King Solomon's Tomb

by Preston W Child

  Gregory's eyes flashed in the mirror.

  "No, you won't, Andrew. You are not a murderer. Neither is Olivia. I want to tell you what is going on, and I want to also help. They've got Diggs, and I wonder how long they're gonna keep him for before they realize they don't need him."

  Andrew sighed.

  "Gregory will bring you to me where it's safe. We'll talk, and then we can look for Olivia, alright?"

  Andrew returned the phone and watched the traffic for the rest of the ride.

  —

  Paul Talbot was standing under an umbrella, sipping from a narrow glass some white juice. He wore shorts and a flowered shirt with the sleeves folded to his shoulder. He looked ten years older than the last time Andrew saw him in Rome.

  He wore aviator sunglasses. He waved Andrew over. The taxi driver drove off as Andrew strolled across the sandy beach of Praia do Leblon. A stiff cool breeze was blowing everything; it rumbled the waves in, grabbed and twisted the many umbrellas along the beach, made whooshing noises in his ears. He loved the feel of it and the sight of the vast ocean and the people riding bicycles along the sidewalk—the tall buildings behind that cast their shade over half the main road behind him.

  "This your first time in Brazil?" Talbot asked when he joined him.

  "No."

  He introduced Andrew to a glass of the white stuff in his glass. Andrew took it and walked with him. "Agua de Coco, that's the juice from the coconut itself. Very hydrating. I drink that all day and feel no need for food."

  Andrew didn't drink it right away. Talbot noticed the reserved man's reluctance and made no complaints.

  "So, what brought you here the first time?"

  "Talbot?" Andrew stopped walking and faced the former CIA chief.

  Paul raised a brow and looked at him.

  "Why am I here? To talk about the country or to get my sister out?"

  "Technically, to talk about the country. Then, to get your sister into the most ambitious height of her career."

  Talbot grinned, apparently impressed by his little pitch. Andrew wasn't moved, though.

  "I have come to get her out."

  "Why don't you listen to my proposal?"

  "No, Talbot. You are one of the most crooked men alive. By the way, I know about Peru. It was you pulling strings. You sent Kowalski, and that midget did a hell of a fucking job. So how come you talk like you've joined the Jesuit Movement for Peace?"

  "Because I have. You don't understand. I didn't have a choice, just like Emilio doesn't have a choice now—"

  Andrew dropped the glass of coconut water and stepped on Talbot's left foot. He grabbed the man's side, clenching his left kidney in his hold. Talbot gasped in pain. His eyes flashed in terror.

  Andrew hissed, "Emilio tried to kill me twice now! Don't mention his name to me. Imagine what I'd do to you and him when this is all over, especially if you try to fuck me like he's done twice before!"

  "Okay, okay, God! Let me go!"

  Andrew released his hold slowly. Talbot's legs gave way, and he fell on one knee. Veins stood out and pumped on his forehead. His breath came out in wheezing gasps; Andrew gave him his hand and pulled the man up.

  Talbot threw his glass in the sand. The white coconut water percolated in the dry sand. He brushed off the white grains of sand sticking to his knee cap.

  "First, we have to find Olivia, then we talk," Andrew said.

  Talbot nodded.

  Andrew started dialing Olivia's number.

  —

  When Talbot saw Olivia walking towards them, he smiled and said to Andrew, "She's a smart woman. See?"

  Olivia had put a plaster on her wrist where she took out the implant. With her short dark hair, she looked quite different. Andrew stared blankly. They embraced. Olivia glanced at Talbot, then back at her brother.

  "It’s good to see you, Andrew. What's this asshole doing here?"

  "That hurts," Talbot said.

  Andrew looked at him and said, "Start talking, Paul."

  "I understand, ahem, that you are angry with me. But I'm here to help you direct your anger in the right place. You must have heard of a group of powerful men and women called the Table. They control most of the world's commerce. It is a large organization of greedy motherfuckers."

  "I was asked to hire you. But they changed their mind—"

  "Why?" asked Olivia.

