Midas Code (11 page)

TWENTY-ONE

I
f Tyler thought he had any other choice, he and Stacy would be long gone from Gia Cavano’s estate instead of sitting in the study of her mansion. The wood-paneled room at the rear of the house had a spectacular view of the stables and the hundreds of acres of pastureland beyond. Flames in the brick fireplace warded off any chill the drafty windows let in.

A tanned and muscled “assistant” with enough gel in his hair to rival a major oil spill had escorted them to their waiting spot while Gia Cavano excused herself to take her horse back to the stables and change into fresh clothes. The door to the study was closed behind them, but Tyler had no doubt that the man was standing guard. It was also quite possible someone was listening to them.

“Do you think Orr knew his old friend Gia Cavano had the tablet?” Stacy said in a whisper. She leaned so close to Tyler that her lips brushed his ear. He felt goose bumps on his arms in response to the light touch.

“No, but we should have anticipated it,” he whispered in reply. “VXN Industries.”

“Of course. Vixen. Orr called her the Fox. That must be her nickname.” A vixen is a female fox, and Cavano had shortened it to VXN. They had simply never considered that his nemesis would be holding one of the important clues that they needed.

“Do you think she knows why we’re here?” Stacy asked.

“If she doesn’t, we’ll get a look at the tablet and then get out of here.”

“And if she does?”

Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Then we’re in trouble.”

Not only did he not like the coincidence of running into the one person Orr had warned them about; his first impression of Cavano reminded him of the Cheshire Cat, the smile and purr hiding mischief just beneath the surface.

The door opened behind them. They both stood while Cavano swept in, now dressed in a stylish gray pantsuit tailored for her curvaceous figure. Her raven hair draped across her shoulders, framing sculpted cheekbones and mahogany brown eyes.

As she glided to her desk, Cavano never took her gaze off Tyler.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” she said, “but I’m feeling much refreshed.” She took a seat and indicated for Tyler and Stacy to do the same.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Tyler said.

“I understand this has to do with an ancient tablet I purchased a year ago. May I ask what your interest in it is?”

Before Tyler could respond, Stacy cleared her throat. “I’m the host of a television show called
Chasing the Past,
and we’re interested in featuring it in an upcoming episode.” Not bad. Using her position as a TV personality just might work. Even though Tyler didn’t understand the craving for fame, he knew that most people would do anything for their fifteen minutes.

“And you are the producer?” Cavano said to Tyler.

“I’m an adviser to the show,” he said.

“And what is your interest in the tablet, Ms. Benedict?”

“We believe it may represent a significant highlight of Greek culture from the time during the Second Punic Wars, which would be of great interest to my viewers.”

“I see. So you are an archaeologist?”

“A classicist specializing in Greek culture, with a PhD from Duke.”

“Impressive. And you want to film my tablet?”

“Not today. We just want to inspect it to see if it’s the piece we think it is.”

“I don’t think that should be a problem. In fact, it is in this very room.” Cavano pulled out a drawer and pressed a button. Two panels in the wall slid apart, revealing a glass case displaying several ancient objects, including two illuminated manuscripts, a bronze short sword, and a wax tablet the size of two hardback novels.

Stacy practically jumped out of her chair and reverently approached the display, followed by Tyler. Cavano joined them, putting her hand on Tyler’s arm. Subtlety wasn’t her strength.

“I think it’s exquisite,” she said. “Can you read it?”

“Yes,” Stacy said without hesitation. She concentrated on the tablet, which was hinged and separated into two halves. Exposed wood around the edges surrounded rectangles covered in beige beeswax. The Greek words were quite legible, as if they’d been written the week before instead of two thousand years ago. Despite their precarious situation, Tyler was agog at the sight. If Stacy’s suspicions were correct, he was now looking at the handwriting of Archimedes himself.

“It says, ‘Whosoever desires truth shall divine the greatest treasure. Do not look outside of yourself, but within. The skies, the stars, the moon, the sun, and the planets will be forever yours. The Parthenon provides the key.’”

Cavano clapped her hands. “Excellent. That is precisely how my own expert translated it, although it took him much longer than you did. Do you have any idea what it refers to?”

Stacy glanced at Tyler and shook her head. “It’s quite mysterious. Just the kind of thing we like to feature on our show.”

Cavano laughed and returned to her seat.

