Clive Cussler - The Navigator

“You’re very kind, Mr. Saxon.” She glanced around “I don’t suppose you would know where I could find Viktor Baltazar.”

Saxon’s eyebrows dipped. “Baltazar is about to make his presentation in the main reception area. It would be my pleasure to show you the way.”

Carina’s lips parted in an amused smile. “You’re very much the Victorian gentleman,” she said, taking his proffered arm.

“I fancy myself as more of an Elizabethan. Swords and sonnets. But I appreciate the compliment.”

He guided her through the milling crowd into a large room decorated with maroon-and-gilt drapes. At one end, a raised dais was flanked by lights, video cameras, and microphones. An enlarged photo of the IraqiNationalMuseum hung on the wall behind the stage. Rows of plush chairs had been set up in front of the stage.

Saxon headed to a love seat against a side wall. He explained in a conspiratorial whisper that the seat offered a good view of the guests entering the room and allowed for an easy escape if the speakers became too long-winded.

Carina recognized several low-level State Department staffers, politicians, and journalists. A number of men and women who represented a cross section of Middle Eastern antiquities scholarship were familiar to her as well. She became particularly excited when Professor Nasir came into the room.

She stood and waved. The professor strode across the room, a wide grin on his face.

“Miss Mechadi, how wonderful to see you.”

“I was hoping you’d be here, Professor.” She turned to Saxon. “Professor, this is Anthony Saxon. Mr. Saxon, Professor Jassim Nasir.”

Saxon stood to his full height, towering over the Iraqi. “I’m honored to be in your presence, Dr. Nasir. I’m well acquainted with your work at the museum.”

Nasir beamed with pleasure.

“Please excuse us,” Carina said to Saxon. “Dr. Nasir and I have much to talk about. It’s been quite a while since we last saw each other.”

“By all means,” Saxon said. In a single motion, he snatched two champagne flutes off passing tray and handed one to Carina. “Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

Nasir watched Saxon weave his way through the crowd. “Not many people outside of Iraq know I exist,” he said, obviously impressed. “How long have you known Mr. Saxon?”

“About five minutes. He ambushed me at the door. More important, how long has it been since you and I last met? Three years at least?”

“How could I forget? It was in Baghdad at the museum. A terrible time.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you as often as I should have.”

“We’ve cleaned the place up, and, thanks to people like you, the recovering effort continues. Money has been coming in, but our expenses are phenomenal. And with the continuing instability in our country, it will be a long time before busloads of tourists pull up at our front door.”

“All the more reason why this reception must be so encouraging.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, brightening. “I was thrilled when you called and said you had recovered a major cache of artifacts. The idea for the tour is sheer genius. I never imagined that I would be here with so many of my respected colleagues. There is one of them now. You remember Dr. Shalawa?”

The heavyset woman taking the podium was a leading expert on Assyrian archaeology. Dr. Shalawa was dressed in the traditional Muslim dress down to her ankles. A scarf covered her hair. She cleared her throat to get attention, and, when the audience had settled down, she introduced herself.

“I would like to thank the embassy for hosting this reception and our guests for their financial and moral support. Our first speaker exemplifies the spirit of generosity that will be instrumental in making our museum again one of the world’s great cultural institutions. I am honored to give you Viktor Baltazar, president of the Baghdad Museum Foundation.”

As Dr. Shalawa led the applause a man rose from the front row and climbed onto the dais to shake her hand.

Carina had no idea what Baltazar looked like; he had a talent for keeping his pictures out of public circulation. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t the powerfully built man in the custom-tailored tuxedo who took his place behind the podium. The massive head reminded her of a mastiff’s. As she watched, Baltazar underwent a transformation. The fierce grin became a warm smile and the pale eyes seemed to reach out to every person in the room.

When the applause finally died, he said in a deep, melodious voice, “It is I who am honored for being invited to speak before this august gathering. You were all part of the international effort to recover the antiquities stolen from the IraqiNationalMuseum in Baghdad.”

He acknowledged the second round of applause, and went on.

“My foundation was only a single link in the chain. Thanks to you, many artifacts continue to be recovered. The museum is reestablishing its conservation labs, training its staff, and establishing a database. Additional funding will come from the tour, sponsored by the Baltazar Foundation. I regret that I must leave the reception before I get a chance to thank you all individually, but I look forward to working with all of you in this noble cause.”

He blew the audience a kiss, stepped down off the stage, and made his way to the door. Carina hurried from the room and caught her quarry in the lobby.

“Excuse me, Mr. Baltazar. I know you’re in a rush, but I wondered whether I could have a minute of your time.”

Baltazar’s lips widened in an engaging smile. “I would be impolite, and foolish as well, to refuse a simple request from such a lovely woman, Miss—”

“That’s very kind of you. My name is Carina Mechadi.”

A thoughtful expression came to Baltazar’s face. “Miss Mechadi ! What an extraordinary surprise. From what I have heard about your bulldog persistence, I had envisioned you as a short, stout woman of middle age, with a mustache perhaps.” He drew his forefinger across his upper lip.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Carina said.

“No disappointment, except for the fact that I must be on my way. How can I help you?”

“I simply wanted to add my thanks to you and your foundation for aiding my efforts.”

“You’re welcome. I regret now that I had not met you before and that we were able to communicate only through intermediaries. My business and charitable interests are very demanding.”

“I understand completely.”

“Then I am relieved. You are apparently quite the detective. Were you trained by the police?”

“I was a journalist originally. I reported on some important Italian art thefts that wound up in European and American museums. I became angrier the more I learned how the academic institutions and museums have become part of the illegal trade. Before long, I was trying to find stolen objects instead of writing about them.”

“I understand your work is not without its dangers. I heard through Benoir about the hijacking and attempted theft of an artifact. Absolutely outrageous! It’s a wonder you weren’t hurt.”

She nodded. “I would not be here talking to you if not for Kurt Austin.”

“I’m not familiar with the name.”

“Mr. Austin is with the National Underwater and Marine Agency. He prefers to stay out of the limelight, but he is responsible for saving my life, the ship, and the long-lost Iraqi artifacts. One of the hijackers shot him. He was only wounded, thank goodness.”

“Austin sounds like a remarkable gentleman,” Baltazar said. “How did he come to be on board the vessel?”

“Pure accident. He was on another ship that happened to be nearby when he heard an SOS.”