The garage was dark and empty. Just a few zones were illuminated by security lights. Zeke had to suppress a shudder when the tall Italian stepped out of the gloom and set a heavy silver attaché case on the pavement. In his gravelly voice, the man whispered, “This is for you.”
The younger man’s body tingled with excitement. He visualized opening the case and counting the banknotes. He’d been promised more money than he could earn in thirty years working for the Church. The Italian seemed to be waiting for him to make a move. Nodding, Zeke stepped forward and smiled obsequiously. “I’m happy to be of service,” he said. “Of course, now that our business is concluded, I think it’s best that we never meet or speak again.”
Even muffled by a silencer, the gunshots echoed in the vacant concrete building. The first bullet pierced Zeke’s skinny neck. The second shattered his jaw. In agony, he fell to the wet pavement and rolled onto his back, gasping.
Roderigo advanced until he loomed over his target, covering the dying man with shadow. He raised his weapon and fired again.
“We won’t.”
Together, Paul and Ava opened the second titanium canister and withdrew the lid. To her delight, it too contained a golden disk. The artifacts were almost identical, although their markings weren’t perfectly matched. Ava set them side by side on the table. Then she collapsed onto the bed.
“What now?” asked Paul.
Ava sighed. “I don’t know. My brain is kaput. First thing tomorrow I’ll go online and try to determine exactly what the heck we’ve discovered. I’m out of my depth. I can’t process all the ramifications.”
“Maybe because someone tried to murder us a few hours ago?”
“Maybe. I was so scared. That man—”
Paul interrupted. “Listen, I need to say something. I’m incredibly sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not your fault!”
“Really? Let’s see: I proposed going to the church. I called the bishop’s office. It was my brilliant idea to give the assistant our contact number, and I’m the one who agreed to meet that bastard in private, at night, in the freaking catacombs—”
“And I’m the one who forgot to thank you for saving my life.”
Paul shrugged. He glanced at the clock: four in the morning. Rubbing his eyes, he walked to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and looked out. Lights from Manoel Island Fortress reflected on the water. Everything was closed. The usually busy avenues were empty. Still, someone could be out there, watching the hotel. After a few moments, he said, “I’m very glad you’re okay, but it doesn’t count as saving you when it was my fault you were in danger.”
When Ava didn’t respond, Paul looked over at her. She was fast asleep.
He stayed awake all that night, watching over her. An hour after sunrise Ava’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at Paul and smiled. Then, noting the time, her expression changed to one of annoyance. “Why did you let me sleep so long?”
“I thought—”
“Oh, never mind. Let’s get moving.”
They dressed and walked down to the lobby. While Paul ordered breakfast (coffee, tea, pastry, and orange juice), Ava tried to access the Internet. Unfortunately, the ISP was down. Refusing to admit defeat, she marched out to a pay phone and rang Professor Clarkson. Though surprised by her call, he agreed to meet her at the university in a few hours. She hung up, collected Paul, and led him back upstairs. Once the hotel-room door was locked, Ava removed the golden disks from their hiding place. While they ate, she reexamined the objects. Both disks had delicate, etched rings radiating from the center. Around the edge, she found on each a chain of tiny symbols. Then she noticed an interesting difference. The first disk’s center was marked with a pair of symbols:
X
The second disk, however, was etched with:
P
She showed Paul.
“I recognize X and P, but what’s the box thing?”
“It could be the Star of Lakshmi.”
“Come again?”
“A Hindu symbol that represents Ashtalakshmi, the eight forms of wealth.”
“Hmm. The disks are gold. I suppose it’s appropriate.”
“A better guess might be Rub el Hizb.”
“What in God’s name is that?”
“It’s Arabic. Rub means ‘lord,’ ‘nourisher,’ or ‘protector.’ Hizb means ‘group.’”
“I don’t know anything about that, but I know X stands for ten in Roman numerals. Does P stand for anything?”
“In medieval Roman numerals, P means four hundred.”
“Huh? How can there be medieval Roman numerals?”
“Don’t ask. Besides, these artifacts predate that system. Forget I said it.”
“I already did.”
Ava laughed. “Of course, P could be rho. In Greek numerals, rho represents one hundred. Or it could stand for radius.” She paused. A little bell was ringing in her subconscious, but she couldn’t identify it. “Anyway, it’s time to go.”
As she gathered her things, Paul wrapped the two treasures in cotton cloth, concealed them inside pillowcases, and loaded them into his backpack. Surreptitiously, he grabbed his hunting knife. He suspected it was illegal to carry it here, especially on campus. Ava probably wouldn’t approve, but a weapon might come in handy.
He turned to her, “Are you ready?”
Ava didn’t respond. She was rooted to the floor, staring at the satphone. Its new message indicator was flashing. Ava dashed across the room, snatched the phone off the windowsill, and opened the text message from durmdvl. “Your location is not secure,” it said. “Obtain a disposable cell phone and call me ASAP. 919-555-3253.”
Shaded by an aluminum umbrella, Nick sipped his Bloody Mary and reclined on the chaise longue. It was ten o’clock. He’d watched the morning’s gentle sun intensify. Soon it would burn fiercely. He scanned his messages: nothing yet from Sinan. He ignored all other calls. He turned off the phone and told the steward to send him a second cocktail. It promised to be a long afternoon.
Resting his head against the canvas, he opened the newspaper. Nick read for a half hour before he sensed someone approaching. He lowered the paper and scanned the beach. A teenage Egyptian was slowly making his way across the sand. The boy drew near but rather than take sanctuary beneath the umbrella, he waited at a polite distance. Nick dipped his head and regarded the visitor over his Ray-Bans. He looked harmless. Nick smiled. He motioned for the kid to approach.
“Care to have a seat?”
The courteous teenager sat and then said: “You are Mister Nick? From Alexandria?”
Nick pushed up his sunglasses again and said, “Sorry, kid. Wrong guy. I’m from Texas.”
The boy made a face. “You are not the friend of Paul and Miss Ava?”
Nick’s smile evaporated. “Who wants to know?”
“My boss seeks them. It’s very important. He begs to ask where they’ve gone.”
“Nope. Never heard of ’em. Y’all got me mixed up with someone else. I’m just an American tourist in for the regatta.”
The boy looked suspicious.
Nick relaxed, opened his paper, and said, “Hey, there are a lot more umbrellas, kid. Keep asking around. Somebody out here must know.”
Scowling, the teenager took off. Nick waited an appropriate interval before finishing his drink, pocketing his phone, and sliding his feet into his sandals. After scanning the beach in both directions, he stood and set off for the hotel at a brisk pace.
Halfway back he encountered the overworked waiter toting an enormous tray of drinks. With one smooth motion he snatched his off the tray and left two hundred-pound notes in its place. The waiter called after him, offering change. “Keep it,” said Nick. “I have to run.”