At least she had heard from Chase, however briefly. But she hadn’t understood what had happened to him—all he’d said was that he was flying back to New York from Cuba. Cuba? Still, the important thing was that he was coming home.
Not in time to attend the inquiry, though. Another black mark against her in Rothschild’s book.
Steeling herself, adjusting her jacket, she entered the room.
The members of the inquiry board were already present: three senior U.N. officials, a representative from the U.S. State Department, and Rothschild. Once the proceedings got under way, it didn’t take long before Nina started to feel that she was on trial … with Rothschild as both prosecutor and judge.
“So you say you have absolutely no idea of the identity of the man who attacked you last night?” the elderly professor asked, eyes narrowing.
Nina held in her exasperation. She had already given a statement to the FBI, which in cases of serious crimes was granted jurisdiction within United Nations territory, and she knew full well that Rothschild had a copy. “As I’m sure you read in my statement,” she answered, “no, I did not know his identity. Just as I did not know the identity of the pirates who attacked the Pianosa, or who hired them. I only know why they attacked, which was to steal the artifact the expedition discovered.”
“But why would they do that?” one of the U.N. officials asked. “What is so special about it?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that it had writing on it in an unknown language. Unknown to me, I mean. Somebody obviously recognized it.”
The State Department representative flicked through his papers. “Dr. Wilde, how could these, uh, conspirators have seen the artifact? You say that only a few of the expedition members saw it after it was brought to the ship.”
“I uploaded digital photos of the artifact to the IHA via satellite link. By the time I got back to New York, all the data on the server had been erased by a virus—including the photos. I don’t believe for one moment that the timing was a coincidence. Someone knew the images were there and planted the virus to destroy them—and used top-level access codes to do so.”
Rothschild’s already thin lips tightened still further. “Are you accusing someone within the IHA of planting the virus?”
“No, because there isn’t anybody specific I can accuse. But the only way anybody not on the Pianosa could have known about the artifact is if they saw the photos I uploaded to the server. Once they realized what we’d found, they arranged for the pirates to steal the artifact itself, and at the same time wiped the IHA’s servers with the virus. If Eddie and I hadn’t survived, nobody at the IHA would have even known the artifact existed, because all evidence of its discovery would have been destroyed. But once they found out that I had another copy of the photos, the conspirators”—she said this with a slightly mocking nod toward the man from the State Department—“sent a man to kill me and erase the copies. The same guy who ended up as a new flag in United Nations Plaza.”
“These copies,” the other U.N. official said, “where did you get them? I thought the pirates destroyed all your records of the expedition.”
“Eddie—Mr. Chase—recovered a camera’s memory card from the pirates. I brought it back to the U.N. so I could continue analyzing the artifact.”
Rothschild leaned forward with the coldly pleased air of someone who had just successfully lured an animal into a trap. “And as a result, a man was killed right here in the Secretariat Building and a United Nations employee was severely injured.”
“And I was attacked in my own office!” Nina angrily reminded her, pointing at the cuts and abrasions on her face. “Let’s not forget that part, huh? Has there been any news on Lola’s condition, by the way?”
“Ms. Gianetti is in critical but stable condition,” said Rothschild.
Nina sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God. I really thought she was going to die.”
“That does seem to happen to people around you rather a lot, doesn’t it?” Rothschild’s tone grew harder. “I’ve been reviewing your official reports on your IHA operations. The Pianosa expedition, Bill Raynes’s excavation team at Atlantis, Dr. Lamb in England, two of the IHA’s own nonexecutive directors, Jack Mitchell, Hector Amoros himself … all dead. To say nothing of the shocking number of people who seem to have died as”—her mouth twisted in distaste—“collateral damage.”
“Jack Mitchell was a criminal and a traitor.”
“And that entitles you to appoint yourself judge, jury, and executioner?”
“He was trying to kill us! Just like the guy last night. If I hadn’t stopped him, Lola would be dead by now, and so would I.” She gave Rothschild a nasty look. “Which would make things a lot easier for you, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m not sure I like your tone, Ms. Wilde,” said Rothschild.
“I don’t really care, Mrs. Rothschild,” Nina replied, throwing the subtle insult back at her. “If I’d died, your job here would be much simpler, because you wouldn’t have to ask the obvious question about what happened last night.”
“Which is?” said the first U.N. official.
“Which is, how did the man who attacked me know I had the photos? Only Eddie and I knew about the memory card. And I didn’t put the pictures on the server—I copied them straight to my laptop, so again there was no way for anyone to know about them. Only one other person in the entire world knew they existed … Gabriel Ribbsley.”
Rothschild sat ramrod straight. “Dr. Wilde,” she said, her voice clipped, “are you accusing Professor Gabriel Ribbsley of being involved in this conspiracy?”
“I guess I am,” Nina shot back. “Personal friend of yours, is he?”
“As a matter of fact, he is. But that’s hardly relevant.” She banged a hand on the desk. “You cannot sit here and accuse one of the world’s leading academics of being an accessory to attempted murder! The idea … it’s absolutely outrageous!”
