25
Sunday, March 30
McNutt rested his leg on a pile of pillows at the end of his chaise longue. He was wearing pajama pants to cover his bandages, but his shirt was off and his sunglasses were on as he sipped a can of beer next to the pool. He had told the rest of the team what had really happened in China, but Cobb had asked him to keep Papineau guessing for a while. The Cheshire-cat grin on McNutt’s face was the giveaway that he was truly enjoying his task.
‘Oh, be reasonable,’ Papineau said, his voice close to pleading.
‘Not a chance,’ Sarah replied. ‘There was nothing in our original contract that said we needed to share our research with you in the event that you decided to sack us.’
After Papineau’s threat the previous day, Garcia had conveniently ‘lost’ the passwords to the mainframe computer. Though they had tried all night, Papineau and his people couldn’t get back into the system. While Sarah and Garcia had threatened to leave, McNutt had insisted on moving in as part of his injury settlement. He remained armed at all times and dared Papineau to remove him from the compound. Meanwhile, Maggie allowed Papineau to confiscate her handwritten notes, but she refused to translate her personal shorthand or Chinese scrawl for him.
Dressed in a linen suit, Papineau stood fuming by the pool. The thin veneer of civility that he wore like a badge of honor was finally cracking. ‘Miss Ellis, the Rustichello document is not yours to withhold. I urge you to return it at once.’
Sarah looked up at him from the water. Her red bikini matched the color of Papineau’s flustered face. ‘Urge? Did you say urge? What did you mean by that? Is that a threat?’
‘Sounded like a threat to me,’ McNutt called out as he patted his Glock. ‘And I should know, I threaten people all the time.’
‘No,’ Papineau assured her, ‘it wasn’t a threat of bodily harm. I wouldn’t stoop that low – unlike some of you. It was merely to let you know that you’re crossing a boundary. Your recent behavior will forever taint our professional relationship.’
‘You mean the relationship that ended last night when you fired us?’ She paused briefly to slick back her blond hair, which seemed to glow in the sun. ‘Why don’t you just get another copy from the Ulster Archives? Isn’t that where it’s being stored?’
Papineau had tried that already, but Petr Ulster claimed he had temporarily misplaced the original. ‘Be reasonable, Ms Ellis. I’ve paid you fairly for the work you’ve performed. I’ve even offered to pay you for the time you’ve put in on this aborted mission. Now kindly return the digital copy of the Rustichello manuscript, and we shall part on friendly terms.’
‘I’m sorry to say I don’t have a digital copy of the manuscript anymore. None of us do. Hector kept all of the copies for security purposes. He’s inside right now trying to find them.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’
Sarah smiled at him. ‘Why would I lie?’
In addition to the truth about his injured leg, McNutt had also passed along a request from Cobb: he needed the team to buy him some time. He was fine, and he planned to return to Florida soon, but he hoped to talk to some of his sources in Asia before he left. He needed to figure out who had tried to kill them on their rekky.
The decision to lock out Papineau was actually Sarah’s. She knew it would infuriate the man, but she felt he deserved it after he had threatened to fire the entire team even though Cobb and McNutt had just risked their lives in China. Ultimately, she knew that Papineau had the resources to replace the team, but she figured he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t have access to their work.
Papineau sensed he wasn’t getting anywhere with Sarah, so he turned his attention to Maggie, who was sitting quietly in the shade of a palm tree. ‘Ms Liu, please be reasonable.’
Maggie simply shook her head. Despite the nervous tension she felt inside, her face was calm. This had been a dream job for her, and although she wanted to show solidarity with her team members, she really wanted Cobb to return so the mission could continue.
‘But why?’ Papineau asked.
‘Because you put Jack in charge of the team, and he wouldn’t want me to.’
McNutt laughed. ‘Woman has a point, Papi. You did hire Jack.’
