Her uncle put his arm around her. “There, there. No need for tears.”
Sam put the car in gear and slid into traffic, calculating the driving time from the airport to Bulla Regia. “Try Lazlo again.”
As before, it went straight to voice mail.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
The persons we eat with are the ones to kill us.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
The villa floor was flooded when Lazlo, Hank, and José arrived later that morning. “What …?” Hank said, standing on the deck, looking down.
“Osmond,” José said.
Hank gave an exasperated sigh, kicking at the hose that Osmond had hooked up to the water tank and draped over the deck into the opening. “I told him to wet the floor, not drown it.” He pulled out the hose, seeing nothing but a dribble of water coming from the nozzle. “Glad LaBelle’s not here to see this,” he said, climbing down the ladder. “Looks like the entire tank ended up down there.”
Lazlo and José followed him to the first level. They leaned over the railing, seeing a couple of inches covering the floor below. “You have to admit,” Lazlo said, “it definitely brings out the colors of the tiles.”
“It does at that.” Hank turned on the lamp that was clipped to the rail, its long orange extension cord swinging below them.
Lazlo moved around the tool bucket and stepped over a coil of rope to get to the rail. José, however, didn’t see it, losing his footing momentarily. He stepped back, caught himself on the railing, bumping the lamp clamped to it. “Glad that didn’t go over,” he said, righting the lamp, then peering over the edge. “Hate to see what would happen if it hit the water.”
Lazlo returned his attention to the mosaic. “Simply stunning. Imagine what it would’ve looked like back in the day.”
Hank nodded. “I expect they’d have a couple of chairs on the far wall so one could sit and admire the beautiful floor.”
“Or sit and admire where this map is hidden.”
Hank glanced at Lazlo. “You think there really is a map down there?”
“I have no idea. But I always say, no time like the present to look.” As Lazlo shifted his feet, bits of dirt and gravel from the platform dropped into the water, the surface rippling as it hit. He watched, fascinated by the subtle changes the moving water had on the pattern of the mosaic, especially the blue and white tiles, which he assumed were originally meant for the reflecting pool in front of the temple.
“You know what I find odd,” Hank said. “The artist didn’t include Narcissus’ reflection in the mosaic. That’s a big part of the legend.”
Narcissus, on the bottom step of the temple, seemed to be looking at his hand draped into the water. “Perhaps,” Lazlo suggested, “beyond the artist’s skills? The reflecting pool is rather digital-looking in comparison to the detail of the temple, the trees, and …”
“And what?” Hank asked.
“Quite extraordinary … The blue and white squares in the reflecting pool. It’s a pixelated version of the temple.”
José agreed. “Like a digital photo that’s been enlarged.”
“The six columns, the portico, the pediment … And Narcissus’ reflection.”
“Where?” Hank asked.
Lazlo said, “Close your eyes and look through your lashes—it’ll smooth out the pixels. See where Narcissus is pointing? The reflection of the stairs? Those tiles on that side are actually darker. Could it be …?”
“Be what?” Hank asked.
“I daresay, it’s a hidden staircase.”
Hank squinted. “Son of a gun … It was here the whole time. In the temple ruins.”
“We need photos.” Lazlo patted his pocket. “Left my bloody phone in the kitchen,” he said as a shadow darkened the opening above them.
They looked up to see Amal looking down at them.
“Just in time,” Hank said. “I think we’ve found the map.”
José nodded. “A hidden staircase.”
Hank’s attention was on Amal. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just that Professor Kemp left his phone in the kitchen.”
“Oh, good show,” Lazlo said. “I wanted to take pictures.”
José moved to the edge of the platform, grabbed the ladder, and started down to the bottom level. “I’ve got my phone. I’ll take some photos.”
Lazlo looked at him, then back up to Amal. She had yet to move. “I say, are you well?”
“Fine,” she said and climbed down the ladder.
Below them, José sloshed through the water.
Hank’s attention was on Amal. “Where’s the professor’s phone?”
