The Emerald Scepter

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Thanks for the history lesson, but I still don’t know what this has to do with me.”

  Scanlon answered the question. “We’ve recently become aware of findings that suggest Philip made it to the lost kingdom. And that Prester John gave him a fabulous treasure to take back to the Pope in Rome, but it was never delivered.”

  Hawkins spread his hands apart. “And?”

  The White House representative spoke.

  “Your dossier said you have located a number of lost shipwrecks,” Hilliard said.

  “That’s correct. I run a non-profit undersea exploration organization. Our goals are to expand knowledge and test new underwater equipment.”

  “The U.S. government would like to enlist that expertise to find the treasure of Prester John,” Ms. Hilliard said.

  “Since when has the U.S. government been in the treasure hunting business?”

  Captain McCormick injected himself into the conversation. “Since the disposition of that treasure could have implications for national security, Hawkins.”

  Unlike Fletcher, the navy officer didn’t use Hawkins’ military title.

  “Maybe you could tell me about those implications, McCormick.”

  McCormick’s face glowed traffic light red. “That’s Captain McCormick.”

  “And it’s Lieutenant Hawkins, captain.”

  The two men exchanged hard stares. Fletcher’s crisp voice broke the strained silence.

  “Ms. Glassman, could you please explain the situation to the lieutenant?”

  The Homeland Security representative said, “For some time now we have been picking up chatter about a plot against the United States.”

  “What sort of plot?” Hawkins said.

  “We don’t know yet. Only that it could involve even more victims than 9/11. We’re still following up every lead possible, but we’ve determined with certainty that it is the work of a splinter terrorist group which has named the plot the Prophet’s Necklace.”

  “Unusual name,” Hawkins said. “Any idea what it means?”

  “It’s a parable based on an Islamic morality story,” Glassman said. “In this story, a necklace given away by the Prophet’s daughter Fatima was considered blessed because it clothed and fed a beggar, bestowed means instead of helplessness, freed a slave, and was ultimately returned to its owner.”

  Fletcher said, “We think that the perpetrators, a group which calls itself the Shadows, see this plot as their Prophet’s Necklace, empowering them and freeing them from the bondage of America.”

  “Where does Prester John come in?” Hawkins said.

  “The Shadows want to find the treasure before activating the plot. The treasure is said to include an emerald scepter that Prester John wielded as a symbol of his power. In sending it to the Pope he was saying that he was willing to join the fight to wipe Islam off the face of the earth. We think the Shadows believe that Prester John’s mystical power will flow to them in their fight against the infidels.”

  “They wave the scepter around and then strike against their enemy. Not a bad display of showmanship,” Hawkins said.

  “These people think in terms of thousands of years, and they are always looking for historical precedent to justify their cause. In their mind we’re nothing but re-born Crusaders. At the very least, having the treasure would recruit more fanatics to their failing cause.”

  “How did the Shadows find out about the treasure?” Hawkins said.

  Scanlon, from the State Department, took over.

  “We suspect they heard about research being done by a historian named Cait Everson, who teaches at Georgetown University. Dr. Everson has published books and articles in which she suggests that the Prester John legend is true.”

  “Did she mention the treasure in her writing?”

  “Only peripherally. She was convinced that the treasure made it as far as Afghanistan. She thought State might be interested in her findings, given our country’s deep involvement in the region. She sent us a report.”

  “Did the report say where in Afghanistan?” Hawkins said.

  “Dr. Everson’s original letter only suggested a general location,” Hilliard said. “More recently she sent us an addendum pin-pointing the probable site.”

  Hilliard rose and dimmed the lights. Using a laptop computer, she projected onto a wall screen a satellite photo of Afghanistan with a map overlay and pointed to a section of the country in the southwest.

  Hawkins said, “We kept our guys out of that neighborhood. No one was really in control last I knew.”

  “A drug warlord named Amir Khan controls the area, and so far he has managed to keep out both the government and insurgent factions.”

  “Could you put your pointer on the treasure site?’ Hawkins said.

  “Dr. Everson thinks the treasure is in this vicinity.”

  She ran the pointer in a circle around a lake shaped somewhat like a lop-sided infinity symbol. The red dot landed on the edge of the lake.

  “Based on what evidence?”

  “A few years ago Dr. Everson was in Afghanistan doing research on ancient trade roads. She followed a little-known route to the lake and learned that before it was flooded it was called the ‘Valley of the Dead.’ According to local lore, the valley earned its name as a place where bandits entrapped caravans.”

  Hawkins was intrigued. “Go on.”

  “Dr. Everson researched the history of the valley and learned of an expedition back in the 1920s financed by a mining billionaire named Kurtz. He had come into possession of a fragment of a letter, purportedly written by Prester John, which mentioned a gift of a great treasure to the Pope. There was a map on the back of the letter. This is it.”

  A roughly-drawn figure eight image appeared. Next to it was a drawing of what looked vaguely like an inverted U and below it, a small circle.

