She smiled and opened the rear door of the rented Chevrolet. "No, I have everything I could possibly need," she said significantly as she entered the car.
Carl slammed the trunk and walked to the other side of the car and climbed in. Her answer meant that she wasn't armed. He wouldn't push the point of the illegality of her having a weapon even if it were still hidden in her suitcase; after all, he wouldn't like it if someone took his toys away if he visited France.
"Again, I'll ask you our destination." She looked at Carl over her sunglasses.
He tapped Corporal Sanchez on the back of his shoulder, signaling him to drive.
"Stanford University," he said curtly. "And I want you to know, I was 'volunteered' for this assignment."
"I look forward to spending time with you also, Commander."
Carl could see her mocking smile in the reflection of the window.
EVENT GROUP CENTER NELLIS AFB, NEVADA
Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III was deep in thought. He had been staring at the same CT scan for the last twenty minutes. He had compared the latest shots to that of the sample of material in the electron microscope. He couldn't figure it out. The film was cloudy around the third finger of the fossil, as if the film had a flaw in it. But it was the same on the first set of scans they had done. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought someone was playing a joke on him.
"Heidi, would you look at this please?" he asked, handing over the film.
Heidi Rodriguez took the X-ray and reviewed it. "Looks like bad film; is this a shot of the claw's third digit?"
"Yes, it is, but the same thing happened on the first CT scan, look," he said as he held out the second set of film. "And if you would take a look at this also," he said, pointing to a monitor that was connected to the electron microscope.
Heidi looked from the film to the monitor. "All I see is bone, Professor. Are you seeing something different?" she asked, looking closer.
"Right here, that spec, that isn't bone," he said, using a pencil to point out a black object that couldn't be seen with the naked eye.
"Dirt, or sand perhaps," she said.
"It's right in the area where the CT scan didn't take. It's as if the entire area was wiped clean."
"Interference?" she asked.
"I don't know, probably just coincidence. It does look like an outside contaminant, sand probably. It must have been placed there postmortem. But let's get some more film on it. If the blur continues to be in the same area, it may indicate a malfunction in the scanner itself, either that or our ancient friend here has been playing around with a radioactive isotope."
He glanced up but saw Heidi wasn't smiling at his small joke. Instead she was looking at the monitor with renewed interest.
"This is no flaw in the film or the machine," Heidi said as she looked closer at the image. "And you're right, Professor, the only thing that could cause this effect is…" she paused, "radioactivity."
STANFORD, UNIVERSITY PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA
An hour and a half after he picked his burden up in San Jose, Carl waited while a janitor let him and Danielle into the classroom that had been left vacant for the summer by the departure of Helen Zachary and almost a quarter of her students. The university's security department, after examining Carl's falsified identification, hadn't hesitated to cooperate. Oh, the FBI ID card was real enough, but the bureau had no idea that the Event Group had been authorized to issue them to nonbureau personnel by the president of the United States.
"Nothing more eerie than a classroom with no students in it," Danielle said as she looked around at the empty lab tables and displays.
"Especially one with a bunch of animal skeletons," Carl said, half smiling. "Here's the professor's private office." He tried the knob and found it locked.
Danielle stepped forward and eased Carl out of the way. She produced a small device; spreading its thin, wirelike probes, she easily slid it into the door's lock and jiggled. There was a click. Danielle turned the knob and the door opened.
"Standard issue?" he asked.
"Every woman should have one," she said as she stepped into the office and turned on the light.
Carl felt as though control of their small investigation had suddenly changed leadership.
Several filing cabinets had been left standing open. Danielle looked closely at one of the locks and called Carl over.
"What do you think of this?" she asked.
He could see small gouges in the chromed steel of the lock around the mechanism's opening. "It's been picked," he said. "Someone has cleaned this place out."
"I agree. Whatever your professor had here is now in the possession of another," she stated as she perused the maps on the wall. "Her interests in South America are clear nonetheless," she said as she traced a finger along the Amazon.
Carl opened his cell phone to call Niles but its indicator showed the signal strength was very low. He closed the phone, picked up the receiver of the office's desk phone, and listened for the dial tone. On a hunch, he punched the number nine and a new tone told him he had an outside line. Then he placed a cup-size instrument over the earpiece of the phone. Danielle recognized it as a programmed descrambler.
"Can't get a signal in here, so I have to be careful what I say. This won't be a secure line, at least on our end." It had taken Everett a few seconds to close his cell phone, enough time to allow a bad guy to track his usage number if the signal was bugged.
"You Americans, always so paranoid," Danielle said as she lifted a champagne flute and looked at it curiously.
* * *
In the parking area outside of the sciences building, four men sat in a panel van. The vehicle was full of state-of-the-art monitoring equipment purchased through a dummy corporation. The fine print on the invoices could easily have been traced back to the Banco de Juarez, if anyone had been interested. Each man monitored an area of the office that had either been bugged or tapped into.
"I have an outside line open on the office phone," one of the men said in Spanish.
"Contact Captain Rosolo," another of the men said.
