The Eye of Heaven

by Clive Cussler

  Lazlo sat back, his befuddled brain grappling with what she’d just said. “You’re . . . you’re serious, aren’t you?” he stammered.

  “I’m dead serious,” Remi said. “This is your big chance. To turn it all around. To mount a proper expedition. To make a significant find. With money no object. A once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

  Sam nodded assent. “Only a fool would turn this down. And you may be many things, but you’ve never been a fool.”

  “There are some newspapermen who would argue against that most convincingly, I’m sure.”

  Remi softened her tone. “That’s over and done. This is now. We need your help. Say yes and we’ll get you out of here, clean you up, and put you to work. Whatever needs to be done.”

  Lazlo shook his head. “That might not be so easy. I’ve been doing this for some time.”

  “We’ll find you a good clinic. They’ll wean you off. You’ll be right as rain before you know it. You don’t have to be this, Lazlo. You’ve got everything to gain by making the right choice.”

  Lazlo’s face crinkled into a sneer. “‘For once.’ That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

  “No. But if it makes it easier, then I will. Make the right choice for once.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time and then his shoulders shuddered and he buried his face in his palms. When he looked up, his eyes were red and moist.

  “I don’t deserve this. You’re far too good for the likes of me.”

  Sam shook his head. “Nobody’s better than anyone else. We’re just in a position to help you right now. Just as you’re in a position to help us. It’s a simple transaction. We both get what we need. The basis of all working relationships.”

  Remi stepped back and Lazlo wiped his eyes with the back of a grimy sleeve. “Be careful what you wish for, Sam.”

  Sam smiled and caught Remi’s eye.

  “I always am, Lazlo.”

  Lazlo was living in a hovel near the river that would have been at home in the slums of Calcutta. Sam helped him with his few belongings, and soon they were rattling down the road back to Vientiane. Lazlo dozed off after the first leg and awoke only when Sam got cell coverage and left a message for Kendra, asking her to locate a suitable rehab center in the region that could handle both opium and alcohol withdrawals. Two hours later, Selma called—at five a.m. California time.

  “I’ve located a place in Bangkok, if you can get him there. I gather you found him?” she asked.

  “Selma!” Sam said, surprised. “I was expecting Kendra. Quite a bit later, actually.”

  “I saw her voice mail light blinking and took the liberty, figuring it was probably you. I was up, anyway. Here’s the info. It’s a first-class establishment. Apparently, the rich in Thailand regularly contend with the same issues Lazlo’s facing. The website looks like a five-star hotel’s, and it’s part of one of Bangkok’s top hospitals.” She gave him the particulars, which he repeated aloud so Remi could memorize them.

  They had Analu drop them at the plane after calling the crew and alerting them that they’d need to fly to Bangkok immediately. When they arrived at the airport, the G650 was already humming for the short flight. Sandra greeted them with a gleaming welcome smile. Sam had called the clinic and confirmed that they could accommodate Lazlo. They’d warned him what to expect and explained that he could have a drink on the plane to avoid the risk of convulsions, but not to allow more than one strong cocktail.

  Sandra prepared a double Finlandia and tonic at the request of Lazlo, who perked up after he’d swallowed it like a parched man at a desert oasis. Sam and Remi made small talk with him during the flight, and a car from the clinic met them at the airport.

  The facility lived up to its web presence. After completing a long application and signing his name to it, Lazlo was led into the depths of the clinic by staff, while the administrator, a handsome Asian woman in a dark blue business suit, explained their procedures to Sam and Remi.

  “Believe it or not, the opium withdrawals are the least of his issues. We deal with that problem using drugs that cleanse the opium from the opiate receptors while he’s under deep sedation, so if he’s only been smoking for a few months and not injecting, that will be dealt with in a matter of hours. The alcohol is a different, and potentially more serious, complication. Your friend appears to be a long-term alcoholic and that can be quite dangerous to wind down.”

  “He’s been drinking for as long as I’ve known him,” Sam said, “which is at least a decade.”

  “Then it will be a rough ride for the next three to four days, and possibly longer. We use nitrous oxide and vitamin regimens to reduce the withdrawal effects, but every patient is different. Additionally, the physical withdrawal process is only the beginning. He’ll need ongoing care for at least thirty days and he should enroll in a program.”

  “We’re already making arrangements for him in Mexico City. He’ll be well looked after,” Remi assured the woman.

  “Very good, then. Will you be staying in town for the duration?”

  “Yes. We’re at the Mandarin Oriental,” Sam said. “I jotted our cell number on the information form.”

  The administrator stood and shook their hands. “Try not to worry. We’ll do everything we can to make this as comfortable as possible for him.” She hesitated. “I wouldn’t stop in during the detox period—he’s not allowed visitors until that phase is over.”

  Remi nodded. She and Sam had looked up “alcohol withdrawal” at the plane terminals while en route and she could well understand why the patient was off-limits for seventy-two hours or longer.

  Four days went by quickly. Every meal was an opportunity to test the various restaurants the concierge had recommended. They took a tour of the city on the second day and spent long hours after that walking the streets of the teeming downtown whenever the sky was clear. When they returned to the clinic, the administrator showed them to Lazlo’s room and then left.

