The Heretic's Treasure

by Scott Mariani

  And a gigantic risk. He was committed now.

  ‘The money,’ said the Boss. He was a man of very few words, and when he spoke his voice was low and rumbling.

  ‘I can make a downpayment of one million US dollars,’ Kamal said. ‘Cash or wire, whichever way you prefer.’

  ‘The price is twenty million dollars,’ the man on the right said, arching an eyebrow. He was thinner and younger than the leader. His hair was oiled and combed back slickly across his scalp. His left eye was surrounded by a mass of scars, as though someone had once tried to remove it with barbed wire. ‘Cash only. I thought we had already made all of this clear to you.’

  ‘I am concerned that you might be wasting our time here, Mr Kamal,’ said the man on the left, fingering a briefcase on his knee.

  The Boss kept his penetrating gaze locked on Kamal, saying nothing. His big, gnarled hands rested on the table.

  Kamal glanced away. ‘I will have the money.’

  ‘When?’

  That was the question that worried Kamal the most. After all these months, he was still no closer to the treasure. That dog Claudel was going to answer for it one day.

  ‘Soon,’ he said. ‘I will have it very soon.’

  ‘You realise this is highly irregular,’ said the one on the right. ‘There will be a penalty to pay for the delay. An extra five million. As well as a time limit for completion of payment. You understand these terms?’

  Kamal understood them very well. No cash, and the men would show their lack of appreciation in their own particular way. But he was willing to take that risk for what was inside the folder in front of him.

  He opened it and spread the documents out again to look at them. The photographs were black and white prints. The A4 sheets were the technical specifications of the five ex-Soviet warheads that had never made it back after the post-glasnost Russian recall of the nuclear stockpiles in Kazakhstan.

  He ran his eye down the printouts and his heart quickened. Just looking at them brought it all so much closer. Now, at last, reality was dawning. All that he’d dreamed of looked possible. He, Kamal, was going to be the one.

  ‘We would like to know your plans,’ the Boss rumbled. ‘You understand.’ He gave a mirthless smile. ‘We also live somewhere.’

  ‘I understand,’ Kamal replied. ‘Please rest assured that my plans will not pose any risk to you personally.’

  ‘Your proposed targets?’

  Kamal couldn’t hold back the grin that crept over his face as he reached into his jacket and took out a single sheet of paper. He unfolded it and laid it flat on the table. Spun it around with his fingers, and slid it across to show the three men. The Boss drew a pair of thick glasses from his breast pocket and craned forwards to read what Kamal had written in bold black ink.

  It was a simple list. Five names. Five cities.

  ‘My targets in Western Europe and the USA,’ Kamal said quietly. ‘I will wipe them off the face of the planet.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The Claudel Residence, Cairo

  Claudel walked slowly towards where Ben and Kirby sat. ‘Stay in your seats, please. I’ll shoot if you make me.’

  The gun wavered slightly, and Ben could see the man wasn’t used to handling one. But, looking down the barrel of a high-powered assault rifle from across a room with no chance of disarming his enemy, that knowledge was little comfort.

  Beside him, Kirby was gripping the arms of his chair in desperate panic, his face tight and pale.

  Claudel took another step forward and stopped and looked keenly at Ben. ‘You see, Mr Hope, I know who you are.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘My associate, Kamal, told me all about you.’

  There was a long silence in the room. Ben was assessing his options. There wasn’t much to choose from. If Claudel took five more steps in the right direction, there was an outside chance that Ben could launch himself out of the armchair with enough speed and force to take the weapon away from him, or at least deflect its fire until he’d subdued him and got him to the floor. The rest would be easy. But the problem was that Claudel wasn’t coming any closer. At this range, any attempt at disarming him would be pure suicide. He’d be running headlong into a bullet.

  ‘So what happens now?’ he asked. ‘If you wanted us dead, you’d have done something about it by now. That means you want something else.’

  ‘Maybe I just don’t want blood all over my furniture,’ Claudel said.

  ‘Then you wouldn’t have brought us here. You’d have picked a better spot for it. Somewhere the neighbours wouldn’t hear rifle shots going off. So, what do you want?’

