by David Wood
“Stop right there.”
Chapter 22
A short, stocky, balding man with pale skin and a neatly-trimmed gray mustache stepped out of the next office. He held a Beretta pointed at Bones, who clutched the sword against his chest. Maddock was tempted to leap at the commander, but the distance between them was too great. Besides, if Wrexham were any kind of soldier, his reflexes would be too quick.
“Commander Wrexham, what a pleasant surprise,” Maddock said, filling the words with as much sarcasm as he could generate.
“Spare me the small talk,” Wrexham said. “I want the sword. Give it to me.”
“No can do,” Bones said, keeping his eyes trained on Wrexham’s pistol.
“You can and you will,” Wrexham snapped. “When the M.P.s find out how you attacked Dr. Sowell and stole Navy property, I think you’ll be all too happy to surrender the sword.”
“The sword is not Navy property. It belongs to Kaylin Maxwell, the daughter of…”
“I know all about Maxwell,” the officer said. “He was acting on behalf of the United States Navy. It is a matter of national security. The Navy is grateful for your assistance in recovering the sword. Hand it over, and I’ll let you leave unharmed.”
“Don’t think for one minute I believe you’re going to let us out of here,” Maddock said. Over Wrexham’s shoulder, at the far end of the hall, something caught his attention. Kaylin had circled around and was coming up from behind. She held her father’s .380 trained on Wrexham’s back. Maddock could not believe she had smuggled that thing onto the campus of the academy. She was too far away at the moment to be of any help. Maddock needed to keep Wrexham talking. Careful not to let his eyes betray their only hope, he continued talking.
“We’re the only ones who know about this,” Maddock said. “You are acting on your own. If this were a Navy operation, Sowell would have immediately turned the sword over to his superiors, but you had him hold on to it for you.”
Wrexham turned his pistol toward Maddock. “Maybe I should shoot you both right now. You talk too much.”
“What about me?” Bones asked, apparently trying to help Maddock’s stalling tactic. “I haven’t been talking. That’s not fair!”
“I don’t like your face.” Wrexham smirked.
Kaylin, still in her stockinged feet, was about halfway down the hall, about even with Sowell’s office door. Close, but not close enough.
“Wait a minute,” Maddock said thoughtfully. “You aren’t going to shoot us.”
“You are sadly mistaken my friend,” Wrexham said, adjusting his grip on his pistol.
“You can’t shoot us. If you try and use this story of us stealing Navy property, you’re going to have to turn the sword over to them. You want it for yourself. I don’t know who you’re working for, or what your angle is, but I’m willing to bet that you’ve already negotiated a fat bonus for yourself.”
Kaylin was creeping closer, narrowing the gap between herself and the commander.
“Who is it?” Maddock asked, watching for the officer to make a mistake. “A private corporation, or another country?”
Wrexham’s eyes twitched at the mention of a private corporation, but otherwise did not react.
“I’ll bet it’s the French!” Bones shouted.
“Excuse me?” Wrexham said, raising an eyebrow.
Maddock was grateful that Wrexham had not recognized their stalling tactics, and had allowed himself to be distracted by the absurdity of Bones’ exclamation.
“The French, they’re always pissing Americans off.” Bones looked at Maddock, feigning earnestness. “Wouldn’t it piss you off if they had the sword?”
Maddock shot Bones a withering glance and shook his head.
“Well, wouldn’t it?” Bones acted as if all was normal. “I mean, everybody hates the French.”
“The only person who is pissing me off right now is you,” Wrexham said. “Drop the sword or die.”
“Drop the gun!” Kaylin had finally crept up behind Wrexham and now held her pistol pressed against his temple.
Wrexham slowly turned his gun hand sideways, the back of his hand facing upward, and began to spread his fingers. He knelt with equal care, Kaylin’s gun remaining pressed to his temple.
It happened suddenly. Wrexham dropped to the ground, spinning to his left. He drove his left elbow into Kaylin’s side. He simultaneously fired off a wild shot. Bones fell back with a grunt. Kaylin, apparently not expecting resistance, stumbled awkwardly, nearly losing her grip on her pistol.
