A Treasure Deep (26 page)

“A baldric,” Curtis replied. “It’s the
leather sash running from his shoulder to his hip. It was used to
provide additional support for the sword.”

“Oh, silly me,” Gleason quipped. “Why would
it be significant?”

“It may help date the soldier. If memory
serves me, baldrics came into use around the first century.”

“It looks like there are shreds of red
material,” Jack said. “Is that his uniform?”

“Tunic,” Curtis answered. “This is amazing,”
he admitted. “If the other objects in the survey are like this,
then archeologists are going to have a field day.”

“And historians are going to have
migraines.”

“So this is why you wanted to keep things
quiet,” Montulli said. “Trying to keep all this undercover until
the research is done. I can understand that.”

That’s only one reason, Sergeant, and a small
reason at that, Perry thought to himself. He turned to Jack. “How
is the other digging going?”

“Good. The ground is firm but easy enough to
handle. The two digs farthest from us may need to use the backhoe.
The objects are too deep to reach with shovels.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Use the backhoe to get within three feet of
the objects. Shore the sides of the pit and put men down there to
do the sensitive digging.”

“Just make sure the backhoe doesn’t dig too
deeply and upend our precious find,” Curtis said.

“I’ve got our best man on the job,” Jack
said. “He has a gentle touch. He can scratch an itch on your back
with a bucket, if you want.”

“No thanks,” Curtis shot back. “I’ll just
take your word for it.”

“As soon as any team hits their target, I
want Dr. Curtis standing there, directing the extraction. We’ll
open each coffin for a brief look, then wrap it in ten mill plastic
sheeting. We’ll crate them after that.”

“That part is easy,” Jack said. “The real
challenge is getting the coffins through the crowds and into the
trucks.”

“Can you help us with that, Sergeant?” Perry
asked. “I know that I’m not on your good list, but a few deputies
helping the private security would be appreciated.”

“I don’t have a problem with you, Mr. Sachs,”
Montulli replied. “Sure, you’ve turned my town upside down and put
the mayor on the war path, but I can’t say you’ve done anything
more criminal than annoy me.”

“Does Detective Sanchez feel that way?” Perry
asked with a wry grin.

“No. Him you ticked off quite nicely,”
Montulli answered. “Getting a call from the governor’s office
didn’t put him in a good mood. Sanchez is a good cop, but he
doesn’t like to have his work meddled with.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Perry said. “I had
to do what I did. Can I count on you for a little more help?”

“Yeah, I’ll pitch in again, but I want to
stay on the scene. This stuff fascinates me. I love surprises.”

“Then you are going to be one happy man,
Sergeant. One happy man indeed.”

CLAIRE’S HEART BEGAN to slow from its hour-long
frenetic pounding. Her breathing came easier now. The woman said
she could take off the blindfold five minutes after she heard the
door close. Claire had no idea how much time had passed.

The woman had come to the old warehouse
office, opened the door, and strolled in as if paying a visit to an
old friend. Claire bolted to her feet; Joseph remained seated on
the floor, rocking back and forth. “You’re moving,” she announced
without emotion. “I’m going to blindfold you. Sit down and tilt
your head back.”

“My head?”

“Just do it,” she demanded. “Tilt your head
back and close your eyes.”

Claire did. Thoughts of escape ran through
her mind. Maybe she could overpower the woman, or at the very
least, push her aside and escape through the open door. But the
thoughts never became action. The woman was less than half Claire’s
age and looked to be twice as strong. Claire had rarely been
athletic and never confrontational. Violence sickened her.

With her head back and eyes closed, Claire
felt the soft touch of material. It had a slight but familiar odor
to it. Gauze. The woman was putting medical gauze on over Claire’s
closed lids. “Can’t you just let us go? We don’t have anything you
want.”

“No, I can’t let you go, and yes, you do have
something we want.”

“We?”

“Shut up and hold still.”

Something else was laid against Claire’s
eyes, something hard and round; small disks about the size of a
half-dollar. It occurred to her a moment later that that was what
the objects were: coins. A second later there was a ripping sound
followed by a tearing noise. Something sticky was placed over the
coins and gauze. It stuck to her forehead and cheek. Tape, she
realized. Her abductor had taped the large coin and gauze to
Claire’s face. She did the same to the other eye.