“Well, why don’t we give him a call, see if he’s got a good explanation for why a man tried to kill me just hours after I spoke to him?”
“Absolutely not.” Her hand banged down again. “Dr. Wilde, this inquiry is not a criminal investigation—if you have any wild accusations to make, you should make them to the FBI.”
“Oh, I already have, don’t worry,” said Nina coldly.
“This inquiry board is here to investigate the catastrophe of the Indonesian expedition and, in my view, your entire career at the IHA. Regardless of the eventual outcomes, your previous operations establish a clear pattern of behavior—one of reckless irresponsibility, a callous disregard for the lives of others, and an utterly cavalier attitude toward the exploration of priceless historical sites.”
Nina was outraged. “What? Now wait a minute—”
“No, you wait, Dr. Wilde,” Rothschild said, raising her voice as she held up a sheaf of papers. “These are your own accounts of your previous expeditions, and they make for alarming reading. You claim to be a scientist, but there’s precious little scientific investigation—just brute force and destruction. It’s archaeology by bulldozer—no, worse than that, archaeology by explosive. For everything you’ve discovered, much more has been lost forever because of the violence you seem to attract.”
“Well,” Nina said through her teeth, “maybe the next time some asshole shoots at me, I should let him hit me so the bullets don’t chip anything!”
“Which is exactly my point. There shouldn’t be people shooting at you. You are not an archaeologist, Dr. Wilde. You are a glory hunter, a grave robber, using—no, abusing—your position at the IHA to embark on your own personal quests, without caring about the consequences. Wherever you go, chaos follows … and people die. Well, no more. This is something the IHA is no longer willing to tolerate.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that, until a determination of your degree of culpability in the deaths of the expedition members can be made, as the director of the International Heritage Agency I am s
uspending you from your post, without pay, effective immediately. The same goes for Mr. Chase.”
Nina gaped silently at her for a moment before rage finally pushed the words from her mouth. “This is bullshit!” she cried. “You don’t have that authority! Not without a review by the U.N….” She realized that both the U.N. officials now looked uncomfortable. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath, before raising her voice again. “You’d already decided how this was going to end before I even walked into the room!”
“The damage to the IHA, and to the United Nations, needed to be addressed as quickly as possible,” one of the officials said feebly.
She glared at him. “Oh, so I get sacrificed on the altar of public relations, do I?”
The other official spoke up. “When the investigation clears you, you’ll be reinstated, of course.”
“If the investigation clears you,” Rothschild countered.
“I’m sure it will be completely impartial and unbiased,” said Nina bitterly. She stood. “Well, if I’m suspended, there’s no point in my hanging around here, is there?”
“There is one more thing, Dr. Wilde,” Rothschild said. “The memory card, the one with the pictures of the artifact … what happened to it?”
“It got wiped,” Nina answered.
“So there are no more pictures of the artifact?”
“No.”
“I see.” Rothschild pursed her lips. “Let us hope that means an end to the violence, then.”
“Yeah,” said Nina. “Let us hope.”
She turned away and left the room, closing the door behind her … then reached to feel the memory card, still in her jacket pocket.
Still filled with anger, Nina gathered her possessions from her office, slamming books and journals and mementos of her past adventures into a cardboard box.
She paused as she picked up one particular souvenir—a framed photograph of herself at the White House, receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Victor Dalton for her part in saving New York from nuclear annihilation.
Dalton …
Following the FBI’s examination of the room, the telephone had been replaced, along with the broken window. Nina hesitated, then muttered, “What the hell.” She called Lola’s replacement and asked to be put through to the president.
“Of … the United States?” came the uncertain reply.
“That’s the one.”
It was a long shot; Nina had no idea if Dalton was even currently in Washington, and she was sure he had an infinite number of other concerns. But she figured that she was owed a favor—at the very least, he could return her call.
The response was not immediate, giving her time to finish collecting her belongings. But eventually, the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Dr. Wilde?” said a woman. “Please hold for the president.”
Another pause, then a click of connection. “Dr. Wilde,” said an instantly recognizable voice.
“Mr. President,” she replied. “Thank you for taking my call.”
“No problem at all. I could hardly keep a true American hero waiting, could I?” He chuckled. “What can I do for you?”
Nina wondered for a moment how best to address the subject, then decided to get straight to the point. “Mr. President, it’s about the appointment of Maureen Rothschild as the new director of the International Heritage Agency. I don’t believe she is the right person for the job, and I think that her suspension of myself and Eddie Chase is completely unwarranted.”
“Your suspension.” For some reason, Dalton seemed unsurprised at the news. Surely he couldn’t already know about it?
“Yes, sir. In my opinion, she made the decision based solely on her personal dislike of me, without any consideration of the damage it would cause to the IHA’s operations and its global security mission.” Nina had a more forceful—and ruder—version of her argument circling in her head but thought the diplomatic edit should do the trick.
