“You could go for a full disbarment,” she teased. “But I think it’s safe to describe you as an expert on the Templars.”
“Fair enough.” He gestured toward the chest. “But this, if it’s real, this is the headline, right? How many chances do people get to make a discovery like this?”
“I’ll wait on the obituary if it’s all the same to you, but I do see your point.” She smiled and took his hand. “After you.”
They trudged back into the cave, Cam’s eyes drawn again to the small piles of bones. Sometime over the past century and a half the capacitor lost its juice. But it held its secrets.
He turned to Amanda; she nodded. He carefully pulled back the cloth shroud. Using his hand, he waved the dust away and peered at the gold-colored lid. Placing one hand under either end of the lid, he lifted the cover off the chest, steadied himself and wrestled the lid clear of the chest. The Geiger counter chirped louder. “Twenty-four,” Amanda said as Cam leaned the cover against the cave wall.
Cam limped back and peered into the chest. “No Ten Commandments,” Amanda said. “But fancy that.” She pointed at a gold-colored bowl in the center of the chest, the only object within.
Cam leaned over, reached in with both hands and, holding the bowl at arm’s length, removed an open-topped container that looked like something his grandmother put out to serve candies to guests. A whitish powder filled the bowl. “Just like you thought,” Cam said.
Amanda held the gauge to the bowl. “Thirty-three,” she said.
He set it back into the chest and they backed away. “Didn’t you tell me the ancient Jewish texts talked about how the Ark used to levitate when they brought it out for holidays?”
“Yes. The Kabala describes it.”
“Well, Smoot told me the white powder also levitates—”
“So if enough powder were in the Ark,” she interrupted, “the entire Ark would levitate.”
“Exactly.” He exhaled. “So this is the secret Hurech and his Templar mates were hiding. A fake Ark, filled with white powder of gold.”
“But why? Why come all the way here just to do that?”
“Good question,” he said. “I bet the answer has something to do with the Tucson lead artifacts.”
In the end they decided to leave the fake Ark in the cave. Cam had gone back to retrieve a sample of the white powder and take some pictures, but for now the artifact would remain hidden. “This needs to be Willum’s call,” Cam said. “Plus I don’t think we could wrestle it down ourselves.”
“Agreed.”
Amanda wasn’t sure whether to feel elated or disappointed. She had never really believed they would find the Ark of the Covenant, but as every step continued to bring them closer and closer, and as she brushed away the detritus from the golden chest, she had pretty much convinced herself that the impossible had happened. And even though she had been wrong about the impossible happening, what had happened was pretty damn improbable in its own right. The fake Ark would need to be carbon-dated and tested, but she had no doubt that it would conclusively prove that Templar Knights had been exploring the Arizona desert long before Columbus was born. And once that Rubicon had been crossed, the dozens of other artifacts and sites that evidenced early exploration of America would need to be reanalyzed. It was like Cam always said—the only thing the archeologists were consistently right about was being wrong. The history books would need to be rewritten.
Ellis trained his binoculars on the rented SUV as Cam and Amanda bounced down the dirt road toward the highway. Based on the conversation being transmitted to him through the listening device he had imbedded in their car, they had found some kind of ancient chest. Not the actual Ark of the Covenant, but a duplicate made a thousand or more years ago. Ellis didn’t know enough about this stuff to understand the ramifications of the find. And though there was talk of radiation, the fake Ark didn’t seem to have much to do with the fuel cell Willum was working on. But Ellis knew you didn’t pass on the chance to take out an unprotected piece on the chess board.
Traffic slowed to a stop about a quarter-mile south of the compound. “This can’t be good,” Cam said from the back seat, a bag of ice on his lower leg.
Amanda nodded. “You want to call Georgia?”
“Wait. Someone’s coming over now.”
A policewoman approached and smiled. “Good afternoon. I’m sorry, but the road is closed. You’ll need to turn around in that parking lot.”
“We’re trying to get to the domes up on the right.”
She nodded. “That’s why the road is closed. Nobody’s allowed near it.”
