Empire of Gold

by Andy McDermott

  Despite the fact that he was dangling from a speeding helicopter a thousand feet above hostile territory, Chase still managed a grin. ‘Never better, mate. What’s the inflight movie?’

  The Black Hawk landed at the Coalition base, the Little Bird close behind it. The MH-6 had briefly touched down, once both aircraft reached nominally friendly territory, so that Chase could climb aboard; he leapt from the cabin and ran to the larger helicopter. Three men from the Royal Army Medical Corps were waiting, two bearing a stretcher and a third to attend to the wounded Green. He was carried out of the Black Hawk by Starkman and Baine, and quickly whisked away by the medics.

  The hostages came next, and were escorted to a temporary building nearby. Finally, the remaining soldiers clambered from the helicopter, Mac ruefully looking after Green. The others were simply relieved to have made it back in one piece. ‘Christ,’ said Bluey, rubbing his shaved head, ‘that was a bit fierce.’

  Starkman saw Chase. ‘Damn, almost thought we’d lost you,’ said the Texan. ‘You okay?’

  Chase ignored him, eyes locked on another man: Stikes. The captain stepped out, donning his beret and adjusting it to a precise angle. ‘Seven hostages rescued, and it would have been eight if that idiot hadn’t panicked. Not bad.’ He saw Chase step towards him. ‘So Chase, you—’

  Chase smashed a brutal punch into his face. Stikes’s regal nose broke with a wet snap, and he fell back against the fuselage. ‘You fucker!’ Chase shouted.

  Baine lunged at Chase, but Mac intervened, hauling the Yorkshireman back from the fallen officer. ‘Eddie, for Christ’s sake!’

  A hand to his bleeding nose, Stikes pulled himself upright as the other team members looked on in bewilderment. ‘It’s a court-martial offence to strike a superior officer, Chase!’ he cried. ‘You’ll get five years for an unprovoked attack – which you all witnessed!’

  ‘Unprovoked, my arse!’ Chase said furiously. ‘You pointed a fucking gun at my head!’

  ‘Eddie!’ Mac snapped. ‘Sergeant!’ Still tight-lipped with rage, Chase stood at attention. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘This bastard murdered five civilians – five women, sir,’ Chase said through clenched teeth. ‘They were unarmed and tied prisoners of the Taliban, but he shot them – then aimed his weapon at me.’

  ‘That’s a complete lie, Major,’ Stikes responded. ‘I did no such thing.’

  Mac frowned. ‘But the Taliban did have female prisoners. Did you see them?’

  Stikes’s cold eyes didn’t blink as he answered. ‘No sir, I did not.’

  ‘That’s a complete lie,’ Chase hissed.

  ‘The only non-hostages I saw had been designated as hostiles under the rules of engagement.’ Stikes moved his hand from his nose; red liquid trickled over his lips. ‘Damn it! Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this dealt with. And then’ – a venomous look at his attacker – ‘I’ll make a full written report so charges can be drawn against Sergeant Chase!’

  Mac nodded, and Stikes strutted away. The Scot hustled Chase out of earshot of the others. ‘If you have a grievance against a superior, Eddie,’ he rumbled, ‘there are well-defined procedures. That was not one of them!’

  Chase forced his anger back under control. ‘Sorry, sir. I mean, I’m sorry for causing you any trouble – not for decking Stikes! It’s the bloody least that he deserved. He murdered those women in cold blood.’

  ‘Nobody else saw anything. It’s your word against his.’

  ‘Mac, you know me. And you know Stikes.’ He gave Mac an almost pleading look. ‘Who do you believe?’

  Mac remained silent for a long moment. ‘Eddie,’ he said at last, ‘however this turns out, there will be consequences for you – for your career. The plain and simple fact is that you punched an officer in the face in front of half a dozen witnesses.’

  ‘I’ll take whatever comes to me.’

