Gold of Kings (30 page)

W
HEN HARRY AND EMMA RETURNED
to the surface, the evidence of a good dive was clear on both their faces. Harry helped Emma out of the water, then set his speargun on the sled and clambered up to sit beside her. He unhooked the line of fish from his weight belt and connected it to the Jet Ski's footpad so the fish remained in the water. He eased off her tanks and her weight belt, then stabilized the sled while she took off her wetsuit and slipped shorts over her bikini. They talked in low tones about the water, the fish, the coral, the sea, the light. Not shutting Storm out. Just reveling in the intimacy of an experience that was all theirs.

Harry fed them all energy bars and water. He asked Storm if she wanted to go out, but didn't press. Storm had the impression he was waiting for something, particularly after he picked up the small binoculars he'd bought in town and played them over the cliffs looming to the east. Emma combed out her hair, slipped on a sweatshirt, then leaned back on the sled and sighed with genuine contentment.

Later, Storm decided. I'll tell them later.

Emma said, “I could learn to love this.”

“Glad to hear it,” Harry said, not taking his eyes off the cliffs.

Emma smiled his way. “Looking for anything in particular?”

Harry seemed to take that as his cue. He lowered the glasses and said to Storm, “Tell us about these hills.”

Storm had left her notes back at the cottage but did not need them to respond. “The mountains of northwest Cyprus were the world's first major source of copper. King Aurelius, leader of Cyprus during the rule of Nefertiti, empress of Egypt, was known to have paid all his tributes in copper talents, mined from those hills. The island became rich off the export of copper, which became one of the cornerstones of the first and second Bronze Ages.”

Emma said, “Okay, I'm impressed.”

“Enkomi was the island's first capital and was located near Salamis, away from the eyes of people coming to buy their treasure. Then the Phoenicians invaded and captured the island. They moved the capital near where Lefkosa is now.”

Harry asked, “Any mention of earthquakes in the mining area?”

“No, but I didn't check that specifically.”

Emma said, “They'd talk about cities being destroyed.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe there wasn't any to mention.” Harry pointed to the sharp line of peaks rising from the sea to their left. “Hills struck by earthquakes tend to be rounded. These mountains have been fashioned by eons of wind and rain.”

“What are you saying?”

Harry replied, “Tell me what you saw down there.”

Emma sat up on the packs. “Coral. Fish. Seaweed.”

“You saw a ledge, right? The bottom comes flat off the cliffs there, straight out to here, and then it drops off to infinity and beyond. A classic eastern Mediterranean island configuration.”

“So?”

“It's been bothering me since I got my first look off the cliffs by the monastery.” Harry turned to Storm. “What brought us here? I don't mean the treasure. I mean the first clue we had of its being here at all.”

“The three-fingered design from the tryptych.”

“Exactly.”

Emma said, “You've lost me.”

“Hand me your notepad.” Harry flipped to an empty page and related his and Storm's findings as he drew. “This is what we saw. Three
stubby peninsulas sticking out to sea. The central one is squared off at the tip. Waves are crashing around the outside.”

Emma said to the page, “So maybe an earthquake sheered it all off.”

“That's what I came here hoping we'd find.” Harry handed back the notebook and pen. “But I don't think that's what happened. If an earthquake sheered off a face that high, you could spot the rubble from the surface.”

Storm said, “You're telling us we got it wrong.”

“No. I'm saying it's not
here
.” Harry stabbed the water with a forefinger.

“All this for nothing,” Emma said.

“No. Absolutely not. The treasure is real and we're closing in. I can smell it.” Harry hefted the binoculars and studied the cliff again. “But I can't get around to solving this riddle until our watchers take off.”

Emma sat up straight. “I don't see anybody.”

“That boat on the horizon. They've been shadowing us since before we made our dive. So far, all they've seen is three people doing exactly what we said we'd do.” Harry unleashed the Jet Skis. “So let's go find us a secluded beach, and maybe they'll leave us to get down to the real work.”

 

EMMA CONTINUED TO RIDE BEHIND
Harry as they motored south by west, following the line of cliffs around a gradual curve. The man was all muscle yet lacked the buffed quality of most men she knew. She found herself drawn to his raw strength, so completely different from the standard Washington male.

