Golden Relic

by Lindy Cameron

  “Okay folks, fill me in,” Bailey demanded. “I want to know every little detail and just how pissed off this whole thing is going to make Daley Prescott, because I guarantee he’ll be on the phone to the Minister before the night is out.”

  Sam checked her watch. It was 9.30 pm, only two minutes later than the last time she’d looked, although it seemed like Maggie had gone to get their drinks about three days ago.

  Marcus Bridger had hesitated in passing just long enough to ask how her trip to Egypt had been and then excused himself to attend to someone much more important who was inspecting the entrance to his show. Sam realised he was revelling in the happy coincidence that the official ICOM ‘98 welcoming ceremony was being held in the same space as his exhibition, which meant there were close to 1500 of his peers in spitting distance of his pi��ce de r��sistance.

  Sam glanced up at the vaulted ceiling of the Royal Exhibition Building and wondered, fleetingly, about the acoustics of the place. Actually what she really wondered was where the sound of so many people actually went because, despite the crowd, no one was shouting to be heard over everyone else.

  “Excuse me, Detective Diamond,” Vasquez said, approaching with a tall elegantly-dressed man. “I would like to introduce you to Miguel Richer, the Peruvian Ambassador here in Australia. He is prepared to vouch for me and all the things I have been trying to tell you.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows. “Really? Do you happen to have any credentials on you Se��or Richer?”

  “No, Detective Diamond,” Richer laughed politely. “This is a social function.”

  “I thought as much,” Sam said. “I don’t mean to be rude sir, but I don’t know you from Adam. So if you’ll excuse me,” she smiled. “Nice try, Vasquez,” she added, as she walked away.

  “The next shout is on you,” Maggie declared suddenly appearing at Sam’s side. “I’m not going back for love or money.” She handed Sam a glass of mineral water and took a swig of her beer. “Louis just arrived by the way. The rest of the troupe should be along shortly.”

  “I’m getting worried we’re not going to be able to control this situation,” Sam said. “There’s too many people, too many variables.”

  “Don’t worry Sam. A good 80 per cent of the people here won’t give a damn about ‘you know who’ and his tall tales but almost true.”

  “How can we be sure that our culprit will make his move tonight?”

  “We can’t be sure, Sam,” Maggie said. “We’re taking a gamble that he thinks this is the best or only chance to get his hands on the hand. The hijacking in Paris happened when the security was good but less than usual. If our culprit thinks there is no security here, he will take a risk - hopefully.”

  “Detective Diamond.”

  Sam swallowed, rolled her eyes at Maggie and turned to face Daley Prescott who stood as neat as pin in a perfectly tailored suit that was not complemented by the hysterical expression on his face.

  “Good evening, Mr Prescott. The opening function is going very well, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know, Detective. You tell me. I just met your colleague Detective Rigby who informed he has officers posted everywhere, and that I was not to worry because everything was under control. I wasn’t aware that things were out of control, until I found out there were policemen everywhere.”

  “And women,” Maggie offered.

  “What?” Prescott demanded.

  “There are quite a few policewomen too,” Maggie explained.

  “I might have known you’d have a hand in this debacle, Maggie Tremaine,” Prescott snarled.

  “What debacle would that be, Daley?” Maggie asked.

  Prescott glared at her and returned his attention to Sam. “The saboteur is at large in the building isn’t he? What are you expecting? A bomb? A hostage situation?” Prescott was sweating.

  “Nothing of the sort, Mr Prescott,” Sam assured him, as she fought an urge to find a broom closet to lock him in until the ‘debacle’ was over. “There is no saboteur. We are hopeful, however, that we may be able to find and arrest the person who murdered Professor Marsden.”

  “Here? Tonight? You have to do it here tonight? This is a disaster.”

  “It will be if you don’t stop carrying on like a complete fool, Daley,” Maggie snapped. “For goodness sake, get a grip man, and be quiet. Why don’t you go and get a stiff drink or three.”

  “Mr Prescott,” Sam said soothingly, “I assure you our presence and our work here will go unnoticed. But I have to ask you, please, not to tell anyone we are here.”