“Please, Dr. Benedict. There’s no need to go on with this farce. If you’ll sit down, I have something to tell you that I think you’ll both find very interesting.”

A flash of alarm crossed Stacy’s face. Tyler shared the sentiment. This wasn’t good. But they were committed now. Might as well hear what Cavano had to say. He and Stacy went back to their chairs.

“You have seen a document that was stolen before I could buy it,” Cavano said. “A manuscript referring to a map that leads to the treasure of King Midas.”

“What makes you think that?” Tyler said.

“Because Dr. Benedict called to ask about a puzzle created by Archimedes. That is the only reason you would ask to see my tablet.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“Not at all.” Cavano took a deep breath. “When I was nine, a boy and I were exploring the basement of a condemned apartment building in my home city of Naples when we came across a hidden room that led into a network of tunnels. We heard two men speaking around a corner and crept forward until we could see them stacking bags of white powder into crates. We immediately realized that the room was being used to hide smuggled drugs where the police would never find them.”

Cavano’s eyes glazed over as she recalled that night.

“The men must have heard our whispers because they stopped talking and ran after us, one waving his crowbar, the other taking shots at us with a gun. We were cut off from our entrance, so the two men chased us into the tunnels, screaming that their boss would kill them if we escaped to tell his enemies where they were. In the mad scramble, we became lost, but we couldn’t elude the men. We ran for what seemed like miles until we saw a glow reflected in our flashlights. We thought it was daylight and charged ahead.”

Tyler hadn’t realized until this moment that he was sitting on the edge of his chair. Cavano’s tale was much more detailed than Orr’s.

“We skidded to a halt in a chamber made entirely of gold. You may think I’m exaggerating, but every single surface was covered in a yellow metallic sheen. In the center of the room was a golden pedestal, and lying on the pedestal was a life-size statue of a woman who was perfect in every detail except that her left hand was missing. At one end, a pool of water bubbled, drenching the chamber in a steamy fog. On a high terrace at the other end of the room was a golden coffin, the sarcophagus of King Midas.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Stacy said.

“Because of what happened next,” Cavano said. “We took shelter behind the pedestal, where we were sure to be found, but there was no other exit. We were trapped. However, when the men entered, they completely forgot about us.”

“I can understand why,” Tyler said.

“After a few moments of staring in awe, the two men began to argue about what to do with their find. Neither was planning to report it to their boss, but they couldn’t decide how they were going to get the gold out without being discovered. They thought there might be bricks of gold or coins in the sarcophagus, but when the one with the gun turned toward it, the man with the crowbar bashed him over the head, killing him instantly. After putting the gun in his waistband, the second man pried the coffin open just far enough to reach inside. He pulled his hand out with a scream, as if he’d been bitten, and the lid slammed closed again.”

“What happened?” Stacy said.

“I don’t know. He held his hand like it was on fire. He tried to wipe it on his pants, but the screaming got louder. Then his hand went to his throat. As he staggered around in agony, he slipped and fell into the pool of water.”

Cavano’s eyes gleamed, thrilled at recounting the tale, no fear at all.

“Then the most marvelous thing happened. When we emerged from our hiding place to look at the man in the water, we saw that his hand had begun to turn to gold. It started at his fingertips and worked slowly toward his palm. In five minutes, nearly his entire hand had been consumed. He was a victim of the Midas Touch. There is no other possible explanation.”

Tyler struggled not to roll his eyes, because the yarn was too fantastic, the fevered dream of some scared kids.

“And why don’t you just go back and find it?” he said.

“Believe me, I’ve been trying to ever since that day. We told our parents about the gold chamber, leaving out the part about the two dead men, but they were so mad about our all-night absence that they thought we were making up the story to avoid punishment. The apartments were torn down soon after, and a building for the Italian Ministry of Health was put up in its place. I ventured into the basement once after the construction was complete, but the concrete foundation had covered the entrance to the tunnels.”

“That’s an amazing story,” Tyler said. “And I don’t believe a word of it.”

“I think you do,” Cavano said, “otherwise you wouldn’t have taken on the job to find it. How much is he paying you?”

“Who?” Stacy said a little too quickly.

“The person who stole that codex from me.”

“From you?” Tyler said.