  Claudel paused for a few moments before replying, and Ben could see there was a lot of intense thinking going on behind the man’s eyes. He looked as if he was under immense pressure, and just about ready to crack. The AKS muzzle was trembling now, and Ben guessed that it wasn’t just because of the gun’s weight in the man’s hand.

  Then Claudel did something very strange. Keeping the gun aimed straight at Ben, he took a deep breath and said, ‘Please, I need your help.’

  There was another silence. Kirby was glancing frantically from Ben to Claudel, gaping in confusion.

  ‘You have a strange way of asking for it.’ Ben pointed at the weapon.

  ‘I’d put it down,’ Claudel replied. ‘But I’m rather concerned about what you might do next.’

  ‘You think I’d kill you a second later.’

  ‘It crossed my mind.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I’d be too curious to hear what you have to say.’

  Claudel bit his lip and hesitated. ‘I want you to get rid of Kamal for me.’

  ‘Get rid of?’

  ‘What’s the preferred terminology in your profession? Eliminate. Take out. Or do you just say kill?’

  ‘That’s a very peculiar request.’

  ‘This is a very peculiar situation. Will you let me tell you about it?’

  ‘You’re the one holding the gun,’ Ben said. ‘You have the floor.’

  ‘If I put it down, will that make you feel better?’

  ‘It usually does.’

  ‘No tricks?’

  ‘No tricks.’

  Claudel went to lay the assault weapon down at his feet.

  ‘I’d maybe apply the safety first,’ Ben advised. ‘That’s the little pressed steel lever near your right thumb. Push it until it clicks.’

  Claudel did it, then hesitantly put the gun down.

  ‘Now let’s hear it,’ Ben said.

  For the next few minutes, Claudel told his story. He described what he did for a living, and the day in the desert when Kamal had offered him the chance to make a lot of money fencing an incredible antiquities find.

  ‘The smaller treasure,’ Kirby breathed. ‘The stash that Wenkaura put away in a hurry when he was found out. Then we were right. It’s all real.’

  Claudel nodded sadly. ‘Yes, it’s all real. Kamal found it in the Western Desert, purely by chance. He was very quick to figure out that there was a great deal more, hidden elsewhere.’ Claudel went on, explaining how he’d become so inexorably dragged into Kamal’s affairs. ‘He’s a maniac. A reckless, brutal killer. I’ve never feared nor hated any man so much in all my life, and I bitterly rue the day I ever became involved with him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ Claudel said. ‘A professional criminal. A terrorist. He and his men have virtually taken over my life. He even keeps a store of firearms in my wine cellar, and ammunition, and boxes of something called PP-01.’ He pointed in disgust at the gun on the floor. ‘Where do you think I got this? I wouldn’t have such things in the house. I also know he’s working on some kind of plan. He talks about it all the time. It’s what he wants the treasure for, to finance it.’

  Ben’s mind instantly shot back to the day in Morgan’s old flat. You’ll find out soon enough, Kamal had said. You all will. The day is coming.

  ‘What kind o
f plan?’ he asked.

  Claudel shook his head. ‘He’s never discussed it with me. But I’ve heard him speak about it to his men. They’re planning an attack. Something really terrible.’

  And this is why you want me involved.’

  ‘That, but also because I have to be free of this man. He’s like a cancer. I can’t breathe any more. I’m desperate.’

  Ben thought for a moment. ‘I understand your predicament, Pierre. But you’re not the only person under pressure. Why is this my concern?’

  Claudel wiped sweat from his brow. ‘Because Kamal is after the same thing as you, and that’s a problem for you. And because I can help you find it. I know where Wenkaura’s throne is.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Kirby cut in.

  Ben ignored him. ‘Why would you want to help me find it? I’m a rival. You’re hunting for the treasure, so am I.’

  ‘I don’t want anything more to do with the treasure. My life is in pieces. No amount of wealth is worth this. I had a perfectly good business before I got into this situation. Now all I want is for things to go back to the way they were. I want rid of this man. So my offer is this. You agree to free me from him, and I’ll tell you where the throne is.’ He looked levelly at Ben. ‘So, can you help me? Are you capable of this task?’