No reason to argue. “Okay, thanks.”
As Amanda turned into the parking lot, a dull explosion rumbled across the desert from the direction of the compound. “That can’t be good either,” Amanda said.
“No. I’ll get Georgia on the phone.”
Willum had watched all day as law enforcement personnel rolled in. Federal, state, local—but it would be feds who called the shots. Literally.
Though he had planned for this day for years, he was disappointed it had come. The more he thought about it the more convinced he was that the roadside bombing was a hoax. It probably wasn’t even a real body—the special effects guys in Hollywood could make anything look real. And none of his people had actually seen the woman in the car. But the feds now had justification for an armed assault on his compound.
He sat at one of the picnic tables sheltered by the domes and sipped a lemonade. No sense giving them a clear shot at him—some Nazi FBI sniper took out Randy Weaver’s wife at Ruby Ridge while she stood in the kitchen with a ten-month-old baby in her arms.
As if on cue, a whistling noise pierced the air. Willum knew that sound. “Duck!” he yelled. Seconds later the ground shook and a thunderclap emanated from the rear of the compound. He whipped his head around—black smoke rose up from where the generator was. Or used to be. “Assholes,” he cursed. His chest pounded. He hoped none of his people were back there.
Even before the air raid siren sang out, compound residents rushed from the pods. As trained, some manned security posts while others rushed to the impact site. Willum punched in Boonie’s number on his cell phone—Boonie was in that area checking on the rear tunnel. Nothing. No service. Clarisse arrived at his side. “Do you have cell service?” he asked.
She punched at her phone. “Nothing.”
“Fuck them. They’re trying to take out our infrastructure. First power, then communications.”
“I’ll get the radios and distribute them.”
“Good. And also get on the ham radio and let the other Survivalist groups know what’s happening. I’m going to check on the generator.”
“Get some good video.” She paused. “Especially if there are casualties. Our Internet is probably down also, but we can smuggle it out somehow and get it posted. It’ll go viral, just like in Egypt. What kind of government drops missiles on its citizens?”
He turned and looked back at her. “An illegitimate one.”
CHAPTER 7
Georgia had secured a conference room at the hotel, and she, Cam, Amanda and a couple of agents sat around a table picking at pizza and salad. Cam appreciated that she hadn’t invited Ellis. The agents excused themselves to take a call, which gave Georgia a chance to get Cam and Amanda up to speed.
“Obviously, things are getting out of hand at the compound,” she said. “FBI is in charge now. But ODNI still has a seat at the table, at least for now.”
“So who decided to take out the generator?” Cam asked. The solar panels were also destroyed.
“Honestly, it feels more like a political decision than a tactical one. Someone convinced the President to authorize a drone strike. Thank God nobody was seriously hurt. Plus the cell phone carriers agreed to de-power their towers. So Smoot is without power and cell phones.”
Cam spoke. “Smoot still has power—I’m sure they have plenty of smaller generators, and they have thousands of gall
ons of gasoline buried. Plus they have radios to communicate. All you really did is feed his paranoia.”
“I didn’t do it, Cameron,” Georgia said, straightening herself in her chair.
“Sorry,” he smiled. “I mean you in the plural sense, as in the government.”
She nodded and relaxed her shoulders. “We’re all getting a little edgy.”
Amanda spoke. “Why be so aggressive? Why not just wait it out?”
“That’s what I would do,” Georgia said. “But this thing is starting to feed on itself. All the Survivalists and militia folk and right-wing whackos are starting to mobilize. The President doesn’t want this to mushroom. There’s already talk in places like Idaho and Wyoming and New Mexico about states seceding. And the people in Arizona aren’t too happy about the feds dropping missiles on their neighbors.”
“All the more reason to just back off,” Amanda persisted.
“Again, I agree with you. But I think the President is tired of taking shit from what he considers the radical right—they’ve been beating him up for years. I think he wants to show them who’s boss. You can’t detonate a bomb and kill an ATF agent and then barricade yourself in a fortress compound.” She shrugged. “I mean, you just can’t.”