“Okay, tilt your head forward.”

Claire complied, and she felt a band of cloth
placed around her eyes.

“That ought to do it,” the woman said. “One
down, one to go.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Claire objected.
“Joseph can’t talk. He’s harmless and no threat to you.”

“Uhh . . . uhh . . . Perry . . . uhh . . .
uhh.”

“That sounds like talking to me,” the woman
snapped.

“That’s all he can say. That and just a few
other words.”

“Too many words for my comfort. Okay, buddy,
head back.” A second later: “I said, head back.”

“He doesn’t understand you,” Claire said.
“Let me sit by him.”

Another pause, then, “He’s right in front of
you, in the same place he was when I came in. And make him stop
rocking.”

Claire scooted forward on her seat, extended
her right hand, and reached for her son. She found him, touching
him on his shoulder. He rocked twice more then stopped. Easing
forward, Claire reached out with her other hand then slipped from
the chair to the floor. With only touch to go on, she quickly
determined Joseph’s position and sat on the floor next to him.
Slipping her arm around his shoulders, she pulled him close. He
responded by laying his head on her shoulder. Moving her hand from
his shoulder, she felt along his body until she found his hair,
then his forehead. Gently she pulled back. Joseph offered no
resistance.

“Be gentle with him,” Claire pleaded.

The woman gave no reply. Through the subtle
motions of Joseph’s head, Claire could sense the work her captor
was doing: the gauze, the coins, the tape. Joseph took it all with
no resistance or sound.

Events moved quickly after that. The woman
demanded that they rise and Claire did, helping Joseph to his feet.
“We’re going for a little ride,” she said. “I’ll lead you down the
stairs and to the van. You will do exactly as I say. The stairs are
treacherous, and a fall could be . . . painful.” Claire understood
the threat.

The trek down the stairs went without
incident, something Claire was thankful for. Once on the first
floor of the warehouse, the woman took Claire by the arm and
started walking, towing Claire after her. Joseph followed closely
as he always did, with his head pressed against Claire’s shoulder.
Time passed, but Claire had no means to measure it. Blindfolded and
in a strange environment, minutes seemed like hours. She had few
sensations. They were placed in the back of a vehicle that seemed
to be the same as

the panel truck that had brought them to the
warehouse. The drive was punctuated with stop-and-go driving. After
what seemed like an hour, the vehicle stopped and the back doors
opened.

“Everybody out.”

Claire prayed that someone would see them
exiting the van, that someone would notice the blindfolds and call
the police. It was a prayer that Claire began in detail but that
quickly became a mantra, “Please, please, please, please . . .”

In her lifetime, Claire had felt helpless on
several occasions. First, when the doctors first told her that
Joseph would never be like other boys. That moment had sent her
reeling, emotions tumbling like a skydiver who has lost control of
his descent. The worst had been the moment the hospital called to
give her news of Jamison’s injury and heart attack. Uncertainty
descended like rain in a hurricane. The reality of his death had
made the past precious and the future a place to fear. In each of
those cases, she’d survived the shock and pain. She could do it
again, she told herself. If she were careful, if she were smart, if
she made no stupid moves, then she and Joseph might make it through
all of this. God willing, they would survive.

The rest of the journey was on foot over a
hard surface that Claire guessed was concrete. Her footsteps echoed
harshly, and she assumed they were in a parking structure. There
was a slight smell of oil. Moments later the unforgiving concrete
gave way to a softer, but still firm, floor. She could feel a low
pile carpet under her feet. A bell also sounded, and the purring of
a quiet motor floated in the air. They were familiar sounds. Claire
and Joseph were led three more steps and they heard the moving of
metal doors. The floor lurched to the accompanying sounds of
rattling nearby, as if behind the wall. The sensation of motion was
proof enough for Claire to know they were in an elevator.

Moments later, another ding preceded the
sound of the doors opening. The woman, who was both captor and
guide, took Claire’s elbow again and moved her forward. The floor
felt softer underfoot, a sign that they were walking on a thicker,
plusher carpet. She heard no other sounds. The pace picked up.

