Rudi looked at a report that detailed the FBI’s findings regarding the attack on the Vice Presidential limousine. “They have rejected your theory about being the target of the attack. Something about being a narcissist who thinks he’s more important than the second-most-powerful man in the world.”
Kurt knew how it looked. “That’s my point,” he said. “They don’t believe a word of it. Which means they’re not looking for Barlow or his people or whoever it was that built that mechanical bird.”
“I noticed you didn’t mention that to them.”
“I looked crazy enough already,” Kurt said. “Didn’t want to confirm all their suspicions.”
Rudi laughed and put away the FBI report. “So what you’re telling me is, it’s either us or no one. And you want to risk everything to trap Barlow. How can you even be sure they’ll fall for it?”
“They have the Writings of Qsn,” Kurt said, “which, according to what Max and Hiram were able to get off that photograph, suggests the treasure lies in some desert ravine on the far side of a large sea. They also have the copies of the old FBI file, which verifies the existence of the treasure, the connection to the Granzini family and the approximate location in the Grand Canyon where the rest of the treasure lies. There’s even a hand-drawn map, aerial photos and snapshots from the inside of the cave. There’s literally no way for them to miss the connection.” Kurt grinned almost maniacally as he spoke. “They have to come here. Either that or give up.”
Rudi looked away, twirling a pen in his fingers, as he considered the possibilities. “Realizing I couldn’t talk you out of this if I tried, I’ll consider your request. What do you need to pull this off?”
“Satellite data detailed enough to match the location of the FBI photos to the exact spot in the canyon where the archeologists found the cave.”
Rudi nodded. “That should be easy enough. Hiram and Max have used photos to match the contours and orientation of old landscapes before. Of course, the Bloodstone Group will have no problem doing the same thing, which I can only assume you’re counting on.”
“I am,” Kurt said. “But, along with Max being quicker to the punch, it’ll allow us to get there first and lie in wait.”
“By yourselves?”
“We can’t exactly hide an army down there,” Kurt said. “If they see one thing out of place—one sign of preparation or security—they’ll bail before any of the important people show up. No good capturing a few scouts when we need to capture Barlow and his top lieutenants.”
“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” Rudi said.
“I’ll have Joe, Morgan and the Trouts.”
“Not interested in seeing my entire Special Operations team wiped out at the same time. Adding one MI5 operative doesn’t change that equation. You’re going to have backup of one type or another.”
Kurt glanced over at a map on the wall, focusing on the western United States and northern Arizona. “There’s an Army base near Flagstaff called Camp Navajo. They do a lot of basic training and National Guard stuff out there. A small detachment of Rangers sent there and held on alert would never be noticeable. Once we’ve confirmed that Barlow and his men are on-site, we make a quick call for help, the Rangers swoop in and the rest is history.”
Rudi considered the plan. It was reasonable, especially for something Kurt had come up with. “I’m sure I’ll end up regretting this,” Rudi said, “but I’ll sign off on it. You’d better get yourself out to the Grand Canyon. And keep a low profile. Remember, you’re supposed to be dead.”
CHAPTER 52
MV Tunisian Wind, Galveston Harbor, Texas
Solomon Barlow stood in the shadows of an open cargo hatch, watching as a motor launch approached the Tunisian Wind. Despite the shade and a strategically placed fan, his face glistened with sweat. Living in Northern Europe had left him woefully unprepared for the warmth and humidity of Galveston Bay under a late-summer heat wave.
Robson stood next to him, suffering less from the heat but complaining more. “I don’t like bringing them here,” he said, nodding at the approaching launch. “They almost killed the Vice President. If they’re being watched, they’ll lead the FBI right to us.”
“The FBI is busy hunting for terrorists,” Barlow said. “A strategic leak of information saw to that. They have no idea the Toymaker was behind it.”
“I still think it’s foolish to meet with them. What purpose could it serve?”
“We’re going to partner with them,” Barlow said.
