“Is it possible,” she continued, “that in this manuscript, there is information about your people that even you don’t know? That this is the closest thing to the Book of Genesis that your tribe has?”
The silence continued until Clark rose slowly.
“Ralph and Mike,” she said. “I realize tempers are high right now, but let’s please show our guests some courtesy and respect.” She looked at Carys. “Could we all please sit?”
The three of them stood for half a beat longer before breaking their gaze and slowly lowering themselves into their seats.
“Let’s say that, for the sake of argument, this manuscript is authentic and the story it tells is true,” said Clark. “I’m not saying it is, but let’s explore the logic here a little further.”
The other councilors turned sharply toward her, faces worried, teeth gritted. She raised her hand. “If such a burial site existed, and if everything that book says is true, there would be no worldly reason for a tribe to reveal its existence or any portion of the story you just told us. It would be cultural suicide.”
Harper’s shoulders stiffened.
“Such a tribe, when confronted by the fact that their secret was no longer secret, might choose to reevaluate its position,” said Harper. “And, perhaps, working with the individuals who have discovered their secret, come to some mutually agreeable solution.”
“What would such a solution look like?” asked Clark. The elderly woman had the beginning of a tear in her eye.
“Stop this,” the old woman whispered. She looked like she had been broken in half. “Please.”
Carys felt the enormity of what they had brought down on these people. Until their dying breath, they would be the ones who failed in their oath to protect the most important secret in their world.
“How many people know about this manuscript and what it says?” asked Heath.
“Aside from this tribal council, there are five people who know,” she said, “including Mr. Harper and myself.”
“How do we know those other people will not reveal the secret even if we make some sort of an arrangement with you two?” asked Clark, the worry etched into a crease between her brows.
“We speak as one,” said Harper. “The three others were instrumental in finding the manuscript and, like Ms. Jones and I, are interested only in being shown the burial location. And being given permission to conduct a thorough archaeological dig to confirm the identity of the person buried there. That’s all.”
Clark laughed.
“Mr. Harper, that is everything,” she said. “If that tomb is excavated, you have rewritten the history of our people.”
The pretense of the hypothetical had dropped from Clark’s words.
“We would be willing to work with you to ensure that our find does not impugn any of your tribal claims,” said Harper.
“And how the hell would you do that?” growled Heath. Clark scowled at him, and Heath backed down.
“There have been archaeologists digging on our burial sites for a couple of hundred years, and we have always managed to keep them away from the Ancestor’s burial ground. Working with the parks service, we finally were able to prohibit digs entirely,” Clark said. “How will we explain why we have decided to give you permission?”
“I should think you are under no obligation to reveal your reasons to anyone,” said Harper. He paused. “You are also under no obligation to reveal that I will endow an irrevocable trust in the amount of thirty million dollars and will name the tribe as sole beneficiary.”
The jaws of all five councilors dropped in unison.
“Now you are bribing us?” asked Ralph.
“Compensating,” said Harper. “Not bribing. I propose to compensate you for your assistance in completing an important archaeological expedition. Perhaps one of the most important in North American history.”
Carys could taste the bitterness of the offer in her mouth.
“The trust fund would provide the financial resources to pursue federal designation for the Mattakeese tribe, and to fight off any challenges to its status,” said Harper, “as well as the status of any other tribes that might be affected by our findings.”
That last point seemed to hit home particularly with Clark, who nodded lightly. Then the elderly woman slammed her hands on the conference table with a force that surprised even the other councilors.
“You think you can buy us out of our sacred obligation to guard that site?” she bellowed. “You think you can buy that?” She slowly stood up. “We have guarded that tomb for fifteen hundred years. I don’t care about your archaeological expedition.”
She walked, very slowly, around the end of the conference table and headed for the door. The other councilors eyed one another. She could feel them trying to decide whether to follow the old woman or stay where they were and tacitly accept the bribe. Clark watched the old woman leave, then turned to either side to look at her fellow councilors.
“The councilors and I have a great deal to discuss,” she said. “We will call you when we’ve made our decision. Is there anything else we should know before we adjourn?”
Harper rose.
“I’m prepared to give you Madoc Morfran’s manuscript,” said Harper. “It contains the story of your oldest ancestors, and it rightfully belongs to the tribe.”
This time, it was Carys’s jaw that dropped. She spun around toward him. Heath laughed out loud.
“It looks like your colleague may not be in agreement with that plan, Mr. Harper,” he said. Harper looked at Carys.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Harper said to her. Then he turned back to Clark. “Ms. Jones is right. It is your Book of Genesis. And it is right that you should have it. But I want the sword. We are assuming that such a meaningful historical artifact is still in the tribe’s possession.”
He looked at Clark. Her lack of response answered the question.