Or not. “Dr. Wilde,” said Dalton, disapproval evident in his tone, “are you aware that Professor Rothschild was appointed as IHA director on my personal recommendation to the Senate committee and the U.N.?”
“Uh, no, sir, I was not,” Nina answered, startled.
“She has my total confidence and support, as well as that of the United Nations. Are you saying that this support is misplaced?”
“I, er … yes, quite frankly, Mr. President,” she said, a shudder running through her as she realized she had just challenged the most powerful man on the planet.
“Then,” said Dalton, his tone even harder, “we’ll have to disagree, Dr. Wilde. Professor Rothschild has my full backing. If her decision inconveniences you—”
“Inconveniences?”
“—then that’s unfortunate. But as director, she has full authority. If you have a problem with that, you should take it up through the proper U.N. channels, rather than trying to take advantage of your past service to this country for personal gain.”
“That—that’s not why I—” Nina began, but Dalton cut her off.
“We both know that’s exactly why you called me, Dr. Wilde. Now, I appreciate everything you’ve done in the past for the United States—I would hardly have awarded you the Medal of Freedom otherwise—but that does not grant you a hotline to the Oval Office to solve your personal problems. Do I make myself clear?” When Nina couldn’t find an answer immediately, he sternly added, “Dr. Wilde? Am I clear?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Nina mumbled, chastised.
“Good. Now, I have business to attend to. Good-bye, Dr. Wilde.”
The phone clicked, leaving Nina trembling in anger and humiliation, feeling as though she’d just been punched in the gut.
Dalton put down the phone, then turned his chair toward the windows looking out over the White House’s rose garden, a small but satisfied smile on his lips.
Nina Wilde and her fiancé had made themselves his enemies four months earlier, without even knowing it, by destroying a secret weapon controlled by his black ops agent Jack Mitchell. In the overall scheme of things they were very minor enemies, with no power to harm him in any way, but Dalton had still taken a certain pleasure in arranging for the vast apparatus of the United States government to bedevil their lives. Tax audits and overzealous immigration checks had been petty compared to depriving the couple of their jobs, however. The moment he’d learned about Nina’s enmity with Rothschild, he’d seen an opportunity for something more hard-hitting.
Now that it was done, he could focus on more pressing matters—in which, like the proverbial bad penny, Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase had turned up. With them out of the way, that left the Covenant of Genesis.
His smile vanished. Now, there was a dangerous enemy—and one that even with his vast resources he couldn’t yet deal with, not without being destroyed himself. How they had obtained such politically—and personally—damaging knowledge he had no idea. But they had, and as their representative, an Israeli, had calmly explained, they would use it without hesitation if he did not agree to their … request.
And what a request. If the public ever learned what he had done to appease the Covenant, it would end his career more quickly than the release of any of the organization’s other information about his dealings.
Fortunately, he had at least been able to persuade the Covenant to let one of his operatives join them. One of his best operatives. A man who would find any possible opportunity to eliminate any threats to him … and maybe even shift the balance of power to where it belonged.
In his favor.
He turned back to his desk and picked up one particular phone. “Get me Michael Callum.”
The tall, granite-faced man, his hair a bristling pure white, pushed a button on his secure cell phone to end the call. “That was the president,” Callum told the other occupant of the luxurious Washington, D.C., hotel suite.
“So I gathered,” said Uziel Hammerstein, unimpressed, as he lit a cigar. Callum loo
ked pointedly at the No Smoking sign by the door. The Israeli made a vaguely amused noise. “What, are you going to have me sent to Guantánamo for smoking?”
“So what did your esteemed leader have to say?” came an English-accented voice from the phone on the glass coffee table between the two men.
Callum frowned at the voice’s undisguised sarcasm. “You’ll be glad to know, Professor Ribbsley, that Nina Wilde is no longer a problem. She’s been fired, and the digital images of the tablet have been erased.”
“Good,” said Ribbsley. “I doubt she would have been able to translate any of the text, but once I knew I was looking at a navigational chart, it didn’t take long to work out where it led. She might have been able to do the same. Of course,” he went on, his cutting tone returning, “if Hammerstein’s goon had done his job rather than letting her throw him out of a window …”
Hammerstein bared his teeth, the cigar clenched between them. “Careful, Professor. Just because we’ve agreed to your demands doesn’t mean I have to put up with any of your crap. Goldman wasn’t just a colleague, he was a friend.”
“My condolences on your loss,” said Ribbsley, in a deliberate monotone.
Callum regarded the Israeli coldly. “Your man shouldn’t even have been operating on our turf.”
Hammerstein leaned back in the leather armchair, blowing a smoke ring across the table at him. “The Covenant works wherever it has to, Callum. Our mission is more important than your politics.” The white-haired man narrowed his eyes.
“Speaking of your mission,” said Ribbsley, “have the preparations started yet?”
“Vogler is in Australia already,” Hammerstein told him. “Zamal is on his way. Your flight is being arranged right now.”
The Covenant of Genesis_A Novel Page 13