Chasing the White Lion

by James R. Hannibal

  “You mean you want to surprise me.”

  Val added her own interpretation. “He means he wants you to do your annoyed-frustrated-goody-two-shoes look.” She framed Talia’s face with one hand as she drove. “The one you do so well.”

  Talia swatted her hand away. “You have to give me something. I hate going in unprepared.”

  “How about this?” Tyler said. “Smythe is bringing a guest to the dig site. I want you to object to his presence.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You’ll know when you see him.”

  ATAN BROUGHT his own uninvited guest, giving Talia the opportunity to practice the annoyed-frustrated face Val had mentioned.

  Val made a face of her own, nodding at the minor giant who followed their mark across the gravel parking lot. “Who’s the beefcake?”

  Atan slapped the giant in the chest with the back of his hand. “This is my cousin Janos. He is quite interested in starting a coin collection, so I told him he could come along.”

  Cousin. Right. The bulges at Janos’s biceps told Talia he was proud enough of his muscles to wear a suit jacket one size too small. The bulge at his hip told her he was packing a large-caliber handgun—a .45, most likely. The plan didn’t account for a tagalong bodyguard. Extra firepower at the phony dig site would spawn too many variables.

  Val seemed to agree. “I don’t remember a plus-one on your RSVP, sweetums. A bodyguard wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Then let us make a new deal, eh? Either Janos joins me, or I walk and you find another broker to move the coins.”

  Val and the Albanian stared one another down for a long moment.

  Atan shrugged. “Okay. I walk.” He and the giant turned to go.

  “Wait.” Talia broke first, buying a hard look from Val.

  The van’s sliding door opened behind her, and Tyler stepped out. “Let him go, girls. I told you before. We don’t need this guy. I can move the coins in Russia and Asia.”

  The challenge in his voice had the desired effect. Atan turned. “You must be the American broker. And how do you propose to move these thalers in Asia, hmm? Who are your contacts?”

  “That’s my business. I thought you were bowing out.”

  Atan’s gaze shifted to Val. “Miss Macciano, this is your call. But I guarantee he cannot get you the prices I will.”

  None of the contingencies Tyler had discussed with the crew included a heat-packing, six-foot-five behemoth attached to Atan’s hip. The broker had called an audible. But what choice did they have? If they wanted to infiltrate the Jungle and find the missing children, they had to keep Atan on the hook. There wasn’t time to find a new mark.

  Talia wanted to poke Val, cough, whisper—anything to tell her to make sure Atan didn’t get away. She could only pray and try to breathe.

  Val played along. “Okay. Beefcake can come. But that cannon under his jacket stays in its holster. So does the spare on his ankle, capiche?”

  The giant glanced down at his right leg. Val couldn’t have seen the spare gun, but she had Jedi-mind-tricked him into confirming both its presence and location. Talia had to suppress a chuckle.

  MAC HAD CONFIGURED THE VAN FOR CARGO, with only one bench seat. Val drove, and Talia took the front passenger seat, leaving the bench for Tyler, Atan, and Janos, who sat in the middle.

  “I looked you up.” Atan bent forward to speak to Tyler around the giant. “I thought I had never heard of you until Miss Macciano brought your name up in my office, but it seems our paths have crossed before. Do you recall a piece of Arabian silver known as Scheherazade’s Phoenix?”

  Eddie had built a history for Tyler as a coin collector and broker, but Talia didn’t know how deep it went, or whether Tyler had found the time to study the details. In the rearview mirror, she saw Janos slip a hand beneath his jacket. She inched forward a hair in her seat, ready to grab the Glock 26 at the small of her back.

  Tyler stared out the windshield, saying nothing.

  “What about it, Mr. Tyler? You were a buyer at the auction—a small affair in Dubai. Did you take Scheherazade’s Phoenix home?”

  He finally locked eyes with Atan. “I never made it to Dubai. But neither did you. We both bid by proxy. And if I remember correctly, you were the one to claim the prize. The Phoenix is in your collection.”

  Atan’s frown melted into a smile. “Ah, silly me. I must have forgotten. But then again, I own so many treasures.”

  The bodyguard’s hand reappeared from under the jacket.

  Talia relaxed.