“Them?”
“You’ll see.”
The launch reached the ship and bumped alongside. A gangway was lowered from the cargo hatch and secured to the smaller boat.
With the gangway in place, Barlow’s crewmen stepped aside. An athletic, confident woman came aboard, followed by a nervous, twitchy man who reminded Barlow of a hyperactive rat.
They reached the hatch, stepped off the gangway and stood where the breeze from the fan could reach them.
“Let me introduce the Toymaker,” Barlow said to Robson. “Or should I say the Toymakers? Xandra and Fydor.”
He used their names to show them he’d figured out who they really were. Or at least their second-level aliases. The statement didn’t go unnoticed.
Xandra stared at him. “You had it right the first time, Solomon.” She pointed to Fydor. “He makes the machines. I just keep people from beating him up.”
“Either way, you do excellent work,” Barlow said. “You’ve been paid for it but let me thank you personally for getting rid of Austin. I’m thinking of framing the photo you sent me.”
“Do what you want with it,” Xandra said. “I’d like to get down to business. We have something you need. It’s going to cost a share of the total proceeds before we hand it over.”
“So you said in your message. I’m prepared to offer you just that. But first you’ll need to prove what you’ve found. Come with me,” Barlow said. “Let’s talk.”
He led them into the ship and to the officers’ mess, which had been cleared and turned into a planning room. Four additional men waited inside. They were hardened and deeply tanned.
“Xandra and Fydor,” Barlow said, “this is Omar Kai.”
Omar Kai stood against the far wall, leaning at a slight angle. He was tall and slim, with wavy dark hair, sun-creased olive skin and a wide mustache that would have looked more at home on an old Western gunfighter. He wore casual clothes and had a gleam in his eye as he spoke. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“I know who you are,” Xandra said.
No hands were shaken, no other words exchanged.
“Everyone, take a seat,” Robson said.
The members of the group sat at one large table, Xandra and Fydor on one side, Omar Kai and his men on the other and Robson at the far end. Barlow stayed standing and explained why they were all there.
“We’re going to steal the greatest deposit of Egyptian treasure the world has ever known. If you choose to join me, you’ll be given cash up front for your participation, cash that you’re welcome to return to me in exchange for your portion of what we bring back.”
“We want a half share,” Xandra declared proudly. “We know exactly where the treasure is. We’re leading you to it. We won’t take anything less.”
“Greed,” Omar Kai said. “How predictable.”
Xandra sneered at him.
Barlow was unfazed. “If that’s your position, you can go in and haul it out yourself. Our expert has given us a conservative estimate suggesting the weight of the treasure will exceed a hundred tons. You’re talking coffins made of gold, bars of silver, chests filled with gemstones and ornate weapons, statues carved from marble and onyx. You’re welcome to carry it out on your backs, if you like. And then, should you succeed, you can look for someone to sell it to, hoping not to get caught by an Interpol sting or upended by one of their informants.” He let that sink in for a minute. “Or you can work with me and my people will take care of the
heavy lifting, sales and distribution.”
Xandra held silent. Kai smiled and winked. Barlow knew he’d regained control.
“You get a quarter share,” he said, “assuming you can provide us with an accurate location and assist our effort.”
“I can give you a precise location,” Xandra bragged.
“Then you’ll have earned your twenty-five percent.”
“And what about our share?” Omar Kai asked.
“You and your men also get a quarter share,” Barlow explained.
“Generous.”
“Not really,” Barlow said. “You’ll be taking the biggest risk.”
Kai seemed unconcerned. “No risk, no reward,” he said. “Count us in.”
Across the table, Xandra nodded as well. “We’re in also. What’s the plan?”
Barlow went over an operation that would get them in and out of the canyon quickly. It allowed for a large carrying capacity and a maximum amount of stealth. He had no illusions of being able to get every trinket from the cave, but they would concentrate on the big-ticket items—the gold and jewels, the caskets and sarcophaguses, the death masks and mummies of the Pharaohs themselves.
