The frustration of the United States Ambassador to Mexico was growing by the hour. The staff of the Embassy in Mexico City had been issued specific orders by the Ambassador himself. They were instructed to obtain permission to probe the depths of the temple. John Chapman had gone in and never come out. There was something else there and the United States was going to use every means in its power to find out what.
So far nothing had worked. While sympathetic to the situation, the Mexican authorities refused to be pushed into allowing the FBI or American archaeologists to invasively explore the ancient rooms below the Temple of the Inscriptions. Two calls from the Vice President had done nothing to change the mind of the Mexican government.
Now that he was inaugurated Harrison had the full power of the highest office in the nation. He spoke with the U.S. Ambassador then called the President of Mexico. In the harshest words imaginable Harrison stated his case. It had been seven days since President Chapman disappeared from one of two chambers, both of which appeared impregnable. The FBI had been allowed to scour the walls, ceilings and floors and to use non-invasive devices to attempt to see what lay behind the stones, but the Mexican government would not grant permission to destroy walls or floors in order to ascertain where the President might have gone.
Harry Harrison listened as the President of Mexico responded. The government’s position had not changed, the President said. The tomb and the chamber with the artifact were too archaeologically significant, ancient and fragile to allow tampering, even for something as important as this.
“Realistically, President Harrison,” the leader of Mexico said, “there is no way President Chapman is still inside the tomb. It just defies logic. Somehow he made his way out or was taken away. I assure you that our officials are presently looking into every possibility and checking all means of entering or leaving the structure. But for now that is all I can give you. We will keep trying but we will not allow alteration or destruction of our monument for any reason. Period.”
And there was nothing the United States could do about it.
Chapter Nine
Friday
Eight days after the disappearance
Brian Sadler walked the twenty or so blocks from his Upper West Side apartment to Bijan Rarities, the antiquities gallery he owned on Fifth Avenue. This morning the weather was unseasonably cool for early June but the forecast was for a warm afternoon. Brian enjoyed cutting through Central Park; you avoided a lot of pedestrians on the sidewalks and he found the park peaceful and beautiful as the trees sported new leaves for summer.
He exited the park and walked four blocks south on Fifth Avenue. The buzz and excitement of Manhattan still got to him even though he’d been a resident for several years. He would always be a Texan at heart – they say you can’t take the country out of a boy – but he had adapted very well to life in the Big Apple. He felt fortunate that he had the resources to enjoy everything the city had to offer.
It was almost 8:30 a.m. when Brian unlocked the front door and disarmed the gallery’s elaborate security system. He walked to a massive vault door and entered a series of numbers that would begin the sequence of disarming the time delay lock.
Brian’s second-in-command, Collette Conning, would be coming in around 9:45 – unless he had an early meeting Brian always timed his arrival an hour or so ahead of her. It was his quiet time to read a couple of papers and catch up on email. Most people in their thirties had long since stopped reading the newspaper in hard copy – everyone seemed to get his news online these days – but there was something comforting to Brian about sitting at his desk, reading page after page of the Times and the Wall Street Journal, marking things he would later ask Collette to clip, file or research for him.
Bijan Rarities had expanded dramatically since the days when the gallery’s founder Darius Nazir and Brian had teamed up. Nazir’s untimely death and a generous bequest had given Brian the chance to strike out on his own, leaving the highflying world of stocks and becoming a major player in the rarities markets around the globe. Brian had obtained the Bethlehem Scroll, one of the most significant objects ever discovered. He had engaged his passion for archaeology by visiting remote sites in the Middle East and South America. He and his girlfriend Nicole Farber had gone to Belize and Guatemala to find Mayan artifacts in an ancient city high in the clouds. Things had gotten out of hand quickly – Brian was trapped hundreds of feet below the surface in a Mayan cave and his and Nicole’s subsequent kidnappings could have cost them their lives.
Adventure intrigued Brian. His harrowing experiences only made him yearn for more. Dallas and New York, the cities Nicole and Brian respectively called home, were exciting and fun for him but he frequently found himself thinking how he could get to the places he considered really exciting. Back to the jungle – back to ancient things and the thrill of being on yet another search for antiquities.
He fixed a cup of coffee and sat at his desk. The headlines of both papers spoke of Vice President Harry Harrison’s ascension to the Presidency. Brian read the stories closely because of his personal interest in Harrison. The pictures showed a somber group of attendees, a stoic Harrison raising his right hand as he recited the oath of office and excerpts from the speech he had given to the nation afterwards. Brian had listened to every word of that speech; since it had been given during a busy workday for Brian, he had recorded and watched it in bed last night.
For yet another day, there was no news about the whereabouts of former President John Chapman. It was as though he had dropped off the face of the earth. Several times Brian had been to Palenque and the Temple of the Inscriptions, the place from which Chapman disappeared. Brian had read the stories telling about the strange chamber found below the tomb of King Pakal and the artifact that had been discovered there fascinated him.
