Saxon grinned. “Absolutely right. That’s why I think the hotel is the key to unlocking this whole mystery.”
“How is that?” Zavala asked.
“You’ll see,” Saxon said mysteriously.
As the Suburban penetrated deeper into the woods, Saxon launched into a description of the wars between the Indians and the settlers, and pointed out ruins of the old mining camps and towers that marked mine shafts. The road ended abruptly at the shores of a lake. Saxon brought the Suburban to a stop.
“Welcome to the Hotel Gold Stream,” he said.
They got out of the car and followed Saxon down a gradual slope to the edge of a lake. Hardly a ripple marred the mirrorlike surface.
“The hotel is under the lake?” Zavala said.
“The hotel used to be in a valley,” Saxon said. “After the place was abandoned, gold hunters came in looking for the source. They had more dynamite than brains. They blew up a natural dam, and allowed the waters of a nearby creek to fill the valley and cover the hotel.”
Zavala walked over to the water’s edge and gazed out at the lake. He judged that it was about a mile wide and two miles long, and surrounded by thickly wooded hills. “How deep is it?”
“Nearly a hundred feet at its deepest point,” Saxon said. “The lake is spring-fed.”
“Standard dive procedure is to plan the dive and dive the plan,” Zavala said. “It’s a big lake. Any idea where we should start?”
“I’ll show you,” Saxon said.
Back at the Suburban, Saxon extracted a file marked HOTEL GOLD STREAM from his bag and handed Zavala a yellowed brochure that touted the features of the hotel, shown as a two-story flagstone building.
A walkway led from the hotel to stairs that went down to the cave entrance, where the tour boats were lined up. A sketch showed people in Victorian attire panning sluiceways for gold. Zavala looked from the hotel layout to the lake, trying to visualize what lay under the surface.
“No one could find the mine when the hotel was high and dry,” he said. “What makes you think it will be any easier under water?”
“The same question occurred to me,” Saxon said. “I was about to call off the expedition when I came across a magazine article about the lost hotel. One of the former kitchen staff described a trapdoor in the kitchen. It had been locked, but the kitchen staff broke the lock and dropped something down to see how deep it was. No one could hear it hit bottom. The management put a stronger lock on the trapdoor because the kitchen people were dumping peelings down the shaft.”
Paul said. “The air shaft could have been dug to ventilate a mine.”
Saxon opened a sketch pad to a page where he had made a reasonable copy of the hotel from the tourist brochure. Double vertical lines marked the air shaft.
“I think the hotel was built over the mine,” he said. “The cave may have been part of the mine entrance before the ceiling caved in. The cave-in blocked access but not the flow of gold-laden water. If we go down that shaft, we can get into the mine. Do you think it’s doable?”
Zavala studied the drawing for a moment, going through each step of the dive in his mind. “Any idea how big the shaft opening was?” he asked Saxon.
“No dimensions were given in the article.”
Zavala was a careful diver. He proposed a two-stage plan. He and Gamay would explore the cave first, then check out the shaft. Gamay was a highly skilled diver who had explored many wrecks in the Great Lakes and, later, worked as a nautical archaeologist. With their slim builds, they might be able to navigate the shaft.
While Paul inflated a rubber raft, the divers got into their scuba gear. Saxon had charted out the hotel location on a topographical map enclosed in waterproof plastic.
Trout paddled Gamay and Zavala out into the lake. They dropped a weighted marker buoy into the water. All was ready. The divers rolled over the sides of the raft and disappeared into the depths, with only ripples to mark their passage from one world to another.
Chapter 46
AUSTIN WOKE UP FEELING as if he’d been mugged. He had foolishly expected to be fully conscious until the time he met with Baltazar. Instead, he’d let himself be sucker-punched.
A man’s face came into focus less than a yard away. The face was heavily bandaged on the right side.
“Feeling better?” the man said in a disinterested tone that suggested he didn’t care one way or the other.
Austin’s head ached, his tongue was fuzzy, and his vision was blurred.
“Compared to roadkill, not bad,” Austin replied. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Squire. I work for Baltazar.” He offered Austin a glass of clear liquid. Seeing Austin’s hesitation, he spread his lips in a crooked grin that showed missing teeth. “Don’t worry. If Baltazar wanted you dead, you’d be pushing up daisies. It will counteract the effect of the chemical they used on you.”
Austin took a sip. The liquid was cold and had an artificial sweetness. The pounding in his head lessened, and his eyes regained their focus. He was lying on an army cot. His newfound friend sat on a folding chair. They were in a large rectangular tent. Sunlight filtered through the translucent red-and-white stripes.
“I’ve been unconscious all night,” Austin said.
“You must make them nervous. They gave you enough happy juice to knock out a steer.”
Austin drained the glass and handed it back. The man had the husky build of a professional wrestler and wore blue denim coveralls. A pair of aluminum crutches leaned against his chair.
“What happened to your face?” Austin said.
The left-hand side of the man’s mouth jerked downward in a half frown. “Stuff happened to it,” he said. “Get up.”