  ‘You mean, can I kill him?’

  Claudel nodded uncomfortably.

  Ben paused. ‘Yes. I’ll make your problem go away, if you help me find what I’m looking for.’

  Claudel’s face lit up. He suddenly looked five years younger. ‘We have an arrangement?’

  ‘Yes, we have an arrangement. Now, I don’t have time to waste. Where’s the throne?’

  ‘In the private collection of a certain Sam Sheridan. Have you come across that name?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. Who is he, and where do I find him?’

  ‘He’s easy enough to find,’ Claudel said. ‘He’s the US Ambassador in Cairo. He’s also a millionaire and a passionate collector of artefacts from all over the ancient world.’

  ‘How can you be so certain he has the throne?’

  ‘Because I’ve seen it there. His collection is housed within his private apartment at the Embassy. And I happen to know that he’s throwing a big party tonight. It would be a perfect opportunity.’

  ‘Sounds as if you know this Sheridan pretty well,’ Ben said. ‘I think you should pick up the phone right now and get us all invited over to the Embassy party.’

  Claudel shook his head ruefully. ‘I didn’t say I knew him well. I knew his wife very well. A little too well, perhaps. That’s why I could never go there to introduce you to Sheridan. He was the one who caught us. You might say I’m persona non grata in that household.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Ben said. ‘I’m going to that party.’

  ‘How?’ Kirby asked, looking perturbed. ‘Surely not even you would just walk into an Embassy party as an uninvited stranger and demand to inspect a priceless throne.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do,’ Ben said. ‘I’m going to walk right in the front door. But I won’t be asking anyone’s permission for anything.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ Kirby said. ‘Raving. Delusional. How the hell do you think you can get in there? There’ll be massive security all over the place.’

  ‘That’s the whole idea.’ Ben turned to Claudel. ‘Can you provide me with a plan of the building?’

  ‘I know exactly where you need to go,’ Claudel replied. ‘I’ve sneaked up the backstairs to visit Eloise Sheridan often enough to know my way around the place.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Kirby, you stay here with Claudel. I have a couple of things to take care of.’

  ‘Things?’ asked Kirby, cocking an eyebrow.

  ‘Things you don’t need to know about. But first, I want to visit the wine cellar.’

  Claudel looked mystified. ‘Why? You want some wine?’

  ‘You have very good wine, Pierre,’ Ben said. ‘But I’m more interested in PP-01.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Garden City, Cairo

  That evening

  At one time in Cairo’s not-so-distant past, the quiet, leafy district just south of the city centre had been the urban playground of the Egyptian social aristocracy; now it was the high-security home of the British and US Embassies, the American University and several luxury hotels. It was just after seven-thirty when Ben and Kirby walked out of the lobby of the Nile Hilton, both wearing black tuxedos. Ben’s was an expensive item on loan from Claudel’s own wardrobe, and it fitted perfectly. Kirby’s had been a last-minute rental.

  ‘I feel awkward in this thing,’ he complained as they walked down the tree-lined street. ‘My body’s the wrong shape, or something. Do I look OK?’

  ‘You look like a dosser who just broke into an Armani boutique. But don’t worry about it. Nobody’s going to care.’

  ‘That’s just great.’

  A Rolls-Royce purred by, perhaps delivering guests to the Embassy party, quickly followed by a Bentley

  ‘Capitalist bastards,’ Kirby muttered.

  ‘Coming from a Laird’s son hunting for a billion-dollar treasure.’

  Kirby ignored that. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. The tux isn’t all that’s making me uncomfortable. This party thing is a really, really bad idea. You still haven’t told me how the hell you plan to get us in there.’

  Ben didn’t reply. They were drawing closer to the US Embassy building. Floodlit against the darkening sky, it was a fine, imposing post-colonial mansion standing on the corner of two adjoining streets, surrounded by tall iron gates and overlooked by a mass of surveillance cameras. Palm trees threw long shadows in its elegant gardens, and the Stars and Stripes waved gently in the evening breeze.

