Clive Cussler - The Navigator

“Remarkable. I would like to meet him some time so I can thank him.”

“I would be glad to arrange it.”

“I am amazed that you were able to recover so many of the Iraqi antiquities. How did you do it?”

Carina thought about the countless informants she had cultivated, the bribes she had given freely, and the reluctant government officials she had wheedled without mercy until they gave in to her demands simply to be rid of her.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a shrug. “Much of my success is simply an accident of birth. I have roots in Europe and Africa, which eased my ability to make contacts on both continents.”

“African, you say? Your father was Italian, I take it?”

She nodded. “My grandfather too. He was with Mussolini’s army when it invaded Ethiopia, which was where he met my grandmother. My mother never knew his name, only that her father was Italian. When she moved to Italy, where I was born, she gave her maiden name, Mekada, an Italian twist.”

“Mekada? That’s a lovely name.”

“Thank you. I understand it’s not uncommon in Ethiopia.”

Baltazar paused in thought for a moment before speaking again. “Tell me, Miss Mechadi, what are your immediate plans?”

“I’m going to be busy organizing the tour. The artifacts are at the Smithsonian under guard. I’ll be providing provenance data and background information that can be used with the exhibits. I’ve lined up meetings with people who have offered their help. Tomorrow, I’m going to Virginia to see Jon Benson, a National Geographic photographer who was present at the excavation of a statue known as the Navigator. Perhaps you can drop by and see the statue and the other pieces in the collection.”

“That sounds like a fine idea. I’m a bit of a novice about archaeology, I’ll admit, but I own a few pieces. All legal, I might add. I’d be happy to show them to you over lunch or dinner.”

“I’d like that, Mr. Baltazar.”

“Splendid. Call the foundation when you have some free time. They will have my schedule.”

They shook hands, and Baltazar stopped to say his good-nights to the ambassador and several other embassy officials. Carina turned to go back into the reception room and encountered Saxon. He had a bemused smile on his face.

“I saw you chatting with Mr. Baltazar,” he said.

“Mr. Baltazar is the main reason I came to the reception. He’s quite charming.”

“Do you know the source of the money he has been handing out?”

“Only that he owns mining companies.”

“That’s right, as far as it goes. Baltazar is the head of a mineral cartel that includes the biggest gold-mining conglomerate in the world. He’s quite controversial. His companies have been accused of destroying the environment and messing up the poor locals in half a dozen countries. What many people don’t know is that he owns one of the biggest private security companies in the world. Mercenaries for hire.”

Carina had come across the unfavorable reports on Baltazar when she researched his background, but she had been so eager for the foundation’s help that she downplayed their significance. “What I do know is that he’s been extremely generous when it comes to the Iraqi museum.”

“I see. Blood money doesn’t matter when it comes to the greater good, and all that.”

“I don’t need to be lectured on ethics,” Carina said, her eyes blazing.

Saxon felt the heat of her words. “No, you don’t. Again, you have my apologies. I actually wanted to talk to you about the recovered antiquities, in particular a statue called the Navigator .”

Carina wondered if Saxon had overheard her conversation with Baltazar, but she realized he had been out of earshot. “You know about the statue?”

He nodded. “I know that it’s a bronze, nearly life-sized, that was excavated decades ago in Syria. It portrays a mariner, and is thought to be Phoenician, but there are doubts, which is why the statue was consigned to the basement of the BaghdadMuseum. It languished there for years, until thieves stole the statue during the American invasion in 2003. Its whereabouts since then had been unknown, until you found it recently with a group of other stolen antiquities.”

“That’s astounding! How do you come to know so much about the statue?”

“I’ve been searching for the elusive fellow since I first heard him mentioned in my Solomon research. I almost had my hands on it in Cairo, but you were one step ahead of me. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Why are you so interested in this particular artifact?”

He raised his palm. “Aha! If you had read my books you would not have to ask that question.”

“I’ll be sure to put your books on my reading list.” Carina didn’t hide her displeasure at Saxon’s coyness.

“It will be worth your time,” he said with a grin.

She had had enough of Saxon’s smug attitude. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“You’re excused. But heed my warning. Be careful in your dealings with Baltazar.”

Carina ignored the comment and headed over to talk to Professor Nasir.

Saxon watched her go. There was a grin on his face, but there was no mistaking the worry in his eyes.

AS BALTAZAR exited the Iraqi embassy, a black Mercedes limousine pulled up to the curb. The driver got out and shouldered aside the doorman to open the car door. The doorman was an ex-marine who was not easily intimidated. Angered at the loss of a tip, he went to protest, but the powerfully built driver shot him a look of such malevolence that the words never left his month. A moment later, the limo took off with a squeal of tires.

“Good evening, Mr. Baltazar,” said the driver. “The reception went well?”

“Yes, Adriano. So well that I almost forgot about the debacle off Newfoundland.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Baltazar. I have no excuse for my failure.”

“Perhaps I can provide you with one, Adriano. His name is Kurt Austin. He’s with NUMA. Austin is the gentleman who foiled the hijacking.”

“How did this Austin know of our plans?”

“He didn’t. It was a regrettable coincidence that he happened to be in the neighborhood. Unfortunately for you, this Mr. Austin is quite intrepid. And lucky as well. Your shot only wounded him slightly.”

Adriano recalled the quick glimpse of Austin over the sights of his gun and later in the cockpit of the helicopter that had shadowed the mineral ship. “I’d like to talk to Mr. Austin.”

“I’ll bet you would,” Baltazar said with an evil chuckle. “But we have more important matters to deal with. I’ve learned that there is a National Geographic photographer who has some pictures that should not see the light of day. I want you to acquire these photos.”

“Would you like me to dispose of the photographer?”

“Only if it becomes necessary, and make it look like an accident. I would prefer that the pictures merely be removed.”

“What about the woman?”

Baltazar pondered Carina’s fate. He was a man who was capable of extinguishing a human life when it suited him, but there was more to Carina than met the eye.

“We’ll keep her alive as long as she proves useful. I want a comprehensive investigation of her background.”

“Then can I deal with Austin? We have something to settle between us.”

Baltazar let out a heavy sigh. Cruelty didn’t bother him in the least. His was the classic psychopathic personality, and, as such, he was devoid of empathy. People existed to be used and tossed aside. But Adriano’s suggestion signified independent thought on the part of an employee when what he demanded was obedience. At the same time, he was not without sympathy with Adriano’s need for revenge. He too had a score to settle with Austin.