  "I don't know, but I—"

  "Because you screwed them in Peru. Why don't you come clean with us?"

  Talbot raised his palm, face out. He continued, "It's a dog-eat-dog world. I've been screwed many times too. Allegiances change, the screwing moves from the ass to your mouth and back again. It's the way of the world. But I've learned my lessons. I'm tired, and I want out."

  "Don't you think they know this, these Table guys, don't you think they'd know you want out and might screw them one more time? Maybe that's why they canceled," Olivia observed.

  Talbot shrugged and said, "Maybe, but let me get down to the real reason they want you and your team out of the picture, alright? You have been too successful. You have slapped them in the face with your bravery, Olivia; you are the lady version of Indiana Jones. How much is your fortune now? Peru wasn't supposed to happen, okay, that was a mistake. The professor was supposed to get the gold's location, then I swoop in with my boys. But as I have said before, allegiances change. How was I supposed to know Kowalski was such a wolf in sheep's covering, huh?"

  "What's this big thing now?" asked Olivia.

  "King Solomon's tomb."

  Olivia and Andrew stared at Talbot for some seconds. Olivia glanced at Andrew questioningly. Andrew shrugged.

  "I know, I know, you don't believe me. I didn't believe it too when I first heard it. I thought it was bullshit. But I kid you not, it is real. King Solomon's tomb is as real as that Inca temple in Peru. As real as the Templars gold—well, except for that one. But—"

  "Of course, it is. I've seen photos. They are all over Pinterest," Olivia said.

  "Yeah, those."

  "And I bet that tomb is as empty as any tomb that's like a thousand years old."

  Talbot's face brightened. He beamed, and it was uncharacteristic of him. He said, "Only this one isn't exactly empty. And the pictures on the internet aren't the real tomb either. They are decoys. But first, take a look at this."

  He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a piece of paper. It looked like a page that was torn from a book. It was old, and Olivia quickly perceived the smell of antique. The last place she got that smell was in Peru, in Rodriguez's antique shop.

  "Here, see. This is from an old book detailing the whereabouts of King Solomon's tomb. You won't believe it, but it's in Jerusalem. Please read."

  He gave Olivia the torn page.

  Talbot smiled, a contented smirk.

  The page number was 65; the title on it was King Solomon's treasure in the 21st century. Olivia turned the page around, her but feeling told her this page was from the book Rodriguez sent to her. Someone had marked places in the paragraphs with a pen.

  She skimmed through the whole page and the other side. Then she went back to memorize the marked paragraphs.

  She returned the page and said, "This proves nothing, bullshit. It's just some scholar's wish. Wishes aren't horses like the adage says."

  Talbot took the page and folded it back into his pocket. He sighed. "Then why did they cancel? Why do you think they're trying to kill you?"

  Olivia and Andrew shrugged at the same time.

  "Look, the machinery has been oiled, and it's rolling already. You can't stop the hit they've put out or the bounty on your heads. There's a guy; he'll come to get you two soon. He's out there, watching. He monkeyed your flight," he said to Olivia.

  Olivia pulled Andrew some feet away from Talbot's earshot.

  "What do you think?" she asked him.

  "He's right."

  "He's right about what exactly, the fact that someone's trying to kill us all?"

&nb
sp; "King Solomon's tomb exists," he said simply.

  Olivia sighed and looked away. Her eyes were bloodshot; she looked lean. Andrew wondered if she's had anything to eat since.

  "Walk away, Olivia. Let's go home."

  "I can't. They have Lawrence Diggs. They killed Rodriguez. They killed him. None of these meant he should die."

  "You won't let it go?"

  "Damn if I will," she said darkly.

  She stomped back to where Talbot stood, waiting. Arms akimbo and fuming, she said, "We are going to Jerusalem, Talbot. I'm going to screw you all—the Table, you, Emilio Batolini, and anyone else who dares bend over."

  "Okay."

  "Now, I want Lawrence Diggs out of the police’s hands—"

  "That's gonna be a challenging thing to do. The Table has them on their payroll."

  Andrew said, "Just tell me where he is. We'll get him out."