  Prescott rubbed his forehead and eyed Sam and Maggie suspiciously. “I hold you responsible.”

  “And I accept the responsibility entirely,” Sam said.

  “Now, do run along, Daley,” Maggie suggested sweetly. “Or I shall be forced to create a scene, right here, just for the fun of it. And it won’t be pretty.”

  Daley Prescott turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd quite possibly, Sam suspected, to find his own broom closet in which to hide from the formidable Maggie Tremaine.

  Sam stuck her finger in her ear to adjust the tiny listening device she was wearing, so she could actually hear what Rigby was saying. “He’s on his way in,” Sam repeated to Maggie.

  “Ooh, showtime,” Maggie enthused. “I’m going to find a better spot. Are you coming?”

  Sam followed Maggie around a group of people who were determined to stand their ground near the bar, towards an area that had been roped off around a large-topped, waist-high pedestal. They stopped by the third head of Cerberus, beside the entrance to the Life and Death show and waited.

  “C’est tr��s amusant,” Louis commented as he ducked under the rope to wait for Pavel.

  Sam bent her head slightly to speak into the microphone concealed by a brooch on her lapel. “The show’s about to start, don’t lose sight of the targets and report any odd actions or even reactions.”

  “Sam dear, I think���” Maggie began, but a cheer then the sound of applause changed the whole atmosphere in the room. The words ‘Pavel Mercier’ seemed to be rippling through the crowd and a wide path was forming down the middle of the room as everyone moved aside to let him pass.

  “Oh, good heavens!” Maggie snorted. “He’s like Moses parting the bloody Red Sea.”

  Pavel, grinning like a Chesire Cat, was obviously enjoying his resurrection immensely. He kept stopping to shake hands with people who were saying they were glad he wasn’t really dead or they’d known all along he was still alive. No one was paying too much attention to Ben Muldoon who was right behind Pavel and carrying his ‘treasure’ in a plain wooden box.

  Sam put her hand to her ear. “Barstoc has just made a beeline for our end of the room,” she whispered to Maggie. “Ditto, Vasquez and Escobar.”

  “I can see Enrico, he seems to be annoyed with us,” Maggie said, nodding to where Vasquez was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at them.

  “Would you like to deal with him, Maggie dear?”

  “Certainly Sam,” Maggie replied, and made her way around to the other side of the barrier.

  Sam smiled to herself as Vasquez actually stamped his foot at Maggie in indignation.

  “Did Maggie know Pavel was alive?” came a familiar voice beside her.

  “Um, no Marcus, not until earlier this evening,” Sam fibbed. “She was quite annoyed with him.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Bridger said.

  Louis unhooked the rope to let Pavel and Ben into the performance area. Ben placed the box on the pedestal but Pavel raised his hands in warning, reached into his pocket and pulled out a compass.

  “This side must face west,” Pavel pronounced, turning the box around.

  Bridger cleared his throat. “What is he doing, Sam?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Sam stated.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Pavel bellowed. “I would like to announce the discovery of a major archaeological site
in Peru, north-east,” he stressed for all those who had got it wrong, “of Machu Picchu. My colleague Louis Ducruet and I would like to tell you the story of Inticancha, the secret city of Manco Capac and the last refuge of the last Inca king, Tupac Amaru.”

  Bridger cleared his throat again. “The man’s barely back from the dead, and he’s grandstanding already,” he whispered in Sam’s ear.

  “Those of you who know me,” Pavel smiled, “will know that any story I tell must feature an ancient curse on a priceless relic, or it’s not worth telling. I promise not to disappoint you.”

  The audience laughed as if they did indeed expect nothing less from Pavel.

  “I think I need a drink,” Bridger muttered. “Would you like one, Sam?”

  “No, thank you, Marcus.”

  As Sam watched Bridger disappear into the crowd she noted that Maggie was right about the level of interest in Pavel’s announcement. While quite a few people were still making their way across the room to see what was happening, the vast majority had returned to their own conversations. Sam estimated there were just over a hundred people hanging on to Pavel’s every word.