“In the kitchen. I didn’t want to pry. I … I just thought he should know.”
Something in her voice caught Lazlo’s ear. He looked in her eyes and saw fear.
“Don’t move, professor,” Hank said, his gun drawn and aiming at Amal. “You might be willing to sacrifice your own safety, but not someone else’s. Hand me your gun, then down you go.”
“I don’t have a gun,” Lazlo said, holding his hands away from his body. “Whatever you’re thinking, we can get past this. It’s just money.”
“Yes. And your employers have plenty of it. Had Fargo simply allowed his wife to be kidnapped, as I’d first planned, I’d have my ransom and no one would be the wiser. I could’ve safely returned the embezzled funds, paid my debt to Tarek, and we’d all be happy.”
“You set up the kidnapping? Not Warren?”
“I owed Tarek a fortune.” He glanced at Amal. “I doubt anyone would’ve noticed the occasional missing artifact I used to help fund my own search for the scroll until the Fargos arrived.”
“Why?” Amal said, her voice filled with disbelief. “We were all in this together.”
“Together? You don’t get rich working for the university. Just ask LaBelle. Had the Fargos not discovered the missing money, I could’ve continued my search uninterrupted. I was almost home free, until Warren started looking into everything.”
Amal stumbled back against the ladder, her face paling. She started mumbling unintelligibly.
Hank ignored her, instead pointing his gun at Lazlo. “Get the rope.”
Lazlo picked it up, eyeing the tool bucket.
“Just the rope,” Hank said and jerked his jaw at Amal. “Tie her hands behind her back. Make sure it’s tight.”
“You’ll be okay,” Lazlo said softly, wrapping the thick cord around her wrists, then knotting it. “Just stay calm.”
If she heard him, she gave no indication. Her stare seemed vacant. She didn’t try to move, just continued muttering “sator, arepo, tenet, opera, rotas” over and over.
Hank ordered Lazlo to move away and grabbed the rope, drawing Amal to his side. “Down you go, professor. Don’t make any sudden moves.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
When one man’s curse falls on a person, another one breaks it.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
A cloud of dust kicked up as Sam skidded to a stop outside the archeological site. Osmond came running out of the house as he and Remi threw open their doors. “Amal’s down there. She saw the text on Professor Lazlo’s phone.”
“Get in the car,” Sam told him. He looked over at Remi. “Drive everyone up to Amal’s. Get her mother, call the police, and get them out of here.”
“Be careful,” she said.
He was halfway across the field before Remi had even backed out of the drive. When he reached the dig site, he crept onto the deck, thankful when he heard voices. With the sun overhead, there was no way to approach unnoticed. Hank would see his shadow—unless he was too preoccupied.
“Fargo,” Hank called out. “Just in time.”
So much for luck. “Lazlo?” Sam shouted, wishing he had a better view inside.
“Hank has a gun.”
“Pointed at your friend, Fargo. Keep that in mind as you come down.”
Sam, relieved to hear Lazlo’s voice, moved to the edge. I
t wasn’t until he started climbing down that he could actually see Hank in the shadows at the end of the platform, holding Amal in front of him. She seemed to be staring at nothing, her lips moving as she mumbled softly to herself. Hank, on the other hand, aimed his gun into the depths of the villa at Lazlo, who sat next to José atop the pile of rubble, both men blinded by the light clamped to the railing.
Hank glanced at Sam. “Warning. I’m a good shot. First wrong move, I’ll kill your friend. Empty your gun. Nice and slow.”
Sam calculated and dismissed the possibility of taking Hank out first. He drew his weapon. Holding it barrel up, he opened the cylinder, dumping the rounds into his hand. “Harmless,” he said as he lowered the Smith & Wesson to the wooden planks.
“Behold,” Amal shouted, looking upward. “The Sign of Saturn.”
In the second of distraction, Sam pocketed the bullets, then held up his empty hands. “Just don’t hurt anyone.”
“Where’s your wife?”