  “How did it go?” Sam asked.

  “Far worse than expected,” Lazlo said with a troubled but clear stare. “Wouldn’t want to have to go through that again. Rather like being dragged through broken glass after having been roasted on a spit. No, actually, that might be more pleasurable, come to think of it.”

  Sam nodded. “The good news is that’s a once-in-a-lifetime event if you’re careful. How are you feeling now?”

  “Certainly not a hundred percent but could be worse, all things considered.”

  “Have they got you on anything?”

  “Valium. Said there’s a danger of dependence, so it’s a mixed blessing. But it’s got the worst of the symptoms under control.”

  “Have they indicated when you’ll be fit for travel?” Remi asked.

  “Haven’t asked. I assumed I’d be working from here. Is that not the case?”

  Sam and Remi exchanged a look. “We thought it might be better if you came with us to Mexico.”

  “Good heavens. Mexico? I must admit that’s a pleasure I’ve yet to experience.” Lazlo paused. “I was rather hoping that you could get me high-resolution scans of the document in question, as well as a computer, so I could begin my analysis while incarcerated. It’s an awfully tedious place, this.”

  “I have them on a flash drive,” Remi said. She ferreted around in her purse and extracted a notebook computer, pretending astonishment. “And, oh, what’s this? Just a computer. We thought you might want to get started.” She set the notebook on his bed and the drive on the table next to it before rooting around in her bag and finding the power cord. “Voilà! You’re a one-man cryptology department on wheels.”

  “Good show. Good show indeed. Now all I need to do is find the on switch.”

  Lazlo’s hands were unsteady as he lifted the computer and set it on his lap, but that wasn’t surprising given his state when he entered the clinic. They both knew he would be in fragile shape for some time to come, having already arranged for a clinic in Mexico City to supervis
e his ongoing treatment.

  After another ten minutes, they left him to his new project with a promise to see him again the following afternoon. Next they met with the administrator, who approved him for discharge and travel in forty-eight hours, but with a stern caution to keep the plane dry so as not to present temptation. Neither of them had a problem with that, and, on the way back to the hotel, Remi passed the word to Sandra.

  Checkout from the clinic two days later was a paperwork-intensive ordeal. Everyone sighed in relief when they were finally rid of the building and on their way to the airport. Sam and Remi had enjoyed the unexpected downtime but were itching to get back to Mexico, their sense of being under the gun more intense than ever. Lazlo was being tight-lipped about any progress he’d made on the manuscript, as was his fashion, although at times he would smile like a mischievous child, which they generally took to be a positive sign.

  The flight across the Pacific was an hour shorter due to a strong tailwind but still exhausted them by the time they arrived in Mexico City. A representative from the clinic where Lazlo would take up residence met them at the airport and ferried them to the clinic’s building in an upscale area of downtown near the business district. Sam and Remi checked back into the Four Seasons, where their luggage had been sent from Cuba courtesy of Lagarde’s friend.

  That evening, they had dinner with Carlos Ramirez, who was a charming host and took them to one of Mexico City’s top restaurants—Pujol—where they dined like royalty on the chef’s tasting menu and a host of rare tequilas.

  Carlos told them that progress at the new find had been slow, hampered by the weather—it had rained for three days in their absence, as a massive front had moved across Mexico, flooding the whole area in its wake. The marginally accessible streets had become impassable, so Maribela and Antonio had been unable to resume their work until the previous day. Carlos said that they were excited by the images Sam and Remi had brought back from Cuba and had found a few more similarities between the artifacts in the crypts and the carvings in Havana.

  By the time the evening wound down, Sam and Remi were satiated and optimistic about their chances now that Lazlo was on their team. They both agreed that they were lucky to have Carlos helping them and were sorry to see the night end. Carlos bade them good night and offered to drive them back to the hotel, but they declined, preferring to linger over after-dinner drinks. When they left, Sam held the restaurant door open for Remi, admiring her Hervé Léger black cocktail dress and the way it clung to her curves.

  “The dress looks magical. Great choice, as always.”

  “Why, thank you. I wasn’t sure you’d noticed.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m the envy of every male in Mexico City. And the shoes are incredible, too,” he added, going for bonus points.

  “Jimmy Choo red pointy-toe pumps.”

  He grinned. “You had me at Choo.”

  Janus Benedict set his coffee cup down on the teak table and gazed at the islands off the port side, their bluffs rising from the water in defiance of erosion and man-made progress. They’d gone ashore the prior evening with his guests: three gentlemen from Syria, who seemed most interested in his surface-to-air missile selection, as well as the availability of the Russian Ka-50 Black Shark helicopters that he regularly brokered for the cash-strapped Russian manufacturer. Of course, their negotiations would be lengthy and ongoing, and no religious beliefs were allowed to get in the way of their enjoyment of the Greek islands’ pleasures, nor their appreciation of Janus’s supplied entertainment, both chemical and feminine.

  Janus’s head was fuzzy from the extra two glasses of grappa he’d consumed against his better judgment, but sometimes one made sacrifices in order to make one’s guests feel welcome. The Syrians seemed to have had a wonderful time, and Janus was confident that would translate into a higher price for the arms than they’d have been willing to pay had he provided sodas and sandwiches.

