The Emerald Scepter

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Got anything on the restaurant interior?” Hawkins asked.

  Sutherland clicked the computer cursor. “These photos are from a newspaper article.”

  The grainy black-and-white pictures showed the dining room and the bar. Hawkins paid particular attention to a diagram of the restaurant’s lay-out.

  “What’s your assessment, Cal?”

  “Lots of places to set up an ambush. But there are a dozen ways to sneak on board, too.”

  “You’re going to have to be the ‘sneakee.’ Marzak is expecting me, and he’s got Cait.”

  “I’m going to like being back in my natural habitat. H. 2. O.” Calvin tightened his lips and turned to Sutherland. “You got an overview showing where the boat is in relation to its surroundings?”

  A satellite photo of the Maryland shore appeared on the screen. Sutherland zoomed in until the outline of a peninsula appeared.

  “Kinda looks like a lollipop,” she said.

  The narrow section of the peninsula was a causeway leading to the widening, roughly circular tip of land. It was surrounded by shallows between the upland and the darker open water. The elongated lines of the yacht became visible. “Newspaper story says a hurricane pushed the yacht onto land and washed in silt that made it impossible for boats to come in and tie up.” Sutherland enlarged the image up, showing a long dock sticking out into a marsh.

  Calvin said, “You come in by land, I make it by water. Classic pincers maneuver. You distract him here.” He pointed to the dining room. “I come up through the marsh, sneak aboard the boat here and come in the kitchen. Might even stop at the bar to order a rum coke.”

  “You really think it will be that easy?” Hawkins said.

  “Naw. I was kidding about the rum coke.” Calvin asked Sutherland for a geological survey chart of the Eastern Shore. The water showed only a foot or two of average depth close to shore.

  “There’s almost no water close to the upland,” Hawkins said.

  “If this wetland is anything like a Louisiana bayou, it’ll be mostly mud. No way to walk across it. And no telling what shape that dock is in, but it’s sending off real bad vibes.”

  “Marzak vibes?’

  “He likes to play with explosives and he’d expect us to try something funny. If I were him, I’d figure you to come in across the causeway. But he knows you’ve got back up with me, so he’d booby trap the only other access.”

  “Makes sense. What about placing explosives in the swamp?”

  “Be tough to lay down charges in the water. Big area to cover and he’d figure it’s too shallow for a boat and too muddy for walking.”

  Hawkins pictured the scene in his mind. Driving across the causeway. Climbing onto the yacht. Looking for Marzak, who’d lay down a trail for him to follow to a trap.

  “Let’s use Marzak’s MO against him.”

  He outlined his thoughts.

  “Might work,” Calvin said. “It would depend on precision timing, no margin for error and luck, but it would make a hell of a distraction. What if the dock isn’t booby-trapped?”

  “Then you’ll have to come up with your own distraction.”

  Abby had been listening to the back and forth.

  “Is this as close to surgical precision as you can get?”

  “ ’Fraid so, Abby. A lot can go wrong. But we’ll look at all the eventualities and build layers of backup. That’s all we can do.”

  She nodded, but the expression on her face showed she was still worried.

  “Matt, there’s something I have to say to you.”

  “Uh-oh,” Calvin said. “I feel another one of those tender moments coming on. Hey Sutherland. Let’s get us a couple of muffins.”

  Sutherland grinned, the computer cover snapped shut, then she and Calvin headed for the galley.

  “I’m waiting,” Hawkins said when they were gone.

  “Matt, I’ve really grown to like Cait and I’d hate to see anything happen to her.”

  “Same here, Abby. That’s why we’re going to make this work.”

  “I know you will, but I’ve got to ask you something that sounds really stupid. You’d be willing to give up the scepter for her. Would you do the same for me?”

  “No,” Hawkins replied, his mouth widening into a grin at her crestfallen expression. “I’d exchange the whole Prester John treasure for you.”

  Abby smiled. “Damn you, Hawkins!”

  He threw his palms wide. “What?”

  She leaned over, kissed his lips and headed for the front of the cabin. Then, abruptly, she turned and said, “Excuse me. I’ve got to make some phone calls.”

  Hawkins watched with a puzzled expression in his eyes as Abby settled into a seat with a phone against her ear. Then he punched out a number on his own phone and when a voice answered, he said, “You were right about the snake pit, Commander Kelly.”

  “Hawkins! Damn. Hope you had plenty of snake repellent.”

  “We used so much that we ran out.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse, commander.”

  “Sorry, Matt. What can I do to help?”

  Hawkins told him what he wanted and when he was arriving in Washington.

  “I’ll have it waiting at the airport,” Kelly said. “Anything else?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Good luck, whatever you’re into.”

  “Thanks,” Hawkins said, “I’m going to need it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  The Eastern Shore, Maryland

  Calvin backed a pick-up truck up to an abandoned boat ramp, and Abby and Sutherland unloaded a five-foot-long black rubber raft from the bed and carried it to the water’s edge. Calvin tied a nylon tow line running from the prow of the raft to his air tank. He stripped down to a body-fitting Speedo bathing suit and got into his custom-fitted black neoprene wetsuit.

