The pair exited the dive shop and met up with O’Neil and Silva.
“We have our lead—two, in fact: his favorite dive spots and the name of his…associate,” said Alton. “Now to track down those cenotes and see if Cruz is in one of them.”
CHAPTER 14
Motionless air baked the sidewalk late into the day.
Mallory quickened her pace, and not simply because she’d rather not be late to her own meeting with her teammates and Cornick. Sergeant Pineda had spotted her from the Zapopan Basilica’s external corner and set off on an intercept course.
Mallory sped up again.
Too late. Pineda came alongside her and grinned. “How are you this morning, señorita?”
When guys in the U.S. came on to her, they usually did so in a more subtle way, one less likely to get them reprimanded or fired. But here…?
“Señorita?” said Mallory. “You know, for a policeman, you’re not very observant. Or do you just not care that I’m wearing a wedding band?”
“You wound me. Yes, I see the ring. But your husband, he is disabled, no? Don’t you want a real man?”
Mallory stopped and fixed the man in an icy stare. “He’s killed guys a lot tougher than you. So have I.”
Pineda’s smile faded. “Don’t forget, you’re not a police officer outside your country. You don’t have any power here. I do.”
“I don’t give a shit if you’re the presidente of Mexico. You’re not putting your hands on me.”
The policeman leaned in close. “And if I do?”
“I’ll start with a kick to the juevos. Back off, asshole. I promise you’re not nearly as attractive as you think you are.”
Pineda’s eyebrows bunched into barely contained rage. “And you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
Mallory set off for the basilica again, leaving Pineda to stew in his anger.
Her heart raced, and her palms felt as moist as her mouth felt dry. She’d have to keep an eye on Señor Pervert—and warn Mastana to do the same.
Mallory entered the church. The others waved to her from the altar in front of the great room. She fought to gather herself. By the time she reached them, her vital signs had started to return to normal.
From time to time, repair noises and the shouts of workers echoed through the cavernous room.
Mallory took a seat at the table with the others. “I got your message about not needing a ride,” she told David, “but how did you all get here?”
“We came with Agents Silva and O’Neil,” cut in Mastana as she booted up her laptop. “They were already coming in to check the perimeter of this building. Alton wanted them to make sure it’s safe from looters.”
Mallory nodded. “You said you found something?”
“Yes,” replied Mastana. “After you told us about the black market for stolen Aztec artifacts, I sent an e-mail to Kevin. He said the same thing happens with Aboriginal ones. He knows how to look up those black websites, ones used for selling things that are stolen. We both figured we’d help you look for those sites and found this.” She swiveled her laptop around so the others could see.
The screen displayed the image of a mottled camel-and-white ceramic plate on which a tawny, dancing figure had been painted.
Cornick studied the photograph. “That’s Centeotl, the Aztec maize god.”
“Does the piece look legit?” asked Mallory.
“Oh, yes. I’d have to see it in person to be absolutely sure, but all the hallmarks are there.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
“Is it from one of your digs?” she asked.
Cornick studied the photo, longer this time. “Hard to say. It could be, but thousands of Aztec artifacts have been discovered over the years. This one’s too generic to identify a specific point of origin.”
“You don’t have photos of the artifacts you’ve personally found?” asked Mastana.
“I do, but I can tell you that over the years, I’ve seen a good two dozen plates that look virtually identical to this one. I’d like to be able to tell you this is absolutely mine or not, but I can’t.”
“I see.” Mastana pushed a strand of hair behind an ear. “Do you label the artifacts you find?”
“Yes, with sticky notes,” said Cornick. “But they’re on the back of each object.”
Exhaling, Mallory steepled her hands. “So someone’s marketing stolen Aztec goods. We know they’re stolen or they wouldn’t be on a black site. But we don’t know if they’re from either of Dr. Cornick’s digs. How do we go about answering that question?”
