Thelma came out of the house carrying three bottles of beer and apologized for the cheap brand.
“I’ll start drinking Stella Artois when they increase my Social Security. This panther piss will have to do for now.” She glanced at the dog. “I see you’ve met Lush.” She poured some beer into a dish and grinned as the dog trotted over and lapped up the foaming brew. Then she raised her bottle. “Here’s to Hutch. I knew someone would find the old pirate after all these years.”
They clinked bottles and took a swig.
“How long has your husband been gone?” Austin said.
“My first husband.” She slugged down a swallow of beer and pursed her lips. “Hutch croaked in the spring of 1973. Where’d you find him?”
Austin unfolded the chart he had brought and pointed to a penciled-in X.
“Damn!” Thelma said. “That’s miles from where I thought the treasure wreck was.”
“Treasure wreck?” Zavala said.
“That’s what Hutch called it, the fool. It’s what killed him.”
“Can you tell us what happened?” Austin said.
A far-off look came to her eyes. “My husband was born and raised on the bay. He enlisted in the navy during World War Two and became a diver. A darn good one, from what I hear. He bought out his equipment when the war ended. We got married, and he did some commercial diving on the side to keep his hand in. Mostly, he ran a fishing boat, which is how he found the wreck. Snagged it on a net. The wreck really stumped him.”
“Why is that, Thelma?” Austin said.
“Hutch knew every wreck in the area. He’d dived on a number of them. He was an amateur historian. He did a pile of research. There was no record of any ship going down at this location.”
“He never told you where the wreck was?” Zavala said.
“My husband was as tight as a Chesapeake oyster. He was real old-fashioned. Thought women were natural gossips. He said he would tell once he brought up some gold for me.”
“What made him think there was gold on the wreck?” Austin said.
“Lots of people don’t know that there were gold mines all around here at one time. Maryland. Virginia. Up into Pennsylvania.”
“It’s not surprising. I only learned last year that the area around the Chesapeake was major gold-mining country,” Austin said. “I came across a Gold Mine Café in Maryland and found out it was named after a defunct mine nearby.”
“Your husband guessed that some of that gold found its way onto the ship?” Zavala said.
“It was more than a guess, Handsome.” She tugged at the chain around her neck. Hanging from the chain was a gold pendant in the shape of a horse head. “He found this on his first dive. Gave it to me with the promise of more.” She sighed heavily. “Oh, Hutch,” she said. “You were worth more to me than any treasure.”
“Sorry to bring these memories back,” Austin said.
The bright smile came back. “Don’t worry, Kurt. I apologize for losing it.”
Zavala had a question. “Kurt and I had some trouble hoisting the helmet out of the water. It’s even heavier with the breastplate attached. I was wondering how your husband got in and out of his diving rig on his own.”
“Oh, he wasn’t alone. He was working with a crewman named Tom Lowry when he found the wreck, so he had to bring him in on the secret. Tom became his dive tender. Hutch promised to split anything they found fifty-fifty.”
“Is Tom still alive?” Austin said.
“The wreck killed him too,” Thelma said. “Coast Guard figured that Hutch ran into trouble below. Maybe his air hose got tangled. Tom was as strong as an ox but one beer short of a six-pack, if you catch my drift. He was intensely loyal to Hutch. My guess is that he dove over the side without thinking, got into trouble, and drowned.”
“Wouldn’t the Coast Guard have found the boat anchored at the wreck?” Austin said.
“A squall came up. The boat broke free and floated away. Tom’s body and the boat were found miles from the dive site. I sold the boat to one of Hutch’s friends, whom I later married.”
“Did you ever tell anyone about the treasure?”
She gave a vigorous shake of her head. “Not even the Coast Guard. That bad-luck wreck already killed two men. I didn’t want to make a widow out of myself or any other woman in town.”
“How many dives did Hutch make?” Zavala said.
“He went out twice.” She fingered the chain around her neck. “The first time, he found the pendant. The second time, he must have dove again after he found that jar.”
