The Midas Code

by Boyd Morrison

  “What?” Stacy said with a puzzled look. “No, I don’t … You can’t think I’ve been helping him?”

  Tyler shook his head grimly. “How else could Orr have found us?”

  “I don’t know! I’m his hostage just like you are. So is my sister.”

  Which Tyler now realized could have been a setup from the very beginning. For all he knew, Carol Benedict was in on it as well.

  “Oh, Stacy’s been a good informant,” Orr said, “giving me updates along the way, but she got greedy and demanded more than her fair share. I’d kill her right now, but I still need her.”

  “He’s lying!” she shouted at Tyler before turning on Orr. “You bastard!”

  “Am I? Then how would I know that you went to Gia’s home outside London? That you rendezvoused with her in Munich? That you went to the Athens museum yesterday and the Parthenon this morning?”

  Stacy sputtered, “This is crazy!”

  “No, it’s not,” Tyler growled. “The tracker might have told him about our visit to Cavano and Munich, but he couldn’t have known about the Parthenon. We left the tracker in the plane.” He turned to Orr. “Where is Grant?”

  Orr smiled. “Dead. Or captured. I don’t really know which, and I don’t care. That’s up to Gia.”

  “You told her how to find him?”

  “It got him out of the way, didn’t it?”

  “And my father?”

  “He’s all right. For now.”

  Orr was a great liar, but something about his expression made Tyler think he was covering up.

  “I want to see him.”

  “When we find the treasure, I’ll let him go.”

  “If you already know where the well is, why do you need us any more?”

  “Because I’m on a deadline, and even though we might have the correct well, I can’t spend days looking for the right tunnel that leads to the chamber. Your expertise with the geolabe will take us there. I have some pages from the codex that you haven’t seen.”

  Tyler remembered Stacy saying on Wednesday night that she thought the codex was missing some pages.

  “Those pages show how to navigate the tunnels?” he said.

  “Using the geolabe, yes. At least, I think they do. You’ll have to figure it out.”

  “And if I won’t?”

  “I’ll kill you both right here and take my chances on my own. What’ll it be?”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Stacy said.

  Tyler considered the options and realized that he had none. He didn’t know what was going on with his father, but to have any chance of taking Orr and finding out about the nuclear device, he had to stay alive until he had an opportunity to make his move. If he could escape once he was in the tunnels, he might be able to get back to the surface and get reinforcements. At the very least, he could keep Orr from coming back out.

  Tyler nodded. “All right.”

  Orr smiled. “Good. Keep walking.”

  In three minutes, they were in a parking lot next to a Fiat sedan. Gaul opened the trunk and took out two belts.

  “Put your arms up,” he said.

  “Why?” Tyler asked. “What are these?”

  “Stun belts,” Orr said. “Used in prisons to control inmates. You’ll wear them so that I can keep you in line when we’re in the tunnels. I don’t want pistols sticking out of our belts. With the close quarters down there, you’ll be too tempted to grab for one.”

  Orr removed two wristbands from his pocket and strapped them to his left arm. Each of them had a color that corresponded to the color of the belt—red for Tyler and blue for Stacy. The buttons were enclosed in a plastic covering. Orr tapped them lightly. “For easy access.”

  Tyler didn’t resist. This meant Orr was planning to give them freer range in the tunnels. If Tyler could figure out a way to get his belt off, he might be able to get away before Orr could activate it.

  Gaul snapped the belts on Tyler and Stacy and locked them with a key. The nylon belts were snug enough that they couldn’t be slid off. A box the size of a pack of playing cards was centered over their bellies.

  “Get in the backseat,” Orr said. Tyler and Stacy climbed reluctantly into the Fiat. Orr and Gaul got into the front.

  As Gaul threaded the car out of the lot, Orr turned in his seat. “Oh, one more thing. Those stun belts have been modified by a colleague of mine. It’ll be difficult for me and Gaul to keep an eye on you at all times while we’re in the tunnels, so these are our fail-safes to keep you from escaping.”