“With Osmond. Taking Nasha and her uncle to Amal’s to get her mother out of here. I’m sure you must have heard the car drive off.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right.” Keeping Amal close, Hank aimed his gun at Sam’s chest. “Down you go, Fargo. Next to the professor.”
As Sam walked to the ladder, Hank sidestepped, keeping a wide berth between them. Sam grabbed the first rung and lowered himself over. “Whatever trouble you’re in, it’s not too late.”
“If only that were true. No one was supposed to get hurt. But they killed Warren anyway.”
“Then let me help.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said, his voice taking on a panicky edge. “Tarek wants the map. I have to give it to him. You understand that, don’t you? He’ll kill me if I don’t.”
Sam reached the bottom, landing in at least an inch of water. “He’ll kill all of us.”
“Not if I give him what he wants.” He led Amal to the side, looped the rope over the railing, pulled it into a knot with his free hand. He looked down at Sam, motioning with his gun. “Over there. Hurry. I don’t have much time.”
Sam sloshed through the water and climbed up onto the rock pile next to Lazlo, hoping that Hank would simply leave. Sam tried to look past the glare of the lamp shining down on them, catching sight of the man’s silhouette as he started pacing above them.
Amal’s chanting grew louder. “Saturn holds the wheels … The balance between Rhea—wealth and abundance—and Lua—destruction and dissolution … Hear, O Usurper of the Vandal Treasure, Lua rains death upon you.”
“Quiet,” Hank shouted. “I can’t think.”
“Sator, arepo, tenet, opera, rotas …”
Hank pulled the lamp from the railing, smashing it against the side of the scaffolding. A flash of sparks reflected on the water as the bulb shattered. Then, surprising Sam, Hank started lowering it over the edge. “What’re you doing, Hank?”
“Making sure you don’t move. This shouldn’t take long. I’ll give them what they want.” The long orange extension cord slapped against the scaffolding as he inched the lamp toward the flooded floor. The reflector shade hit the tile and he carefully brought it to rest, the exposed socket just above—and precariously close to—the water’s surface. “I expect the slightest ripple might cause a shock.”
“Hank,” Sam called out as the man climbed up the ladder. “Let me help you.”
But all he heard in response was Amal’s chanting. “Sator, arepo, tenet, opera, rotas …”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
A bird with fire on its tail burns its own nest.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Sam focused on the lamp sitting in the water just inches from the scaffolding.
Lazlo followed the direction of Sam’s eyes. “Can’t we just throw something at it, short it out?”
“That pipe Amal’s tied to leads straight down into the water. We can’t chance it.”
José, his feet tucked up high, his arms about his knees, was rocking in place. “Are we going to die?”
“No,” Sam said.
“What about a human chain?” Lazlo said.
“That might work.”
He looked up at Amal, who was struggling against her bonds. Definitely not in the throes of a seizure. “Let’s do this.”
They stood. Lazlo grasped his hand. He was about to lean forward when Amal said, “Hank’s coming. Sator, arepo, tenet … ”
A shadow fell across the water in front of Sam.
“Opera, rotas …”
“Amal?” Remi climbed down the ladder.
“Mrs. Fargo,” Amal said, her voice loud and sure. “Thank goodness. I thought you were Hank.”
“Remi,” Sam said. “The lamp. Cut the power.”
She unplugged the extension cord from the socket mounted by the entrance. Its length snaked down and splashed in the water.
Sam jumped from the rocks, ran to the ladder. When he reached the upper platform, Remi was already working at the rope binding Amal. “Where’s Hank?” he asked, grabbing his gun from the platform, then reloading it.
“I have no idea. He was gone when I got here.”
“My mother?” Amal said.
“She’s safe. Osmond drove everyone to the British works. They’re supposed to wait there until the police get here.” She stood as Lazlo and José came up the ladder. “What on earth …?”
“My fault,” Lazlo said. “I left my mobile at the house. Hank and I were here and … I believe I found the bloody map.”