“I don’t think Smoot knows anything about it,” Cam said.
“Based on?”
“Based on I saw his reaction when it happened. Like I told you, he was as shocked as anyone.”
“Well,” Georgia said, “if that’s true he probably has nothing to be afraid of.”
Cam caught Amanda’s eye just as she was about to argue the point. People went to jail all the time for crimes they didn’t commit. Cam knew it, Amanda knew it, Georgia especially knew it.
The two agents returned to the room. Georgia addressed them. “Cam and Amanda have spent a lot of time in the compound. In addition to the description of its layout, which has been very valuable to us, they have gotten to know Smoot a bit.” She sat back. “They don’t think he set off the bomb; in fact, they don’t think he knows anything about it.”
The older agent, a heavy-set guy with nicotine-stained fingers and a lazy eye, drummed his fingers on the table. According to Georgia, he was an expert on the Survivalist movement and in particular the residents of Smoot’s compound. “It’s possible,” he grumbled. “Almost a hundred people in the compound. A bunch of them not only expect the world to end, they’re hoping for it. I can give you a dozen names of people who could have set the bomb.”
The other agent was about Cam’s age, hard and good-looking—if this were a movie, he’d be the leading man. “We’ve got nothing yet on the bomb. Pretty basic. Anyone with a little training could have built it from supplies at the local hardware store and then set it off.”
Georgia took a deep breath. “Okay. So the question is, what do we do next? Is there any way we can get Smoot to come out peacefully?”
Lazy eye spoke. “Maybe use his kid?”
“What,” Georgia asked, “start cutting off his fingers?”
The agent shrugged. “You asked for ideas.”
“I have an idea.” Ellis Kincaid strolled in, his auburn-tinted hair thick on his forehead. He flopped into an empty chair. “I can end this all now. You might not like it, but I can get it done.”
Georgia narrowed her eyes as Cam rolled his. “Don’t play games, Ellis. If you can end this, tell us how.”
He smirked. “I can’t tell you how. At least not yet. But if you give me fifteen minutes with him, I can do it.”
“You’re not James Bond, Mr. Kincaid, and this is not the movies. That’s not how things work here. If you have a plan, I want to hear it.” Georgia was not Ellis’s superior, and she had told Cam she had the sense Ellis and his bosses were pursuing some hidden agenda. But Cam admired her for her attempt at a little bluster.
Ellis shrugged. “I don’t have an actual plan. I just think if I talk to Smoot I can convince him to come in for questioning.”
Cam looked at Amanda. It was not his place to say anything, but clearly Ellis was hiding something.
Georgia sighed. “You must have some sort of plan, or how would you know we won’t like it? What won’t we like?”
Ellis ignored the question. “Actually, I can’t do it alone.” He paused and smirked again, this time at Cam. “I’ll need Cameron’s help.”
“Desperate times require desperate measures,” Georgia said as they drove out to Smoot’s compound. She was up front with the lazy-eyed agent, who was driving. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this, Cam?”
“Why not? We’re just going to talk to Smoot. What’s not to be comfortable with?”
Amanda sat next to Cam in the back seat; she turned to him. “Well, it’s likely a small army of Smoot’s men will have automatic rifles trained on you, for one thing.”
“Good point. I’ll be sure to stand behind Ellis.”
Ellis Kincaid’s car had already arrived at the compound. Like Cam, he wore a pair of jeans and a tennis shirt. Ellis also carried a thin leather portfolio. He said, “I figured Cameron can set up our meeting. Smoot will trust him.” When he pronounced Cam’s name, he did so in an affected way, with perfect diction—as if it were being spoken at a country club or prep school.
Cam nodded and limped to the guard house. “Any chance Willum can come out and have a chat?” he asked.
The guard spoke into his radio for a few seconds. “He says you are welcome to come in.”
“Can I bring someone with me? He’s a federal agent. He’ll be unarmed.” But he is a prick.
After another quick conversation through his radio the guard replied. “I’ll need to search him. And you.”