Maddock, having expected Wrexham to try something, sprang forward the moment the naval officer moved. He grasped Wrexham’s right wrist in his left hand and banged the man’s gun hand hard against the ground twice. The gun clattered to the floor. With his right hand, he pressed down on the commander’s windpipe. The man struggled in Maddock’s grasp but could not get loose.
Kaylin appeared at Maddock’s side. She had recovered her pistol and held it trained on Wrexham’s forehead. At the same time, Bones stepped up and delivered a vicious kick to the officer’s temple. The man ceased his struggles.
“I thought he shot you,” Maddock said to his friend as the two of them stripped off Wrexham’s jacket and bound his arms behind his back.
“I think it bounced off the sword,” Bones replied, his eyes wide in amazement. “I heard the ping.”
There was no time to discuss it further. They dragged Wrexham into Sowell’s office and dumped him behind the desk alongside the still-unconscious professor.
“Let’s move,” Maddock ordered. “Someone is bound to have heard those shots. I don’t want to be here when they come around to investigate.”
They dashed down the hall and around the corner. Maddock heard the elevator bell ring again. He was growing to hate that sound. At the far end of the hall, where it made another right turn, was a door marked Stairs. Maddock threw it open, and they sprinted up, taking the stairs two at a time. When they reached the first floor, Bones grabbed for the stairwell door.
“No!” Maddock shouted, and continued running up the stairs. Bones and Kaylin followed. “If anyone did hear the shots, they’re probably watching the stairwells as well as the elevators.”
“We have to leave sometime,” Kaylin huffed. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’ve got an idea,” Maddock said. Below them, he heard the first floor stairwell door open. He halted and motioned for the others to stop as well. They stood silently, listening as the clatter of footsteps echoed from below. The noise diminished, then, with the sound of a closing door, faded away.
Maddock led them to the fifth floor. He pressed his ear against the metal door but heard nothing. Cautiously, he opened the door and led the others into the corridor. He led them quickly down the hall and breathed a sigh of relief when they came to a glass door labeled, Admiral Franklin J. Meriwether, Professor Emeritus. Suddenly wondering if this was such a good idea, after all, he took a deep breath, turned the handle, and stepped inside.
An attractive woman, probably in her late thirties, sat behind a small desk. She had short, blonde hair, green eyes, and fair skin. The nameplate on her desk read, Jill Trenard. A civilian, Maddock noted.
“May I help you?” Her smile was polite but perfunctory. She took in Maddock’s sweaty brow and disheveled appearance, and her brow creased. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Bones.
“Yes,” Maddock said. “Dane Maddock to see Admiral Meriwether, please.”
The woman consulted her computer screen. “Do you have an appointment?” She knew perfectly well he did not, but she was a military secretary, and she had to go through the motions of asking.
“He’s expecting us sometime today,” Maddock said. “We weren’t certain what time we would be getting here.”
Ms. Trenard was apparently too professional to point out that the Admiral had said nothing to her of their expected arrival. She gave him a long, sour look.
“Just a moment,” she finally
said. She tapped a button on her telephone console and spoke softly into intercom.
Maddock stepped away from the desk, so as not to appear as if he were eavesdropping on her conversation. He pretended to take an interest in the photographs of World War II-era naval vessels. All the while, he kept watch on the hallway outside. After a moment, Ms. Trenard spoke to him.
“Admiral Meriwether will see you now, Mr. Maddock.” Her surprise was evident in her voice and her expression.
Maddock smiled and thanked her, then followed her into a small office, Bones and Kaylin following behind.
Admiral Franklin Meriwether, a broad, white-haired man, sat behind a massive mahogany desk. A laptop computer, telephone, and a ship in a bottle were the only items on the dark, wooden surface. Covering the wall behind him were framed degrees, certificates of achievement, and photographs of Meriwether with various comrades which told the story of his naval career. One of the photographs, a framed color print, showed Meriwether with his arm around the shoulders of his former underling, Dane Maddock.
“Maddock,” the Admiral greeted him in a surly tone. “When will I ever get to stop pulling your chestnuts out of the fire?” He stood and reached across the desk, clasping Maddock’s hand in a firm shake.
