“Spend enough time down here, you’ll find all kinds of strange bedfellows,” Ms. Curtis said.
Sandecker was leafing through a different file. Having read acres of government paper during his lifetime, he knew how to skip past the filler and get right to the heart of the matter. Sandecker’s file was from the Bureau of Investigation. It had a very different take on the Granzini family. “Strong-arm robberies, extortion, tax evasion—the Bureau has the Granzinis pegged as street thugs and gangsters. They were stealing art and antiquities as early as the mid-twenties and smuggling it all out to Europe. Hoover himself made stopping the Granzinis a priority.”
“Sounds like one hand doesn’t know what the other hand is doing,” Ms. Curtis said slyly.
Sandecker nodded. “In 1926 they were suspected of arson, setting a fire in which several people died. A short time later, the leader of the family shot several known associates whom they’d previously worked with. During the getaway, they killed an agent working for the Bureau of Investigation and were briefly listed as Public Enemy Number One.”
“When was that?” Kurt asked.
“March 17th, 1927.”
“That’s only two months before Jake Melbourne made his flight,” Kurt replied. “Or should I say failed to make his flight? Who’d they shoot and what did they steal?”
Sandecker read off a list of names, none of which rang a bell. “It says the victims were archeologists whom the Granzinis had worked with before as part of their theft and antique smuggling ring.”
He found a list of stolen items along with several photographs. “The loot consisted of ancient Egyptian antiquities uncovered in”—Sandecker paused before reading the location, finally spiting it out—“northern Arizona.”
“You mean owned by someone in Arizona?” Kurt asked.
“No,” Sandecker said. “According to this, the artifacts were pulled from a cave in a remote part of the Grand Canyon.”
Kurt put his file down and leaned over to see what Sandecker was looking at. Half the file was dedicated to the discovery of these items in the Grand Canyon. It included photographs, crude maps and descriptions. There was a letter from the archeologists sent to the Granzinis that listed rumors they were following up on, including a famous article in the Phoenix Gazette that insisted members of a Smithsonian-funded expedition had found Egyptian treasure in the Grand Canyon as early as 1909 and then covered the discovery up. There were topographical maps with areas previously searched marked. And there was a recounting of a Native American legend that talked about People of the Sun who’d come to the Southwest thousands of years before carrying golden coffins and statues of animals.
Sandecker summarized. “It says they came in the time of the forefathers. They broke through the walls of the narrow canyon and burrowed into the cliffs, hollowed out the mountain and dragged cartloads of the rubble to the riverside to build a tomb for their ancestors. According to the legend, they sealed up the tomb when they were finished and left to follow the setting sun.”
The next page contained a set of poorly lit photographs that hadn’t aged well since they were taken. Holding them to the light revealed a cave filled with treasures, including statues of Anubis and Horus, mummified bodies stacked like cordwood and at least one gleaming—and possibly gold-plated—sarcophagus.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sandecker said.
“It certainly looks impressive,” Kurt replied. “But the English professor, who’s now been kidnapped, insisted we’d be looking at the combined treasure of at least fifteen Pharaohs collected together. There should be more than one sarcophagus.”
“According to this, it’s a large cave with many chambers,” Sandecker said. “No telling what else is in there.”
Kurt nodded. “What else does it say?”
Sandecker continued. “Upon word of the discovery, the Granzinis started talking with several of their favorite contacts in Europe. A French family in particular. A deal had been worked out where the Granzinis would sell some of the artifacts to the buyers in Europe and the archeologists would take a portion of the money. But first they had to convince the prospective buyers that the cache was real. They planned to do that by smuggling small items, along with these photographs and a series of hieroglyphics tablets. They took a picture of themselves standing at the rim of the canyon with the items to prove they had come from America. Take a look.”
Kurt glanced at the photograph and saw flat stones laying on the ground in front of the people. Placed together, they were as large as a sheet of drywall. The photo was in black and white, so he couldn’t tell what color the tablets were, but they were clearly covered in hieroglyphics. “Looks a lot like the Writings of Qsn.”
“The Granzinis must have thought they were about to change their address and move in next door to the Rockefellers,” Sandecker said. “The question is, what went wrong?”
“The same thing that always goes wrong when you have criminals with a large amount of money to split,” Ms. Curtis said. “Greed took over.”
They looked at her.
“That’s just a guess.”
Sandecker looked back to the report and found that guess to be more than accurate. “According to this, the Granzinis killed the archeologists to keep the discovery a secret.”
Kurt sat back for a moment. Something was off. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “If the plan was to establish the legitimacy of the find—reaping gains from the notoriety of the discovery being on American soil—they needed their friends the archeologists. More to the point, keeping it a secret doesn’t help drive up the price.”
“You’re looking for logical thinking among dishonest minds,” Sandecker said.
“They might not be honest,” Kurt said, “but they can add and subtract.”
“Maybe this will explain it,” Ms. Curtis said. She handed them a file from the bottom of the stack. It came from the Office of the President and had the signature of Calvin Coolidge and the Executive Seal on it.