As the sun gentled into the sea, clouds gathered like skyborne sheep about the cliffs overhead. They rode around a headland to discover a cluster of perhaps fifty miniature peaks rising from the sea, rocky islands huddled in three tight clumps just offshore. Five miles before the islets began, the cliffs made a tight curve inward. A shelf of sand rose from the sea and nestled into the rocky overhang. Harry stopped fifty yards offshore and jumped into the water with snorkel and fins, making sure the bottom was safe. At his signal, Emma and Storm ran the Jet Skis slowly forward and beached them on the shore.

Harry stood on one of the rocks planted in the sand and gave the
ladies a quick dousing from one of the five-gallon fresh-water containers. Just enough to get the worst of the salt off their skin. He used a ladle on himself, then turned to making dinner. They dined on fresh-speared fish and freeze-dried vegetables and pilau rice, with two energy bars each for dessert. The sunset was blocked by towering cliffs that formed a gentle sweep out in both directions. As happened every night since they'd been on the island, the clouds condensed about the peaks. Harry fed the fire from an endless supply of driftwood. Emma sat on a rock just beyond the fire's reach and listened to the waves whisper about conflicting desires.

Storm's cell phone began ringing. Emma watched her fumble in the pack, grip her phone with both hands, clench her eyes tight, then raise the phone and say, “What?”

The metallic edge to her voice lifted Harry's head. “Storm?”

She turned her back to them both and said coldly, “That is not the question you need to be asking.”

Emma asked, “Who is it?”

Storm said to her phone, “You need to realize the kind of resources the woman who tracked you down would bring to the table. And then decide whether you want her on your side.”

The fire crackled. The waves lapped the shore. Storm said, “No. Not a chance. If you're interested, you meet me here, Monsieur Bouchaud. We decide on a way we can trust…Oh, please. As if you haven't been chasing us since Palm Beach.”

Emma covered the distance between them in a pair of giant leaps, only to be met by a stiff-armed rejection. Storm went on, “Think about it. The old man
fired
me. I was left totally out in the cold. Why should I feel loyalty to a guy who kicked me out?”

Harry moved up close enough for Emma to feel his heat.

Storm said, “You know perfectly well where we are. You want to talk, you've got forty-eight hours. Otherwise I'll see if the authorities…No. Forget that. No threats. Because you
are
interested. If you weren't, you wouldn't have called.”

She slapped the phone shut. The shudder that wracked her left her crouching so low her hair smoldered in the fire. She didn't seem to notice.

“Step back,” Harry said, taking her arm. “That's it. Okay, unlock. Give me the phone. Good girl. Unlock. Relax. It's over.”

But Emma wasn't about to let it go. “Let me get this straight. You went through my purse and got Boucaud's number?”

Storm let Harry guide her over and settle her onto a rock. “I had to do it.”

When Storm swiveled away, Emma followed. “Just exactly how did you
have
to go through my things?”

“How long has the FBI known about this guy?”

“I'm asking the questions here.”

“Four months, isn't that what you said? If they had done something four months ago, Sean would still be alive!”

The pain was so raw in Storm's voice, Emma found herself calming. “They didn't roll because they didn't have a case.”

“You said it yourself. Arresting him still isn't their priority. So how long do they give him this time? Who does he get to kill next?”

“You should have discussed it with me.”

“What for? So you could take it up with a committee?”

“I don't work like that and you know it.”

Storm didn't respond.

“You're putting yourself out there as bait.”

“No, Emma. I'm
making things happen
. Your job is to
do
something with it.”

Harry walked away from them both. He scrunched through the sand, down to the shoreline. The clouds surrounding the peaks blocked out the stars. The sea was inky black and very still. Harry stood staring out at nothing.

Emma called over, “Don't you have the slightest bit of concern here?”

Harry replied to the night, “I know what old Sean would say.”

Storm's head popped up. “What?”