  Tyler went back to looking out the window. “This time there’s plenty of treasure to share. I ponied up my dough, Atan. Now it’s your turn. A half million US to see the Bavarian Thalers resurrected.”

  “Too right.” Atan unlocked the screen of his phone. A few taps later, he tucked it away again. “It is done. The money is in Miss Macciano’s account.”

  Eddie confirmed the transfer over the comm link. “I see it. Five hundred thousand US, coming in from a bank in Zurich. We have his money.”

  The van rolled to a stop. Val turned in her seat. “Just in time, sweetums. We’re here.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-

  FOUR

  MARE’S ORBIT FOREST PRESERVE

  RIVER VLTAVA

  THE DISTANT RATTLE of Finn’s modified air compressor reached the road through the trees. Val slipped the keys under the visor and climbed out with the rest, but neither she nor Talia made any move to lead them to the dig site.

  Atan looked toward the sound. “What are we waiting for?”

  Val yawned. “Our other guest.” She checked her watch and glanced at Talia. “We should have stopped for coffee.”

  “By ‘other guest,’ you mean Malcom Smythe.” Atan spoke the name like a curse.

  Tyler joined him, feigning anger. “Atan and I had to be driven here, kept in the dark, but you gave that British peacock the location?”

  “First money in, boys. Smythe got the ball rolling, so he gets the VIP treatment. He’s been here every day to keep tabs on his investment. But I wouldn’t worry about him having the location. He’s not the sharpest . . . Oops. Speak of the devil.”

  A Land Rover bounced down the road and skidded to a stop mere feet from the van, sending up a cloud of dust. Tyler coughed and waved a hand in front of his face. Talia heard him sneak an admonishment over the comms. “About time you showed up. You were supposed to be here when we arrived.”

  “My apologies,” Conrad said. “Traffic was murder.”

  On the comms, he spoke like a grandfatherly statesman. Stepping out of the Land Rover, he became Malcom Smythe, a pretentious Brit. “Ladies! I’m here. Let’s go unearth my treasure.”

  Atan crossed his arms. “Your treasure?”

  Conrad ignored him. “Winston, hurry it up. Time’s a wasting.”

  The driver, who had gone to the back of the Land Rover, reappeared with a large, black apparatus.

  I want you to object to his presence.

  Why would I do that?

  You’ll know when you see him.

  Talia did. Conrad’s guest had brought a camera rig. “You!” she shouted. “Put that away!”

  The driver hefted the rig onto his shoulders and gave her a Who, me? look.

  Talia could swear she recognized him. But from where? Her eidetic memory rarely left her drawing such a blank. The result was annoyance and frustration, exactly what Tyler wanted. “A cameraman?” she said to the fake Smythe. “Are you insane! We said no press.”

  Atan strode over, with Janos close at his heels. “I warned you, did I not? This man is . . . How do you Americans say it? A glory hound.”

  Conrad raised a dismissive hand. “Relax. Winston is not ‘the press.’ He’s here to get a few jittery shots for my blog. No identifying landmarks. Follow me, everyone. Onward.” He passed them by, leading the way into the trees—in completely the wrong direction.

  Val caught up to him and corrected his heading. “Th
is way, Malcom. Same as yesterday. Same as every day this week.”

  Nearer to the site, a shouting match overpowered the compressor’s rattle. Finn and Eddie looked like they might come to blows. The geek crossed his arms and shook his head. “I’m telling you, it’s too dangerous.”

  “And I’m telling you, this is what subs are for, mate. They go where divers can’t.” Finn flicked the rounded metal frame of the ROV. “Now send this little Sheila down, or I’ll toss her in myself.” He pushed his face closer to Eddie’s. “And maybe I’ll toss you in too.”

  The geek didn’t back down. “Go easy, mate. That’s a quarter-million-dollar rig you’re smacking around. And she’s a rental.”

  “Hey,” Val said. “What’s the problem here?”

  “You want to show her?” Finn thrust his chin at the screens. “Or shall I?”

  “Like you could.” Eddie fiddled with a keyboard and mouse to bring up a sonar image—the one he’d told Talia was a school of mackerel. “This right here. This is the problem.”