“The only real danger,” he warned, “would be the sudden arrival of law enforcement. That’s where you two earn your shares.”
Kai spoke up. “Surely you don’t expect us to fight the police while you carry away the treasure?”
“Not at all,” Barlow said. “Fighting the police is a losing game. They just call for more help until eventually you’re surrounded. I expect you to be wiser than that. I expect you to set up a distraction. One that will have the authorities focused on something far larger and more important than a few people digging in an obscure section of the desert.”
“And how, exactly, do we do that?” Xandra asked.
Barlow picked up a remote control, aimed it toward a screen at the front of the room and pressed the button. A photo appeared. It showed a large concrete dam wedged in between two walls of reddish sandstone.
“This is the Glen Canyon Dam,” Barlow said. “It sits upriver from the Grand Canyon. It holds back a billion tons of Colorado River water while providing large amounts of electricity to Arizona and New Mexico.”
“You want us to blow up the dam?” Fydor asked in shock.
“Of course not,” Barlow said. “I want you to simulate someone attempting to blow up the dam. Specifically, it needs to look like a large-scale terrorist attack and takeover. One that draws the eyes and ears of every local, state and national law enforcement agency. One that keeps them focused on it for a while. With their attention on preventing the collapse of the dam and rooting out the imaginary terrorists, we’ll be able to excavate the cave, take everything of value and vanish.”
“While we end up running for our lives,” Kai said. “Yes, I can see why that would appeal to you.”
Barlow was undaunted. “You’re going to have to earn this money. Your team’s share will come out between fifty and a hundred million dollars. Perhaps more. If that’s not worth the risk to you, I can find someone else.”
Xandra’s appetite had been whetted. “All we have to do is get their attention,” she said. “We can leave a few surprises and sneak out of there before any real counterterrorist force arrives.”
Barlow admired her. She was obsessively bold.
Kai nodded. He wasn’t the type to be outdone. And, as always, he needed the money. “Very well. We’ll figure out our own plan and escape route, but we’ll do our part.”
“The six of you are smart enough to handle the details,” Barlow said. “The dam is the target, you come up with a plan. In the meantime, Xandra, I’ll need that location.”
She nodded. “When the deposit hits our account.”
“Check with your bank,” Barlow said smugly. “It’s already there.”
Barlow waited patiently, considered his sudden turn of good fortune, while Xandra used her phone to check the status of their secret Panamanian account. He had everything he needed to finish the job now—the knowledge and insight of Professor Cross, the steady hand of Robson, reinforcements in Omar Kai and a pair of assassins who used remote vehicles to do their bidding—making them perfect for the job he wanted done. More importantly, Austin was gone, NUMA was out of the picture and Barlow would soon have the exact location of the treasure, speeding the process up exponentially.
Things had turned his way in the blink of an eye. He had no intention of allowing that to change. “Well?”
Xandra nodded. “The money is there, as you said.” She tapped a button on her phone. It sent an encrypted email to Barlow’s address. “Open the file. You’ll find everything you need.”
Barlow nodded and then turned to Robson. “You know what everyone needs to do. Let’s move like the wind.”
CHAPTER 53
Grand Canyon National Park, northern Arizona
Morgan Manning stood near the rim of the Grand Canyon, staring across it. So vast and all-encompassing was the view, she struggled to put it into words. To say it took her breath away would have been an understatement. She was awestruck, the weariness of eleven hours of traveling swept away in an instant.
Kurt, Joe and Paul stood off to one side while Gamay was a few feet away, riskily looking over the edge and staring straight down.
“It’s incredible,” Morgan said. “I’ve never felt so tiny and insignificant.”
“This place has a way of doing that to one,” Gamay noted.
Getting her bearings back, Morgan turned to Kurt. “Thank you for letting me come here and help finish this. I was sick to my stomach when I found that Professor Cross had been kidnapped. I can only hope Barlow will bring the professor here.”
