‘Me?’ said Eddie. ‘How?’
Jindal took documents from his briefcase and laid them on Nina’s desk. Each had a photograph attached. ‘These are three of the raiders who were killed in San Francisco. They’re all different nationalities: Nicaraguan, Ukrainian, Portuguese. But what they have in common is that they are all known mercenaries.’
‘Mercenaries, eh?’ Eddie took a closer look at the photos, but didn’t recognise any of the faces. He glanced sidelong at Jindal. ‘Been reading up on me, have you?’
The Indian smiled. ‘I hope you’re not offended.’
‘Nah, it’s just that it’s been a while since I was in that line of work. And I never really thought of myself as a merc. More like a troubleshooter.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Nina. ‘You see trouble, you shoot it.’
‘Hey, you weren’t complaining at the time! So, who are these guys?’
Jindal tapped on each picture in turn. ‘Ramon Maltez Espinosa; Gennadi Sklar—’
‘Sklar?’ Eddie interrupted.
‘You know him?’
‘Never met him, but I know the name. Worked in Africa, mostly . . . Harare, that’s where I heard about him.’
‘You were in Zimbabwe?’ Nina asked. However much she thought she knew about her husband’s past travels, he still always had the ability to surprise her.
‘About six years ago,’ Eddie told her. ‘Don’t plan on going back - I’m not popular there. But this bloke Sklar, that’s where I know his name from.’
‘Small world.’
‘You get to know most of the people in the business after a while. The professionals, at least - the ones who’re good enough not to get killed.’ He turned to Jindal. ‘This Fernandez, for jobs like the ones he’s been pulling, he’d be after the absolute best people he could get. And there’s not that many middlemen he could go through to find ’em.’
‘I doubt they’d be willing to talk to Interpol, though,’ said Jindal.
‘Maybe not, but they might talk to me. Somebody’ll know something - maybe even who’s paying Fernandez. And I wouldn’t even need to go to them - just thinking that I could might be enough to get Fernandez to open up.’
Jindal considered it. ‘We’ve been trying to work out a deal, but so far he’s refused everything. Perhaps a stick to go with the carrot might encourage him to talk . . .’ Another moment of thought. ‘Would you be willing to fly back to Lyon with me? Not just for this - your first-hand account of events, and any help you could give us concerning Fernandez’s mercenary connections, would be very useful. But if we can’t persuade him to accept a deal, then perhaps a threat would be more effective. Not a physical threat,’ he hurriedly added.
Eddie grinned. ‘Never crossed my mind. But I’m up for it.’ He turned to Nina. ‘That’s if you’re okay with it. If you don’t want to be on your own . . .’
She took a moment to reply. ‘I’ll be okay. Especially if your going helps nail this bastard.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive,’ she insisted. ‘If it leads to catching whoever’s behind this, I’m all for it.’
‘Excellent,’ said Jindal, nodding. ‘I’ll arrange the flight.’ He looked at the ancient volume again. ‘As for the Codex itself . . . have you found any reason why whoever was paying Fernandez wanted him to steal it?’
‘I think I might have,’ said Nina. She explained her deduction about the link between the Atlantean god Poseidon and the Hindu god Shiva, opening the Codex to the pages that had been on display to illustrate her point. ‘If this Vault of Shiva still exists, then its contents would be an incredible archaeological find.’
‘Big enough to kill for?’ Eddie asked.
Jindal looked thoughtfully at the ancient words. ‘The Vedic Sanskrit text, the Indian connection, was one of the reasons why I pushed to get this assignment. There is a big black market for ancient Hindu artefacts - and yes, people are willing to kill for them, unfortunately. But this would be on a much larger scale than anything I’ve dealt with before.’
‘How long have you been with Interpol?’ Nina asked.
‘About three years. I used to be a detective with the Delhi police - finding art thieves was my speciality, and since a lot of cases involved international trafficking it made sense to transfer to Interpol when the opportunity arose.’
‘Sounds like a cool job,’ said Eddie. ‘Travel, busting bad guys, recovering stolen treasures . . .’
‘It has its moments - though I don’t think it compares to what you do.’ He noticed the display case. ‘Is that the Egyptian artefact?’
