as the massive vehicle crashed into her. Airbags deployed – the entire right side of her little car caved in as the safety bumper of the bus pushed her Mercedes through the intersection and into other cars. By the time it was over four vehicles were totaled and her body lay twisted in the driver seat of her destroyed convertible.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A little after four pm Brian’s cellphone rang. Agent Jack Underwood advised that Dominic Cardinal Conti, head of the Vatican Bank, was in possession of the manuscript that had been stolen. The cleric would be calling Brian to arrange its return. The agent had no knowledge of how the book got there, he said, maintaining his promise to Conti to keep his involvement with Spedino secret.

  Brian filled in Underwood about the events at the Monument Club and said he now had a copy of the manuscript. He promised Underwood he would start to work immediately on the book in an attempt to discover why it was so important to someone.

  Within an hour Brian got another call. Europe – Italy, if memory served him on the country code. He knew who this caller was. The person on the phone identified himself as secretary to Cardinal Conti.

  “Do you have a few minutes to speak to him?” he asked Brian, and then put him on hold.

  As Brian waited he received a third call. A busy afternoon, Brian casually thought. He looked at the number on his screen – he knew the area code and prefix but didn’t recognize the number. The call was from Carter and Wells, the law firm Nicole worked for, but not from her. He hit decline as he waited for Cardinal Conti. He’d have to call the law firm back.

  Before the cleric came on the line Brian received another call from the same Dallas number. Something must be wrong. He disconnected and accepted the call from Carter and Wells. He heard the familiar voice of Nicole’s boss Randall Carter, the lead partner in the firm.

  “Brian, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Nicole’s been in an accident.” The words hit Brian like a brick.

  The rest of the call was a blur. He tried to concentrate but he was dizzy and lightheaded. He cried as he heard Carter’s explanation of the wreck a couple of hours earlier in downtown Dallas. Nicole was in critical condition at Baylor Hospital, on life support and not expected to live. Witnesses said she had driven through a red light at a high rate of speed and been T-boned by a city bus. In the tiny Mercedes she hardly had a chance, Carter continued. He said the police would investigate the destroyed convertible to see if mechanical failure was a possibility.

  Brian rambled. “What…what do I do? Listen, keep me informed…” His mind couldn’t wrap around the words he had heard. He didn’t know what to say, what to do next.

  Randall Carter promised to call immediately when they knew more. As soon as Brian put the phone down it rang again – the Cardinal from Italy. He declined the call. Now was no time for business.

  From his adjoining office Cory Spencer heard Brian on the call with Nicole’s boss. He knew something was terribly wrong. When the call was done he stuck his head in and saw Brian weeping uncontrollably, his head in his hands. Brian told him what had happened.

  “What can I do, Brian? Do you want to go? How can I help?”

  “How can I get there fast? I’m afraid she’s going to die before I get there, Cory. I want to see her.” He sobbed. “I want to hold her one more time.”

  “OK, leave it with me for a few minutes.” Cory knew money wasn’t an issue but he checked commercial flights first just in case. It was too late – the day’s last flight to Dallas had departed a couple of hours ago. He went online and found a charter service. Within fifteen minutes he’d made a call and had information for Brian. It was a fortune but it would be worth it to his boss.

  Ninety minutes later Brian sat in the cabin of a Gulfstream G350 taxiing to the departure runway at Stansted Airport in rural London. In eight hours he would be at Love Field in Dallas. It would be around eight pm local time when he arrived.

  It was a little after six in England, noon in Dallas. He would never have made it without the calm guidance and direction of Cory Spencer. Thinking logically when Brian couldn’t, Cory had thrown together Brian’s overnighter suitcase with a change of clothes. Brian kept them in his office closet in case a quick trip came up.

  Cory ensured the air charter company would have food, a phone and an amenities kit on board so Brian could shave and clean up before arrival. He put Brian’s iPad, phone and some reading material into his briefcase. He made sure the copy of the Templars manuscript was included; it might keep his mind occupied if he needed a diversion.

  Given Brian�
��s state, Cory decided to accompany his boss in a cab to the nearby Liverpool Street train station and stayed with him on the Stansted Express to the airport. The trip would take a little less than an hour.

  While they were on the train Cory called Randall Carter’s office and left the number of the plane’s satellite phone with Carter’s secretary. There had been no update to Nicole’s condition, she reported. Cory relayed that information to Brian then handed him a sheet of paper with familiar numbers on it. Nicole’s assistant, Cory’s cellphone, Randall Carter’s office – most were numbers Brian knew by heart but with his mind reeling and his emotions running wild Cory figured it might help to have them available. No need to rely on memory when your mind was going crazy with worry. He even added Brian’s parents’ number and those of Nicole’s mother and father.

  “Thanks for everything, Cory,” he said as the pilots did last-minute preflight checks. He glanced at the phone list and thought of something. “Oh hey, call my parents and tell them what’s up. Tell them I plan to go right to the hospital as soon as we land. Tell them…Oh hell, Cory. I can’t even think straight. Just take care of it. And one more thing – you have a key to the flat. Go by there and pick up Arthur Borland’s laptop. It’s hidden in the fireplace behind the gas logs. Keep it locked in the vault at the gallery until I get back.”

  “Got it, boss. There’ll be a sedan to meet you at Love Field. I’ll call the plane if anything comes up. Call me if you need anything, anything at all. I’ll be praying for Nicole.”

  Spencer waited in the terminal building as the jet’s mighty engines screamed and it rolled briskly toward the taxiway. He left only after it streaked into the evening sky.