The side door slid open suddenly, illuminating the interior and shocking the communications men. They scrambled to stand in the presence of their commander.
"Keep your places. What is it you are monitoring?" the captain asked as he sat himself in front of a computer and started typing commands. "I take it you are wired into the classroom security cameras?"
The four men were unsettled that Rosolo had been that close to them, and their nervousness showed. The captain had a reputation for unforgiving ruthlessness.
"There are two people in the classroom office. One is a large man and the other a woman," the supervisor said nervously. "We tagged the man's cell phone, but he failed to get a signal out so he has utilized the office landline. But once he's clear of the building, we'll be able to track his cell's movements and him also."
The computer monitor connected with the camera feed to the professor's area inside the building. Unfortunately it showed only the classroom, not the office. Rosolo typed in another command and the video rewound until the two people were clearly seen. He didn't recognize the man, but the woman was another story.
"Patch in the gentleman's conversation," he ordered.
Carl was speaking with Jack and Virginia.
"The place is cleaned out," Carl said.
Then instead of a voice on the other end, a series of clicks, beeps, and static filled the air around the speaker in the van.
"The other end of his conversation is scrambled," Rosolo announced, as he picked up a set of headphones and listened more closely.
"Uh-huh, yeah, we can do that. Have you contacted the Department of the Navy? I'll need some force behind me in New Orleans; as I said before, the master chief is definitely one bottle short of a six-pack," Carl said.
More beeps and screeches.
"Have you informed the director?" Carl asked.
Scrambled r
esponse.
"He's already left for Virginia?"
The noises once again.
Now, Rosolo could tell by a muffled sound that the man who was talking placed his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. The captain still could clearly understand what was being said to the woman in the office.
"They think they have an outside shot at recovering the map of Padilla. The director will be landing there in about three hours," was the mumbled comment. Then Carl returned to his telephone conversation. "Yes, sir, I'll contact you from New Orleans."
Rosolo laid down the headphones as the connection was terminated. He looked at the frozen picture of the woman on the computer screen. Then he made a decision.
"Contact B team and have them ready the aircraft with an open flight plan ready to move at a moment's notice," he said without looking at his men. "Tell them we will leave within thirty minutes. We now have this man's cell phone tapped and flagged and what he knows, we know. He is not going after the map, so he and this woman are not going to be our target at this time. We'll wait and see what they uncover in Virginia. Inform our team at San Jose International to stand by for immediate departure when and if they discover anything worthwhile."
The four communications men went to work as Rosolo assigned a file name to the picture of the woman on the monitor. He quickly brought up a secured e-mail address, keyboarded the picture to it as an attachment, and hit send. Then he picked up a satellite phone and punched in a number, as he slid the side door open and stepped out.
"Senor Mendez," he said when the phone three thousand miles away was answered.
"Yes, Captain."
"I have sent you some information that is a concern for security reasons. Check your computer when it is possible to do so. Alone."
"Yes, I will do that," Mendez said.
"It seems our friend's ex-wife is on official business in Helen Zachary's office; she is with a man who has just conversed with someone using a scrambled and encrypted phone on a secure line. Therefore, we must assume this is not to our benefit."
"I agree; is there anything else?" Mendez asked.
"Yes, a very serious development. Whoever these people are, they may have stumbled upon a means to find the whereabouts of the Padilla map."
"We cannot allow that map to fall into the hands of those that could harm our quest. I assume you are in the process of handling this disturbing matter?"
"The order has been given. It may take time, but if they locate the map, we'll be there soon after." Rosolo hung up and tossed the phone back inside the van to one of the technicians. Then he walked to the entrance to the sciences building and waited.
It was only five minutes before he heard footsteps and talking through the double doors. He straightened his tie and opened the right side door quickly.
"Oh, excuse me," he said as he bumped into the woman and then moved out of her way.
Danielle smiled politely and she and Carl stepped through the doorway. As they did so Rosolo, still appearing to fuss with his own garments, adeptly placed a tracer bug on the woman's suit jacket. As he held the door open for a moment, he turned and watched Danielle and the large man leave the building. When he was sure they were out of sight, he returned to the large van.
Captain Rosolo, chief of security for clandestine operations for the Banco de Juarez International Economica, would make sure there was no interference from anyone, now that Senor Mendez was on his way to Padilla's golden site.
The trail to that same destination would end for these two people in New Orleans, if they proved to be more resourceful there.
ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
Director Niles Compton was still shaken and Lieutenant JG Jason Ryan could barely refrain from teasing him. The director had unceremoniously lost his cookies somewhere over Kentucky on their flight into Andrews Air Force Base. The air force enlisted men acting as their ground crew wouldn't be too happy cleaning that mess up. But Niles had wanted to get here as fast as possible, and Ryan had just fortuitously two days before finished his transition from the navy's Super Tomcat to the air force's F-16 B, two-seat trainer, which they had used to get to Virginia. Niles hadn't been happy with the choice of aircraft but reluctantly borrowed one anyway from the Nellis AFB inventory. Every few minutes while they were aloft the director would glance at Ryan and try to catch him in the act of snickering. He knew he was going to have a talk with the lieutenant about the barrel roll as they descended from altitude. Their drive to Arlington was chilly at best.