Squire used his crutches to push himself to a standing position. He leaned on the crutches and watched as Austin slowly swung his legs over the side of the cot and got to his feet. Austin was slightly dizzy, but he felt his strength rapidly returning. He clenched and un-clenched his fingers into fists.
Squire caught the subtle motion. “In case you’re thinking about trying something funny, there are two guards outside the tent, and they’re not friendly guys like me. Mr. Baltazar gave me the authority to have them work you over. Understand?”
Austin nodded.
Squire gestured toward the door. Austin stepped outside and blinked in the bright sunlight. The guards were posted on either side of the door. The medieval tunics they wore didn’t match the automatic weapons pointed at Austin. The men had a deceptive lazy look in their eyes, as if they would be glad if Austin gave them a chance to relieve their boredom.
The tent was one of a dozen drawn up in two rows on a large open field bordered by woods. At the center of the opposite row was a raised reviewing stand. The structure was roofed, and closed in on the sides. The corners were built in the shape of towers. Pennants bearing a bull’s-head emblem snapped in the wind.
An open space around fifty feet wide separated the lines of tents. A low wooden rail divided the space in half for most of its length. At each end, separated by the rail, two men in full armor were mounted on gigantic horses. They held wooden lances that had blunt metal points. The huge animals were equally covered with armor, which reflected the morning sunlight.
Someone in the stand waved what looked like a green handkerchief. The armored men spurred their mounts and charged toward each other with lowered lances. The earth shook from the impact of the hooves. The riders met at midpoint with a mighty crash of spears against shields. The wooden lances shattered. The horsemen rode to the end of the rail, spun their horses around, and charged each other with upraised swords. Austin didn’t see the second phase of the fight because his guards herded him between two tents.
He glanced around and saw fields and woods. A flicker of red materialized at the edge of the trees. It was a car moving at a high rate of speed. At the last minute, the driver hit his brakes and the Bentley skidded to a halt, with the heavy bumper inches from Austin’s knee.
“I’m just moving slowly after the cocktail your men gave me, Baltazar.”
Baltazar clapped his hands. The Squire brought over two leather-covered chairs, which he placed so they were facing each other. Baltazar sat in one and offered the other to Austin.
“What do you think of our little joust?” he said.
Austin gave Baltazar’s armor and tunic the once-over. “I thought I was on the set of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”
“Consider this as time travel,” Baltazar said. “I’ve re-created every detail here as it would have been at a fifteenth-century French tournament.”
Austin glanced at the car. “The Bentley too?”
Baltazar greeted Austin’s jibe with a frown. “In the days of chivalry, the tournament served to train men for war and separated the bold from the not-so-bold. I use it here for a similar purpose with my mercenaries. I take it very seriously.”
“I’m happy you have a hobby, Baltazar, but we both know why I accepted your invitation. Where’s Carina Mechadi?”
“Safe for now, as I said on the telephone.” He stared at Austin as if he were a lab specimen. “You must think a great deal of the young woman to allow yourself to be taken prisoner.”
Austin smiled. “I missed your face, Baltazar. This way I got a free ride to see you.”
Baltazar thrust his oversized jaw forward. “Then talk, Mr. Austin. I’m eager to learn if you have anything worthwhile to say.”
“To begin with, I know what it will take for you to let Carina go.”
“Ah, a proposition. What do you have to offer?”
“The location of King Solomon’s mine.”
“You’re bluffing, Austin.” Baltazar said with a sneer. “Besides, I have the original Navigator, with its map. Why would I need to bargain with you?”
“Because if you knew the mine’s location, there would have been no need to kidnap Carina and use her as bait to catch me.”
“Maybe I did it to swat an annoying fly, Austin. But I’ll indulge you. Tell me about the mine. Perhaps you can use the information as a bargaining chip.”
Austin grimaced as if he were making a painful choice. “The patterns on the bronze cat were a map. Computer enhancements showed the location of a Phoenician shipwreck. An amphora salvaged from the wreck contained a papyrus with details of the mine.”
“And do you know the author of this fabulous papyrus?” Baltazar said.
“His name was Menelik, son of Solomon.”
“Menelik?” It came out as a hiss.
“That’s right. He transported a sacred relic to North America.”
Baltazar’s reaction was more subdued than Austin expected.
“Your attempt to shock me with your knowledge only displays your lack of understanding of the situation. Do you have any idea what this sacred relic is?”
“Maybe you can fill me in.”
Baltazar smiled. “It’s the original Ten Commandments, inscribed on tablets of solid gold.”
“I’m not buying, Baltazar. The original Commandments were clay.”
“Your words betray your ignorance. There were supposedly three versions of the Decalogue, all made of clay. But there were actually four. The first one predated the others. That version was based upon the pagan beliefs of my ancestors but was deemed too controversial. Supposedly, the tablets were destroyed. The truth is, they were hidden, and passed down to Solomon, who decided to transport them to the farthest reaches of his empire.”
“You’re richer than Croesus,” Austin said. “What’s a few more pounds of gold to you?”
“Those tablets rightfully belong to my family.”
“You don’t seem like the family type, Baltazar.”
“On the contrary, Austin, this is very much a family matter. You look around and see the ritualized violence and think that’s all there is to the Baltazar family. We’re no worse that the world’s governments. Why do you suppose we have just as many conflicts as before the end of the Cold War? The vast military infrastructure not only survived, it prospered after the Cold War ended.”