  He waded into the water and tested his closed-circuit re-breathing SEAL rig which was designed not to emit bubbles like conventional SCUBA gear. Then he and his helpers loaded a waterproof zipper bag onto the raft. He gave them each a quick peck on the cheek, and donned his mask, hood and flippers.

  Abby watched him breast-stroke ahead of the raft, pulling it from shore, and as soon as he submerged, she called Hawkins to let him know that Calvin was on his way.

  Hawkins acknowledged the message with a thank you, clicked the phone off and waited.

  He was sitting in a car parked a quarter of a mile from the turn onto to the yacht driveway. A chart of the local waters was spread out in front of him. He tried to picture where Calvin would be, but he knew he could only guess at his friend’s progress. He broke into a broad smile of relief at the chirp of his hand radio.

  A slow drawl came over the phone.

  “Fish ain’t bitin’ on the crab meat I’m usin’ for bait. Anybody got any suggestions?”

  Calvin was telling him that he had arrived at the boat dock.

  “Try hangin’ a night crawler on your hook,” Hawkins said in lazy tone that had more Maine than Maryland in it.

  “Thanks, Cap. Let you know how it goes.”

  The cornball code may have been overcautious, but with Cait’s life at stake, Hawkins didn’t want the faintest possibility of a screw-up.

  Now it was his turn.

  He started the car engine and drove to the restaurant driveway, turned in at the No Trespassing sign and bumped along the cratered road to the weed-grown restaurant parking lot. The old yacht that loomed in the headlight wash was in even worse shape than the boat in the photo Sutherland had dug up.

  He snapped the lights off, re-checked the load in his Heckler and Koch P-9 and slid the pistol back into the carbon fiber hip holster that was concealed by the hem of his long-sleeve black T-shirt. He slipped the strap holding a thermal imaging monocular ar
ound his neck and pulled on a navy baseball cap.

  He got out of the car and reached into the back seat to open the ebony case. He removed the scepter, tied a nylon rope around the nexus of the relic’s arms, and slung the loop over his right shoulder. The scepter hung at his left side like a sword.

  Hawkins took his time examining the yacht from stem to stern through the monocular, letting his gaze linger at each of the vacant windows. All was quiet except for the ka-chunk of a bullfrog’s bass against the soprano insect chorus. Hawkins started walking slowly toward the boat only to halt after a few steps. The phone in his pocket was vibrating.

  “Right on time, Hawkins,” said the voice at the other end of the line.

  “Hello, Marzak.” He squinted through the monocular. “This place suits you.”

  “It appealed to my sense of the poetic. Dark and mysterious, like the human soul.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about how it smells rotten.” Hawkins slid the scepter from his shoulder and held the jewel-encrusted relic above his head. “Let’s do the deal, Marzak.”

  “Yes, let’s. Walk toward the boat and climb onto the deck at the mid-ships gangway.”

  Hawkins lowered the scepter and slung it over his shoulder again. His hand dropped to his pistol holster and unsnapped the flap as he approached the base of the wooden gangway. He tested it with his foot to see if it would support his weight. The planks sagged and groaned, but didn’t break, so he continued onto the deck and stood in front of the doorway leading to the dining room.

  The stench that issued from the dark portal was a combination of mold, rotted wood and bird and animal droppings.

  This must be what the doorway to hell looks like, he thought.

  Calvin was less worried about Marzak than the mud.

  After he had surfaced and called Hawkins, he had slipped off his re-breather and put it and the Pegasus in the raft. Calvin hauled on the tow rope and pulled the raft with him through the saw grass until the water was less than half a foot deep.

  It was no use, though. The muck was like quicksand. He pulled back until the water deepened and heaved himself onto the raft which sank almost to the bottom with only a few inches to spare.

  He paddled through the grass until the front of the raft bumped into something hard. He reached out and found the edge of the floating platform that had been connected to the permanent dock. It rested on the mud with no room underneath for booby traps. The plastic foam pontoons sank even deeper into the mud when he rolled from the raft onto the platform. He placed the Pegasus unit and SCUBA gear on the platform.

  He examined the old pier the platform had been secured to. The dock had once been level, elevated around four feet between twin lines of pilings, but now broken sections of planking sagged all along its length. He leaned over and looked at the underside of the stationary pier.

  A red dot glowed beneath the dock. He rolled off the platform into the mud and slithered closer until he was under a small black box attached to a cigarette-sized packet of plastic explosives.

  His eyes followed a wire that disappeared through the boards. Probably attached to a pressure plate device.

  He checked for other booby traps and found none, and then he pushed himself back through the mud and climbed onto the platform. Calvin heaved the waterproof bag from the raft onto the floating dock and unzipped it, revealing what looked like a miniature tank.

  The PackBot had been waiting at the airport as Kelly had promised. The machine was a mobile robot that had been developed by a company called IRobot and its first operational job was to probe the wreckage of the World Trade Center. Later, it was given to soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. Calvin and Hawkins had been introduced to it as a way to see into enemy caves without getting their heads blown off. But its most popular use was by soldiers who employed the tough little robots to clear away Improvised Explosive Devices, or IEDs as they were called.