‘You know about it?’ Nina asked, slightly surprised that he was aware of the small purple figurine.
‘Yes - the Egyptians asked to check Interpol’s database to see if it matched anything stolen or recovered. It didn’t, so I suppose they then gave it to the IHA in the hope that you’d be able to identify it.’
‘No luck so far,’ Nina admitted. ‘But we’ll keep on trying - at least until the Egyptians get fed up with waiting and ask for it back!’
The three shared a small laugh, then Jindal gathered up his documents. ‘Thank you for your help, Dr Wilde. And Mr Chase, I’ll call you as soon as I confirm the flight.’ He said his goodbyes to the couple, then departed.
‘Better go home and pack my toothbrush,’ said Eddie.
‘Do you think you’ll be able to get this Fernandez to talk?’ Nina asked.
A cat-like grin. ‘If they give me five minutes with just me, him and something sharp.’
‘I doubt Interpol would approve . . . but in this case, I wouldn’t be opposed.’ She carefully nestled the Codex into the padding inside a large steel case and closed it. ‘But until we actually find out who’s behind the robberies, we need to keep this safe. Can you carry it for me?’
‘Half the time I think you only married me to have someone to lug heavy objects about,’ Eddie said in jocular complaint as he picked up the box - whereupon his tone became genuine. ‘Ow! Bloody hell.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, fine.’ He put a hand to his ribs. ‘Bit of a twinge, that’s all.’
‘There are some painkillers in my desk.’
‘No, I’m okay,’ he insisted. ‘Just that my side feels like someone’s sandpapered it.’
‘It looked like it, too. Sure you’re all right? I can get someone else to take it to the vault.’
‘Nah, I’ve got it.’ He hoisted the case again. ‘Although I bet librarians were bloody glad when someone got the idea to make books out of paper rather than metal.’
They took an elevator down to the Secretariat Building’s lowest basement level. Most of the floor was occupied by a data centre, computer servers handling the terabytes of information flowing through the UN, but their destination involved a more physical form of storage.
A familiar face was at the entrance. ‘Hey, Lola,’ said Nina, seeing her assistant chatting to one of the guards at the security station, a tall young Haitian called Henri Vernio.
‘Oh! Nina, hi.’ Lola blushed, as if she had been caught in the act; Nina wondered if she was dating the man. She indicated a little trolley stacked with folders. ‘I was just getting these for you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Nina, teasingly adding: ‘No rush.’
‘I was, ah, on my way back upstairs anyway,’ Lola said, giving the disappointed guard a quick goodbye before scurrying off with the trolley.
Nina smiled, then turned to the other guard, Lou Jablonsky, an overweight Brooklynite ex-cop. ‘We’re putting the Talonor Codex back in the vault.’
‘Sure thing, Dr Wilde,’ said Jablonsky. He began to enter their details into his computer. ‘Hey, Eddie. You okay? Lola told us you got pretty banged up in Frisco.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ Eddie replied. ‘Except it looks like someone used a cheese grater on my arse.’
Jablonsky grinned. ‘Some weirdos pay good money for that. Okay, if you’ll follow me . . .’
The high-security vault was only one
part of the secure archive; most of the space was occupied by labyrinthine ranks of lockers and filing drawers, with a reading area in one corner where researchers could examine classified material without the extra bureaucratic hassle required to remove it from the room. Cameras on the ceiling watched every square foot of the climate-controlled chamber. The entrance to the vault itself was a large stainless steel door in direct line of sight of the security station. Jablonsky inserted a keycard into a slot on the door and looked back at Vernio, who put a card of his own into another reader and entered a command on the computer.
A warbling alarm warned anyone near the vault to stand back as the thick door unlocked and swung slowly open. Nina waited until Jablonsky gave her a nod, then went inside, Eddie carrying the case in after her. The interior was a cramped circular room, the wall lined with more steel-doored lockers of various sizes. A computer terminal was set into a small pedestal-like desk at the centre, the screen displaying the combined weights to the gram of the visitors and what they carried: the floor around it was pressure sensitive, another security system to ensure nothing was smuggled out. ‘Christ,’ Eddie said, looking up at the ventilation grille in the ceiling. ‘It’s always so bloody cold in here.’