“Sean would say, the vine from above the temple doors is the key. A gold pipe five inches in diameter and forty feet long, let's assume it's hollow because if it isn't we're in serious trouble. Even hollow, if it's got gold leaves soldered along its length, the thing is going to weigh two, maybe three hundred pounds. I'm guessing they folded it six or seven
times, got it down to the height of a man. I can lift it. But I can't carry it anywhere alone.”

Emma knew she was defeated, but went down fighting. “Did you even hear what we've said?”

Harry turned toward them. The fire carved his features into battle-hardened lines. “Storm did what she felt she had to. That doesn't change a thing. We were under life-or-death pressure long before she picked up the phone.”

He pointed toward the night. “We're tracking one of the greatest prizes the world has ever known. If it's there, we're going to have to move fast. And get it right the first time.”

T
HEY LEFT THE BEACH IN
the darkest hour. The fire had burned down to sullen embers, but still had enough heat for Harry to make a buccaneer's brew. He dumped three handfuls of coffee and one of sugar into boiling water, then left the pot to cool and settle. Harry scooped three mugs from the pot and sipped his while loading the sleds. The coffee tasted furry and gave a proper jolt to the day ahead.

Emma joined him loading the sleds. They moved in a natural rhythm, an economy of motion, like they'd been working together for years. Like they were meant to be together.

Storm was groggy but steady. She helped Emma fit the straps around the oversized load her Jet Ski would be carrying, not asking why Harry insisted on leaving the second sled empty. Storm handed each of them four energy bars. Harry devoured one and stowed the rest away for later. He pushed Storm's Jet Ski out to waist depth, waited for Emma to power up the second Jet Ski, then slipped on behind her. He fit his arms around her waist, feeling the woman's supple strength. They kept the motors purring at a low and easy pace. The thrumming rose through Harry's spine and accelerated his heart. Emma took one hand off the controls and rested it on his knee. Harry found it a struggle to focus on what lay ahead.

The Jet Skis sliced through water so calm they might have been rid
ing on air. They rounded the rocky promontory and entered deeper waters. A gentle swell lifted beneath them, riding in easy rhythms.

When they were just off the monastery peak, Harry signaled for them to cut power. He pulled Storm's Jet Ski in close. There was no need for a line, the water was that calm. “Here's what's going to happen. Emma is going to take me in alone, then come back out here to wait with you. I'll make the top in about an hour, maybe less. Another hour to scout the church.”

Emma said, “Hold it right there, sport.”

“If I find something, I'll signal. You bring Emma in, I'll drop the rope, she'll come up and help.”

Emma replied, “You never said anything about going up there alone.”

Harry went on, “If Emma comes up, lash the Jet Skis together, but have your knife ready to cut loose if things go bad.”

“We're not leaving without you,” Storm said.

Emma said, “It's not going to get to that point, because he's not leaving here without
me
.”

Harry touched her arm. Looked at her. The first faint grey hint of dawn showed a woman ready to do battle. “I'll move faster and quieter alone. If there's anything, trouble or otherwise, you'll be the first to know.” He applied a trace more pressure, stilling her protest. “That's how it's going to be, Emma.”

The woman was used to taking orders. Which, given her strength, was remarkable. She stifled her arguments and sat there, simmering.

The minutes stretched out long and slow. Storm shivered as a predawn mist floated in, hugging the waters. Harry slipped off his sweatshirt and draped it around her shoulders. He'd be warm soon enough. “It's time.”

Storm reached over and hugged his neck. Emma started the motor and they pulled away. The sea was gone now, lost beneath the drifting mist. Harry carried his grin with him.

The cliffs looked monstrous in the dim light, and only loomed larger as they closed in. Harry said, “See the tight corner there? Looks like a tear in the rock?”

“I see it.”

“Aim straight for the cleft.”

He slipped off the saddle and scooted onto the sled. He squatted and checked the gear in his backpack one last time. He pulled on the driving gloves he'd bought in the market, flexed his fingers. There'd once been a time when the skin of his hands had been tough enough to handle rocks without protection. Not anymore.

Emma glanced back. “Harry, why is your safety rope still in your pack?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Answer the question, Harry.”

“I checked out the crevice yesterday afternoon. I think the fissure runs all the way to the top.”

“And? Tell me you're not scaling that wall without roping up.”

“Emma. Please. Pipe down.”