“Until we excavate the tomb, the sword is the only object that can definitively link your tribe to Dark Age visitors, and I need some assurances that once you get the Morfran manuscript, you’ll allow me to access it for verification purposes. We will begin immediately on our archaeological dig, and we will document each of our findings thoroughly. But in order to preserve the tribe’s heritage, we agree to wait until you’ve received your federal designation to reveal our findings. However, we must have access to Morfran’s manuscript when we request it to substantiate our claims when we go public. That sword will be my insurance policy.”
The councilors sat silently for a moment longer, waiting for Clark to speak.
“We’ll contact you with our decision,” said Clark.
“When?” asked Carys.
“Tomorrow,” Clark said.
“If we don’t hear from you by five o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” she said, “we’ll assume that you have declined. The following day, we’ll fly back to Wales and present Morfran’s manuscript, and the artifacts recovered from the cave, to the British antiquities authorities, which we are legally obligated to do. Those authorities will go over this stuff with a fine-tooth comb. It will be translated; the artifacts will be chemically and electronically analyzed. They will identify with pinpoint accuracy where those artifacts came from. And trust me, there aren’t enough rangers to keep away the crowds who will descend on that beach when those findings are made public.”
Heath stood up to his full, broad height and again stared down Carys.
“Are you threatening us?” asked Heath.
“No,” she said. “I’m just telling you what we are legally obligated to do. We wouldn’t want to break the law, would we?”
She rose, Harper rose next to her, she closed her computer, put it back into her bag, and the two of them left the silent councilors behind.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Carys and Harper climbe
d up the creaky stairs to the second floor of the inn. She slid the key into her door, and Dafydd poked his head out of his room.
“How did it go?”
“Tense,” she said. “We’ll know tomorrow if they are going to take us up on our offer.”
“What offer?” he asked.
“Come inside and I’ll tell you about it,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it out here.”
He entered her room and immediately wrapped her in his arms, then landed a long, wet kiss on her. She let herself relax for just a minute, then broke off and looked up at him.
“What have you been up to?” she asked.
“Went for a walk,” he said. “Hitched a ride to this beach you’re all worked up about. It’s beautiful. We should take a walk there tomorrow.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said. “We’ll just have to stay out of the dunes so I don’t get arrested.”
“My favorite criminal,” he said, and kissed her again. “So tell me about tonight.”
“We made them an offer we hope they won’t refuse,” she said.
“Which was?”
“We’ll give them Morfran’s manuscript and a huge trust fund in exchange for the location of the burial site and permission to excavate. Once they’ve received federal tribal designation, we can go public with our findings. They agree to give us access to the manuscript to support our claims in the future, so Harper can finally get credit for the find.”
She could feel his body tense up in her arms.
“You’re going to give them Morfran’s manuscript?” he asked, looking down at her with a look of surprise. “After everything we went through to get it? I can’t believe Harper would agree to that.”
“It was his idea,” she said. “Believe it or not, this really always was about finding that tomb. Everything else was just a means to an end.”
“But you’re not giving them the monk’s manuscript, right?” asked Dafydd.
“No,” she said. “That one is going to stay stuck to me like glue until this is all over and we can reveal what we’ve found to the world.”
Dafydd pulled away and sat down on her bed.
“When is this all going down?” asked Dafydd.
“We gave them until five tomorrow to accept our terms.”
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Twilight in London was pink and noisy. Black cabs swung around the traffic circle below Gyles’s library window. A glass of Lagavulin, one cube, lay in his hand. Its weight was assuring; its cool surface calmed him. Things were slowly, oh so slowly, falling into place.
He’d heard from Patrick, who had bugged Jones’s room in the resort community near Boston where she and her little posse were staying. He hadn’t had time to put devices in the rooms of the two people she was traveling with, but Patrick had heard enough to piece together what Gyles needed to know. There had been some sort of meeting with a local council. There was talk of an offer being made to trade a manuscript for the location of the burial site. Deadline of 5:00 p.m. eastern.
He would have the manuscript and the location of the tomb, and would be one step away from the prince’s money by the end of the day. Then, if he absolutely had to, he would have the means to pay off the terrorist and save his skin. Money, however, once earned and deposited into Gyles’s offshore account, tended to stay put. That was never more crucial than now, since his very lucrative arrangement with Plourde was no more. He needed a plan to deal with Alahwi once this job was done.
Tommy, who had successfully finished his assignment in Boston, was sent to take over the stakeout of Jones, and Patrick was on his way back to Boston to await further instructions. They could no longer wait for Jones to find the tomb on her own sweet time. He instructed Tommy to do whatever he had to do to get the exact location of that burial site; collect the manuscript, translation, and whatever was in that tomb; exterminate any witnesses; and get to the airport to meet the Saudi’s plane.
A text-message ping came from his personal phone. He glanced over at it.
“Where my money, Gyles?”
Alahwi. This madman could send both of Gyles’s worlds crashing down around him if he didn’t get what he wanted. How had Alahwi learned his identity?
“Please be patient,” he texted. “I need a couple of days.”