Sandecker opened the folder and read through it, a scowl growing on his face by the time he finished.
Ms. Curtis raised an eyebrow. She knew what was in the file. “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
“It’s almost too impossible to believe,” Sandecker said.
“What is?” Kurt asked.
“See for yourself.”
Sandecker passed the dossier to Kurt but said nothing. He obviously wanted Kurt to see for himself.
Kurt scanned down from the top, slowing as he reached the new information. He read the section twice just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. The details clarified the situation instantly. They explained why the Granzinis had killed the archeologists and why they hadn’t left anyone alive to talk about the treasure.
Kurt closed the file. “Well,” he said, “this changes everything.”
Sandecker nodded slowly. “It certainly does.”
Chapter 49
J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.
Kurt and Sandecker bid Ms. Curtis good-bye, with Sandecker suggesting NUMA could use someone with her curiosity and memory, should she ever tire of her role at the Bureau.
She promised to think about it, before retreating to the subterranean file room.
“I can just imagine her and Perlmutter working together,” Sandecker said.
They met Agent Morris in the outer foyer and he radioed the driver to bring the limo around. The three of them left the building together and took the stairs down toward a wide sidewalk in front of 10th Street.
A temporary guardhouse and a collection of concrete planters lined the sidewalk so that no car or truck could drive between them and into the FBI building. Beyond the sidewalk was a yellow-striped section of 10th Street separated by orange traffic cones. It served as a pickup and drop-off lane for important personnel and guests. The Vice President certain
ly qualified.
Alerted by Agent Morris, a uniformed officer stepped out of the guard shack and moved the cones on the street side so the limo could approach the curb. Kurt and Sandecker stood silently by as the big vehicle came down 10th.
Lost in his own thoughts for a minute, Kurt found himself looking off into the distance. His gaze settled on a large black bird, a crow, sitting in one of the planters at the end of the road. It tilted its head, looking back at him. There was something undeniably strange about that gaze. But before Kurt could say what, his attention was diverted by a high-pitched whine like that of an expensive remote-controlled car.
Kurt turned toward the offending sound and spotted a skateboard-sized object racing the wrong way up 10th Street and coming directly toward them. It had six small wheels—three on either side—and carried a large battery pack on the aft end. Up front, held in a hydraulic grip, was an Uzi submachine gun.
“Get down!” Kurt shouted.
He tackled Sandecker like the Secret Service agent Sandecker had suggested he pose as. The two of them hit the ground behind the nearest concrete planter, crashing to the sidewalk just as the six-wheeled vehicle opened fire.
A line of bullets stitched across the face of the planter, stopped effectively by its concrete and soil.
The remote-controlled killing machine stopped, pivoted and opened fire on the uniformed officer from the guardhouse. He went down in the midst of calling for backup.
As the officer fell, Agent Morris pulled out his weapon and blasted several rounds at the machine, hitting it twice.
The metal-clad killer was unaffected. It jerked to the side, recovered and then accelerated up onto the curb, darting between two of the planters and weaving around in search Kurt and Sandecker.
Kurt was unarmed, but that wasn’t going to keep him out of the battle. He grabbed a large stone from the landscaping materials and jumped up onto the planter. Spotting the agile little attacker, he hurled the stone downward as if he were spiking a football after a touchdown.
It recorded a direct hit, knocking the gun askew and sending the machine tumbling. It landed upside down, flailing for a moment like a beetle caught on its back, extending a wing in hopes of righting itself.
Not interested in seeing that happen, Kurt jumped and landed on the machine with both feet, bending the wing irreparably and kicking the Uzi free.
Before he could celebrate, the crow he’d spotted earlier flew his way, nearly clipping his face. He ducked and watched it fly off in the opposite direction. “Something evil about that bird,” he said.
There was no time to wonder what it might be. A second RC vehicle was racing their way. Instead of a gun, this one had a load of plastic explosives strapped on top. A third machine sped along behind it, armed with a pistol and peppering the sidewalk with covering gunfire.
By now the limo had screeched to a halt between the remaining orange cones. Morris pushed Sandecker toward the open door but took a bullet in the leg before he could climb in himself. He fell to the ground and Kurt went to help him, but he shoved Kurt away. “Get the Vice President out of here! Go! Go! Go!”
As Kurt dove into the limo, the driver stomped on the gas pedal. A cloud of white smoke billowed out behind them as the 650 horsepower turbo engine spun the big tires. The limo surged forward, but the plinking of shells hitting the bulletproof armor told them they hadn’t escaped yet.
They roared down 10th Street toward Pennsylvania Avenue. Fortunately, it was late enough that little traffic got in their way. Coming to the turn, the limo leaned, sliding, as it sped around the corner.
Righting the car, the driver called out an alert on his radio. “Immediate Code Four,” he shouted. “Pennsylvania Avenue, Government Two.”
Code 4 turned every streetlight in Washington red except for those programmed to allow a government vehicle to take a specific emergency route to a secure location. Government 2 meant the Vice President was on board.