Papineau cursed in French and wheeled back toward Sarah. ‘This is all your fault! You have turned them against me. And what did I ever do to you? I paid you a fortune for two simple jobs and asked you to do a third job for an equal fortune. And you treat me like this?’
Just then a man walked out of the trees on the far side of the patio. He held a small backpack in one hand while he strolled casually across the concrete. When he spoke, his voice was soft and level, and it doused the fire in everyone like a bucket of ice water.
‘Jean-Marc,’ Cobb said calmly, ‘you can stand here yelling at my team all day, or we can go inside and get to work. Obviously I’d prefer the latter.’
* * *
Maggie was the first one to follow Cobb into the house and down to the War Room. She wanted to speak to Cobb before the others started bombarding him with questions.
‘Mister Cobb,’ she said softly as she caught up with him on the stairs that led to the War Room. ‘I wanted to apologize for the events in Loulan. If I had known the security guards at the mine would be that aggressive, I would have warned you not to go.’
He smiled at her. ‘Relax, Maggie. It wasn’t your fault. Even the local guide was surprised by the attention we received. That’s one of the reasons that I like to take these rekkys. We get all the bad surprises out of the way early to make it safer for the team when we’re in country.’
‘So you’re not mad at me? Sarah implied you would be furious.’
Cobb laughed as he continued down the stairs. ‘Rookie hazing. That’s her way of welcoming you to the team.’
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief and followed him into the room below. Cobb nodded at Garcia, who had suddenly ‘found’ the passwords to the computer system and was getting everything ready for the briefing. Cobb took a seat next to him as Maggie sat across from them. Sarah entered the room next and sat beside Maggie. The two exchanged a quick laugh about the hazing incident, which made Maggie feel even more welcomed.
Somehow McNutt had made it to the stairs before Papineau, and it was clear to the team that he was going slower than he needed to. He even took extra time at the doorway to fumble with his crutch and shoot Sarah a wink before ambling toward the table.
The moment Papineau entered the room, he started speaking. ‘Where have you been, Jack?’
‘Working,’ Cobb answered. ‘I take it everyone else has been doing their share of that while I’ve been gone, right? Or did you spend all of your time at the pool?’
McNutt groaned as he sat down, then gently set his injured leg on the only remaining empty chair, right before Papineau was about to sit in it. He looked up at the Frenchman with a sheepish grin. ‘You don’t mind, do you? This sucker is starting to itch like Vietnamese crotch rot. I’m gonna need to get at it … unless you’re volunteering.’
Papineau’s face crumpled with disgust, as if the visual might be enough to make him vomit. He stepped back and waved his hand at the chair as if to say, ‘I’ll never sit in that chair again.’ Then he turned his focus to Cobb, who was staring at him once more.
Cobb sat calmly at the head of the table. The message had been sent. There was no more power struggle. These were his people now. He turned his attention from Papineau and looked at each member of the team, one by one.
They were ready to get back to work.
‘Let’s hear what you’ve got,’ he said to Maggie.
‘The Rustichello document is remarkably similar in content – if not in wording – to the surviving texts. There’s a line at the end of the journal that described Lop Nor in China. From that and Rustichello’s own theories, we deduced that the Loulan ruins must have been where Polo had hidden something; whether a clue or the treasure, we weren’t sure. Unfortunately, th
e radar images you sent back were all negative.’
Garcia touched a button on his virtual keyboard, and a series of grainy black and white images filled the main video screen. ‘I know these won’t mean much to you guys, but trust me, what these images show is a bunch of sand and natural rock. Absolutely no treasure.’
‘What about the relics that have been removed from the site?’ Cobb asked.
Maggie answered. ‘They were scattered to different museums and universities, most of which have no online presence. There’s a chance the relics were never properly documented and photographed, or – and my money’s on this one – the people who did the cataloging are all still in the pre-internet age. If you’d like, I could make some calls to China, but after what happened in Loulan I think it would be best if we didn’t announce our interest.’
‘Agreed,’ McNutt said. ‘At least until I’m healthy.’