  “You think I’m scared of a shock collar?” Stacy said.

  “Actually no,” Orr said, holding up a Taser. “But I have this just in case you need some prodding.”

  “Then what are the belts for?” Tyler asked.

  “As I mentioned before Stacy interrupted,” Orr said, “they’ve been modified. They’re not stun belts any more. They’ve each been fitted with three ounces of C4 and molded into a clever shape charge. If either of you is out of my sight for more than ten seconds, I push this button. I’m told you’d be cut in half before you hit the ground.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  Concussion. That’s the word that swam into Grant’s mind as he was driven across Naples. He’d experienced one before when a wrestling move went wrong and a chair hit the back of his head. With effort, he focused on recalling the symptoms. Fuzziness: check— squinting helped a little. Nausea: if he’d had a bigger dinner, the backseat would be a mess. Lack of concentration: had he already thought of that? Loss of memory: that was a tough one.

  He remembered some of the fight in the galleria, but he didn’t know how he ended up in the car. He tried to focus on the two men on either side of him. One was massaging his knee and the other was holding his stomach. Only the driver and Sal in the front passenger seat looked unharmed. Grant knew there were more guys, but they would be in even worse shape. As far as he could recall, he’d kicked the crap out of five of them. Not bad, but not good enough.

  The car was waved through an iron gate and up the driveway to the gaudiest mansion he’d ever seen. Eggshell color, pillars dominating the front, ornate decorations curling around the windows and doors, cherubs adorning the eaves. It looked like the White House redecorated by Liberace.

  Two new guys yanked Grant out of the car and hauled him up the steps into the house. He was taken through the foyer and to an outdoor patio that was situated on a cliff a hundred feet above the sea.

  He’d only gotten a glimpse of Gia Cavano when she’d hopped into the sports car outside the Boerst building in Munich, but the woman sitting in front of him was unmistakable. Her voluptuous form was squeezed into a tight black T-shirt and black jeans. Her long dark hair was wrapped on top of her head in a sexy updo. She looked sleek and curvy all at the same time. If Grant had been in a bar, he would have sidled up to her by now and offered to buy her a drink.

  “Welcome to my home, Mr. Westfield,” Cavano said.

  The fuzziness was fading, but Grant had to hold himself steady to keep from falling over. “If you want to invite me over to tea, an engraved invitation would be appreciated next time.”

  “You’re a tough man to bring down, I hear.”

  “Give me one of those batons and I’ll really show you what I can do. You know, I’m kind of parched.” He nodded at Sal, one of the three men hovering around them, guns at the ready. “Could you ask your girlfriend to get me an ice water? And a Scotch chaser. Neat.”

  Sal glared at Grant. Apparently his English was good enough to get the insult.

  “Get Mr. Westfield his drinks,” Cavano said.

  Sal left, and Grant took a seat without asking.

  “You’ve got your tentacles into everything if you could get the police to intercept my men,” he said. “Where are they?”

  “Oh, they’ll be fine. A night in jail and then they’ll be free in the morning. Long enough for my purposes.”

  “Which are?”

  “Jordan Orr. You know where he is?”


  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, I would have known precisely where he is if your meatheads hadn’t interrupted the party.”

  Sal returned with the drinks.

  “Thanks, Sallie.” Grant took them, chugged the Scotch, and pressed the cold glass of water to his temple.

  “Can you find him?” Cavano said.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because if you don’t, I will have my men throw you off the patio.”

  Grant took a sip of water and looked at the long drop to the Mediterranean below. “That is a darn good reason. I’ll have to call Tyler Locke to find out.”

  “Tell me his number.”

  Grant thought about it for a second and decided it couldn’t hurt to try. He gave her the number and she dialed. She listened for a few moments, then hung up.

  “Straight to voice mail.”

  That can’t be good, Grant thought. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t be answering.”

  “I have a possible reason. I received an anonymous call ten minutes ago telling me that he’s with Jordan. Where are they going?”