  ‘I’d expect nothing less. But . . . as you say, I know you. And I know Stikes. So when the court-martial comes – which it will, he’s got connections that will see to that – I’ll do everything I can to support you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘And’ – a hint of a smile – ‘I’d be remiss as your commanding officer if I didn’t remind you to get straight on with a full written report of your own, describing everything you witnessed on the mission. Our well-defined procedures are there for everyone’s benefit, not just officers’. If, as a result of that, an investigation is warranted . . . again, you’ll have my full support.’

  Chase gave the older man an appreciative look. ‘Thank you, sir!’

  ‘Well, you’d better get to it, sergeant. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find a shower in this bloody hole.’ Mac walked off, then stopped and looked back. ‘By the way, Eddie, you did excellent work tonight. Well done.’

  Chase saluted, and Mac continued on his way. The Englishman stood for a moment, then took out and lit a long-awaited cigarette.

  1

  New York City:

  Eleven Years Later

  Eddie Chase strolled into the office with his hands behind his back and a knowing smile on his face. ‘Ay up, love.’

  His wife looked up from her laptop with a faint frown. ‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Nina Wilde, flicking a strand of red hair away from her face. ‘We’re going to be late.’

  ‘We’ve still got ten minutes. Anyway, I’m amazed you noticed I’d gone, since you haven’t lifted your nose out of that lot all morning.’ He glanced at the stacked paperwork on her desk.

  ‘Don’t be a smart-ass.’ She eyed him more closely, noticing his expectant smirk. ‘What have you got behind your back?’

  He stepped forward. ‘Oh, nothing. Just . . . ’ With a flourish, he dropped a large brown paper bag beside her computer. ‘Lunch.’

  Nina did a double-take as she recognised the logo on the bag. ‘Aldo’s Deli?’ Her frown was replaced by surprised delight. ‘Wait, you went all the way to Aldo’s just to get me a sandwich?’

  Eddie shrugged, looking out at the view of Manhattan beyond the windows of the United Nations building. ‘It’s only in the East Village. It’s not that far.’

  She opened the bag, and her look brightened still further. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I did. Your favourite. Extra-peppered pastrami on rye, with lettuce, tomatoes, pickled onions, not regular ones . . . and Aldo’s special chilli sauce. Just like you used to get when we lived down there.’

  Nina almost reverently unwrapped the sandwich. ‘That was over four years ago. I can’t believe you did this.’ She was about to take a bite when she paused. ‘Why did you do this?’

  ‘What, a bloke can’t do something nice for his wife once in a while?’

  ‘Not when she knows him as well as I know you.’ A sly smile. ‘This wouldn’t be a peace offering, would it?’

  ‘Pfft, don’t be daft. What’ve I got to apologise for? I’m right.’

  Her green eyes narrowed, the smile fading. ‘Don’t even start.’ A discussion the previous night about the week’s main news story had somehow degenerated into a full-blown argument, and the atmosphere had still been frosty even over breakfast. A New Yorker named Jerry Rosenthal was on trial for having killed the man accused of raping his daughter after the case against him collapsed. To Nina it had been an open-and-shut case of revenge-driven vigilantism, but Eddie had very different opinions.

  Which he still held. ‘What, so you’re saying that if it had been your daughter, you’d be happy to let the guy walk the streets because of some forensics cock-up? We know he did it, he just got away with it on a technicality.’

  ‘We don’t know he did it,’ she said irritably. ‘You weren’t there – you didn’t see what happened.’

  ‘Neither did you.’

  ‘Which is why we have courts to decide whether a person’s guilty or not. And why we have courts to decide on the sentence – rather than some guy appointing himself judge, jury and executioner. That’s not ju
stice.’

  ‘Sounds like it to me. You know somebody’s done something bad and thinks they’ve got away with it? Boom. Kill the fucker.’

  Nina huffed. ‘Eddie, I really don’t want to get into this again. You know what? I’m just going to eat my sandwich – for which thank you very much, by the way. And,’ she added, ‘you are not going to get the last word just because my mouth’s full!’

  ‘As if I would,’ said Eddie, who had been planning to do exactly that.