But where was President Chapman? He had gone into the temple, descended into its bowels and never returned. The news reporters said the FBI had tried searches with ground-penetrating radar to determine if more chambers existed beside or beneath the one recently discovered. The technology had proven useless because of the building’s solid rock walls.
There had to be another way out. The President hadn’t just vaporized into thin air, so if he went in but didn’t come back up the same stairway, he had to have gone somewhere else. But there was no place else. So far, eight days after his disappearance, no one had discovered what or where that place was.
Hearing five beeps, Brian walked to the vault door, entered a code and unlocked it. He swung it open, revealing a jail-like wall of bars with a gate. Inside the vault were shelves and pedestals with Bijan’s most precious pieces. When Collette arrived, some of these would be moved to the showroom floor for display to the public.
Brian’s office phone quietly rang. He went to his desk and saw a blinking light indicating it was his private line, a number that very few people had. He glanced at his watch – it was just after nine – and picked up the phone.
“Good morning, Mr. Sadler,” a pleasant female voice said. “This is the White House with a call from President Harrison. May I put the call through, sir?”
Brian smiled. “Of course,” he said. She put him on hold.
After less than a minute he heard, “Well hello, Brian. I guess you’ve heard about my promotion.”
“Mr. President, I want to offer congratulations, even though I know it’s a tough way for you to become the Chief Executive.”
“Absolutely. And Brian, when it’s just us we can drop the ‘Mr. President’ stuff? I appreciate your respect for the office but you and I go too far back. And we’ll never hurt each other, will we?”
That made Brian laugh. Since they were roommates at the University of Oklahoma they had joked that each of them had “the pictures” and neither of them could afford to hurt the other. The “pictures” didn’t exist but there were a lot of crazy, stupid escapades the two college friends had done together that the general public didn’t need to know about. And w
ouldn’t.
“No, Harry. We’ll never hurt each other. But I know you’re a busy man – in fact I guess yesterday afternoon you became the busiest man in the world. What do you need from your old roommate? I don’t think there’s much I have that you could use at this point.”
“You’re wrong about that, Brian. The night I became Vice President you asked me not to forget you. And I haven’t. You have something I need. You have to help me find John Chapman.”
Chapter Ten
When Brian Sadler graduated from high school in Longview, Texas and went to Oklahoma University, he had thought about majoring in the subject he found most fascinating – archaeological studies. His father, editor of the local newspaper, had wisely advised him that a major in archaeology might be satisfying and fun but it probably wouldn’t pay the bills. Becoming a university instructor would be the likely result of an archaeology degree. Although he would have liked to be another Indiana Jones, more realistically Brian probably would have struggled to find the time and money to get out of the classroom and into the jungle while trying to keep up with the “publish or perish” demands placed on university professors. So he had majored in finance, a subject that ultimately helped him decide to become a stockbroker.
In June before his freshman year at OU the university sent him paperwork asking if he wished to choose his roommate or be randomly matched. Brian had a couple of friends from high school who were also heading north to Norman, Oklahoma, but he decided he wanted to expand his horizons. He didn’t want to be around his home-town people and the same old routine. He wanted to make new friends and have new experiences. So he opted for a random match. Within two weeks he received the name of his roommate in a letter from the university. And his father was impressed by the name he read: William Henry Harrison IV from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
“Do you know who William Henry Harrison III is?” Brian’s father asked him after reading the letter.
“I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he a Senator or something?”
“He is in fact the senior Senator from the state of Oklahoma. He’s a great-grandson several times removed of William Henry Harrison, the ninth president and the first to die in office, and also of Benjamin Harrison, our twenty-third president.”
Brian’s dad was a history buff and he knew his presidents. He went on to point out that Brian’s roommate was undoubtedly the Senator’s son. At his mother’s suggestion, Brian sent Harrison a brief note telling him about himself and saying they’d meet at OU in a few weeks. He got a short note back in an almost illegible script. It said, “Call me Harry. See you soon. Boomer Sooner!”
When Brian and his parents arrived at the university on move-in day they found a tall skinny boy standing in Brian’s assigned dorm room at Adams Hall, the tower reserved for freshmen. The boy’s parents were there too – Brian recognized his roommate’s father from pictures Brian’s dad had shown him.
“Senator,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Brian Sadler. And you must be Harry.” Brian and Harry shook hands vigorously.
The boys’ mothers introduced themselves and sat on one of the twin beds, talking about how to arrange the tiny room and then making it happen. The ladies had spoken by phone a couple of weeks earlier and had picked sheets and towels that were the same for both boys. This sort of thing mattered more to girls but the moms wanted the guys to at least have some small sense of order in what would otherwise be the chaos of an all-male dormitory.
Senator Harrison and Brian’s father went downstairs to the parking lot and helped their sons offload boxes and suitcases. They carried them up three flights of stairs rather than waiting on two banks of elevators that were never available due to the crush of eight hundred boys moving in at the same time.
Harry opened a box packed to the brim with CDs. Brian immediately stopped what he was doing and began looking through the titles.