Cam nodded.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Ellis said as he sauntered over. “Tell Smoot to bring that woman Clarisse with him.”
The guard looked at Cam, who in turn looked at Ellis. “Work with me here, Cameron,” Ellis said. Cam wanted to rub his face in the desert sand, but instead he sighed and nodded again.
A few minutes later one of the guards opened the gate, searched them and escorted them to the picnic table area in the center of the compound. Willum and Clarisse stood framed by the late afternoon sun, their shadows elongated across a rectangular table. Unlike the last time Cam was inside the compound, both Willum and Clarisse wore holstered handguns over their cargo shorts. Cam made the introductions. “I’m going to be perfectly honest with you guys. I have no idea what Agent Kincaid is up to, and I don’t really trust him.”
“Speaking of trust, why are you involved with this in any way, Cam?” Willum asked, jaw clenched and hand on gun.
“Fair question.” Especially from a guy who just saved his life. “I think you know about our encounter last fall with the Mormon extremists and the rogue federal agents?”
Smoot nodded.
“Well, we became friendly with one of the agents, one of the honest ones. She asked me to intervene to see if this can be resolved.”
“So you were lying to me.”
Cam shifted his weight. “You contacted me. Then the feds contacted me. I agreed to help try to keep this compound from being blown up.”
“And now I’m supposed to trust you.”
Cam shook his head. At least Willum hadn’t thrown them out yet. “Look, I don’t care if you trust me. But you should at least listen to what Kincaid has to say.”
Ellis interjected. “Maybe you two can go on Dr. Phil when this is all over.” He sniffed. “Talk out all your differences, maybe share a big hug afterward.”
Willum glared at him.
Ellis turned and addressed Clarisse. “You and I both know who set that bomb.”
Clarisse stared at him for a couple of seconds before nodding slowly. “Yes,” she breathed.
Willum straightened. “Who?”
Ellis responded. “Your man Boonie. Last week he bought the bomb-making supplies at Home Depot. We have him on a surveillance camera. Clarisse knows because he submitted his receipt
for reimbursement. And, always the efficient little worker bee, she issued the check that day.” He tapped the cover of his portfolio. “We have a copy of the check.”
Clarisse turned to Willum. “It’s true. I sent him for supplies. But he came back with a bunch of extra stuff.”
“I can’t believe Boonie is sophisticated enough to make a roadside bomb,” Willum said.
“From what I’ve read in his file, I tend to agree,” Ellis said. “In fact, he doesn’t sound smart enough to wipe his own ass.”
Willum lowered his voice. “Fuck off.”
Ellis waved the comment away, his auburn bangs swinging as he did so. “Someday, perhaps—but for now you’re stuck with me. Anyway, Boonie being an idiot is why we suspect he had help. We just don’t know who.”
Willum’s face turned red and he worked his jaw. “I’m not giving Boonie up.”
“Listen. We all know he’s mentally challenged, or whatever they call it today. No way will he do any time on this. All he has to do is tell us who helped him make the bomb.”
Willum shook his head. “No.”
Ellis nodded. “I figured you’d say that. I know you did time with his grandfather. Which is why I’m willing to sweeten the pot a bit.”
“What do you mean?” Willum said.
Ellis slid a photo across the table. Cam leaned over it as Smoot and Clarisse did the same. The fake Ark. “You asshole,” Cam said. “Where did you get that?”
“In the mountains, where you left it.” He turned to Smoot. “And thanks for leaving the climbing lines—it made it easy to lower the chest to the ground.”
“Wait,” Cam said. “You know it’s radioactive, right? I hope your men were protected.”
Ellis nodded. “Your concern is touching. But we’re not idiots.”
Cam pursed his lips. So Ellis had been spying on them. Not really a surprise. “Well, anyway, the fake Ark has nothing to do with the bomb,” Cam said. “You have no right to steal our artifact.”
Powdered Gold: Templars and the American Ark of the Covenant (Templars in America Series Book 3) Page 19