A response in his earbud told him help was coming. “Backup is on the way,” he shouted to Kurt and Sandecker.
Kurt braced himself as the limo turned again. Seconds later a patrol car from the D.C. police force pulled onto the road beside them. It escorted them for a half a block before pulling out in front and then slowing down.
“Get out of the way,” the driver yelled in frustration.
Kurt looked through the partition and the front window, gazing into the squad car. He noticed something ominous. The car had no driver. “It’s a setup.”
The driver was confused. “What?”
“Turn!”
It was too late. The back window of the squad car shattered as a high-powered weapon mounted inside opened fire.
In a matter of seconds, the rapid-fire attack had scored a dozen hits, filling the windshield with pockmarks and cracks. The bulletproof polymer held, but the damage made it impossible to see.
The driver looked down, his eyes transitioning to a screen in the center console where the display from a camera showed the view ahead. To get away from the squad car, the driver cut to the right, aiming for a side street.
The turn was tight, too constricted for the limo to take at high speed. The big car slid out of control, skidding up onto the sidewalk and slamming a light pole side-on while hitting a parked car with its front end.
The double impact brought the limo to a sudden stop. Kurt and Sandecker were thrown about in the back. The driver was dazed but soon came to his senses.
“We can’t sit here,” Kurt shouted.
The driver understood. He restarted the stalled engine and got the vehicle moving again. They pulled away from the collapsed lamppost, bulldozed the parked car out of the way and pulled back onto the street.
They’d gone about a hundred feet when the driverless squad car appeared at the far end, turned and accelerated toward them.
“It must have circled the block after we crashed.”
The driver slammed on the brakes, put the big car in reverse and began to back up. Kurt glanced behind them and saw bad news. The speedy little remote-controlled vehicles had come racing around the corner. The one with the pistol began firing. The small-caliber bullets were stopped easily by the limo’s armor, but the explosives-laden machine was the real danger.
“Forward,” Kurt shouted.
“But the other car—”
“Go forward now!”
The driver slammed on the brakes and shifted gears again. He stomped on the gas pedal once more, but the heavy limousine was not nimble enough to avoid its fate. The attacker raced under the chassis and detonated its payload of explosives.
Chapter 50
The explosion shook the block like thunder. The dark side street lit up with an orange fireball that engulfed the Vice President’s limousine and the parked cars around it. Several exploded in flames as their gas tanks ruptured.
Had there been any onlookers, they would have seen that the limo was burning and damaged beyond repair. The wheels had been blown out sideways, the drivetrain hopelessly mangled. Every metal surface had been buckled in one way or another and every window scarred by fissures.
What an observer wouldn’t have seen were Kurt, Sandecker and the driver still alive and kicking, protected from the blast by the armor cladding the underside of the passenger compartment. The V-shaped configuration of the armor allowed it to compress into the body of the car, absorbing the blast as it simultaneously directed the force of the blast outward and away from it. The design was a lesson learned from the fight against IEDs in the Gulf War. It just saved the lives of the three men inside.
Kurt was the first to regain his senses. With his ears ringing, he raised his head, looking around to assess the damage. The flicker of orange light outside told him they were on fire while the bent roof panels and other damage inside told him they wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.
He checked on San
decker. “Are you okay?”
Sandecker had hit his head and was bleeding from a gash at the hairline. Other than that, he looked untouched. Even his bow tie remained perfectly in position. “More angry than hurt.”
“That makes two of us.” He couldn’t get to the driver, but the silence from up front told him the man had been injured worse than either he or the Vice President.
“You have anything in this car besides cigars and blood?”
Sandecker pointed to a section of the seating. Kurt pulled up a cushion and found a weapons locker. Inside were two Heckler & Koch SP5K machine pistols.
“Backup has to be coming soon,” Sandecker said.
Kurt pulled out one of the tactical weapons and made sure it was loaded, with a bullet in the chamber. “Not that I should be giving orders, but if you could get on the radio and direct the reinforcements to go after that squad car.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going outside to hunt that six-wheeled robot and any friends it might have brought along with it.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“This car is almost a tank, but not quite,” Kurt said. “We won’t survive another blast like that. Time to take the fight to the street.”
Kicking the door open, Kurt felt the heat of the lingering flames and smelled the stench of burning rubber. He heard the sound of police sirens and helicopters coming in from the distance. The cavalry was on its way, but it would be too long before they arrived.
Looking through the smoke, he searched for any sign of the little machines that had attacked them. Obviously, the bomb-carrying vehicle was gone, having obliterated itself in the explosion, but the gun-toting one could still be out there. And there was no way of knowing how many of the remote-controlled machines had been dispatched in the first place.
With his gun raised, Kurt searched through the wreckage, watching for any sign of movement. He quickly realized he was being watched as well. Across the street, sitting on the roof of a demolished car, was the same crow he’d seen outside the FBI building.
Journey of the Pharaohs Page 25