“Not too fast,” Claire said. “It’s hard for
Joseph to keep up.”

“No talking,” the woman snapped. There was
anger in her voice, but she slowed her pace.

At first, Claire tried to count her steps,
making a mental map like she had seen people do on television
movies, but it was impossible. Without her sight she soon became
disoriented and fearful of tripping or bumping into something. She
felt more helpless with each step.

“In here,” the woman said and pulled Claire
at a right angle to the course they had been walking. The constant
pressure of Joseph’s head on her shoulder suddenly disappeared.
Unable to see, he had no way of noting the change in direction.

“Joseph,” Claire cried and pulled loose of
the woman’s grasp. Claire turned and extended her hands, reaching
for her son.

“He’s right here.” Claire felt the woman’s
grip again and a pulling motion. She bumped into Joseph. “Here,
take his hand.”

Joseph’s hand made contact with hers, and
Claire took a firm hold. Next, she felt herself being tugged along.
Her shoulder

hit something solid, sending a scorching pain
down her arm. She let slip a small cry of pain. The woman pulled
harder, and Claire stumbled forward.

“Stand here for five minutes,” the woman
said. “After that, you may take your blindfolds off.”

Claire stood frozen in place listening,
straining her ears to hear anything. A few seconds later, the thud
of door meeting jamb filled the room. So did the sound of a lock
being set. Claire waited, Joseph’s hand held firmly in hers.
Seconds jerked by like the halting steps of pallbearers.

“Stand still,” Claire said as she released
Joseph’s hand. Reaching to her face, she removed the cloth band
that circled her head and dropped it to the floor; then she gently
removed the tape on her face. The glue pulled at her skin and took
whatever hairs had been unfortunate enough to be under the tape.
The coins and the gauze came off as well, and Claire blinked
several times before being able to take in her surroundings.

She was in a room much larger and cleaner
than the one they’d left behind in the warehouse. The walls were
smooth and white; the floor was also white and covered in
industrial-looking vinyl tile. There were no windows, and the only
sound was the gentle breathing of the air conditioner. Overhead
were recessed fluorescent lights, only half of which were on.
Turning, she saw several metal cabinets against one wall, their
doors open revealing empty shelves. Next to the cabinets were two
plastic folding chairs. A large counter dominated the center of the
room, with a small sink to one side. The counter was covered in
black Formica. It reminded her of the lab stations in her high
school chemistry class. In the back wall was an open door. A small
light burned inside, just enough for Claire to know that she was
looking into a bathroom. She was thankful for that.

“Let’s get this nasty stuff off you,” she
said to Joseph. It took several minutes for Claire to gingerly
remove the tape from her son’s face. Seeing Joseph’s face taped had
filled her with churning pity and boiling anger. She could do
something about the tape, but she could do nothing about the
emotion she felt or the situation they were in. It frustrated her
to know she had no more influence over the events that surrounded
her than a cork had in the ocean. If help were to come, it would
have to be from the outside.

“Uhh . . . uhh,” Joseph said and pushed past
Claire. She turned, uncertain where he could go. He didn’t go far.
Shuffling as he went, Joseph stepped to the side of the center
counter and pointed. Claire walked to his side. At his feet lay
something she’d not seen in her hurried examination of the room: a
thick roll of butcher paper like they kept at the house. On the
counter were a dozen boxes of crayons, colored chalks, and even
watercolors.

Joseph bounced on his toes and continued
pointing.

“Okay,” Claire said. “At least you’ll have
something to do.”

The roll of paper was too heavy for Claire to
lift; it would have to remain where it was. Reaching down, she took
hold of the edge of the two-foot-wide paper and took several steps
back. With a practiced pull and twist, she ripped off a length of
paper about four feet long and draped it across the counter. She
opened one of the boxes of crayons and stepped to the side. Joseph
immediately began to draw, his face hovering over the paper by mere
inches. Claire made use of the bathroom and then insisted that
Joseph do the same. No sooner was he out than he returned to his
project.