  Sam concentrated on the faces in the audience as Pavel and Louis recounted their revised story of the discovery in 1962 of a remarkable ceremonial site and a ‘golden hand’ that caused localised earthquakes every time they tried to move it. Pavel explained how they had to leave the relic in its sacred hiding place and abandon the site when one of their crew was badly injured. When they returned the next month, he said, the hand was gone and as the site was constantly being rocked by tremors they left it in peace.

  Sam spotted Barstoc and moved to stand behind him as Pavel described his return to the site the year before, his discovery of the journal of Vasco Dias, the story it told of the city and the curse and the realisation of just what had been stolen from Inticancha all those years ago - the Hand of God.

  “What do you think of this bizarre story, Mr Barstoc?” Sam asked quietly.

  Barstoc jumped slightly and turned to face Sam. “It’s nonsense, of course,” he said. “Pavel Mercier loves putting on a show. He’s nearly as bad as Marcus in that respect.”

  “But as fate would have it,” Pavel waved his finger, “two weeks ago I was in Cuzco and happened to see an article and photo in the paper about the theft in Paris of the Tahuantinsuyu Bracelet. Now this was an artefact that I knew about, of course, but I had never actually seen it until then. And what did I see? The wrist band of the Hand of God.” Pavel paused for effect.

  “So I set out to look for the other pieces. Remembering that it had been re-stolen from a small museum in Punta Arenas in 1978, I went to Chile and discovered the bracelet had been sold to that museum in 1970 by an old man who needed money. I tracked down his daughter and in her attic, where the old man’s belongings had been stored on his death, I found the Hand of God.” With a great flourish, Pavel lifted the lid on the box.

  The audience took a collective breath at the sight of the beautiful golden digits of Inti the Sun God.

  “What are you going to do with it, Pavel?” someone asked.

  “Ah, tonight it goes straight back to the vault, where it stays until I decide.”

  “But you must return it to Peru,” Escobar shouted.

  Pavel shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Barstoc, Sam noticed, cricked his neck twice and then walked away.

  “Where’s he going?” Sam muttered into her brooch. ‘Heading straight for Marcus Bridger’ came the response. ‘No, he kept right on going. He’s gone to the men’s room.’

  The audience crowded in to get a better view of the Hand and Pavel and Louis began fielding questions. Sam looked around for Maggie and Vasquez but both had disappeared from sight.

  “That Pavel, is certainly one out of the box,” the woman beside her commented.

  “Yes,” agreed her companion. “It’s like he hits a hole in one every time he tees off. Imagine re-finding the find of the century.”

  Sam closed her eyes as an uncomfortable tingling took over her body. A hole in one, she thought. Shit! “Ben, can you hear me? Oh good. What was the other thing you were going to tell me about Barstoc’s stepfather?” She stuck her finger in her ear to hear properly.

  “Bloody hell,” she exclaimed a little too loudly, for someone who was standing on her own. “Where is he? And where’s Maggie?” She looked wildly around but still couldn’t see Maggie, so she pushed her way back through the crowd to Pavel. She tugged him on the arm so she could whisper a question in his ear.

  “Yes, I believe so, Sam,” Pavel replied.

  A scream from somewhere in the hall, was followed by another and another until someone yelled ‘fire’. Sam realised there was smoke billowing from the interior of the Rites of Life and Death Exhibit. It took three seconds for the chaos to set in and then there was panic, pandemonium and people running madly in all directions.

  Sam caught sight of Marcus Bridger, with a fire extinguisher, trying to run towards his exhibition. “Stay alert everyone,” Sam spoke into her microphone. “This has to be a set up.”

  The lights went out.

  “Sam, where are you?” Maggie called out.

  “Over here,” Sam said, realising it was a pretty stupid response to give in pitch darkness. But Maggie found her anyway.

  “Just before the lights went out I saw Escobar and Vasquez hovering around Pavel,” Maggie said, as the emergency generator kicked in and a few lights at the other end of the room came back on.

  Sam and Maggie turned around to find Pavel and Louis helping Ben up off the floor. The box and the Hand of God were gone.

  “Ben, we have to go in there after Marcus,” Sam pointed at the Exhibition.

  “I just saw Vasquez go in through the exit,” Pavel said. “He was carrying something.”