“Come on, now. Why would you say that, Admiral?” Maddock feigned innocence, knowing that he was not fooling his old commanding officer for one moment.
“I’m not sure. Either it’s because you show up in my office unannounced after my not having heard from you in two years or because you had the audacity to lie about my expecting you.” Meriwether sat down, an angry look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” Maddock said, truthfully. “After Melissa…” He halted. If he said no more, he could still retain his composure. Even after two years, it still hurt more than he could stand.
“I know, son,” Meriwether said, his voice softening. “It was a shock to us all.”
From the corner of his eye, Maddock saw Kaylin cock her head and fix him with a questioning glance. Bones tapped her on the shoulder and shook his head.
“Besides,” Meriwether said, “the phone lines work both ways. I have not been in touch, either. Sit down, all of you.” He gestured to a large leather sofa that sat against the wall opposite him beneath a framed oil painting of a three-mast sailing ship battling a vicious storm.
The three of them seated themselves; then Maddock introduced his companions.
“Admiral, this is my friend, Uriah Bonebrake.” Bones stood and shook hands with the retired admiral, who fixed him with an appraising look.
“A SEAL,” he said, nodding at Bones, “if I don’t miss my mark. And I rarely do.”
“Yes, I was,” Bones said, looking surprised. “Do we know one another?”
“No, I can just tell sometimes,” Meriwether said. “I've had a few years of experience with your lot.” He turned his attention from Bones to Kaylin.
“And may I present,” Maddock said, “Miss Kaylin Maxwell. Her father was…”
“I remember your father,” Meriwether interrupted. “A fine officer, Maxwell was. Damn fine.”
“Thank you,” Kaylin said, her head bowed a little. Maddock suddenly remembered he was not the only one grieving a loved one. “That’s kind of you to say.”
“How is he doing?” Meriwether asked. “Haven’t heard from him in more years than I’ve heard from Maddock here. Hope he’s enjoying his retirement.”
Kaylin’s face turned red, and her eyes glistened. She looked away, unable to reply.
“I’m sorry to tell you,” Maddock answered quickly, “Maxie died last month.”
“Oh, I didn’t hear,” the Admiral said. An odd look crossed his face. “You have my sympathy. I wish I could have been there to pay my respects.”
“We kept the memorial service very small,” Kaylin said quietly. Apparently being around Navy men was bringing back painful memories.
“Now, tell me why you’re here,” Meriwether said. “I assume it’s important, so you’d better fill me in.”
Maddock quickly recounted their tale, beginning with Maxie’s search for the Dourado, and finishing with the details of Sowell and Wrexham’s treachery.
When Maddock had finished his story, Meriwether sat quietly, rubbing his chin. He turned around and stared at the pictures on the wall behind his desk for some time. Finally, he spoke.
“How did you come to choose Professor Sowell to examine the sword?”
“I know him mostly by reputation,” Maddock admitted. “Bones and I have used him as a resource for a few projects. We’ve mostly exchanged e-mails.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the ship-in-the-bottle, thinking how foolish he had been to trust a relative stranger. “I figured whoever was following us couldn’t infiltrate the academy. I didn’t count on an entirely new adversary.”
“Sit there for a minute. Let me check something out,” Meriwether said in his abrupt manner. He picked up the phone and dialed an extension. He asked the person on the other end a few pointed questions about Sowell and Wrexham, punctuated by disapproving grunts. Finally, seeming satisfied with the answers he received, he hung up the phone and returned his attention to Maddock and his friends.
“Neither Sowell nor Wrexham has reported anything about this sword to their superiors,” Meriwether said, clearly annoyed. “They are definitely acting on their own. That alone is probably enough to keep the three of you out of hot water.”
“Thank you,” Bones and Kaylin said in unison.
“Not so fast.” The Admiral held up a beefy hand to silence them. “Maddock beat up a Naval Academy professor. Then you,” he turned to Bones, “knocked out an officer, tied him up, and left him in the basement.