Austin put his beer down. “What jar is that, Thelma?”
“An old clay thing. Kinda green and gray, sealed at the top. I found it in a boat storage bin where Hutch and Tom must have put it. Still covered with seaweed. It was too light to contain gold, but I never had any desire to open it. I figured more bad luck would come pouring out. Just like Pandora.”
“May we see the jar?” Austin said.
Thelma looked embarrassed. “I wish you had come earlier. I gave it away a couple of days ago to a guy who stopped by. Said he was writing a book and heard scuttlebutt around town about Hutch and his wreck. When I told him about the jar, he asked if he could borrow and have it X-rayed. I said he could have it.”
“Was his name Saxon?” Austin said.
“That’s right. Tony Saxon. Good-looking guy, but not as handsome as you. Do you know him?”
“Slightly,” Austin said with a rueful grin. “Did he say where he was staying?”
“Nope,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I didn’t give away anything valuable, did I? This house needs lots of work.”
“Probably not,” Austin said. “But the helmet is yours, and it’s worth a lot of money.”
“Enough to get this old joint fixed up and painted?” she said.
“You might even have enough left over for a couple of cases of Stella Artois,” Austin said.
He declined the offer of another beer to celebrate. He and Zavala carried the helmet from the Jeep and set it in the living room. Austin told Thelma that he would have a nautical appraiser get in touch with her. She thanked them both with a peck on the cheek.
Austin was about to get into the Jeep when he saw a slip of paper wrapped around the windshield wiper. He unrolled the paper and read the message written in ballpoint.
Dear Kurt. Sorry about the amphora. I’ll be at the Tidewater Grill until 6 p.m. I’ll buy the drinks. AS
Austin handed the note to Zavala, who read it and smiled.
“Your friend says he’s buying,” Zavala said, getting into the Jeep. “Doesn’t get any better than that.”
Austin slipped behind the steering wheel and drove toward the waterfront. He’d seen the sign for the Tidewater on the way into town and remembered how to find the restaurant that overlooked the bay. He and Zavala stepped into the bar and found Saxon engaged in a discussion about fishing with the bartender. He smiled when he saw Austin and introduced himself to Zavala. He suggested a locally brewed ale. They carried their mugs to a corner table.
Austin was a hard loser but not a sore one. He lifted his mug in toast.
“Congratulations, Saxon. How did you do it?”
Saxon took a sip of ale and wiped the foam from his mustache.
“Shoe leather and luck,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to focus on this area. I turned my attention from the west coast of North America to the east after my replica was torched.”
“Why do you think it was arson?” Austin said.
“A few days before the fire, I got an offer to buy the boat from a broker. I said the replica was a scientific project and not for sale. Later that week, the boat was set on fire.”
“Who was the buyer?”
“You met him at the unveiling of the Navigator. Viktor Baltazar.”
Austin recalled the angry look in Saxon’s eye when Baltazar had entered the Smithsonian warehouse.
“Tell us how you were drawn to the Chesapeake,” A
ustin said.
“I’ve always considered the Chesapeake region a remote possibility for Ophir because of the gold mines in the area. The Susquehanna has intrigued me as well. A number of years ago, some tablets with possible Phoenician writing were found up the river in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania.”
“What led you to Thelma Hutchins?”
“After the Navigator was stolen, I was devastated. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here and haunted dive shops and historical societies. Thelma’s husband, or, more likely, his crewman, may have spilled the beans to someone. I began to pick up rumors of a treasure wreck. I heard about Thelma and tracked her down. She suggested I take the amphora. She succumbed to my charm, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Austin said. “How did you find us?”
“If NUMA wants to remain inconspicuous, I suggest that you paint your vehicles a less-distinctive color than that wonderful turquoise. I was on my way to a late breakfast and saw your car. I followed you to the boatyard, watched you unload your gear, staked out your car, and trailed you to Thelma’s house. Now, may I ask you a question? How did you learn of the wreck?”