  Outside the grand entrance, US Marines stood to attention with rifles. At the front of the gated grounds, guests in evening wear were stepping out of their cars and limousines and showing their invitations to armed security personnel.

  Ben and Kirby were just a few yards from the gates.

  ‘Keep it natural,’ Ben said. ‘Calm down.’

  ‘No way they’re going to let us in,’ Kirby mumbled. ‘Not a chance in a million.’

  Ben glanced up the street that flanked the side of the Embassy grounds. It was empty apart from a white Peugeot parked in the shade of a tree. A two-man security team were standing next to the car, looking through the windows, letting their sniffer dog wander around it to hunt out any suspicious scents.

  ‘See how tight security is?’ Kirby asked irritably as they joined the throng of people at the gates. A laughing woman in a low-cut evening dress brushed by him, and he followed her with his gaze.

  Ben didn’t reply. He watched as the dog returned to its handler and the security team gave up on the Peugeot and moved away. They started walking back towards the corner, into the glow of the floodlights. Ten yards, fifteen, twenty.

  He took out his phone.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ Kirby asked. ‘Why can’t you talk to me? You know, I’m getting pretty tired of the whole Mr Mysterious routine.’

  Ben scrolled down to a preset entry in the phone’s address book and hit the speed dial.

  A sequence of rapid beeps as the phone automatically dialled the number in its memory.

  Then a deafening explosion from the perimeter of the Embassy grounds.

  There was half a second’s stunned silence as people recoiled and whipped around in horror at the blast, and then the screaming and panic and mayhem took over completely. The crowd broke into turmoil as security guards ran everywhere, yelling into radios, tearing out their guns as alarms shrilled. Smoke was pouring out of the white Peugeot and drifting up over the street. Almost instantly, a flood of US Marines poured out of the Embassy building, rifles poised. This is not a drill, their faces said.

  Ben and Kirby were in a sea of chaos as the security staff fought to control the panicking crowd. Kirby’s eyes were huge. �
�What the hell was that?’ he yelled.

  ‘We’re under attack,’ Ben yelled back as a security guard shoved past with a squawking radio. Sirens were already wailing in the distance, and Marines were dousing the Peugeot with fire extinguishers. Ben grabbed Kirby’s sleeve and led him quickly through the mayhem. ‘Follow me and stay close,’ he said in his ear. Kirby looked blank for a second, then understanding dawned. ‘Oh, Christ. It was you.’

  Ben dragged him through the gate. The security personnel and soldiers were all too preoccupied to notice them slip into the grounds, trot across the shadowy lawn to the building and sneak into a side entrance. They found themselves in a back kitchen. The place was empty. Alarms were still screaming all through the building. Ben could hear voices and running footsteps moving in all directions. He guessed that the Ambassador and his wife were already being whisked across town in a high-speed limo convoy, under heavy guard.

  ‘Mind telling me what just happened?’ Kirby rasped.

  ‘Not much,’ Ben said. ‘Just over an ounce of PP-01. That’s what the Serbs call C-4 plastic explosive. Enough to make a bit of a bang, not enough to do any serious damage.’

  ‘You’re insane.’

  ‘Not really. Think of it as doing them a favour. It’ll shake them up a bit, keep the CIA busy for a few weeks. Their security’s not as tight as they think it is.’

  ‘There was a sniffer dog. How did you do it?’

  ‘Sniffer dogs can’t smell through a sack of spices. Now let’s get moving. Try not to get under my feet, OK?’

  They made their way through the Embassy, following Claudel’s layout plan and the directions to get to the Ambassador’s private residence within the huge building. Nobody noticed them move quickly and quietly through the red-carpeted hallways and corridors full of gilt-framed paintings until they reached the backstairs Claudel had described. The scream of the alarms grew a little fainter as they climbed to the third floor. Kirby was red-faced, badly out of breath and gripping the banister rail as they reached the top landing. ‘I’m going to have a heart attack.’