  She was about to take a bite when there was a knock at the door. Before she could ask who it was, Macy Sharif entered. ‘Hey, Nina. Hi, Eddie.’ The archaeology student, who had helped them discover the Pyramid of Osiris beneath the Egyptian desert the previous year, had accepted Nina’s invitation to spend part of her summer vacation as an intern at the International Heritage Agency before completing her final year of study. ‘Dr Bellfriar sent me to get you.’

  ‘Bet I know what he’s going to say,’ said Eddie with a mocking grin. ‘Eight months of looking at the things, and he’ll tell us . . . they’re made of stone. Thank you, that’ll be fifty grand plus expenses.’

  ‘Oh, he’s got way more to say than that,’ said Macy, the Englishman’s sarcasm fluttering past her unnoticed. ‘I should know. I had to make all his PowerPoint slides.’

  ‘Not enjoying your current assignment?’ Nina asked in an impish tone.

  ‘No, no, it’s fine!’ said Macy hurriedly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. ‘Just that I was hoping to do something a bit more fieldworky. With you.’

  Nina patted one of the stacks of documents. ‘Funny, I was hoping to do some fieldwork too! But then some idiot tried to kill a bunch of world leaders, and we made a find that changes the face of archaeology, and, well, high-up people want to know about it. In triplicate.’

  ‘Maybe Bellfriar’s found something that’ll give you an excuse,’ Eddie suggested.

  Nina looked hopefully at Macy, who tried unsuccessfully to hide an apologetic expression. ‘Anyway,’ said the young woman, ‘you can see for yourself. He’s with Mr Penrose and the others in the conference room.’

  Nina took a quick bite from her sandwich before getting up from her desk. ‘What?’ she asked Eddie as she chewed. ‘I haven’t had lunch yet; I’m hungry. Come on.’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘If I do, so do you.’ She shooed him from the office.

  Macy led the way to the conference room. As well as Dr Donald Bellfriar, also present were several United Nations officials headed by Sebastian Penrose, who acted as liaison between the UN proper and its semi-independent cultural protection agency. ‘Ah, hello, Nina,’ said the bespectacled, officious Englishman.

  ‘Sebastian,’ Nina replied. ‘I didn’t expect so many people.’

  ‘Everyone loves a mystery,’ Penrose said. ‘I think they’re hoping Dr Bellfriar has the solution.’

  Nina shared a knowing look with Macy. ‘We’ll find out soon enough.’

  Everyone took their seats, Macy working a laptop and projector as the Oregonian geologist carefully smoothed his sweeping silver hair before addressing his audience. ‘Good afternoon, everyone. Before I start, I’d like to say how great it’s been to work with the IHA on this. I suppose that when archaeology can’t provide the answers, it’s time to call on the rock stars!’ He chuckled immodestly at his pun, which was received with appropriately stony silence. ‘Rock stars? No? Anyway, thank you, Dr Wilde – and thank you, Miss Sharif, for all your assistance. And for being enjoyable company.’ Macy beamed.

  ‘He was probably enjoying the view more than the conversation,’ Eddie whispered to Nina.

  ‘Shush,’ she whispered back, although he had a point. While Macy had spent her internship modestly dressed by her standards, in the formal surroundings of the UN the beautiful Miamian’s predilection for tight designer clothing made her stand out like a bikini model in a Saudi mosque.

  Bellfriar began his presentation proper, opening a case to reveal his subjects: a pair of small statues, crude human figures carved from an odd purple stone. The first had been found by Nina, Eddie and Macy inside the Pyramid of Osiris; the second, stored with stolen cultural treasures in a former Cold War bunker beneath the glacial ice of Greenland. He summarised the circumstances of each discovery before continuing: ‘Now, despite their best efforts, Interpol have so far been unable to find out where the second statue was stolen from, and since neither relic appears to be the product of any known ancient culture that would seem to be a dead end in the search for answers. Fortunately, other branches of science can provide a different perspective. Miss Sharif ?’