  “What’s the significance of these wavy lines?”

  “The hump shown here is an odd-shaped rock outcropping that Dr. Everson saw on her visit.” She pointed to the circle. “She thinks this represents a cave where the treasure could be.”

  “It’s under water, in other words.”

  “That’s right. Which is why Dr. Everson became even more excited when she learned that the Kurtz expedition had called for dive equipment and a diver.”

  “Dr. Everson is a good detective. I’d like to talk to her,” Hawkins said.

  “So would we. Dr. Everson vanished without a trace about a week ago.”

  “Looks like someone dropped the ball at State by not getting back to her right away,” Hawkins observed.

  “Wish I could say you’re wrong,” Scanlon said in a rueful tone. “The State Department doesn’t ordinarily deal with treasure hunts, but an intelligence analyst called her report to our attention and we tried to reach her. The university said she left a message that she was taking a leave of absence. No explanation.”

  “No one has heard from her since?”

  “We put out a trace. She flew to Zurich, but that’s as far as we were able to track her.”

  “So you think her disappearance suggests that there is more to the story than legend.”

  Natalie Glassman nodded.

  “Dr. Everson had complained to Georgetown’s campus police about being stalked. The night before she disappeared there was an incident in Arlington, Virginia. She told the investigating officers that there had been an attempt to kidnap her.”

  “And you think there’s some connection to the treasure and the Necklace plot?”

  Heads nodded around the table.

  Hawkins sat back in his chair and looked around the table, thinking he now knew how Alice must have felt at the March Hare’s tea party.

  “Let’s see if I have this straight. You believe that if the crazies find the treasure they will pull the trigger on the neckla
ce plot.”

  “That’s essentially correct, lieutenant. We need to prevent that from happening.”

  “So you want me to go into a remote part of Afghanistan that is controlled by a warlord and surrounded by insurgents and dive into a lake to find a treasure that may or may not exist.” Hearing no disagreement, Hawkins said, “No offense folks, but that is bat shit crazy.”

  “Not at all,” Fletcher said. “We’ve considered your background as a SEAL, particularly your cave combat experience in Afghanistan, and the work of your non-profit group locating wrecks. Your submersible research at Woods Hole is well-documented.”

  “It’s been a long time since I rappelled down a line from a helicopter.”

  “Evidently, you’ve kept in shape,” Fletcher said. “You’ve run a number of half-marathons, right?”

  Damn. Is there anything that’s not in that file? Hawkins thought.

  “True, but I haven’t won any.”

  “You came in near the top, though. A significant feat considering your injury, so physical incapacity is no excuse. We believe you’re the perfect man for the job.”

  “The job you’re talking about is a suicide mission.”

  “That’s not a given,” Hilliard said. “You would have all the resources of the government at your disposal. We would give you men and weapons.”

  “Let’s talk about those resources,” Hawkins said. “We have the greatest military and intelligence-gathering forces in the world, but the task of preventing a horrendous attack on the United States of America would fall on the unworthy shoulders of a forty-something ex-SEAL.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way,” Fletcher said.

  “But I would. You all have my personnel file so you know I was kicked out of the navy with a psychiatric discharge. The navy said I was crazy. Good luck finding someone who’s even crazier to carry out this mission.”

  He started to rise from his chair.

  Captain McCormick snickered and looked around at the others.

  “I told you this was the wrong guy for the job. Mr. Hawkins here doesn’t like anyone telling him what to do.”

  “You’ve got me all wrong, captain. I don’t like being told what to do by navy guys with a puffed-up view of themselves.”

  Fletcher made a palm-down gesture with his hands.

  “Please hold on, gentlemen. Your comments are out of line, captain.”

  McCormick glared at Hawkins. “Just saying out loud what was in the record. If you’ll excuse me. I need a smoke.”

  Hawkins watched the officer storm out of the room. He turned to Fletcher. “And I think I need some air.”

  Fletcher raised his hand to stay Hawkins and said to the others, “Would you allow us a few minutes? Lieutenant Hawkins and I need to have a serious talk.”

  Hawkins shrugged as the room cleared out. He figured that with the Osprey out of commission and his navy contract in question he had nothing else to do.

  “Talk away, Dr. Fletcher.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Instead of going out for a smoke, Captain McCormick strode briskly to a nearby office building. Moments later he entered a sparsely furnished room. A gaunt man sat in front of a computer.

  “Nice acting job,” the seated man said.

  “Thanks.” The captain pulled up a chair. “I can only stay a few minutes or the others will wonder what I’m doing. How’s it going?”

  The man pointed to the screen. “Pretty much as I figured. I’ll rerun the part you just missed.”

  The screen showed Fletcher and Hawkins alone in the room.

  “Sorry about the captain’s rudeness, Lieutenant Hawkins.”

  “Thanks. But let’s face it—I’m not the person you need for a job this complicated.”

  Fletcher tapped the dossier. “You’re pretty complicated yourself. May I call you Matt? Or maybe you would prefer your full name. Matinicus. Named for where you were born?”