“I might be able to help with that,” said Cornick. “I did some checking, too. Guess what’s leaving out of Miami in two days? A Panama Canal cruise. It’s one of those themed cruises—in this case, the theme being the auctioning of rare antiquities. The only cruise of this kind all year.”
“Remind me how that helps us,” said David.
Cornick grinned, looking rather proud of the practical knowledge he had scraped together. “If you were trying to unload hot artifacts, what better place to do it than on a ship-full of potential customers who are on board for that very reason? Surely some of them wouldn’t be above buying items of…questionable origin.”
“I see what you’re saying,” said Mallory, “but there are lots of other ways a person can fence stolen artifacts, aren’t there?”
“Indeed,” said Cornick.
“I don’t have the manpower to send someone off to investigate a long shot like that—not without better evidence. We don’t even know for a fact that anything’s been stolen from your site.”
The archeologist looked a bit crestfallen. Apparently, his information hadn’t provided the breakthrough he had expected. “I see. You’re right, of course. So what do you suggest now?”
“Dinner,” said Mallory. “It’s been a long day, and I think we all need a break.”
“I hear that,” said David. “I’m starving.”
Mastana giggled. “You are always hungry, Father.”
“Hey, a man’s got to eat,” protested David with a grin.
“Care to join us, Dr. Cornick?” asked Mallory.
“No, thank you. I have to finish excavating the last piece of a plate set down below if I’m going to have any hope of staying on track.”
“Can I ask you a question before you go?”
“Certainly.”
“Alton told me Dr. Salazar’s assistant reported a threat from the gang members who own the nearby warehouse. She said they threatened you, too. Is that right?”
The archeologist’s eyes clouded over. “They certainly did. Just days before Harry disappeared, they said they’d kill anyone who approached their property.”
“Did you warn Dr. Miller of this?” asked Mallory.
“No, but I wish to dickens I had. But Adriana did tell me that Harry received a similar warning, so at least he knew as much as I did. That’s some recompense, I suppose.” The scientist looked haggard.
“Yes, I don’t think there’s anything more you could have done,” said Mallory. “Thanks.”
The investigators took leave of the scientist and threaded their way around repair equipment packed into the church’s main aisle before exiting out the front door.
As they passed through the basilica’s shroud of tarps, Mallory met Pineda’s steely gaze. The policeman’s mood didn’t look to have improved.
Mallory shook her head at the irony of this predicament. If Alton had steered her away from the drug-cartel team to keep her out of danger, he had inadvertently pointed her towards a new, unexpected variety.
But no worries—she could take care of herself.
CHAPTER 15
After polishing off steak and chicken dinners at “La Vaca,” the investigative team sat back in their chairs, enjoying a break from the rush of the day’s activities. Waiters scurried by, and the familiar sounds of cutlery and conversation filled the cozy restaurant.
During the meal, each team had
briefed the other. Now Alton and Mallory sat in reflective silence, digesting not only their sirloin but the implications of their combined efforts.
“Cornick is checking his inventory of artifacts,” said Mallory. “There are a handful missing. He thinks they’ve probably been misplaced, but what if they weren’t? What if someone helped themselves?”
Mallory watched her husband stirring his after-dinner coffee with a lazy spoon.
“I can see the wheels turning,” she said. “What are you thinking about?”
“That cruise Cornick mentioned,” replied Alton.
“You think we should go on it? What about the investigation here?”
“You and I shouldn’t go. But what if we sent a couple of team members that haven’t been quite as engaged?”
“I know you don’t mean David and Mastana,” said Mallory. “Fahima would kill you for even suggesting that. You’re talking about Silva and O’Neil?”
At the mention of their names, the agents peered on in interest.
“Exactly,” said Alton. “They joined the team to help provide extra security, but between the police and the hired guards, the dig sites are pretty well locked down. Maybe they’d be put to better use following up on this lead.”
“A cruise, you say?” said O’Neil with a smirk. “Who’d want to volunteer for that assignment?”