‘It’s nice in the summer, though,’ Nina reminded him. She sat at the desk and entered her security code. A panel on the desktop lit up, and she placed her right hand flat on it. A brighter line of light moved down the panel’s length - a palmprint scanner. A red LED above the handle of one of the largest lockers turned green.
Eddie slid the case inside, then closed the door. The LED went back to red. ‘Okay, sorted.’ Jablonsky, who had been watching from the entrance, waited until the visitors left the vault, then removed his card. More warning trills, and the door closed. Eddie gave the barrier a satisfied look. ‘Let’s see anyone break into that.’
‘Hopefully nobody’ll be trying,’ said Nina as they returned to the security station and signed out. ‘Well, if you’re jetting off to France, I think I’ll take some work home for the evening. See if I can figure out anything else from those translations.’
‘And people say you don’t know how to live it up.’
Nina narrowed her eyes. ‘Who says that?’
‘Not me,’ he replied quickly.
They entered the lift. Eddie reached up to push the button for the IHA’s floor - and barely held in a pained grunt. He rolled his shoulder, trying to knead out the stab of pain in one of the muscles. ‘Fuck.’
‘Are you really sure you’re all right?’ Nina asked. ‘If you don’t feel up to travelling—’
‘Course I’m up to it,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s not like I’m crippled. I’ve had worse.’
‘And are you sure you don’t want any painkillers?’
Eddie hesitated before replying. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. More or less.’ He gingerly touched a particularly sore spot on his backside. ‘Might need an extra cushion for the flight, though.’
7
France
‘Has he said anything?’ Nina asked.
‘Not so far,’ Eddie told her. They were on opposite ends of a transatlantic call, she at the United Nations in New York, he in Jindal’s office at Interpol’s headquarters in Lyon. He was tired, from both a day spent working with the investigators and jetlag, but hopefully the prisoner he was about to see would be more exhausted - and therefore likely to let something slip in the next round of questioning. ‘Kit’s going to let me watch the next interrogation in a few minutes.’
‘Kit?’
‘Jindal. Short for Ankit.’
Her voice became teasing. ‘Oh, you’re on first-name terms already? That’s so sweet!’
‘We were on an eight-hour flight, and you know me, I can’t keep my gob shut for eight minutes. Anyway, I’ll be watching from behind the glass, just like in a cop show. They’re going to try to make a deal so he’ll give up whoever hired him - we’ll see what he says.’
‘A deal. God.’ Anger entered her voice. ‘I wish there were some other way.’
‘So do I. I don’t want that bastard to walk free any more than you do. But it might be the only way to recover all the stuff he stole.’
‘I suppose . . .’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘At least we don’t have to worry about him nicking the Codex any more.’ He looked round as Kit entered and gestured for him to follow. ‘Got to go - they’re about to start.’
‘Okay,’ said Nina. ‘See you soon. Love you.’
‘Love you too. Bye.’ He disconnected and followed Kit from the room. ‘Don’t suppose he’s cracked already, has he?’
The Indian shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. But our lawyers have come up with an offer, so we’ll see if he takes it.’ They reached the elevators, and rode up to the Interpol building’s seventh floor. A steel-barred security gate was opened for them once their identities had been confirmed by a guard, and they entered the interrogation area.
Kit led Eddie into a darkened room. A lanky female officer in her forties was checking a video camera. ‘Eddie, this is Renée Beauchamp,’ said Kit. ‘She’ll be conducting the interrogation with me.’
Eddie shook her hand. ‘Good cop, bad cop, eh?’
‘We are both good cops,’ she said with a small smile as she gave a folder to Kit. ‘This is the agreement - it’s as we discussed. All he has to do is sign it.’
‘What’re you offering him?’
‘In exchange for testifying against his employer, and providing all the stolen treasures are safely returned, he will get reduced charges and trial in only a single country - of his choosing. Since the Chinese have said he will get the death penalty for stealing the terracotta warriors, and the Saudis would almost certainly have him secretly executed to cover up the theft of the Black Stone, I think he will respond favourably.’