“The codex and the golden hand—the same one missing from the statue in the Midas vault—were to be auctioned, and I had a plan to obtain them before anyone else realized the secret those two treasures held. They were stolen from the auction house along with other valuables, and not a single item in the theft ever resurfaced. Until now, I thought the perpetrator of the heist was dead.”

“Why do you think we know anything about that?” Tyler said.

“Because this afternoon I received a call about an inquiry into an ancient Greek document, one involving the Parthenon, and the bearer of that manuscript happened to say he was working with Stacy Benedict.”

Tyler felt his stomach drop to the floor. She was talking about Grant.

“The only way you could have seen that manuscript is if you’re now working with the person who stole it,” Cavano said. “You see, the boy with me that night long ago in Naples grew up to be the thief who took the Archimedes Codex. He wasn’t just my friend; he was also my cousin from America. His name is Jordan Orr, and I plan to kill him.”

TWENTY-TWO

I
n the Duveen Gallery, specially built to display the Elgin Marbles, Grant wandered along the sculptures lining either side. The captions called them metopes, which were square reliefs that had decorated the exterior band running around the top of the Parthenon. Most of them were damaged in some way, whether by an explosion that blew the Parthenon apart in 1687, by weathering, or during their removal.

At either end of the long gallery were the large three-dimensional pediment sculptures that had adorned the eaves of the Parthenon’s pitched roof. Like most of the sculptures Grant had seen in museums, a majority of the Elgin Marbles were missing their heads and hands.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Dr. Lumley said behind him. The curator had followed a group of tourists into the gallery, so Grant hadn’t noticed him.

“Couldn’t ask for better,” Grant said, even though they didn’t impress him. Maybe he was missing something. “The captions said something about the Parthenon getting blown up. What happened?”

“A true tragedy. During its first two thousand years, the Parthenon had undergone damage when it was first converted into a church and then a mosque, but it was still recognizable as the temple of Athena. In 1687, the Ottoman Turks occupied Athens and were at war with Venice. For some reason, they thought the Acropolis was the best site to locate a gunpowder magazine. The Venetians lobbed mortar shells at the ammunition storehouse until one of them connected. The entire building blew apart, destroying many of the columns and sculptures.”

Grant nodded knowingly. He and Tyler had been working on the modern version of an ammo dump for the Bremerton naval base. During the design phase, they had reviewed several case studies of ammo storage and transport that had resulted in calamities, such as the World War I transport ship SS
Mont-Blanc
, which had collided with another ship and exploded in Halifax Harbor. It had been carrying the equivalent of three thousand tons of TNT when the ship blew up. Almost two thousand lives were lost, and five hundred acres of the city were destroyed, either by the pressure wave or by the sixty-foot tsunami caused by the blast. It was the biggest man-made explosion in history until Little Boy leveled Hiroshima.

The devastation of the Parthenon hadn’t made the case list, probably because it happened so long ago. But Grant wasn’t surprised that the explosion had caused so much damage. In fact, he was more surprised that any of the building was left standing.

“That’s a shame,” Grant said.

“Indeed.”

“So these are all the sculptures?”

Lumley chuckled. “Goodness, no. Lord Elgin only procured half of the Marbles. The rest now reside in the New Acropolis Museum in Athens. Of course, they’d like to have them all, but we’ll let our governments wrestle with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, the Greeks continue to argue that the Turks illegally sold the Marbles to Lord Elgin, who in turn sold them to the British Museum. The museum has maintained for years that the Marbles are safer here, but now that the New Acropolis Museum has a state-of-the-art facility for preserving the sculptures, the Greeks are keen to have the Marbles returned.”

“And what do you think?”

“There is great risk in moving them at all, but I prefer to remain neutral. I am an archaeologist, not a politician.”

“So do you have the sculptures that are referred to in the manuscript?”

“I think we may. You see, the manuscript refers to ‘the seat of Herakles’ and ‘the feet of Aphrodite.’ You may know Herakles better as Hercules.”

Though Grant’s grasp of ancient mythology was limited to what he’d seen in the Disney movies his nieces watched, he nodded. “Sure. Herakles.”

Lumley pointed at a reclining male figure from the east pediment. His head was intact, but his hands were missing. “Do you see that paw there?” Grant squinted and then nodded. Just the barest form of a great cat’s paw peeked out from under the robes the figure lay upon.