  The forty-two pound robot was about the size of a lawnmower without the handle, and it moved on polymer tracks that were designed to flip up and down, allowing the machine to climb stairs or rocks and even go underwater. Calvin unpacked the joystick controller and switched on the PakBot’s batteries.

  With the gear removed, the raft might be buoyant enough now to skim over the shallow water to the shore. He radioed Hawkins with an update and then turned his attention back to the robot.

  No SEAL operation Hawkins had ever been involved in had gone off without a glitch. Including this one. He thought he had prepared for every eventuality only to discover that he was wrong.

  As Hawkins stood on the deck in front of the door to the yacht’s interior, Marzak called again.

  “Welcome aboard, Hawkins. Come in. Don’t be shy.”

  “Let’s deal out here in the open, Marzak. I want you where I can see you.”

  “You’re being disingenuous, Hawkins. You’ve been using a night vision device. You’re also armed, no doubt. So what are you worrying about?”

  “I jump at shadows. Sometimes I shoot at them.”

  Marzak chuckled. “I’ll light the way for you. Keep your phone on.”

  A moment later there was a soft flickering glow in the windows.

  Marzak’s order to keep the phone on hadn’t been in the plans. Hawkins’ intention was to keep in touch with Calvin on their radios until the last second when he could signal that the time was right.

  He had to alert Calvin that the plan had changed. He switched on the radio so Calvin could hear his every word and said, “I’m coming in, Marzak.”

  Then he stepped through the doorway.

  He saw the source of the light. A dozen votive candles were arranged in two clusters on the bar. One group of candles was burning at Cait’s head and the other at her feet. She was covered with a sheet.

  Marzak had turned the bar into an altar. He stood behind Cait like the high priest at a pagan sacrificial ritual. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood over his head, intensifying the image. The candlelight reflected off the shiny blades of a long, two-edged knife he held raised in his hand.

  “Where should I start carving? Would you like a wing or a leg, Hawkins?”

  Hawkins kept his eye on the knife. Marzak could lop off Cait’s head in the time it would take to draw his pistol. He forced a laugh.

  “Very theatrical. What are you supposed to be, some sort of satanic demi-god?”

  Marzak pushed the hood back. Grotesque shadows danced on his face.

  “Is this devilish enough for you?”

  “Now you look like a creep out of a Grade B horror movie.”

  Marzak’s smile suggested that he was more amused than insulted by the comment.

  “I’m not the only one with a flair for theatrics. I recall the elaborate helmet you wore when you almost shot me down in Afghanistan. That was quite the close call. You nearly killed me.”

  “That was my intention.”

  Marzak chuckled and said, “Let bygones be bygones. Please step forward and hand me the scepter. Then I’ll back away. The woman will be yours.”

  Hawkins clutched the scepter closer to his chest. “Not yet. I want to make sure she’s alive.”

  “See for yourself.” Marzak moved back from the bar, putting himself at the edge of the halo of light.

  Hawkins took another step toward the altar. He tried not to stare at Cait’s face. He had to be alert to his surroundings. The sacrificial offering, the candles, the sly tone of Marzak’s voice, all screamed the word trap at him. He had to stall until he figured it out.

  “We’ve got more to talk about first, Marzak. The professor told me about the Prophet’s Necklace.”

  “I’m not surprised. The professor seemed a man of divided loyalties. What did he tell you?”

  “That the necklace is a string of sarin-laden explosives you placed near crowded population centers. And that you are t
he only one that can set them off. He called it connecting the strands and that it could be done with a phone call.”

  “You’re correct about my role in placing the sarin, and the phone call, but I’m not the one who controls the clasp.”

  “The Shadows?”

  “I don’t work for the Shadows, even though they think I do.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Anyone who pays me.”

  “In that case, I can make you rich beyond your dreams. The scepter is only part of what I found. I’ll trade the scepter for Cait. And I’ll give you the rest of the treasure if you identify who’s giving you orders.”

  Marzak glanced down at Cait’s supine form and a thoughtful look came to his face.

  “Tell me about it,” he said.

  Calvin was tying a flashlight to the top of the robot when the voices started coming over the radio. Something had gone wrong.

  As he listened, he activated the robot’s forward control. It moved forward slowly, navigating the undulating boardwalk, and stopped around a foot from where he had seen the booby trap. He climbed back into the raft and pushed away from the platform until he was a safe distance off shore.

  Hawkins slid the scepter off his shoulder.

  “This bauble is only part of it,” he said. “There are twenty chests of treasure. Each one is filled with a different type of gem. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, lapis lazuli. You name it. You could retire in splendor to your own island.”

  “Tempting, Hawkins. How do I know you’re telling the truth about the treasure?”

  “Easy. I can lead you to it.”

  “Agreed. The scepter for now, please. Then we’ll talk about the rest of it.”

  He’s agreeing much too fast, Hawkins thought.

  “OK. Your call. Just hope this thing doesn’t blow up in your face.”