Cobb nodded. ‘Unfortunately, we have to start somewhere. Where are we with the guard’s journal?’
‘Better news on that front,’ Sarah said as a picture of the gallery and a map of Florence appeared on the screen. ‘The Uffizi Gallery is no slouch when it comes to security, but I think Hector and I have figured out how to get the manuscript. We just have one small problem …’
Cobb stared at her. ‘Which is?’
Garcia answered before she could explain. ‘We’re confident she can acquire the book, but once she’s outside we have no idea how to get her out of Florence. The police and museum security will be on her in about thirty seconds after she grabs the book. I’ve run simulations, and we can’t get her past a half-mile away from the gallery before she’ll be caught.’
McNutt spoke up. ‘Have we considered just buying the book from the gallery? I mean, Papi’s got some big pockets. Hell, so do I for that matter. How much is it? I’ll put it on my credit card and earn some air miles.’
‘We don’t want anyone to know we’re interested in the journal,’ Sarah said. ‘And the sale would likely take longer than tracking down all those Loulan relics. Art sales have more red tape than real estate deals.’
‘Okay,’ McNutt said, looking up at the rooftop of the U-shaped gallery adjacent to the Arno River in Florence. ‘Why don’t we just meet her out front with a car?’
‘We’d be cut off for sure,’ Garcia assured him. ‘The city has started putting in automated bollards. We wouldn’t get very far.’
‘How in the hell are a bunch of robot ducks gonna stop us? I’ll just shoot the fuckers.’
Garcia shook his head in disbelief. ‘I said “bollards”, not “mallards”, you moron. Bollards are metal posts that stick out of the ground.’
McNutt glared at Garcia. ‘Call me “moron”’ again, and there will be something else buried in the ground – and the only post in sight will be my crutch sticking out of your ass.’
‘Anyway,’ Sarah said with a laugh, ‘the museum is located in a very crowded part of the city. We considered motorcycles, but we’re afraid a road pursuit could possibly result in civilian injuries or deaths. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.’
‘What about the sewers?’ Cobb asked.
‘Ewww,’ Sarah said. ‘Definitely not. I’d smell like shit for a week. Besides, the ancient system underneath the city is flooded with water and debris, so it just isn’t safe.’
‘What about the river?’ McNutt asked, pointing to the big screen.
‘What about it?’ Sarah countered.
‘You’re a good swimmer. We can stash some gear, and you can escape underwater.’
‘Believe it or not, that’s actually been tried before. The security team at the gallery now has scuba equipment on hand in case someone tries it again.’
Cobb stared at the screen, noting some renovations that were being done to the exterior of the museum. ‘How current is this picture?’
‘It’s from earlier today,’ Garcia answered.
‘And the construction, is it scheduled to end anytime soon?’
‘Nope. Not for another month.’
‘Good,’ Cobb said with a smile. ‘Then I have an idea that just might work.’
26
Monday, March 31
Special Agent Rudy Callahan was thrilled to be out of his private dungeon at the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building in New York – even if that meant flying to Florida at roughly the same time that half of the state’s population was flying to New York.
Or at least it seemed that way.
Most of the snowbirds left Florida right after baseball spring training, returning to their main homes in Pennsylvania, Michigan, Canada, or wherever else they might have come from. The temperature and the humidity would steadily increase in the next few months until the summer weather became oppressive, and they had no desire to experience it.
But Callahan didn’t mind the heat.
After all, he had spent the last several months in Hell.
Thankfully all of that ended with a strategic move on his part. Although he was still on the FBI’s shit list after the fiasco in Brighton Beach, he had taken his findings about Jack Cobb straight to the Assistant Director of Counterintelligence in Washington, bypassing several key people in the chain of command in New York: a serious violation of Bureau protocol. He’d kept his partner’s name out of it initially, just in case the blowback destroyed his career.
