Clive Cussler: The Eye of Heaven

“Do we have to?” Sam asked.

“I’m afraid so. It is all part of the pageantry,” Antonio said.

“Can’t Lazlo stand in for us? He’s a far more persuasive speaker, and he’s got the tux and everything,” Sam said.

“You look quite dapper yourself, old chap,” Lazlo said, eyeing Sam’s navy blue Canali silk suit. “No way out of it. Goes with being an archaeological rock star.”

Sam shrugged and turned to Remi. “Well, Remi, looks like it’s time to strut our stuff.”

Remi winked at Lazlo and then turned to her husband. He waited expectantly. Her eyes filled with mischief, she leaned into him and stood on her tiptoes, her lips inches from his ear.

“Pwuk-pwuk.”

The longship rested on handcrafted wooden wedges to keep it upright, its keel surprisingly sturdy despite being a thousand years old. Strategically placed lighting illuminated the craft, which had been lovingly restored by a crew that had worked tirelessly, often around the clock. Members of the press roamed the newly built structure adjacent to the museum that had been designed especially for the ship, photographing the imposing hull and the display of artifacts in illuminated cases along the walls, as the gala attendees murmured in hushed tones.

Dr. Jennings approached Sam and Remi through the throng, accompanied by a tall, tanned man in a well-tailored Armani tux. The man’s face cracked into a wide smile as he shook hands with Sam and gave Remi a two-cheeked kiss. It was their old friend Warren Lasch, who had flown in to meet them after investing months of his time helping with the restoration project.

Dr. Jennings, Lasch, and the Fargos walked slowly around the vessel’s impressive length, admiring the care that had been taken in returning the ship to its original grandeur.

“It’s really miraculous,” Remi said as they looked up at the glowering dragon head on the bow. “You’ve done a marvelous job. It’s an amazing achievement.”

“Even the shields look like they’re in perfect condition. Bravo! Really,” Sam echoed.

Dr. Jennings smiled. “Thankfully, we had unlimited resources, due to a generous donation from an anonymous philanthropic organization, so we were able to take appropriate care to get her here intact and do a first-rate job.” He turned to Lasch. “We couldn’t have done it without Warren’s considerable assistance along the way. He’s been a guardian angel to us.”

“I’m afraid Jennings here is prone to exaggeration,” Lasch said.

“No, I don’t think he is. And the showcases for the artifacts are really impressive,” Sam observed. “This display should be the jewel in your museum’s crown.”

“Yes. We’ve already had requests from Paris and New York to loan the smaller items for an exhibition in the coming years. But, frankly, and perhaps I’m being sentimental, but I can’t imagine letting any of it out of my sight.”

“I know the feeling,” Remi said. “You leave a little part of yourself in each find.”

A waiter approached and made a slight bow. “Mr. Fargo?”

Sam nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

“I have a note for you, sir,” the waiter said, handing Sam a cream-linen envelope.

“A note?” Sam asked, puzzled. “Who from?”

“The gentleman who gave it to me did not give his name. He merely said for you to accept his apologies for being unable to stay.”

“Gentleman? What did he look like?”

“Tall, very distinguished, with gray hair.”

Sam took a few steps away, turned his back, and opened the envelope. He read the short note and then rejoined the others, a slight scowl on his face.

Remi studied his expression. “What is it, Sam? You look like somebody stole your bicycle.”

Sam sighed and passed her the note. “It’s from an old friend.”

Remi read the note out loud in a hushed tone: “‘Looking forward to our next encounter. Enjoy our truce. It won’t last long.’ It’s signed Janus Benedict.” She eyed Sam. “You look as though he got to you.”

“When I get the opportunity, I’ll send him a reply that will burn his ears off.” Sam’s gaze flowed over the crowd, the women in colorful fashionable gowns, the men in black tuxedos looking like a regiment of uniformed elite troops, but there was no sign of Benedict. “I’m afraid he’s made his exit.”

“The next time we meet, he won’t be as charitable,” Remi said sarcastically.

Sam nodded. “Not when he discovers our next expedition is a search for the Ark of the Covenant.”

Remi’s eyes widened and a scowl spread across her face. “Forgot to tell me, didn’t you?”

Sam laughed. “I hope Benedict has the same reaction.”

“Let me guess. This is another one of your devious ploys to mislead the wolf.”

“Yes. Our artifact-thieving friend abhors frustration.”

“You know, of course, you’re beating a club against a hornet’s nest.”

“I do.”

“Then where will we be when Janus is trying to find us?”

Sam grinned. “Basking under the sun and swimming in a tropical lagoon in the Pacific, searching for clues to the ancient ruins of a lost civilization in the Solomon Islands.”

Remi ignored the roomful of people and put her arms around Sam’s neck, pulled him down with smiling eyes, and kissed him.

“I’ll say one thing, Sam Fargo, you know how to cozy up to a woman.”