Eddie regarded the interrogation room’s occupant through the two-way mirror. Fernandez, though bruised and with his hands cuffed behind his back, didn’t seem worried. If anything, he appeared almost smug. ‘Find out in a minute, I suppose.’
Eddie sat and looked on as the two Interpol officers entered the interrogation room, uncuffing Fernandez before facing him across a table. The French woman spoke first, explaining the terms of the deal. Fernandez sat in silence until she finished, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.
‘Thank you for that,’ he said at last, ‘but now, here is my offer. In return for total immunity from prosecution, signed by every country in which I am alleged’ - the smirk widened - ‘to have committed these crimes, and also being granted a new identity and witness protection in a country of my choosing, I will give you the name of those who I believe’ - he raised a finger theatrically - ‘are in possession of the missing treasures. Until I get that, I have nothing more to say.’
‘You seriously expect us to arrange full immunity?’ asked Kit.
‘As I said, I have nothing more to say.’ Both cops shot more questions at him, but his only response was a self-satisfied silence. After a few fruitless minutes, they gave up, handcuffing him back to the chair before returning to the observation room.
‘Well,’ said Kit, ‘that didn’t go as well as I hoped.’
Beauchamp sighed. ‘The arrogance of the man! How can he not see that this is his only chance?’
Kit regarded Fernandez through the mirror. ‘He must be very scared of his employer to make such big demands in return for giving him up.’
‘Are Interpol likely to meet them?’ asked Eddie.
‘It’s not really up to us. It depends how desperate the countries involved are to get back their national treasures. Even the Saudis might agree to his terms if they can recover the Black Stone without anyone knowing it was stolen.’
Eddie looked at the prisoner for a long moment. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll need to go in there, though. Alone.’
‘I am not sure that would be wise,’ said Beauchamp doubtfully.
‘I won’t lay a finger on him, if t
hat’s what you’re worried about. Honest!’ He held up his hands. ‘I’ll just try a different angle. Something he might respond to better.’
Kit also appeared unconvinced. ‘It isn’t exactly standard procedure . . .’
‘It isn’t exactly a standard case, either. Come on, let me try. Worst that can happen is that he tells me to piss off.’
The two Interpol officers exchanged looks, then Kit nodded. ‘All right. But we’ll be watching from here.’
‘I’ll try not to block your view with all the blood on the glass. Kidding!’ Eddie added as he opened the door.
He went into the neighbouring room. Fernandez looked up at him with a flash of recognition, then concern.
‘Yeah, it’s me again,’ said Eddie with a cold grin. ‘Thought I’d pop in for a chat. Maybe finish what I started in San Francisco.’ He slapped a fist into his open palm, then sat facing the Spaniard across the table.
Fernandez glanced at the mirror. ‘Not quite standard Interpol procedure.’
‘I don’t work for Interpol.’
‘So who do you work for?’
‘Doesn’t really matter. What I’m interested in is, who do you work for? See, when someone tries to kill me and my wife, I take it personally. Not very professional, I know, but I’m an emotional sort of bloke. And you really don’t want me to be pissed off at you.’
‘Professional?’ said Fernandez, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re not a cop, and you don’t seem the intelligence type, so . . . a mercenary?’
‘Ex. Settled down now.’
A faint smile. ‘You never really leave. However hard you try, if you are a natural fighter, you always get pulled back in. And I can tell you are a natural fighter. What is your name, by the way? I prefer to know who I am being threatened by.’
‘Chase. Eddie Chase.’
Another flick of an eyebrow, this time at a memory. ‘Chase . . . Algeria, yes? About seven years ago? You blew up the warehouse of Fekkesh, the arms dealer.’
‘Might have done.’
‘And Fekkesh himself did not fare much better. I heard that he lost his—’
‘I’m not here to talk about me,’ Eddie interrupted sharply, deciding Interpol didn’t need to hear the details of a mission that, while justified, had not been entirely legal. ‘Let’s talk about you. And your dead mates. Especially Gennadi Sklar. Used to work out of Zimbabwe, didn’t he?’
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