  “That name was inflicted on me by my parents. I was conceived on Matinicus Island. My mother was a flower child before she became an ornithologist. My father was a Maine lobster fisherman.”

  “Then you can understand the importance of bait,” Fletcher said with a smile.

  He slid a sealed envelope stamped Confidential across the table. Printed on a white label were the words: “Report on Matinicus Hawkins, Afghanistan, 2007. Summary of Findings.”

  “Open it,” Fletcher said. “It won’t bite.”

  Hawkins slowly bent the metal clasp, folded the flap back, and slid out a sheaf of papers. The report was impossible to read. Line after line had been blacked out.

  “Someone had some fun with a Sharpie,” he said.

  “I agree. It’s totally useless. However, I can place in your hands a copy that has not been redacted. Of course, you would have to be under naval jurisdiction, if only temporarily.”

  Hawkins gazed at the envelope with half-lidded eyes then picked up the report. He knew more about fishing than Fletcher could ever know.

  “I’d love to see the un-redacted version.”

  “I don’t blame you. Your Afghanistan experience obviously has been gnawing away at you. You must want to know what happened.”

  “Yeah,” Hawkins said, shifting in his chair. “Good thing this is as far as your offer goes. I feel myself weakening.”

  “Then let me see if I can weaken you a bit more. Name it and it is yours if at all possible.”

  “Okay. I want my psychiatric discharge reversed.”

  “That’s—”

  “Call it a down payment.”

  Fletcher frowned. “It might take a while. We’re dealing with the navy bureaucracy.”

  “It would be in your interest as well as mine. You wouldn’t want anyone to learn that a delicate mission was entrusted to a crazy man.”

  “You raise a valid point, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “I’m not through,” Hawkins said. “Who owns the operation if it flops?”

  “The government would need plausible deniability. The story would be that you’re a rogue operation.”

  “In that case, let’s add some truth to the spin. I want my own team and will make my own logistical arrangements.”

  “But as you said, this is a big, complicated job,” Fletcher said.

  “Which is why the simpler the better. I’ll let you know if I need help.”

  “The situation is fluid and can tolerate no delay. We can give you a fully-equipped team ready to go as soon as you pack your toothbrush. How long will it take to pull together your own people?”

  Hawkins cleared his throat. “Twenty-four hours. We can be ready to go in forty-eight.”

  Fletcher looked as if Hawkins had told him the moon was made of green cheese. “There’s no margin for error. Everything would have to go off without a hitch.”

  “That’s the way I want it.”

  “Very well. I will insist, though, on daily updates, except when absolutely impossible.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I will insist that we remain an independent entity. Since this is a last-minute job, I will need access to back up. Someone I can call with no questions asked.”

  Fletcher nodded. “Very well, lieutenant. I’ll put you in contact with a provider.”

  “I’ll need financial support.”

  “You will have an open-ended bank account accessed by a secret number. Anything else?”

  From the smile on Fletcher’s face, the question was meant to be sardonic, but the smug expression vanished when Hawkins said, “Yes there is. My research contract with the navy was canceled. I want it reinstated. And someone sabotaged my boat. I want reimbursement.”

  “Those things are not connected with this mission.”

  “Maybe you can connect them.”

  Fletcher spread his palms apart. “I’ll do
my best, but I must remind you again that time is crucial.”

  Hawkins slid the envelope back across the polished surface of the table and rose from his chair. “In that case we’d better not waste another minute.”

  McCormick watched on the screen as Hawkins left, then he said, “Never expected him to demand the psychiatric discharge and the other stuff. Didn’t you say he’d take the job for patriotic reasons with the report as sweetener?”

  “His demands surprised me too.”

  “I thought you said Hawkins was predictable.”

  “Up to a point. He has a problem with self-control—he certainly responded to your demeaning taunts exactly the way I said he would.”

  “Yeah, he wanted to tear my throat out. How do you reconcile that with his obvious control in negotiating a deal?”

  “Are you familiar with chaos theory?”

  “Somewhat. It says it’s impossible to predict accurately what a dynamic system will do. You know a hurricane is coming, but you’re not always sure where it will hit. What’s that got to do with anything?’

  The gaunt man gestured at the screen. “Hawkins is chaos theory personified.”

  McCormick said, “That’s not good. I read about his record in Tora Bora. He was with the SEAL unit that would have got Bin Laden the first time if command hadn’t screwed up. He makes Rambo look like Little Lord Fauntleroy, only he’s no muscle head. He thinks as well as he acts. Look at the way he just played Fletcher. I hope we’ve made the right choice.”

  “We have. Don’t forget, I signed his psychiatric discharge papers. I know he’s intelligent. But Hawkins is headstrong and impulsive as well as smart. Look at his insistence, against all logic, on forming his own team. He’s like a guided missile. Point him in the right direction and he’ll explode. The unknown quantity is the extent of the damage. Predictable unpredictability.”

  McCormick got up. “I have to get back to the meeting.”