Austin told Saxon about the duplicate Navigator in Turkey and the map engraved on the statue.
Saxon chortled. “A bloody cat! I always suspected that there was more than one statue. Possibly a pair guarding a temple.”
“Solomon’s temple?” Austin said, recalling his conversation with Nickerson.
“Quite likely.” Saxon furrowed his brow. “I wonder why the people who stole the original statue haven’t tracked down the wreck.”
“Maybe they are not as smart as we are,” Austin said. “You’ve got the amphora. What do you plan to do with it?”
“I’ve opened the amphora. I’m studying its content.”
“You didn’t waste any time. What was in it?”
“The answer depends on you, Kurt. I’m hoping we can work out an arrangement. I could use NUMA’s resources. I’m not interested in gold or treasure. Only knowledge. I want to find Sheba more than anything else. I readily admit that I am truly obsessed with the lady.”
Austin drew his lips down in a deep frown and turned to Zavala. “Think we should make a deal with this slippery character?”
“Hell, Kurt, you know what a sucker I am for romance. He’s got my vote.”
Austin had already made up his mind. NUMA’s help would be a small price to pay for Saxon’s expertise. He admired the man’s ingenuity and perseverance as well.
He leveled a steady gaze at Saxon. “I’ll make it unanimous, on two conditions.”
Saxon’s face fell. “What’s your first condition?”
“That you tell me what you found in the amphora.”
“I found a papyrus,” Saxon said. “Condition number two?”
“That you buy another round.”
“Egad! Austin. You are a hard man to take advantage of someone so desperate,” Saxon said, twirling the end of his mustache.
Then he grinned, called over to the bartender, and held three fingers in the air.
Chapter 40
BALTAZAR’S VALET MADE HIS WAY along the dark-paneled corridor and stopped at a thick oak door. Balancing a tray on one hand, he knocked softly. No one answered. His lips parted in a faint smile. He knew Carina was in the room because he had carried her unconscious body there from the helicopter.
The valet dug a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
Carina was standing across the threshold, her face contorted in a mask of fury. She clutched the heavy brass base of a shadeless table lamp in two hands as if it was a war club. She had been prepared to crown the first person she saw. She hadn’t expected someone holding a fine china teapot and cup on tray.
Without lowering the lamp, she demanded: “Who undressed me?”
The valet said, “A female member of the house staff. Your clothes were being washed. Mr. Baltazar felt you would be more comfortable wearing something clean in the meantime.”
“You can tell Mr. Baltazar that I want my clothes back right away.”
“You can tell him yourself,” the valet said. “He’s waiting for you in the garden. No hurry, he says. Come when you feel up to it. May I set this tray down?”
Carina glared at the man, but she stepped aside and let him into the bedroom. He put the tray down on an end table. Keeping his eye on the lamp, he backed out of the room, leaving the door open.
Carina had awakened minutes before to find herself in a strange bed. She remembered the sweet smell in the back of the taxi. She had thrown the covers off and discovered she was clad only in her underwear. She searched around the luxurious bedroom for her clothes. All she found, hanging in a closet, was a long white cotton shift with a scoop neck.
Holding the shift in her hand, she had glanced around. Except for the bars on the windows, the chamber was like a bedroom in a fine hotel. She went over to a window and was looking out at a manicured lawn when she heard the knock. She had thrown the shift on and grabbed the lamp.
After the valet left, she stepped out into the corridor and watched him disappear down another corridor. She went back into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Her hands were trembling with tension. She set the lamp down, settled into a plush chair, and began to cry.
The inner anger that had given her the courage to prepare for an assault on the valet had ebbed. She wiped her eyes and went into the bathroom, where she washed her face and combed her disheveled hair. She took a deep gulp of tea, stepped out into the corridor, and followed in the valet’s footsteps to a set of open patio doors. She stepped out into brilliant sunshine and looked around. She was in a courtyard garden. Water bubbled in a fountain whose centerpiece was a nude woman surrounded by naked cherubs. But her eyes went to Baltazar, who was clipping flowers from one of the beds that ringed the fountain.