  Grant’s heart sank. He was hoping that Tyler had gone to ground when he lost contact with the security team, but this must have been Orr’s plan all along. Orr was the only one who could have tipped Cavano off about the tracker. He must have cornered Tyler and Stacy virtually simultaneously, although Grant didn’t know how that was possible. If Tyler wasn’t dead or free, that meant Orr was taking him to find the treasure.

  “I have an idea where,” Grant said.

  “Show me.”

  “First, I want some guarantees.”

  “The only guarantee I’ll make is that you’ll die slowly if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

  “That is magnanimous of you, but I need something more. I know you mafia types are people of your word.” Grant didn’t believe that for a second. Criminals were criminals. But he couldn’t just acquiesce to her demands without negotiating. They preyed on weakness, and he wasn’t going to show her any. His words hit their target.

  Cavano’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” Grant knew that she hungered for the treasure and her vengeance on Orr too much to kill him if he could lead her to them.

  “I want a promise on your mother’s grave that you will let me, Tyler, and Stacy go once you have Orr and the treasure.”

  “My mother’s still alive. She’s upstairs right now.”

  “Okay, swear on your dear departed husband’s soul.”

  “You’re working with Jordan. How do I know you weren’t sent here to lure me into a trap?”

  “We were forced to work with Orr. We’re just pawns to him.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  Good question, Grant thought. What would be irrefutable proof?

  Proof. He had just the thing.

  “Do you have a computer?” Grant asked. “I need to show you an email.”

  Sal brought a laptop, but he wouldn’t let Grant touch it. He gave it to Cavano.

  “Tell me what to type,” she said.

  He gave her the login and password for his email and told her to click on one of the emails that Tyler had forwarded to him with the video of Sherman Locke.

  She watched it twice and closed the laptop.

  “Okay, I believe that Jordan is forcing you to work for him,” she said. “But if we do find the treasure, and I agree to free you, how do I know you won’t talk about it to anyone?”

  “Who would believe us? You won’t let us get away with any evidence.”

  Cavano thought about that. “All right. I swear on my husband’s soul that I will not kill you, Tyler, or Stacy if you fulfill your part of the bargain.” She made the sign of the cross.

  “No, promise that we will be safe. I don’t want an ‘accident’ to befall us on the way to the airport.”

  She sighed. “Yes, you will be safe. I swear it on my husband’s soul.”

  Grant stood. “Then we have a deal.” He knew the deal was a sham, but the longer he stayed alive, the longer he had to work out some kind of scheme to find Tyler and get out of this mess.

  “Where are we going?” Cavano said as she stood.

  “To some place called Piazza San Gaetano. We’re going to church.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  Tyler couldn’t tell whether the belt Orr made him wear really was rigged with explosives, but it was definitely uncomfortable. It was tight enough that he couldn’t possibly slide it down over his hips. The belt was made of heavy-duty nylon. Even if he found a cutting tool, it would take him several minutes to saw through it. The clasp and key-release mechanism were integrated into the unit housing the explosives, so if he tried to pry it apart, he might set it off.

  He wasn’t worried about the C4 itself. The explosive was extremely stable and couldn’t be detonated by impact, even by a gunshot. Tyler always hated movies that showed someone blowing up a brick of C4 by shooting it, because the scenario was complete fiction.

  Stacy looked as uncomfortable with her belt as he did, and Tyler was beginning to have second thoughts about how hastily he’d assumed that she was helping Orr. Maybe it was just his rationalization for not wanting to seem like a sucker, but he didn’t want to believe Stacy was capable of betraying him.

  But if she wasn’t in league with Orr, Tyler couldn’t figure out how Orr knew every one of their movements. Orr might have learned about the museum heist from the news, but with the tracker on the plane during their stay in Athens, there was no way he could have known that the shootout at the Parthenon involved them. It was almost as if he had access to a second GPS signal …

  Tyler suddenly remembered Orr smashing their cell phones. Stacy’s phone had been the only piece of electronics they’d had with them the entire time. Tyler’s phone had gotten ruined when it was dunked in the river. Orr could have been tracking the signal in Stacy’s phone from the beginning. Tyler had been so fixated on the tracker in the geolabe that it never occurred to him that Orr had a backup, which must have been why Orr had made it so easy to find.