Luckily, the Assistant Director’s political aspirations took priority over everything else. She was thrilled with the connection that Callahan had made between the mess in New York and the bombing in Egypt and had praised him for his tenacity and his initiative in bringing the case straight to her. She immediately took Callahan and his partner Jason Koontz off probation, pulled them out of the New York office, and reassigned them to her department in Washington where they would delve deeper into the mysterious former soldier in the video.
No more endless days of torture.
No more agents making fun of their past blunder.
Things got even better when Callahan’s request to place Cobb on the Transportation Security Administration’s watch list had paid off immediately. In a stroke of luck, Callahan had received a phone call from an agent at the Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood International Airport who remembered seeing a man who looked like Cobb before the alert had posted. The TSA didn’t have any clear photos of the man but, based on the way that the suspect avoided the airport’s cameras, Callahan was positive that it was Cobb.
Koontz wasn’t quite as confident as his partner, but he had been more than willing to join him in Florida. Not only was Callahan responsible for getting them out of the doghouse, but Koontz was also looking forward to some sunshine. He wondered if Cobb was a regular at any of the local beaches where models and strippers worked on their tans.
He would have to interview them all, just to be sure.
Callahan drank his morning coffee at their hotel near the Fort Lauderdale airport while waiting for his partner’s arrival. The plan was to track down some leads and interview the TSA agent before he and Koontz headed south to work temporarily out of the Miami field office. He looked around the empty dining room with its fading white paint and wallpaper borders of palm trees and dolphins and couldn’t help but smile. The room hadn’t seen an overhaul since the early 1990s, but at least he wasn’t in the windowless office in New York.
While Callahan ate a bowl of freshly picked fruit salad – the most satisfying breakfast he’d had in months – Koontz came rushing into the dining room. His dress shirt was half buttoned, and his tie was draped around his neck.
‘Rudy! We got him,’ Koontz shouted.
‘Got who?’ Callahan asked.
‘Cobb! He’s at the airport right now.’
Callahan snagged his jacket from the back of his chair and bolted toward the parking lot. He had figured it would take weeks, if not months, to spot Cobb again.
Somehow they had found him in less than a day.
* * *
Callahan revved the engine of the Jeep Grand
Cherokee as they sped toward the airport while Koontz continued to get dressed in the passenger seat.
‘Who spotted him?’ Callahan demanded.
‘The AFSD called the Miami office—’
‘That’s what again?’
‘Um … A Fucking Short Detective,’ Koontz guessed as he tucked in his shirt. ‘Anyway, he placed the TSA agent who originally spotted Cobb on surveillance duty. You know, monitoring the main airport entrance cameras, the gates, and parking structures. I guess they figured if Cobb returned, that guy might spot him easier than anyone else.’
‘Huh,’ Callahan grunted. ‘I always thought TSA just did the security check and airport employees manned the cameras.’
‘Don’t be stupid. They’re too busy stealing shit from the luggage to do anything else.’
Callahan laughed. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘Anyway, the guy spots Cobb in a van with a few other people. They were headed for the private plane terminal. We don’t have permission to ground their plane, but TSA said they would try to stall them for as long as they can.’
‘Good. That’s good.’
‘Still,’ Koontz said, ‘it would probably help if you drove a little bit faster. Just because you’re a senior citizen doesn’t mean you have to drive like one.’
‘Screw you, Jason.’
‘Only if I can be on top.’
Then the two of them laughed.
After months of boredom, they were finally enjoying their jobs again.
When they reached the security gate, Callahan held his badge out the window and the uniformed security officer opened the boom barrier. Callahan sped directly across the tarmac, swerving around a fuel truck and heading straight for a dark gray hangar. He stomped on the brakes in front of the metal building and threw the SUV in park.
Koontz was already leaping out of the vehicle when a man in a TSA windbreaker approached them from the open mouth of the hanger. He was holding a cell phone in his hand.
‘You the FBI?’ he asked.
‘Special Agents Callahan and Koontz,’ Callahan said, showing his badge.
The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3) Page 13