  “Ben, you take the exit, I’ll take the entrance,” Sam said, already on the run.

  “Have those fools gone in to put out the fire?” Maggie asked, keeping pace with Sam.

  “I don’t think so, Maggie,” Sam stated, heading through the open door behind Charon and into the catacombs. “Tell me, what does Marcus’s father do for a crust?”

  “He’s a heart surgeon, why?” Maggie asked.

  “Because I’m an idiot!” Sam exclaimed, crashing into a wall in the dark before finding the exit from the replica Egyptian tomb into the Voodoo exhibit. Maggie was right behind her all the way. They emerged into the semi-darkness of the central exhibition area which was thick with smoke from a well-contained fire in a very large bin.

  “Over there.” Maggie pointed to a man yanking something out of the main phallus display.

  “Barstoc, Marcus,” Sam tried both names, but the man made a dash for the nearest wall and dived behind it. Sam drew her gun, and added, “Don’t run, there’s nowhere to go.”

  “We’ve got the place surrounded,” Maggie declared. “I’ve always wanted to say that,” she added as she followed Sam carefully across the space. Sam edged up to the wall and then snapped her body around it, weapon in front. There was nothing but an empty doorway and Pavel’s now-empty box lying on the ground.

  “Stay here, Maggie,” Sam ordered.

  “No way. What if he doubles back? I’d rather be where your gun is.”

  “Make sure you stay behind me then,” Sam said, as she moved through the doorway and down a short corridor.

  “What is that dreadful noise?” Maggie asked. “It sounds like a koala on heat.”

  “Shh,” Sam snapped. She peered around the corner into the almost complete darkness of the large Apache burial ground exhibit. She could just make out the figure of a man on the far side. He was down on all fours and writhing in agony but appeared to be trying to gather something together.

  “Get up,” Sam ordered, advancing into the exhibit. Her quarry, who was still trying to move away from her, let out a guttural moan as he struggled to his feet.

  “Stop,” Sam yelled. “I am a police officer and I am armed. Do
not try to leave.” She grabbed her lapel and spoke into the microphone. “Could we have some lights in the exhibition area please.”

  “Tupac,” Maggie called out.

  The man stopped in his tracks and straightened his back.

  Sam glanced quizzically at Maggie.

  “Well,” Maggie shrugged. “It was one of your theories, Sam.”

  “Tupac Amaru,” Sam shouted. “Please, don’t move again or I will shoot you.”

  “If you shoot the Sapa Inca, I will shoot your friend.”

  Sam reeled around to find Andrew Barstoc holding a gun to Maggie’s head.

  “If you shoot anyone,” Ben said, stepping out of the shadows, “you’re a dead man.”

  The exhibit’s artificial torches flickered to life, casting an eerie glow over the Apache burial ground and it occupants. Barstoc hesitated for a moment then dropped his weapon and held up his hands.

  A crashing sound heralded the arrival of Enrico Vasquez, armed with a fire extinguisher.

  “Don’t move,” ordered Rivers, who came crashing in behind him.

  “But what is going on?” Vasquez demanded.

  “We’ll explain later Enrico,” Maggie said. “Sam, he’s still trying to get away,” she pointed.

  “Marcus,” Sam said, moving towards him. “Give it up. The Hand is trying to tell you are not Tupac Amaru. It’s killing you, you fool.”

  The self-proclaimed reincarnation of the last Inca king collapsed to his knees. Seven golden digits spilled out of the cloth he no longer had the strength to hold and lay scattered on the ground in front of him. Dr Marcus Bridger forced himself into a sitting position, clutching the Tahuantinsuyu Bracelet to his chest as he grimaced in pain. “It is mine,” he growled.

  “Maggie, have you got the thumb and the other fingers?” Sam asked urgently.

  Maggie yanked her shirt out and pulled the three digits from her vest.

  “Which way is west?” Sam asked. Everyone just stared her. “Come on, dammit, which is west?”

  “Um, that way,” Ben pointed.

  Sam laid the thumb to the left of Bridger, put Louis’ middle finger behind him and the pinky finger to the right. “Help me, please Maggie. Find the other two real ones. Put them in the correct places.”