  "Good. Follow me."

  —

  4

  Militar head of the Copacabana county, Diego Italo, looked from the file before him and the man behind bars for a third time, appalled. Italo picked the file off the table and went around his table. Another officer, Luis, the one who led the team that brought the American in, was sitting on a chair by the cell, sneering.

  The boys didn't quite appreciate what they had just done. But it was a big deal for Italo.

  He read from the file, "Lawrence Diggs, former CIA operative, field officer…" He read on.

  Diggs gazed with expressionless eyes. His back was straight against the wall. His feet were on the floor and both hands on his knees, as still as a statue.

  They'd not take him for interrogation. Italo, upon reading the brief about the American, would not risk losing him. He'd watched enough Hollywood movies to know what happens when you escorted people like Lawrence Diggs from the holding cell to anywhere. They jumped you, arm-twisted you—literally—and escaped after killing all the officers.

  He'd heard it happen in real life as well. Most of all, Italo was afraid of the man. Diggs had given up so quickly. Italo was a smart man; he never underestimated any criminal.

  "What is the nature of your visit to Brazil?" he asked in fair English.

  Diggs blinked, perhaps the first one in the past ten minutes.

  "Tourism."

  "You were never on the beach, Mr. Lawrence Diggs. So, it can't have been tourism. Maybe you seek something else. Why don't you tell me?"

  "Is this how you interrogate?"

  "We are just getting to know each other. What's the nature of your relationship with the woman named Olivia Newton?"

  Diggs clammed up then. Italo asked a series of other questions that Diggs either smiled at because they were funny or just stared on because they were annoying. The police thought he was Olivia's boyfriend.

  Then Italo's phone started ringing. Diggs braced himself; he was in play. The police head spoke crisp Portuguese into the phone. He was taking instructions from someone, and it was about him.

  They were going to transport him.

  Diggs hadn't found Rodriguez's phone in the evidence room. So, where the hell was it? He had allowed himself to be arrested so he could get more information.

  "I need my phone call now," he said when Italo finished talking on his phone.

  Italo stared at him, surprised. "Phone call? What for?"

  "I'd like to talk to my superiors about this."

  The policeman laughed. "I just did."

  Bingo, Diggs thought.

  "Perhaps you want to talk to a lawyer instead, which I believe you don't need considering where you are going, my friend."

  Diggs said, "I'd take my chances."

  Italo said, “Okay.” He requested that the American should be cuffed.

  Diggs heard him tell the cops to watch the prisoner closely.

  Five armed cops took Diggs out of his cell and escorted him down the lonely hallway to a phone on the wall. Diggs heard the babel of Portuguese coming from behind the wall. This place was a different station, not the one he had been arrested at.

  He dialed Olivia's cell.

  She answered immediately.

  "Diggs here, calling in to hear what the situation is."

  There was a pause in which he imagined Olivia was weighing the tone of his voice, his words, and thinking if it was some code talk. Diggs had never talked to Olivia in code talk before. He was hoping she'd catch on.

  She did.

  In a calm voice, Olivia said, "We know what's happening now. If you don't have possession of the evidence, it doesn't matter. We'll be seeing you real soon."

  Diggs smiled and hung up.

  He turned around.

  "I need to take a dump now."

  All five cops shared a look. They started a small conference; it was funny to behold. One wanted to have Diggs do it in his cell, into a pan. Another thought that was no way to treat even a criminal. Another asked if they have ever guarded a criminal the way they were defending this one. Everyone agreed this dude was some hotshot, and very dangerous.

  Yet they all agreed he couldn't be more dangerous than five cops with automatic weapons. Alright, they could solve the problem by radioing in the request.

  That was what Diggs hoped they would do, of course.

  The cops were spread before him—one on each side of him, three in front. The one on the left leaned his gun on his feet, incapacitating himself severely. He worked his radio with the other hand, further rendering himself useless in the equation.

  Diggs was speedy.