She did, but it only made her heat more intense as she hissed, “What is this, some kind of macho stunt you're pulling?”

“Two things. First, if I use the hammer, they might hear me. Sound carries. If I give them a reason to look over the edge, I'll be one of those little rubber duckies in the carnival shooting booth.”

“I'm going to be sick.”

“And two, it'll only slow me down. I want to be off that rise before the sun crests the eastern hills.”

“Don't…” Emma stopped. And sighed.

Harry was so grateful she'd held it inside he leaned forward and kissed her soundly. He settled back on the sled and reached for the oncoming rock. “Slow and steady. That's it. Okay.”

He stepped into the cleft and began climbing, easy as you please. Fred Astaire, step back and give a guy some room.

She powered away from the wash drenching the lower rocks. And called softly, “Harry, come back in one piece. Please.”

 

TENDRILS OF MIST BOILED UP,
blanketing her vision as Emma drove slowly out to where Storm waited on the second Jet Ski. Storm refused to meet her eye as Emma tied the machines together. Two ladies with their hair up, waiting to see who scored the first hit. Emma slipped onto the sled and reached into her backpack. “I need to report developments to Hakim.”

“Developments,” Storm muttered. But the word was soft enough for Emma to pretend not to have heard. She slipped back into her saddle and dialed. When Hakim answered, she said, “We might have a situation here.”

Storm huffed softly.
Situation
.

The conversation took all of three minutes, mostly because Emma couldn't take her eyes off the rocks. When she shut the phone, Storm demanded, “Well?”

“Hakim can't officially help you with Bouchaud.”

“That's it? No official slap on the wrist for breaking protocol?”

“North Cyprus is not a recognized nation-state. Interpol has no official connection to anybody on the ground. Those were his exact words. Along with wishing us all good hunting.” Emma slipped back onto the sled and stowed her cell phone. “Where did Harry put the binoculars?”

“I have them.” But when Emma reached over, Storm did not let go. “Does that mean you're not going to help me?”

“Don't talk silly. I don't like the way you did it. But you might have been right to call him.”

Storm released the binoculars.

“Nothing was happening. The fibbies don't have a case. Even if they started focusing on Bouchaud today, it could be months before they build a connection that would stand up in court. Maybe longer.”

Storm's voice was little-girl small. “So are we still friends?”

Without stopping her scan of the cliffs, Emma reached across with the hand not holding the binoculars and gripped Storm's hand. “I can't find him.”

 

HARRY ARRIVED AT THE TOP
just as the mist rose from dew-covered grass to cluster about the copse of trees bordering the cliffs. He sat there a minute, puffing hard, a little proud he'd made it. He checked his watch. Fifty-three minutes from waterline to ridge. When his heart stopped threatening to leap from his chest, he started off. Head down, legs pumping, a loose-limbed lope that scooted him along the cliff's edge. The Jet Skis were two tiny specks floating in the fogbound sea. Harry gave them a quick wave, saw nothing in response, figured the mist and the light made it hard for them to see anything.

The trees followed the ridge about thirty feet in from the cliffs. Harry scouted constantly, but saw no movement. The military base appeared totally asleep. Which was impossible, of course. There were bound to be sentries on duty. But if there was ever a moment for a sleepy guard to grab a quick snooze, it was now. Not even the birds were chirping. Which was fine by him.

He stepped into the monastery and moved directly to the chapel. His plan was simple. Go through the place room by room, searching for another hole. Because Harry was certain there was no reason to go back down in that crypt.

What Harry had noticed his first minute down in the crypt were the chip marks. He'd counted a half dozen divots in the stone floor, triangular holes formed by someone using a pick. Which meant the commandant had ordered his men to search for a way through to another chamber. They'd done a far more thorough job than Harry could in a few silent minutes.

Which probably also meant they had checked out the rest of the monastery.

Harry intended to do a quick scope, see if there was something they might have missed, which he doubted. Then put his
real
plan into action.

Because he was certain that the treasure was linked to this place. He figured the records did not mention earthquakes in this region because there hadn't been any. All the surrounding peaks were riddled with holes, man-made caves, ancient copper digs, the sort of opening that would have vanished in a heartbeat if the earth had given a single good shake.