“I brought a lot too,” he told Harry, “but from what I can see we don’t have that many duplicates.” They talked about their favorite singers and songs. They learned they had both been at the Michael Jackson concert in Dallas six months ago, along with twenty thousand others.
After two hours of unpacking, arranging, and rearranging the mothers declared the project basically finished. “Let’s go grab a bite to eat,” Senator Harrison said. Brian’s parents didn’t know Norman at all so they deferred to the legislator’s suggestion, a place called Legend’s that he said was the best in town. As they waited to be seated several patrons who were leaving spoke to Senator Harrison. He had been an Oklahoma politician for over thirty years, serving first as state Senator, then Governor and now in Washington. He was well known and highly respected by many people in this conservative state.
By midafternoon the boys were dropped back at the dorm. Senator Harrison had to catch a flight to D.C. that evening and Brian’s father wanted to get on the road back to Longview. They all expressed enjoyment at meeting and the boys seemed ready for some time to get to know each other away from their parents.
Freshman year went very well for the boys. Although Brian was settled on finance as a major and Harry was interested in political science, their first year was mostly basic courses, pretty much the same for everyone regardless of his ultimate major.
By the time summer came around the boys were fast friends, had joined the same fraternity and committed to room together the next year in the frat house. Brian spent that summer working outdoors at an operating cattle ranch in east Texas his grandfather owned and Harry Harrison was in Washington interning for a Congressman from Arizona who was a good friend of his father’s. Harry and Brian spent their sophomore and senior years as roommates and best friends. The only break in their collegiate time together was when Harry was selected as a Rhodes scholar and spent his junior year in England. Even then he and Brian corresponded weekly, giving each other the latest information in their lives.
After graduation Harry was accepted at Harvard Law School while Brian landed a job as a stockbroker at Merrill Lynch in Dallas. They stayed in close touch as Harry’s career moved up. Harry graduated with honors from law school and returned to Oklahoma City where he was elected a U.S. Representative, the youngest in Oklahoma history. His father retired from the Senate and Harry ran for his seat, winning by a landslide over the Democratic opponent.
While in law school Harry had met a girl named Jennifer Todd who worked for the Department of the Treasury. It was only natural that Brian Sadler served as his best man at the wedding and as godfather to their first child. They had two girls and often kidded Brian about when he was going to settle down and marry Nicole Farber, the Dallas lawyer who wass Brian’s girlfriend.
Not long thereafter John Chapman became the Republican candidate for President and picked Senator William Henry Harrison IV as his running mate. The election was decided by less than a hundred thousand votes and not until well after midnight. Brian Sadler was in Washington for the watch party at the Willard Hotel. By 3 a.m. only two people remained – Brian and Harry shared a celebratory snifter of brandy in Harry’s suite, Secret Service agents standing guard in the hallway and his wife sound asleep in the bedroom next door.
Likewise, Brian was invited to the inauguration and Nicole accompanied him. After a night of dinner and dancing they went back to Harry’s home in Georgetown. Soon Harry would move into Number One Observatory Circle, a beautiful place on the grounds of the U.S. Naval Observatory that had served since the 1970s as the residence of the Vice President of the United States. But that move wouldn’t happen for about a week so the morning after the inauguration party Brian and Nicole, Harry and Jennifer sat in the den of the Georgetown home having breakfast. They laughed about how close the two men had always been and Brian had said, “You’re not going to forget me, are you?”
-----
Brian listened closely as Harry Harrison gave him the few details about President Chapman’s disappearance that were not known to the public. “I need you to come down here to Washington to
morrow,” the President said, “get fully briefed on everything then go to Palenque and see what you can find.”
“Why me, Harry? I’m not a detective. I’m not even an archaeologist. I’m just a guy who dabbles in all that stuff.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re more than a dabbler, Brian. You have a burning interest in Mayan sites like Palenque and you’ve got a good, intuitive thought process. Most importantly, I trust you implicitly. That last part is more crucial than anything right now. You wouldn’t believe some of the strange stories that are circulating around this town. The kooks come out of the woodwork when there’s a mystery. The FBI’s gotten tips ranging from an ancient curse to Al Qaida to someone thinking he’s fallen into a cenote in the jungle. I need to get your input and fast. Every hour that goes by throws this country deeper into confusion. He’s somewhere, Brian. I need to know where. The people need to know where.”
Chapter Eleven
Saturday
Nine days after the disappearance
Brian sat in the First Class lounge at Penn Station at 6:15 a.m., ready to catch Amtrak’s Acela Express to Union Station in D.C. He’d be in the capital by 9:30 and Harry’s appointments secretary had told Brian to watch for FBI agents who would meet him.
The train pulled in to the massive Washington railway station on time. Brian saw two men in black suits approach as he stepped off the train car. “Mr. Sadler, I’m Special Agent Foster,” one said. “And this is Special Agent Farmer.” They both produced IDs that Brian gave a glance.
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 56