“You have twenty-four hours,” came the response.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Carys, Dafydd, and Harper were just finishing some takeout pizza in the lounge area of the inn when her phone rang. It was Annie.
“Hi,” said Carys.
“Have you seen the news at all today?” asked Annie, her voice cold as ice.
“No,” she said. “Why?”
“It’s your boss,” said Annie. “He’s dead.”
“What?” she exclaimed.
Dafydd’s eyes popped up at her, and he mouthed, “What happened?”
She held up her hand. “What are you talking about?”
“He was killed in a car accident last night,” said Annie. “Single vehicle. Drove off the road in Framingham right into a tree. The car burst into flames. He and his whole family. Wife, two kids. They were burned alive.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Do they know what happened?”
“No,” said Annie. “They don’t. The cops are baffled. There weren’t even any rubber skid marks on the road. It looks like he was going something like seventy miles per hour and just veered directly into a tree. He didn’t even brake.”
“Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel,” she said.
“Maybe,” said Annie. “I just thought you should know.”
“I can’t believe it. His whole family,” she said.
She hated the guy, but the news was a gut punch. She shuddered at the momentary vision of the children in the back seat of the car, on fire, then shook it off before it grabbed hold of her. She was sure she’d dream about them tonight.
“How is everything going there?” Annie asked.
“Okay, we think,” she said, standing and walking to the other side of the lounge. “We made an offer to the tribal council: Morfran’s journal and a whole bunch of money for the tomb. They agree to let us make it public after they secure federal recognition, so there won’t be any way for them to be stripped of their status, no matter what is revealed about their origins.”
“When do you find out if they take it?”
“We gave them until tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “Have you found out anything else about Marshfield?”
“No,” said Annie. “I’m at a dead end unless I can escalate this to a formal investigation.”
“Not yet, we—”
“I know, I know,” said Annie. “I won’t do anything until you have the deal locked up down there. Call me tomorrow as soon as you hear?”
“I will,” she said. “Thanks for the call. I…this is awful. But I honestly can’t say the world is worse off without that guy. But his wife. The kids. Jesus.”
“I know,” said Annie. “I’ve gotta go. Love ya.”
She hung up and walked back to Dafydd and Harper. Their faces were expectant.
“My boss and his family got killed in a car accident last night,” she said.
Dafydd gasped.
“His children, too?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s horrific. Burned alive. He hit a tree speeding.”
“I’m so sorry, Carys,” said Dafydd.
“Your boss at Sothington’s?” asked Harper. “Who blackmailed JJ?”
“Yes,” she said. “George Plourde.”
“Didn’t he call you yesterday?” asked Harper.
Carys stared at Harper. She had completely forgotten in all the excitement. She pulled her phone back out and called up voice mail, found his message, hit play, and sat down on the sofa to listen.
<
br /> “Carys, this is George. Plourde. It’s Tuesday, around ten. Listen, I know you and I don’t, didn’t…. I, uh, was very angry with you for threatening to reveal certain details about my past and I did something I’m not proud of and now, I’m, uh, afraid we’re both in some trouble. There’s a man, Martin Gyles. The repatriation expert. He’s actually a black-market antiquities dealer in London. I’ve been doing some side deals with him for years. He’s bad news, Carys. He’s very, very bad news. He’s involved in…uh, that woman who was killed at the Harper mansion. That was him. His guy did it. On his orders.”
Her face drained of blood and her hands went cold.
“Couple of weeks ago, he asked me for information on you. He never told me why. But I gave it to him…. I’m sorry…. I…I was very angry. And they pay me very well. Anyway, he’s coming…for…for you. He wanted me to track you. Said you were back in Boston. I told him no. But he’ll find someone else. I can’t be part of this anymore. It’s getting…it’s not what I signed up for. I wanted to warn you. I hope you get this message before…well, before anything happens to you…”
Carys raised her hand to her face and looked up at Dafydd and Harper. The two men were chatting, paying no attention to her. How did they know she was back? Her mind began to churn.
“There’s one other thing. I’m…I found a letter on your desk when you were gone. I opened it and read it and I told Gyles that it was from your father and I gave him the return address on the envelope. He might be in…ah…some danger as well…so you should warn him.”
Carys gasped. That’s how Frank had found them in Wales. He’d tracked her father. She’d forgotten all about the letter. The goddamn letter. Her brain froze.
“Don’t call me back. I’m going to get my family out of here, just find somewhere to hole up for a while. I think Gyles may try to…do something to me or my family…I’m sorry, Carys…I never meant for any of this to happen…it just got…out of…hand…it…it was bigger than me. I’m so sorry. Be careful. I hope one day you’ll forgive me.”
She hung up and looked up at the men. Plourde and his family were dead, and it wasn’t an accident. Gyles had gotten to him. And now she couldn’t ask him what other information he had given Gyles. Did he know about Annie and Priscilla? Did he know about Dafydd? Harper?
The Ghost Manuscript Page 37