  He hit the radio against the cop's neck, crushing his trachea. He grabbed the one his right, turned him into a human shield; the three cops in front of him lost their alertness momentarily. Diggs kicked one in the groin. The last two got their guns up. But Diggs was already pushing them with the cop in his hand. He pulled the knife from that cop and stabbed all three in the neck.

  He broke the neck of the one in his grip.

  It took him about eight seconds. He was out of breath when he finished. I'm getting soft.

  He redialed Olivia's number.

  "Rodriguez's phone isn't in that place. I'm on my way out now."

  "We will pick you up in ten minutes at the Rua Sousa road," said Olivia.

  "Good."

  That road was a five-minute sprint from the police station.

  Diggs propped the five cops against the wall. One of the officers grabbed Diggs's leg. The cop's neck was dark, where Diggs had hit him. His throat made whistling noises as he tried to pull Diggs back.

  Diggs grabbed his hand. "Shush, where's the evidence room here?"

  The cop's brows furrowed in anger; he cursed. He stared at Diggs reproachfully. Diggs pulled the knife hanging from the guy's belt and brought it to his ailing neck.

  "I won't ask you again. Where is the evidence room? The old man, your colleagues, found in that hotel, I need to find his phone. Where is it?"

  The man pointed at the wall at the end of the corridor, where they brought Diggs through. "Go right, third door."

  Diggs put the knife in the cop’s hand. He patted the man's cheek and left quietly; he found the door quickly. The murmur of police activity continued in the main offices. Diggs went into the room quickly. There were racks, and on the racks, there were cartons labeled with words.

  He was familiar with police stations' property offices, so it wasn't hard for Diggs to locate the box with the tag: CASE: 0220 — 1230.

  He had just a few seconds more, by his estimate, before the Militar head begins to ask what the delay was for.

  He picked up the box and searched in it. The phone was in a plastic bag; Exhibit 3 was written on it.

  Just then, he heard shouting in the hallway. Diggs's time was up.

  He thumbed down the boxes and stopped at a random one. He opened it and pulled two Glocks out. Both had bullets in their chambers when he checked. He stepped out of the room, pointing the gun down the corridor where the two cops who had been checking their maimed colleagues looked from t
hem to Diggs. He then re-pointed it at the face of two more cops on their way to the evidence room. Both groups of cops were not armed.

  Diggs said softly, "There ain't no need for any one of you fresh fellows to die. I'm going to kill every one of you if I have to. But we can do it gently instead, and everyone can go back to their families."

  He nodded at the two cops coming to the evidence room. "Get in here, both of you."

  The two cops stumbled after each other into the evidence room. Diggs switched hands and grabbed one of the cops by the neck and put a gun to his temple.

  "I need an exit."

  The cop blubbered, "There's only the entrance, the main entrance. And they'd never let you live."

  "Then we are all going to die."

  The cop started trembling. Diggs ordered the remaining three cops to come forward. They would lead the way out. Diggs forced the cops forward. He was halfway through the floor before the whole ground came to their senses.

  Shocked faces stared at him. A few got around to pulling their service weapons from their hips. The cop in Diggs's hand cried, "I don't want to die, please!"

  "I will shoot him, and then I will shoot half of you before I go down. So why don't you let us do this all over again? You let me go now, then come back for me," Diggs said, coolly as though he was talking about the weather.

  So, he had one gun in one cop's neck, and another pointed at a random cop, square in that policeman's head. And he walked backward every second. He's back to the door. There was no policeman there guarding the entrance, so he went out.

  The head of the Militar who spoke with Diggs earlier was puffing hot when he came out of his office. His eyes stayed on the cop in Diggs’s grasp. It seemed the policeman was one of the ones considered indispensable there.

  "You are making a great mistake. You think you'll ever get out of here alive?"

  "I'll take my chances," Diggs said with a wicked smile.

  Cops looked at each other, amazed.

  Diggs kicked the door open with his heel. He stumbled into the street. His back hit a parked police car parked on the sidewalk; he dragged the cop around the vehicle. The vehicle was now between him and the more than ten cops now aiming their guns at him.

  He took his gun and put it to the cop's head. "Pull the door open, gently."