“Which is good for so called peace-and-stability companies like yours,” Austin said.
“Fear and tension are in our business interests.”
“And when there is no fear or tension, you create it.”
“We have no need to stir human passions,” Baltazar said. “People would kill each other whether we existed or not. There is a great deal more at stake here than meets the eye. The discovery of the tablets will sew doubts about the underpinnings of the world’s governments and religions. There will be unrest everywhere.”
“Starting in the Middle East.”
“Starting, but not ending, there.”
“Bringing you great riches and power. What next, Baltazar, the world?”
“I have no intention of taking over the world like some James Bond villain,” Baltazar said. “It would be far too difficult to govern.”
“What do you want then?”
“A monopoly on the world’s security business.”
“You’ve got a lot of competition. There are dozens of companies in the so-called peace line, to say nothing of the world’s armies.”
“We will push aside or absorb them until there is only one of any consequence. PeaceCo. Our security arms and mineral companies will feed each other. The industrial nations can keep their precious armies and navies. Our private forces will be hired to provide security in exchange for the natural wealth of poor nations in Africa, South America, and Asia. I will build an economic-military empire without equal.”
“Empires come and go, Baltazar.”
“This one will endure for many years. Since I have no heirs, perhaps I will pass on my legacy to Adriano. He is like a son to me.”
“You’re an evil man, Baltazar.”
“Simply a businessman who looks forward to many small wars without end. A Pax Baltazar. But first things first, Austin. We need to find the tablets.”
“Then we may have a deal. The location of the mine in exchange for Ms. Mechadi.”
Baltazar raised his gloved hand. “Not quite yet. Tell me what you know. I’ll have someone check on it.”
Austin laughed. “I’m not a fool, Baltazar. You’ll kill me once you confirm the mine site.”
“Tut-tut. You have a suspicious mind. I’ll offer a compromise then. A chance to escape my fiendish clutches. You have taken up the cause of a lady. Under the laws of chivalry, you are her champion and must act as such.”
Austin considered the turn of phrase and decided that Baltazar was quite mad.
He forced a smile. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
Baltazar rose from his seat. “I’ll show you. Get in the car.”
Baltazar opened the passenger door of the Bentley for Austin and then slid behind the steering wheel. He started the powerful engine, and accelerated to nearly a hundred miles per hour along a straight road.
MOMENTS LATER BALTAZAR SLOWED, touched his brakes, and the car came to a stop a few yards from the edge of a deep gorge.
Spanning the gorge was a bridge of interlocking steel about forty feet long and twenty feet wide. There were no guardrails. A wooden fence ran up the center line. The wood was new, as if the fence had recently been erected.
They got out of the car and walked to the edge of the chasm. The steep sides dropped down for about three hundred feet to a rock-strewn stream.
“This is what the locals call Dead Man’s Ditch,” Baltazar said. “I had the bridge built to connect pieces of my property. I made some modifications in anticipation of your visit.”
“You didn’t have to go through all the trouble,” Austin said.
“Not at all. Here’s my proposition. I will pla
ce my car with Miss Mechadi in it on the other side of the ditch.” He pointed to the grassy field across the gorge. “I will be in the middle, playing the role of the mythical dragon. We will joust for the favor of the fair lady.”
Austin turned and looked at the pair of SUVs that had followed them. “What about your goons?”
“I will instruct my men to stay on this side.”
“You will allow us to escape?”
“I will give you a sporting chance, which is more than you have now.”
“And if I decline your invitation?”
“I’ll have you thrown into the gorge before your lady’s horrified eyes.”
“I don’t see how I can pass up a generous offer like that, Baltazar.”
Baltazar grinned unpleasantly and gestured for Austin to get back into the car. They drove at breakneck speed back to the main jousting area. He stopped to let Austin off in front of the tent. Squire was leaning on his crutches in front of the tent’s portal.
“Your man will see that you are properly outfitted,” Baltazar said. “We’ll be wearing only chain mail and a helmet. It wouldn’t be chivalrous to burden you with full armor. You will have a shield and a lance. The horses will be unarmored, which will make things go faster. See you at the tilt.” He gunned the engine and took off, with his tires spinning on grass.
Squire watched Baltazar drive away and told Austin to get in the tent. He helped him on with a coat of mail and handed him a tunic with no emblem on it. The chain mail hood had an opening for Austin’s face. Squire placed a knitted skullcap on Austin’s head and tried the helmet on for size. It was a little loose but would have to do, he said. He buckled a sword around Austin’s waist and fitted him with spurs. He handed him a kite-shaped shield.
Surveying Austin, he spread his lips in a jagged grin. “You’re no Sir Lancelot, but you’ll have to do. Sit down and I’ll give you some pointers.”
Austin removed the helmet and sat on his bunk.
“Listen carefully. Baltazar likes to do things in threes. He plays with you on the first pass. Misses you completely. On the second, he’ll deliver a glancing blow. Probably on the shield. The third time is the money shot. He’ll spit you on his lance like a pig. Any questions?”
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