“I hate to burst Daniel’s bubble,” said Silva, “but he and I don’t know the first thing about artifacts. Who’d believe we’re there to buy them?”
Alton ran his hand through his hair. “I think you could pull it off. They’re not going to ask you to give a lecture about it. All you have to do is bid. And as far as that goes, the opening bid and other bidders’ level of excitement will give you a sense of how valuable items are. Besides, you wouldn’t be there to actually buy anything. You’d just be there to check it out.”
“Dr. Cornick said some artifacts cost a lot of coin,” said Silva. “Who’s going to believe me and O’Neil could afford stuff like that? We don’t exactly look the part. I’m pretty sure he didn’t bring any pants fancier than jeans with him on this trip.”
O’Neil gave an acknowledging shrug. Sue me.
“You raise good points,” said Alton. “I’m confident you all could pull off the charade. But if you’re going to attract black-market dealers, we’ll have to present you as wealthy buyers—nice clothes, ritzy cabin, that kind of thing. Would you be game for that?”
O’Neil grinned. “I’m here to serve.”
“We’ll give it a try,” said Silva. “Like you said, me and Daniel aren’t doing much here. Not as much as we’d like.”
“Good,” said Alton. “I’ll jump on the horn with Vega. His staff can make the arrangements and wire the funds.”
“What are you going to tell Cornick?” asked O’Neil.
“My first thought was to tell him we’re using his idea, but Lieutenant Vasquez told me earlier today that the cartels bribe government officials to look the other way. That could be happening here. If the police are guarding the site, how would some artifacts be disappearing? Seems like the only way that could happen would be if someone looked the other way again. Or maybe someone’s bribing the hired guards.
“In either case, the more people outside this team who know about Silva and O’Neil’s mission, the greater the likelihood their cover will be blown. I say we tell everyone they were called home to work another case."
“Even Cornick?”
“Yes. He’s a scientist, not a government agent used to keeping secrets. If he slips up and tells someone, it won’t take long for word to get out. And if the wrong person finds out, they’ll give a heads up to their black-market friends on the cruise. That’d be dangerous for Silva and O’Neil themselves, not just their mission.”
“I think I can handle the dangers of a cruise,” said O’Neil. He glanced at Silva and grinned. “Didn’t think we’d ever be taking an assignment like this.”
“You’ll be there to identify the criminals and retrieve any stolen artifacts,” said Alton. “Not lounge in the sun.”
“One other thing to keep in mind,” added Mallory. “Don’t get complacent. Any criminals you find are probably dangerous. If someone’s selling artifacts stolen from Dr. Cornick’s dig sites, they’re most likely involved with the crimes against his team members.”
CHAPTER 16
On the afternoon of the following day, Daniel O’Neil scooted his rolling suitcase over until it sat flush with the cabin wall. The Gucci luggage constituted one of many items Vega had lined up to sell his and Jessica Silva’s “wealthy buyer” image. He wondered if they’d be allowed to keep the accoutrements, luxuries their government paychecks didn’t accommodate.
“I told you I’d help with the suitcases,” scolded Jess.
“I’m fine. I can barely feel the injuries anymore.” Not entirely true, but he wasn’t going to be caught letting his petite companion roll his carry-on suitcase through the halls of a cruise ship.
The cabin’s opulence matched that of the luggage. Unlike most cruise-ship berths, this one provided room to breathe. Near the door, a sofa and chairs accented in cherry wood encircled a matching coffee table. Adjacent to the cabin’s floor-to-ceiling window, a lush queen-sized bed lay bathed in soft light. Mirrors behind the bed lent the room a more spacious feel.