  Tyler couldn’t be sure that he was right, but he had renewed faith that Stacy was innocent. So Orr was either toying with them or he was trying to keep Tyler and Stacy from trusting each other. Divide and conquer. Tyler would play along for now.

  Gaul found a rare parking spot two blocks away from the church at Piazza San Gaetano. They got out and began walking, with Gaul and Orr careful to stay behind Tyler and Stacy. The shops lining the narrow streets were all closed, and the bustle of activity Tyler had seen earlier in the day had dwindled. Scooters occasionally passed them, and the few pedestrians were making their way to tiny restaurants or the entryways of their walkup apartments.

  Along the way, Tyler saw a sign for Napoli Sotterranea, the tour service that took people through the ancient passageways winding their way under the city. When he and Stacy had come this way in the afternoon, Tyler had stopped in to ask some questions.

  A tour guide explained that no one knew how many tunnels and chambers actually existed underneath Naples. With subways and structural foundations constantly being excavated, new tunnels were found yearly, and some archaeologists speculated that more than thirty miles of tunnels remained undiscovered. Churches and private buildings often refused requests to map out the tunnels underneath them. Tyler had obliquely asked him about the San Lorenzo Maggiore well and whether it connected to the maze that the tourists trod. He told Tyler that he regularly traversed all the known tunnels and had never seen a connection, so the well must lead to one of the still unexplored areas.

  The basilica loomed over the tiny Piazza San Gaetano. Like that of most of the other centuries-old churches in downtown Naples, the front door was set back only a few feet from the street. A sign advertised the archaeological excavation under part of the church that had exposed an ancient Greek marketplace.

  Though there was no Mass that evening and the archaeological exhibit was closed, th
e door was wide open to allow worshippers a chance to pray and confess their sins. As the four of them walked in, Tyler mused that the priests would have to be in the confessional a long time to hear all the sins committed by this group.

  They bypassed the nave, which was empty of visitors. The well stood in the center of an outdoor courtyard bordered by a cloister. The well opening was topped with a elaborate sculpted frame that was designed to winch the water up in a clay amphora from a pool in the cistern below. The aqueducts had been shut off long ago, so the cistern would now be dry. The well’s frame was now decorated with flowers, hardly the starting point Tyler would ever have imagined for a treasure hunt.

  When they were standing at the well, Tyler tried to guess how the spy in the story from Archimedes’ wax tablet wound up here. Had he swum through the tunnels that served as the aqueducts? Tyler pictured the man climbing up the rope that was tied to the winch.

  “Show me the mark of Scorpio,” Orr said.

  Tyler walked around to the opposite side and pointed inside the well.

  The light was fading quickly with the setting sun. Orr played the beam of a flashlight over stones dating from an era hundreds of years before Christ. The marks were just barely visible, fifteen dots carved out of the rock by the spy of Syracuse’s king to identify the location where he intended to return but never did. Tyler had checked the constellations online. The dots matched exactly the arrangement of stars that depicted Scorpio.

  “Congratulations, Tyler,” Orr said, while Gaul extracted a rope and climbing gear from the duffel. “I knew this whole mission was a long shot, but you both came through with flying colors.”

  Tyler wanted to strangle him right there. “I’m so happy you approve.”

  “We’re not done yet. We still need to get down there.”

  “We could jump. You go first.”

  “Funny,” Orr said, looking around. They were still alone in the courtyard. Tyler didn’t want to find out what Orr would do to someone who innocently stumbled onto them.

  Gaul looped the rope around the well’s frame and tested it for strength. It held, so he lowered himself into the well. Three feet down, he hammered a piton into the stone and put a carabiner on it. Gaul tested the metal spike and D-ring to make sure it would hold his weight, then attached a second rope to it.