Which meant one of two things. Either the image they had found described a different place entirely, which Harry was convinced was wrong. Or the image did not describe the coastline at all. Perhaps it was a carving meant to mark a secret access. Perhaps something lost to time and weather and war. But Harry would have wagered a secret hoard that the image had been misread for centuries.

So Harry planned on finding a good, safe anchor for his line, then he was going back over the edge. And search the cliff face
below
the monastery. For the sealed opening. The one the commandant hadn't thought to scope out.

This was the sort of idea that the ladies might have called hare-brained, as in, how stupid was he, swinging around a cliff, suspended below a Turkish army base, looking for a cave? Was he nuts? So Harry had decided to keep that part of his plan to himself.

He started his search at the nave, just to get his bearings on where the crypt began and ended. His adrenaline rush kept the blood singing, almost a fizz in his ears. He felt light enough to flitter over the ruins. Harry Bennett was back in the game.

Then he turned and saw the sunrise.

What he saw was so intensely mind-boggling he feared he'd gotten caught in some dawn mirage, a figment of his adrenaline-drenched brain.

Which was when he dropped his gaze down to where his hands gripped the stone frame of the central window.

And saw the second sign.

 

HARRY SCOOTED BACK TO THE
cliffs, so loopy over what he'd just discovered that his feet scarcely disturbed the weeds. The mist was almost completely gone now. Below him the sea gleamed sapphire blue. He dug the rope from his pack and knotted it to the base of the two strongest tree trunks growing close to the ledge. He slipped the rope through the hooks and slung it about his frame, forming a rudimentary rappelling harness. His fingers fumbled like a first timer's, like he was trying to do the drill with somebody else's hands.

He stepped to the cliff's edge and made sure the rope lay snug and unseen on the grass. He glanced down and felt the moment congeal around a sudden lump of fear. He hadn't rappelled in years. He hadn't liked it then and this was way worse. Alone and a little shaky from the adrenaline flood, betting his life that the trees and this rope would hold through the descent. The worst moment was the first, turning his back to the sea, trying not to think of the seven-hundred-foot drop and the rocky teeth eager to chew his bones if he fell.

Harry forced himself to steady and took a regulation hold on the rope—left hand in front of his body and right behind. Another hard breath. Then he leaned backward over the ledge, half sitting himself into the harness, and dropped.

The rope ran through his hands and around his lower frame. Harry huffed hard with each step. His knees were rattling like dice. He kept his eyes on the rock face and skipped downward.

Not needing to look for a sealed opening in the cliff below the monastery turned out to be a very good thing.

Because right then a head popped out over the precipice.

Harry froze and crouched in tight to the rocks. Just his luck there was a sentry awake enough to see the trees shiver under Harry's weight. Which was the only way Harry could figure the sentry had found him.

The sentry stood about a hundred yards to the right of where Harry's rope was anchored. A voice drifted down.

Harry stepped up the pace, tripping down the stone wall. He felt the rope begin to burn through his gloves and his clothes. It made quick zipping sounds, pushing him to move faster still.

The head reappeared, along with three others. The men were all shouting.

Harry raced down, pushing out with both feet, just barely off total free fall. His gloves were smoking and his hamstrings were shrieking. The harder he pushed off, the faster he slammed back. His knees struck his chest with each impact.

One head disappeared, probably the guy bright enough to figure all they had to do was race over and cut his line. Another soldier unlimbered his pistol and took a two-fisted aim.

Harry huffed and kicked off again. The rope sizzled. A clip of rock flew off the wall in front of his face. From above came a booming echo.

Harry did not hesitate. The next time he hit the rock face, he kicked harder still, released the rope, and turned in midair.

The water looked blue as polished steel plate and a million miles down.

He flew, kicking his legs, so as to bring his boots down below his body. The rope whizzed free, its tune one shriek above a whistle.

He hit and went deep. When he came up, Emma's Jet Ski was racking toward him.

She leaned her body into the turn, whipping about, slamming the sled into his outstretched hands. Harry gripped and rolled and screamed, “
Go! Go! Go!
”