  By appearances, the fake Smythe and Winston could not have cared less. They busied themselves looking for good camera angles. But Atan took an instant interest. “What is this we are looking at?”

  “I’ll tell you”—Eddie shot a look at Finn—“because he can’t tell a marine sonar from a sonogram. This is a river cave, with a big metallic signature deep inside.”

  Val made some late introductions. “Taner Atan, meet Edward Fyers and Phineas Scrug.” She didn’t specify which was which.

  Eddie pointed to himself, then the thief. “Eddie . . . Finn. In case it wasn’t obvious.”

  “So, Mr. Scrug.” Atan narrowed one eye at Finn and his scuba gear. “I take it you are the Australian Miss Macciano mentioned in my coin vault. I thought you said he worked in security.”

  “I’m something of a jack-of-all-trades.”

  “And master of none.” Eddie reclaimed the group’s attention. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Macciano. As I was just explaining to your diver, we can’t proceed. The cave is too dangerous, even for the ROV.” He launched into a drawn-out explanation of deep river topography and current variations, so animated he had to continually reset his glasses. Atan, reduced from mobster to schoolboy by his desire for the Bavarian Thalers, hung on every word.

  Talia fought back a cringe as he finished the monologue with a honking blow of his nose. He stuffed the handkerchief away and tapped his screen. “River caves are nature’s time capsules, Mr. Atan. The current drives debris in, like the wreckage from a crashed vessel.”

  “Or a lost treasure”—Atan’s smile grew—“perhaps barrels of Bavarian coins.”

  “Sure. The problem is, whatever or whoever goes in”—Eddie glanced at Finn—“stays there forever. The current is too strong for a scuba diver and way too strong for a remote sub.”

  Talia caught Atan holding his breath, enraptured by all their theater. At the riverbank, Finn dropped his vest and tank in the tall grass and sat on a rock overhanging the water. He strapped on his fins. “Maybe I can’t make it out of that cave weighed down with scuba gear, but I can do it freediving.”

  “Finn, don’t,” Val said. “That’s suicide.”

  “Then say goodbye to my mum for me. Her flat’s on Baker Street. South Melbourne.” He dropped into the water.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-

  FIVE

  MARE’S ORBIT FOREST PRESERVE

  RIVER VLTAVA

  TYLER STARED AT THE RIVER’S SURFACE from the ROV station. “Your diver’s been down too long. I don’t like it.”

  Atan regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Why, Mr. Tyler, how compassionate of you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t care less about Mr. Scrug. But I’d rather not answer questions from the Czech authorities if he dies.”

  This wiped the grin from Atan’s lips. He turned to Eddie. “Get him back. Now.”

  A few feet away, on the riverbank, the fake Smythe played to his camera, talking over the rattling compressor. “Will our intrepid diver return with the gold? Will he return at all?”

  Atan spun Eddie around by the shoulder. “I said, get him back.”

  “How? We have no communication.”

  “The sub. Send it down.”

  “And do what? Video the drowning?”

  The Albanian was done arguing. He nudged Tyler and nodded at the sub. “Help me get this into the water.”

  “Why? You heard the kid. The sub can’t pull him out.”

  “Perhaps not. But I have a plan.” Atan snatched up one end of a nylon rope coil lying atop a pile of crates and gear. “We use this.”

  “A lifeline.” Tyler held the sub while Atan secured the rope. “It’s worth a try.”

  This con only works if the mark drives. Val had written the play. Tyler had directed. And now Atan had made himself the hero. With Tyler’s help, he put the ROV in the water and secured the other end of the rope to the steel post of Eddie’s satellite dish. “Drive, Mr. Fyers. Find our man.”

  The whole group gathered around the monitors, except for Smythe, who stayed at the bank, pontificating about the eternal war between the fragility of life and man’s lust for gold. The signal from the rig’s 4K camera popped up on Eddie’s left screen. The murk lessened for a fleeting moment. “There.” Atan pointed. “Go back. I saw a light.”

  “I saw it too,” Val said. “The dive light on Finn’s mask. He’s still alive.”

  But Tyler shook his head. “A light only tells us his battery hasn’t died. I don’t care how good Mr. Finn is. No one can hold their breath this long.”