  Macy tapped at the laptop, projecting the first slide on to the conference room’s screen. It showed the two statues placed side by side. ‘As you can see,’ said Bellfriar, ‘the statues are clearly part of a set, and meant to fit together. Note how the arms are positioned so they’ll interlock. But as you see here,’ he nodded, and Macy clicked on to the next slide, ‘it’s obvious that the set is incomplete.’

  The new image showed the statues from directly above. They had been positioned in such a way that, facing outwards with one shoulder touching, they formed two sides of a triangle – and, as Bellfriar had said, it was evident that a third figurine would perfectly complete the group. ‘Using simulation software,’ said the geologist proudly, ‘I can show you what the missing one would look like.’ Another slide, and the two statues were shown flanking a computer-generated image of a third. All three were broadly similar, the only appreciable difference being the position of the arms. ‘And here’s how they fit together . . . ’

  The photos of the figures were replaced by CG copies which began a showy animated display, spinning round each other before slotting into a shoulder-to-shoulder triptych. The UN observers seemed impressed, but Nina was less so, having seen the IHA’s own computer simulation of the missing figure over seven months earlier. ‘That was one of the first things we realised when we received the second statue,’ she said. ‘There was – and hopefully still is – a third. The question is, where?’

  ‘Well, before we can ask where,’ said Bellfriar amiably, ‘we first have to ask what. As in, what are the statues made of?’ He indicated the two figures in the case. ‘As you see, they have an unusual colour, this strong purple, with a rather vitreous lustre. Some form of bornite was my first thought, but the copper content in the scrape sample I took was far too low – almost non-existent, in fact. But the density of the rock was surprisingly high, so it had an appreciable metal content . . . ’

  Nina glanced at Eddie as Bellfriar launched into a detailed account of his mineralogical tests. His eyes had glazed over. She tapped his foot with hers. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Geology’s even more boring than archaeology.’

  She was about to jab his foot again, this time with her high heel rather than her toe, when Bellfriar’s words caught her full attention. ‘. . . which brought me to my conclusion: the rock from which the statues were carved was probably mesosideritic.’

  It took a moment, but the term produced a match from Nina’s mental database. ‘A meteorite?’

  Bellfriar was impressed. ‘You know about meteorites, Dr Wilde?’

  ‘From an archaeological standpoint. There was a dagger made from meteoric iron in Tutankhamun’s tomb, and some Eskimo and Native American tribes also made ceremonial weapons from it. And there was an East African tribe that worshipped a fallen meteorite. But apart from that, only really what I remember from Astronomy 101.’

  ‘Well, I can give you a brief refresher course,’ said Bellfriar, chuckling again. ‘A mesosiderite is a stony-iron meteorite, which as the name suggests is made up of a combination of rock and metal. They’re very rare – there are fewer than a hundred and fifty known examples, I believe.’

  ‘You said it’s probably a . . . a mesosiderite,’ said Penrose, almost stumbling over the word. ‘Can’t you be sure?’

  ‘Not without cutting one of the statues in two to make a microscope slide, and
I doubt Dr Wilde – or the Egyptian government – would be happy about that! But the tests I could do seemed reasonably conclusive. Although,’ he added, ‘if there’s any way at all I could get a larger sample, I’d very much like to carry out further tests. The rock has some unusual properties.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Nina.

  ‘The density, for one thing – either the iron content is much higher than I’d expect, or there are heavier metals in there as well. There are also traces of organic compounds.’

  Eddie gave the statues a deeply suspicious look. ‘Wait, there was something alive inside the meteor? Like the Blob?’

  Bellfriar laughed. ‘No, no. If a compound is “organic”, then chemically it just means it contains carbon. Meteorites might have carried the precursors of life to earth, though; there was a famous find in Australia, the Murchison meteorite, which contained amino acids. I don’t know if that was the case here – but I did notice something else.’ He turned to Macy. ‘Miss Sharif, can you skip forward to . . . I think slide seventeen?’