“He’d be foolish not to,” Kurt said. “Considering what he’s expecting to find, he’ll need the professor’s help to identify the valuable treasures from the mundane.”
“How are we supposed to find this cave before they do?” Gamay asked.
“Hiram and Max matched the details of the old FBI photos with the current terrain,” Kurt said. “It’s a pretty remote spot, in a distant part of the canyon, but it’s accessible by an old road.”
“What are we waiting for, then?”
“Permission,” Kurt replied. “The cave is located outside the boundaries of the National Park, in an area that belongs to the Navajo people. It may even be sacred ground. We need to get the proper blessing before we go down there.”
As Kurt spoke, an old Chevy pickup came down the dirt road toward them. Its paint was faded and rust had crept in around the bed, but the engine sounded strong.
After the truck pulled to a stop, the driver’s door opened. A Navajo man stepped out. His jet-black hair was tied back in a ponytail. He had broad shoulders, a big chest and a large head. He wore faded jeans and a plaid shirt.
Kurt stepped forward and gave the man a bear hug. “Thanks for coming to meet us.” He turned to introduce the new arrival. “This is Eddie Toh-Yah. He’s an old friend of mine from the Navy.”
“Be careful throwing that word old around,” Eddie said. “I’m a year younger than you are.”
Like Kurt, Eddie had spent most of his life in the elements, though for him it was the High Desert of Arizona and of New Mexico while Kurt had spent his life out on the ocean and along its shore.
“How long has it been?”
“Eight years,” Eddie replied. “Can’t say time has been kind to you, Kurt. You look a little beat-up.”
Kurt laughed and took no offense. “I think aging has improved your looks. But, then again, you had nowhere to go but up. Can you help us out?”
“I told my grandfather about your request,” Eddie said. “He’s part of the tribal administration. He’s willing to see you, but you’re going to have to tell him why you want to go down there. I have to warn you, Kurt, he’s all about the old ways.”
“I’m partial to the old ways myself,” Kurt said. “Let’s go.”
A ten-mile d
rive brought them away from the canyon and down into a high valley where a small Navajo community lay. A collection of hogan-style buildings, built from timber and supporting earthen roofs, stood in the center. A fenced-in pasture sat off to one side while several horses lazily chewing hay occupied a corral behind the structures.
Shortly after arriving, Kurt and company were led into one of the buildings. The interior was a single large room with a dirt floor. The room smelled strongly of incense. The only illumination in the hogan came from candles.
Everyone sat on the floor and Eddie introduced them to his grandfather, speaking in Navajo. Kurt remained silent, studying the older man. Unlike Eddie, the elder was dressed in traditional garments made of wool and dyed with intricate patterns. Kurt guessed his age at somewhere between eighty and ninety, though it was hard to tell. There was wisdom in his face, knowledge far beyond even his many years.
Eddie turned back toward Kurt. “My grandfather extends his welcome. He wants to know where you wish to travel.”
Kurt pulled out a folded topographical map. “I marked the area on this. It’s called Silver Box Ravine. I read that some have suggested the area is sacred.”
Eddie took a look at the map and then handed it over to his grandfather, who studied it before responding.
“Silver Box Ravine is not a holy place for our people,” the older Navajo said, “though other places in the canyon nearby are sacred.”
“We promise not to stray from the area I’ve marked,” Kurt said.
Eddie’s grandfather nodded, taking Kurt at his word. “Why is it you wish to go there? Are you looking for treasure?”
Kurt was taken by surprise.
“Eddie has told me all about you,” the grandfather said proudly. “He says you’ve found lost treasure all over the world and that when you were in the Navy you hardly ever stopped in a port without looking into any story or legend from the ancient days of whatever country you were visiting.”
Journey of the Pharaohs - NUMA Files Series 17 (2020) Page 26