“We believe that is a lion’s paw, which would indicate that the figure is Herakles.” Lumley moved to the opposite side and indicated two female torsos, one lying against the other. “No one has been able to determine with certainty who these figures represent, but I favor the theory that it is Aphrodite relaxing upon her mother, Dione.”

The seat of Herakles and the feet of Aphrodite will show the way.

Grant looked beneath the statues and saw that they were supported by a marble base.

“What should be under the statues?” he asked.

“They would rest on the pediment itself, which rests atop the pillars.”

“So the seat of Herakles and the feet of Aphrodite are reference points. For what?”

“It may help if I knew what you’re looking for.”

Grant couldn’t reveal the link of Midas, but he knew that being too evasive would only raise more questions. He hesitated while he decided what to reveal.

“We think this may be a clue to finding a map,” he finally said. “Maybe something about the architecture of the Parthenon.”

“A map? How interesting. Perhaps the golden rectangle is important.”

“How?”

“Architects consider it the most perfect rectangle because it is so pleasing to the eye. Golden rectangles are a recurring feature in the design of the Parthenon. The symbol phi, which represents the golden ratio, is named after the Parthenon’s architect, Phidias. Let me show you.”

Lumley took a notebook from his pocket and drew a line and then a dot two-thirds along its length. He labeled the longer section A and the shorter one B. “In the golden ratio, A divided by B is equivalent to the sum of A plus B divided by A.” He drew a rectangle whose sides were length A on the short side and length A plus B on the long. “A golden rectangle has sides proportional to the golden ratio, which makes it aesthetically pleasing.”

“And the Parthenon is built in that layout?” Grant asked.

“No, but the façades of the Parthenon are in the shape of a golden rectangle, and one can see many more of them in the spaces between the columns making up the façade.”

Grant would bring up Lumley’s speculation with Tyler and Stacy, but he had no inkling of how it would help them find the map.

“Thanks a lot, Dr. Lumley,” he said, shaking Lumley’s hand. “If I have any more questions, is it all right if I call you?”

“Of course.” He gave Grant his cell-phone number. “Any time of the day or night.”

Grant turned to leave, but Lumley tapped his arm to stop him.

“Mr. Westfield, may I ask if your manuscript will be displayed anywhere in the near future? It will provide fascinating insight into the culture of ancient Greece.”

“I don’t know what the plans for the document are.”

“It would be a shame if such an important piece of history were not studied by appropriate scholars. Our museum would treat it with great care.”

“I’m sure it’ll get a good home.”

“On the other hand, if you are interested in selling it, I know a buyer eager to purchase it.”

“What do you mean?”

“That is, of course, unless you’d care to lend or donate it to the museum.”

Why would Lumley have a buyer lined up for the manuscript already?
Unless …

Grant grabbed Lumley’s arm. “You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?” Lumley winced at the pressure, and Grant released him.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Lumley said, “but my contact has been looking for this codex for quite some time. She has indicated that she would pay a handsome price to anyone who could proffer a deal for it.”

“You would sell it?” Grant asked in astonishment.

Lumley cast his eyes down in embarrassment, like a chastened teenage boy who’d been caught joyriding in his father’s car.

“Facilitating the sale is a better way of putting it,” Lumley said. “Being a curator is not a high-paying profession, and my divorce has been messy and quite costly. I thought there would be no harm—”

“When did you tell her?”

“While you were waiting. I assure you, I have the best of intentions.”

But she might not, Grant thought as he scanned the gallery for anyone who looked out of place.

“Who is she?”

Lumley bit his lip. “Her name is Gia Cavano. She simply paid me a retainer to keep watch for this kind of document. I do hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”

Grant recognized the name immediately. Orr’s childhood friend Gia. She was using her contact with Lumley to keep an eye out for the codex.

As Grant reached for his phone to text Tyler that Cavano was now onto them, he spotted a huge man in a gray suit studiously reading a museum map. Twice in one minute, he glanced up and looked at each person in the gallery, but his eyes stayed on Grant just a little longer. Amid the tourists in shorts and rain jackets, the dark-haired muscleman looked as out of place as a wolf at a sheep ranch.

Grant thought he was just being paranoid until a third surreptitious glance in his direction convinced him that someone really might be out to get him. And he’d bet that someone was hired by Gia Cavano.