O’Neil strode across the carpet and pulled back the window’s sheer to reveal an expansive balcony, complete with a round, aluminum table and two chairs. He and Jess sauntered into the space and looked over the rail. On the ground far below, fork lifts hauled pallets of supplies through yawning hatches in the hull. Meanwhile, a steady stream of cruisers made their way onto the ship via a gangway on deck eight. Further in the distance, groves of palm trees and dozens of smaller watercraft provided a tropical contrast to the cluster of ultra-modern buildings comprising Miami’s glass-and-steel downtown.
Jess raised her eyebrows. “Nice.”
“You know,” said O’Neil, turning to his partner with a grin, “I’ve been wanting to get you in a place like this for a while.”
“Do tell.”
“A luxury ship…visiting exotic locations. Not a bad spot to bring a beautiful lady.”
A mischievous glint appeared in Jess’s eyes. “Too bad the docs limited your…um…physical activities, huh?”
O’Neil grimaced. “Tell me about it.”
“But there’s more to life than that,” she said, wrapping her wrists around his neck and breaking into a sweet smile. “Tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”
Twenty minutes later, the couple emerged from their cabin. The delay hadn’t impacted their mission too much. And it had certainly energized O’Neil. He hadn’t violated his doctor’s orders, but he had enjoyed himself. And so had his lovely companion, judging by the gleam in her eye.
He took Jess’s hand and led her to a sprawling buffet restaurant at the aft end of the ship. More floor-to-ceiling windows provided a 180-degree view of both the port and the endless expanse of ocean into which they’d soon set sail.
O’Neil loaded fresh pineapple, melon, salad, and a roast beef sandwich onto his plate and found a relatively secluded table along the glass wall.
“Too bad Sam and Katie aren’t here,” he said, referring to the two children he’d raised by himself since his wife’s untimely death from cancer three years earlier. “They’d love this.”
“They would if we were here to relax. But we’re not.”
“We should make a return trip sometime, all four of us. Take a legit vacation.”
“I’d like that,” said Jess before leaning in close. “No problems with the tracer?”
“No,” replied O’Neil, referring to the handgun he had concealed—disassembled—in his luggage. The pistol, constructed via a 3D-printer, represented the state of the art of plastic weapons—the finest the NSA could produce. Its unique construction had enabled it to slip through the ship metal’s detectors without a hitch.
&nb
sp; “I still wonder if we should have cleared it with the captain,” said Jess. “If the crew discovers it, they’ll kick us off the ship. So much for our mission.”
“Not necessarily,” said O’Neil. “We can say we planned on carrying some of our high-end purchases off the ship and wanted to protect ourselves. And if push comes to shove, we can always tell the captain about our true purpose here. But I’d do that only as a last resort.”
Jess looked up from a bite of cantaloupe with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”
“Same reason I didn’t want to tell him ahead of time. If we’d done that, he’d have to tell his embarkation staff to let us through. Likewise, if the pistol is discovered during the cruise and we tell him why we’re really here, he’ll have to tell his officers what’s up.”
“And that’s bad why?”
“The Army is a closed society. I figure cruise ships would be the same.”
“Closed society?” asked Jess.
“Nothing stays secret for long. So even if the captain tells just one or two of his top officers, in twenty-four hours every crew member on this ship will know about our true mission. And if there are any black market organizers here, they’ll avoid us like the plague.”
Jess nodded. “Yep. That sounds like my old Army unit.”
O’Neil laughed. “Exactly. So we lock and load—and hope we don’t have to use that thing.”
After an afternoon of mandatory muster drills and a steak-and-lobster dinner in the “Emeralds” dining room, O’Neil and Jess made their way towards the ship’s theater, site of the introductory presentation for those who planned to attend the auctions.
O’Neil slowed as the day’s activities began to take their toll on his stamina. The docs were right. He hadn’t yet fully recovered from the wounds sustained in North Korea two months ago.
“You all right?” asked Jess.
“Yeah. Just need to catch my breath. That dinner…” He grinned and patted his stomach.
“Fine with me,” she said, slowing her pace to match his. “I’m stuffed, too.”
The Dig (The Blackwell Files Book 9) Page 7