“Where would he go?” Remi asked. “His car’s still out there.”
“I have a fair idea,” Sam said, starting up the ladder. “Everyone wait here until it’s safe.”
“Not likely,” Remi said, climbing up after him.
Lazlo looked over at Amal and José. “If I can make a bold suggestion, find Hank’s car keys and get out of here. I’m going with the Fargos.”
“But why?” Amal asked.
“That’s a very good question,” he said and climbed up after them.
Sam ducked behind the water tank just in time to see Hank running into the olive grove. A moment later, Remi, then Lazlo, emerged from the excavation site. The two joined him.
Remi followed the direction of his focus. “Where’s he going?”
“If I had to guess, the temple ruins. Any chance you two will take my advice and stay here?”
Remi scoffed. “Like the advice you gave me telling me to stay at Amal’s house? Had I listened, you’d still be trying to get across that flooded floor without electrocuting yourself.”
“A few more seconds, we would’ve gotten out on our own. Right, Lazlo?”
“Or gotten fried,” Lazlo said.
Remi grinned. “You’re stuck with us now. What’s Hank after?”
“The map,” Lazlo said. “He seemed agitated about getting it to Tarek. Or some such.”
“That he did.” Sam thought about the night they left the dinner party and saw Tarek’s SUV parked on the side of the road out behind the ruins. “I’ll bet Tarek’s on his way—if he’s not already here. And Hank’s meeting up with him.”
Remi patted her holstered Sig Sauer. “I vote we follow.”
“Lazlo?”
“I vote no.”
“Two-to-one.” Sam nodded toward the trees. “We go after him.”
“It’s always two-to-one,” Lazlo said as he followed them. “Why bother to vote?”
They kept low as they moved toward the olive grove, hiding behind a thick trunk on the edge of the orchard. “There,” Sam said, pointing down the hill. Hank emerged from the orchard into the narrow valley where a line of ancient olive trees with massive twisted trunks stretched between the orchard and the ivy-covered ruins at the base of the hill.
“He’s definitely headed toward the temple,” Remi said.
“The hidden stairs,” Lazlo said. “I saw it in the mosaic.”
“You’d think he’d at least take a shovel.”
“Whatever he’s doing,” Sam said, “he’s in a hurry.” Though Hank was walking in the direction of the temple, he kept looking out to his left.
Sam studied the hillside, at first not seeing anything, until a movement near the crest caught his eye. “Tarek.”
Remi stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. “A shame you didn’t take out his elbow, too.”
“Hindsight. Looks like he brought a new friend.” He returned his attention to Hank, who was now running down the hill, waving his hand at the two men. “What is he doing?”
“Sam, I think they’re aiming at him.”
“Whatever happens, Hank’s brought this on himself.”
“I know, but Renee …”
The pain in his wife’s voice made it particularly difficult to let Hank just walk into danger. As much as Sam felt Hank deserved everything he got, Remi would hurt because her friend would hurt. “Hank,” he shouted.
If anything, Hank quickened his pace. He waved his hands again. “I’ve found it. I found the map.” He was halfway down the hill, his stride fast and steady, when Tarek stepped out in the open. “I know where it is.”
Hank,” Sam shouted. “Get—”
A gunshot cracked.
Hank fell to the ground.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
He who pelts another with pebbles asks for stones in return.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Getting to Hank without breaking cover was going to be an issue, Sam realized as he, Remi, and Lazlo worked their way down the hill toward an avenue of poplars that led from the olive grove to the ruins. The nearest tree to Hank was about thirty feet behind him. Still, if Sam could drag him back there, he might have a chance.
“No signal,” Lazlo said, looking at his phone.
Sam calculated the distance to the first tree in the line. “Cover me.”
Remi fired. With each successive shot, he ran to the next tree, and the next—all about ten feet apart—until reaching the one closest to Hank. A small hillock of dirt was the man’s only protection from the two gunmen, who’d taken cover behind a couple of boulders up on the hill.
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