Baltazar was dressed casually in white slacks and a black short-sleeve shirt. He wore espadrilles, rope sandals, on his feet. He smiled as she entered the courtyard and stepped over to offer her the bouquet of flowers.
Carina folded her arms. “I don’t want your flowers. Where am I?”
He lowered the bouquet and set it down on a marble bench. “You are my guest, Miss Mechadi.”
“I don’t want to be your guest. I insist that you release me.”
Still smiling, Baltazar gazed at Carina as if he were a butterfly collector who had captured a rare specimen. “Imperious. Commanding. Much as I would expect from the Mekada line.”
The answer confused Carina. Her anger gave way to confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll offer a proposition.” He gestured toward a round marble table with service settings for two. Join me for a drink and tapas, and I will tell you the story.”
Carina glanced around the garden. A couple of men dressed in black uniforms stood near a door that might have led out of the courtyard. Escape was impossible. Even if she made it out of this place, then what? She had no idea where she was. It would be better to bide her time. She walked over and sat at the table with her back rigid.
The valet magically appeared with a pitcher and filled their water glasses. Several dishes followed. Carina planned to pick at them rather than accept Baltazar’s hospitality, but she discovered that she was famished. She ate what was in front of her, rationalizing that she would need her strength. She didn’t touch the rosé wine. She wanted to have a clear head to deal with what might lie ahead.
Baltazar seemed to be reading her thoughts. He was a shrewd judge of character, and made no conversation during the meal other than to ask if the food was to her liking. When she had enough, she drained her water glass and pushed her dish away.
“I have fulfilled my part of the proposition,” she said.
“So you have.” Baltazar nodded. “Now I will fulfill mine. The story begins three thousand years ago with Solomon.”
“King Solomon?”
“The one and only. The son of Da
vid, king of the lands that include what we now know as Israel. According to biblical references, Solomon receives a visit from the queen of a place called Sheba. She has heard of Solomon’s wisdom and is curious. When she arrives, she is impressed not only with his wisdom but by his wealth. They become smitten with each other. He even writes a series of erotic poems that some believe were to her, at least in part.”
“Song of Songs,” Carina said.
“That’s right. The woman in the poems introduces herself: “I am black, but beautiful, daughters of Jerusalem.”
“She came from Africa,” Carina said.
“That seems to be the case. Her mention in the Bible is a brief one. The Koran expands on the story, and the Arab and later medieval chroniclers picked up the thread. Sheba and Solomon are married; she bears him a son, and then returns to her homeland. He has many wives, concubines, and children. She becomes even more powerful and wealthy.”
“And the son?”
“The legend says he returns to Africa and reigns as a king.”
“A lovely fairy tale,” Carina said. “Now may I be allowed to dispense with your hospitality and leave this place?”
“But that’s only the first part of the story,” Baltazar said. “The liaison between Solomon and Sheba’s handmaiden also produces a son. He dies at an early age, but his progeny live on. They move to Cyprus, where they establish a shipbuilding business, and make contact with the Fourth Crusaders. They move to Western Europe after the sack of Constantinople and take a Spanish name.”
“Baltazar,” Carina said.
“Correct. Unfortunately, I am the last remaining male descendant of the Baltazars. When I die, the family dies with me.”
And none too soon, Carina thought. She let out an unladylike laugh. “Are you saying that you are descended from Solomon?”
“Yes, Miss Mechadi. And so are you.”
“You are far more insane than I have imagined, Baltazar.”
“Before you pronounce judgments on my sanity, hear me out. The son of Solomon and Sheba became king of Ethiopia. His family ruled for centuries.”
“I was born in Italy, but my mother told me the story of King Menelik of Ethiopia. What of it?”
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