  He checked the screen of his iPad and confirmed that all three were still sound asleep in their staterooms. The hidden cameras came in handy for more than creating insurance for himself should something turn ugly; they also enabled him to be a consummate host and anticipate his guests’ every desire before they even felt them.

  For now, the staterooms were quiet, and Janus was confident that he’d have at least another hour or two to himself before he’d have to become the entertainment committee again.

  Reginald stumbled up the stairs, a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses shielding his eyes from the worst of the morning glare, a cigarette dangling from his lips, as he sat down across from his brother and pointed at his coffee cup. A white-uniformed steward scurried from the bowels of the salon and poured him a generous measure of dark roasted coffee, and then, after registering Reginald’s nod, he returned with a snifter of Baileys and poured it into the cup.

  “I suppose I don’t need to ask you how you’re feeling this morning,” Janus said, watching his younger sibling raise the cup to his lips with an unsteady hand. “Little jittery, I’d say.”

  “It was a demanding night. That Sophie—”

  “Yes, quite—spare me the gory details. We do what we must to make the clients feel at home. And we acquitted ourselves with aplomb. I think these chappies are clay ripe for the potter’s wheel.”

  “With the amount of coke they went through, they bloody well ought to be,” Reginald said, his face drawn from the aftermath of his own overconsumption.

  “They seemed amenable by the end of the evening to reconsidering the value we add to their assumed prices for the helicopters, direct from the manufacturer.”

  “Not that they’d be able to buy them direct in the first place.”

  “Ah, but it’s not so important that they grasp ugly realities as that they’re happy about the deal. And I’d say, based on their enthusiasm and stamina until the small hours, they’ll be as happy as men in their positions can be. After all, it’s not as though it’s their money. It’s all part of the dance. They need to assure whoever they report to, their accountants or backers, that they got the best value available. Our job is to help them do that while making their visit as pleasant and diverting as possible.”

  “Then mission accomplished.”

  “Yes. And good news, old boy. You won’t need to endure any more moments of amusement. I’ve got the jet in Athens waiting to take you to Mexico later today. After breakfast, Simon will ferry you ashore, where I’ve made arrangements for you to catch the first flight off the island.”

  “Mexico? Good heavens. Why on earth would I want to go to Mexico? Beastly place full of bandits, isn’t it?” Reginald complained.

  “That may well be, but our clients there purchase a large amount of our product, and have expanded globally, so when they want to discuss updating their ordnance it’s a lucrative priority. That, and those two meddling pests, the Fargos, are back in Mexico City. I want to be prepared if they’ve discovered something and I’m not willing to lose the day it would take me to fly there if they have. So I’m sending you to hold talks with the Los Zetas cartel about their expansion requirements and to personally supervise any action required with the Fargos.” Janus took another taste of coffee. “And, Reginald—these are very important customers. Quite volatile, I should add. You’ll be on their home turf, as they say, so I’d caution you to behave accordingly. Don’t do anything that would anger them or this could well be the last I see of you.”

  “Brilliant. You’re sending me into psycho country to parley with a bunch of gun-happy lunatics.”

  “They’re not that bad. And, as I underscored, rather profitable and worth caution in your approach. I’m sure as long as you keep a level head, you’ll get along swimmingly. As for the Fargos, don’t do anything rash. If action is required, consult with me first. Do I make myself clear?” Janus warned in a menacing tone.

  “You don’t need to speak to me like I’m a five-year-old.” Reginald finished his coffee and signaled to the invisible steward for another. �
��I understand. I’m to play nice with the peasants and act as a paperweight with the Fargos. Should any thinking be required, I’m to leave that to you. Did I miss anything?”

  “Reginald, I’m serious. There will be no impulsive outbursts. This is a personal matter for me now. Don’t muck it up.”

  “Message received. I’ll be impeccably behaved as I trade beads with the natives. You’ll never know I was there.”

  Janus’s eyes narrowed and then he nodded. It was as close to capitulation as his brother would come. Hopefully, it would be sufficient. Janus knew Reginald was itching to prove himself but still had youthful impulsiveness to outgrow. Besides, the regional head of Los Zetas he’d be meeting wasn’t much older than Reginald, so perhaps they’d get along well. And, of course, there was little downside Janus could see to having his brother on the ground if the Fargos required attention.

  The following day, Sam was shaving in the bathroom when his phone on the nightstand rang. Remi stirred at the sound and rolled over to answer it.

  “Hel . . . Hello?” she said, her voice thick with sleep.

  “Remi, it’s Lazlo. I must say, I’m surprised to find you still asleep at seven a.m. when there’s treasure to discover . . .”

  “Uh . . . good morning, Lazlo.”

  “How soon can you be at this miserable prison to meet with me?”

  “I thought it was rather nice.”

  “Beside the point.”

  She checked her watch. “Depending on traffic, maybe an hour.” She cleared her throat and sat up. “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing. I thought you might be interested in what I did during the depths of the night.”

  “Which is . . . ?”