“I believe I could let those things slide, considering that the two of them were dishonest at best, traitors at worst. What concerns me is that this sword might actually be of some benefit to our armed forces. If this metal has the qualities that you say it does, I think the military needs to know about it.” He turned and fixed Maddock with an intense gaze. “It’s quite a conundrum, isn’t it?”
“Admiral Meriwether,” Kaylin spoke up, “my father lost his life in pursuit of this sword. We have to finish what we started. There’s a mystery that must be solved.”
“Why do you need to solve the mystery?” Meriwether boomed, slapping his palms on his desk. “You’ve found the sword. You’ve done what Maxwell set out to do.”
“My father was killed because of this sword. We have almost been killed as well. We have no idea who is after us, or who killed him. Perhaps if we can solve the mystery, we can find out who these people are.”
Meriwether stared at Kaylin. His face betrayed nothing.
“It’s also possible,” Bones said, “that even if we were to turn the sword over to you, those people could still be after us for what we know, either to get the information or to suppress it. The only way to end this is to solve the puzzle.”
The Admiral nodded thoughtfully, cupping his chin in his hand and staring at the portrait behind them.
Maddock saw an opening and took it.
“Admiral, the Navy has all of Sowell’s findings to work with until this is over. Let us finish what we started, and I promise you that when this is over, we will do our best to see to it that you have the opportunity to study it.” He looked at Kaylin, hoping she would not contradict him. She looked back at him angrily but nodded in agreement.
Meriwether exhaled long and loud. With a shake of his head, he returned his gaze to Maddock and the others.
“Well then,” Meriwether said, clapping his hands, “I’ll make a deal with you.”
Chapter 23
Maddock rubbed his eyes and fought to stay awake as the tour guide droned on. The guide was an American and appeared to be in his early retirement years. A fringe of white hair showed at the back of his head beneath his tan pith helmet. The sun was apparently not agreeing with the man, as his burned, red face attested, but
he did seem knowledgeable if a bit dry.
“Petra was the stronghold and treasure city of an ancient Arabic people who were called the Nabataeans. It was situated near the points of intersection of great caravan routes from Gaza on the Mediterranean Sea, Damascus, Elath on the Red Sea, and the Persian Gulf. From the fourth century B.C. until the second century A.D., Petra was the capital of the Nabataean Kingdom. The Romans conquered it at the beginning of the second century A.D. and made it part of the Roman province of Arabia Petraea. The city continued to thrive in the second and third centuries, but later, when the rival city of Palmyra took away most of Petra's trade, its importance declined. It was conquered by the Muslims in the seventh century and captured by the Crusaders in the twelfth century. Afterward, it gradually fell into ruin.”
Maddock looked at Kaylin, who was seated next to him. She was studiously making notes in a small journal book, despite the fact that they both already knew these things.
“The site of the ancient city was rediscovered in 1812 by the Swiss explorer Johann Burckhardt,” the guide continued.
Maddock was tempted to ask him who was the first to excavate the city, but knew that he should not risk drawing that sort of attention to himself. He shifted in his seat and exhaled loudly. Kaylin frowned at him and kept writing.
“Petra is known both for its natural beauty and for its magnificent monuments. You will see, when you approach the city, that it may be entered only through a chasm which is, in some places, no more than twelve feet wide. Along the ravine are the ancient structures carved out of the walls of solid rock, the most famous of which include the Khaznet Firaoun, a temple also known as the Treasury of the Pharaohs, and a semicircular theater capable of seating about three thousand persons. All along the rock face are rows of tombs hewn out of the solid stone. The remains of Petra bear witness to its former power, wealth, and prestige.”
Maddock looked around. About twenty yards away, Bones sat in the midst of a different tour group, probably getting the same boring spiel. He wore a ridiculous looking wide-brimmed straw hat, wraparound shades, and an orange and yellow Hawaiian print shirt. He appeared to be amusing himself by constantly raising his hand and asking questions. Maddock could not hear what his friend was asking, but judging by the look on the tour guide’s face and the snickers of the group’s other members, Bones was up to his usual foolishness. Next to Bones, looking annoyed, sat Admiral Meriwether.