Clive Cussler - The Tombs

János ran to the cab, opened the passenger door, and sat beside his brother. The cab moved off. The next stop was at the dog-trainer cousin’s house. Remi got out with Zoltán and opened the gate so they could go into the enclosure. There were a few tentative barks as dogs awoke to the unfamiliar sights and smells of new people, then recognized Zoltán and quieted down. Remi knelt, held the big dog’s face to hers, and whispered something.

When she came back to the car, Sam asked, “What did you say?”

“I told him I would probably never see him again, but that I would always remember what a good brave dog he is and that I love him.”

“What did he say?”

“‘Do you want me to bite that silly man before you go?’ He loves me too.”

Sam said, “I guess he and I are both jealous.”

The cab pulled away, and Tibor drove them to the City Center Hotel. As they got out, Sam said, “Here, Tibor. I wrote this before we left.” Sam handed him a check. “Take it to the Credit Suisse bank in the next day or two. They’ll call our banker in the United States to verify it, but it will be in your account right away.”

“Are you leaving Hungary?”

“Not yet. But I thought that if something happens to us, it will be better if you have this now.”

Tibor shrugged. “Thanks.” He put it in his coat without looking at it. “One more thing. Complain about your hotel room. Make them move you to a different one.”

“I was just about to do that,” said Sam. “I’ll call you in a day or two.” He watched the cab pull away.

While Tibor drove away from the hotel, he pulled out Sam’s check and handed it to János. “I can’t read it and drive too. What does it say?”

“Pay to the order of Tibor Lazar one hundred thousand dollars. It sounds like a lot of forints.”

“It is,” Tibor said, his eyes wide.

Sam, Remi, and Albrecht Fischer stepped to the front door of the hotel, but Albrecht stopped Sam from opening the door so no one would overhear. “The man who kidnapped me, that madman Arpad Bako. He thinks that what we’re after is the tomb of Attila the Hun.”

“It figures, I suppose. It’s one of the great treasures that has never turned up,” said Remi.

“And probably never will,” said Albrecht.

Sam shrugged. “At least we’re not getting kidnapped and shot at for pocket change.” He pulled the door open and ushered the others inside. But he turned and took one last look at the street outside, paying special attention to the dark and secret places where a man could hide.

SZEGED, HUNGARY

SAM, REMI, AND ALBRECHT SAT IN THE LIVING ROOM OF their new suite on the top floor of the hotel, all showered, wearing clean clothes and finishing their room service meal of fresh bread, soft körözött cheese, and kolbász sausages. They had a bottle of Balaton Barrique 1991 Hungarian merlot.

“I lied, of course,” said Albrecht. “I wasn’t going to tell some glorified gangster about one of the most important discoveries in decades.” He shook his head. “To be honest, I haven’t figured out what it is I’ve found. I had no time to do much analysis or consult with colleagues before Bako’s thugs kidnapped me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I had been looking for signs of the Roman occupation force in this district. I carried conviction because, wherever I go in Europe, I’m alert to signs of Roman garrisons. Wherever they camped, they always dug in, and the structure of the place is virtually the same from England to Syria. This was Pannonia, a Roman possession until the Huns arrived.”

“And that satisfied him?” Remi asked.

“He’s a madman and nothing satisfies madness. He wants Attila the Hun’s burial goods. The man thinks he’s an heir of Attila the Hun. If he’s not a literal descendant, he’s certainly a spiritual one, and what he’s searching for is a big thing here. In Hungary, people still name boys Attila. And here we are on the southern plain, where Attila made his stronghold.”

Remi said, “I may not be remembering clearly, but isn’t the treasure supposed to be the coffins themselves?”

“Yes, that’s part of it,” said Albrecht. “Supposedly there’s an iron casket, and inside it a silver one, and inside it one made of solid gold. But they were supposed to be filled with the jeweled crowns and weapons and ornaments that belonged to all the kings and nobles and bishops that Attila defeated. That would make quite a pile.”

“The story sounds like quite a pile,” said Sam. “A pile of—”

“Sam!” said Remi.

“Sam’s probably right,” said Albrecht. “The only contemporary account we have of Attila’s death is from Priscus, the Eastern Roman Empire’s ambassador to the Huns. He describes the mourning and funeral, but mentions no treasure. The treasure is first described by Jordanes eighty years later. He was from one of the barbarian groups, possibly the Ostrogoths. People have searched for the treasure for fifteen hundred years and found nothing.”

Albrecht sat in silence for a moment. “But Arpad Bako is not going to be put off or discouraged by odds or reason. He’s convinced he’s destined to find Attila’s tomb. And he’s obsessed with stopping anyone else from finding it.”

“Let’s step back and look at this from his perspective,” said Remi. “Is there any chance at all that what you found might relate to the tomb in some way?”

“I’ve just begun, but I doubt it,” said Albrecht. “It’s true that the carbon date of the remains is around 450 C.E. and Attila died in 453. And a battle here at the center of the Huns’ territory may well have had to do with his death. What happened after the death of Attila was chaos. His three sons all had their own factions, and Attila’s generals had their own kingdoms and armies. There could have been unrecorded battles among any of them.” He shrugged. “All I can say for sure so far is that these casualties were not Romans. They didn’t have the Romans’ superb armor, nor did they carry the gladius , the short, wide-bladed stabbing sword, or the scuta , the big shield that Roman soldiers put together to form a wall against an enemy charge.”

“So the bodies at the site could be Huns and the fighting could have been related to the tomb.”

“It’s too early to rule out very much, even that. And if anyone ever finds the tomb, this is probably the way it will happen—someone looking for something else will stumble on it.”

Sam said, “Let’s deal with the discovery you already have. We need to give you a chance to complete your excavation safely.”

“I don’t see how we can do that now. Some of Bako’s men were shot.”

Sam smiled. “Would that have bothered Attila?”

“Probably not.”

“Then it won’t bother Bako. He may even try to keep the incident quiet. He can’t tell the police somebody stole his kidnap victim. And for the moment, your excavation is his best chance of learning anything new. He’ll want you to get to work.”

“He’s too dangerous. We can’t start excavating as long as he’s here.”

“Maybe you can. Do you know any important Hungarian archaeologists?”

“A few of them. Dr. Enikö Harsányi is a professor right here at Szeged University. So is Dr. Imre Polgár. I had planned to consult them before I was abducted. They know this area’s history better than I do.”

“Then call them in now. What we need is not to hide this excavation. We need to make it as public as possible. We need to get lots of people involved, to be there on the site, and to help with the project. Three foreigners digging in a remote area are in danger. Fifty or a hundred local scholars digging are an expedition.”