As Ryan pulled the green government car up to the guard shack at the National Cemetery he rolled down his window, allowing the hot and muggy summer air into the air-conditioned interior. He flashed his naval ID; and Niles, his National Archives card, which indicated he was the equivalent of a four-star general. The guard waved them through. Instead of taking the main road that led to the cemetery's parking area, Ryan followed the directions Niles indicated and instead drove directly to the old mansion. As they approached the house on the hill, Niles was thrilled to see it once again, not only because of its historical significance, but because he knew this was the very first Event Group Complex, housing the very first discoveries from the early, heady days of the Group's formation by Teddy Roosevelt through the administration of Woodrow Wilson.
The nineteenth-century mansion seems out of place amid the more than 250,000 military grave sites that stretch out around it. Yet, when construction began in 1802, the estate had been intended as a living memorial to George Washington. It had been built by the first president's adopted grandson, George Washington Parke Custis, and eventually became the home of one of the most beloved men in American history, Robert E. Lee, and his wife, Mary Anna Custis. They had lived at the house until 1861, when the Civil War broke out. During the succeeding occupation of Arlington, several bases were constructed on the 1,100-acre site, including what would later become Fort Meyer. The property was eventually confiscated for the official reason of back taxes, but many influential people saw it as a punishment for Robert E. Lee for his participation in the rebellion. It became a cemetery in 1864.
As they went past the many-columned facade of the mansion, they followed the drive around to the back of the property. They saw several National Parks guards eyeing them. They drove directly to the maintenance shed adjacent to the back of the grounds, entering its open double doors. Once they were inside, the doors closed automatically and several dim lights came to life around them. Ryan reached to open his seat belt but was stopped by Niles, whose hand eased over and grabbed his arm as a hidden speaker gave an order.
"Please remain in your vehicle, Lieutenant Ryan."
Ryan grinned and looked around the dimly lit shed. He could see no one. "I take it we're in for more Event Group spooky crap?" he asked Niles.
Niles just shrugged and let go of Ryan's arm.
Suddenly Ryan felt his stomach lurch as the dirt floor of the maintenance shed began to descend into the ground. He couldn't help but become a little queasy as he watched the sides of on unlit giant elevator shaft quickly lower the car into the Virginia hillside.
"Don't like it, do you, Mr. Ryan? It's a lot harder when you don't know it's coming and some wise guy starts messing with you. Stomach a little upset?"
"Okay, I'm sorry for the barrel roll. I won't do it again. I get your point."
Niles smiled in the darkness surrounding them.
The elevator finally came to rest 1,700 feet below ground. As the lights of level one came into view, Ryan could see two men in Event Group coveralls awaiting the car. Then the two security men came forward to open their doors, inviting Niles and Ryan to step into the very first Event Group compound, which had been built in 1916.
"Welcome to the depository, sir."
"Thank you, gentlemen. This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Ryan; he's one of your security department officers."
Ryan nodded his head and glanced around the first level. The cement walls were clean and white in the ove
rhead fluorescents and looked as if they were well maintained.
A lance corporal came forth and wrote the names of the visitors onto a clipboard. "Where will you be going today, Director Compton?"
"Archives. I take it the old Cray is up and working?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Golding keeps to a rather strict maintenance schedule."
"Good, good."
"Will you be going to level seventeen today?"
"No, we'll not be touring today, just research," Niles answered, even though he would have loved to show Ryan some of the first discoveries of the Event Group. Not the Ark of the Great Flood, which had been moved to the Nellis facility, or the other large finds like that, but the smaller ones such as the body — replete with armor — of Genghis Khan, or the mummified corpse of Cochise, the Apache leader thought to have been secretly hidden away by his people. Just the samples of the original plague from the Dark Ages would be enough to scare the bejesus out of poor Ryan. But that would have to wait for now, as they were desperately short of time.
"Very well, this way, sir," the lance corporal said.
Niles and Ryan fell into step behind the two security men. They walked down a corridor beyond which the secrets of worlds past surrounded them.
UNITED STATES NAVAL SHIPYARD (DECOMMISSIONED) NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
As Carl drove among the old docks, he could see his country's naval history as it was scrapped: cruisers, tin cans, and frigates were being dismantled and sold for recycling. There was nothing sadder to a naval man than seeing these magnificent ships meeting such an inglorious end.
Upon arriving in New Orleans, they saw a city that was still rebounding from the hurricane of '05. The people had returned in record numbers to rebuild to try and make the Big Easy the city it once was. The U.S. Navy had helped out by positioning ships earmarked for the scrapyard here, their part in easing the rampant unemployment of the damaged city.
As Carl counted down the numbers painted on the sides of the buildings, he saw that most of them were now rundown and dilapidated. They had gone unrepaired while the U.S. Navy decommissioned the entire dock area. The navy was now in the process of turning over the acreage to the money-strapped city.
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