  The silt flowing past the camera parted like curtains on endless gold half buried in the muck. Atan seemed to forget all about poor Mr. Scrug. He gasped. “Maximillian’s gold. After all these centuries. It’s ours for the—”

  The rope went taut. A light washed out the coins.

  Atan looked from the screen to the water and back. “What is happening?”

  “It’s him.” Val clasped her hands together. “Finn has grabbed the rope.”

  Tyler’s jaw dropped. “It can’t be.”

  “He’s alive,” the fake Smythe declared for his camera. “Man triumphs once again!”

  All eyes watched as the rope slackened, jerked, and jerked again. A gloved hand broke the surface. Finn thrust his head out of the water, sucking in air.

  Atan led the charge as the whole group ran to meet him. Using only one hand, the Aussie dragged himself closer to the bank.

  “But what of the gold?” Atan asked. “We saw it on the camera.”

  Finn lifted a mesh bag heavy-laden with gold and heaved it onto the bank.

  It fell open at Atan’s feet. He scooped up a handful of coins and let them fall between his fingers.

  Smythe moved in with Winston and kneeled at the water’s edge. “Tell us, brave . . . Mr. . . .”

  Finn managed a frown between breaths. “Phineas Scrug. You’ve worked with me every day for a week.”

  “And what a week it’s been. Tell us, Mr. Scrub—”

  “Scrug. With a g.”

  “Of course it is. Tell us, how did you manage to survive that deadly river cave? We all thought you were done for.”

  “Survival’s in my nature, mate.” Finn looked past him and gave the camera a smolder. “Even so, I thought my life was over until the ROV arrived. I had no air, but I still had my wits, right? I shoved Eddie’s rig into the silt as a marker for the treasure and clawed my way back to the light.” He gave the line a sharp tug. “This rope saved my—”

  In his effort to get a moving shot, Winston the cameraman tripped over the rope, pulled taut by Finn’s untimely tug. The added force jerked the post supporting the other end free of the soil. Winston jumped out of the way. The satellite dish bounced down the bank and splashed into the water. The rope, the dish, and Finn all went under.

  The air compressor ran out of fuel, ending the rattle, leaving the bank quiet until Val let out a dismayed c
ry. “He’s gone.”

  “Again,” Eddie added.

  A wail of sirens left Atan no time to process Finn’s second disappearance. A moment later, a green police boat appeared at the river bend less than a quarter mile away.

  The fake Smythe stuffed two fistfuls of coins into his vest. “Time to go, Winston.” The two ran off, with the cameraman correcting Smythe’s heading as they hit the trees.

  As the police boat closed the distance, Janos took cover behind a cluster of boulders and drew his gun. Talia picked up a dive tank and smashed it down on his arm. The .45 dropped into the water.

  Janos turned on her, but Tyler bodychecked him and the three tumbled into the mud.

  Tyler pushed himself away from the bodyguard. “Are you crazy? This is bad enough without you shooting at the cops.” He grabbed a handful of coins and shook them at Val. “Consider my five hundred thousand your payment for these. I’m out of here. Malcom, wait up!”

  Cued by Smythe and Tyler, Atan grabbed the mesh bag with the rest of the coins. “And you may consider my half million payment for these.” In the distance, the Land Rover started up and roared away. The other two had left him behind. Atan shrugged. “Apparently, it is also payment for your van.”

  “Our van?” Val asked.

  He ran off with Janos. “You should not have left the keys in the visor.”

  By the time Talia heard the van motor rumble to life, the boat had coasted up to the shore. A black woman standing on the bow held a rifle pressed to her shoulder.

  “Ruce vzhůru! Nehýbejte se!” she said in Czech, then repeated herself in English. “Hands up! Don’t move!”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-

  SIX

  RABYNĚ HYDRODAM COMPLEX

  RIVER VLTAVA

  28 KM SOUTH OF PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC

  “I SHOULD WIN AN ACADEMY AWARD for that performance.” Finn piloted the boat while Darcy, still in her Czech police uniform, washed the policie české republiky seals and stenciling from the hull. White water-based paint ran down the sides into the river.

  Val snorted. “No. You were amateurish and melodramatic. Conrad deserves the award. He played a real and very public figure in the numismatist community, and Atan bought every word.”