Clive Cussler - The Tombs

“Let’s hope the ones waiting for us there are Albrecht’s professor friends and not Arpad Bako.”

THE NORTH SHORE OF THE DANUBE

AS THE POLICE OFFICER HELPED REMI CLIMB UP OUT OF the open grave, she smiled and waved to Sam. She jogged across the damaged garden to Sam’s side. “It was engraved on the wall. I’m sending the pictures to Selma and Albrecht.”

“The bad part is that Bako’s men probably read it hours ago.”

“I know,” she said.

Tibor said, “If he’s got it, then it didn’t make much of an impression or he didn’t understand it. He’s back in his office at the pill factory, looking innocent.”

Sam said, “If he gets arrested, we won’t be able to prove anything unless somebody else saw his men excavating here. And if he ends up in court, so will we. He could send his security men ahead to the next spot, wherever that is.”

“I’d better go,” said Tibor. “It’s my turn to take charge of the surveillance crew. When they translate the message, let me know what it says.” Tibor got into his car and drove up the gravel drive to the highway.

Sam and Remi walked back toward the open graves, looking at the careless devastation that Bako’s men had left behind. They had apparently been ordered to find just the gold and simply thrown everything else aside. There were human bones and fifteen-hundred-year-old fabric, pots, implements, weapons strewn about the gardens and lawns of the estate.

Sam’s telephone buzzed. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sam. It’s Selma.”

“What have you learned?”

“I’ll put Albrecht on.”

“Hello, Fargos,” said Albrecht. “I’ll read you the message from Attila: ‘We buried our father Mundzuk along the river outside Talas. He faces west, the direction he was leading our army. His brother Ruga now leads in his stead.’”

“Where is Talas?” asked Sam.

“Talas was the oldest city in Kazakhstan. A Hun named Zhizhi Chanyu founded it, and it was the site of a battle in 36 B.C.E. It was an important stop on the Silk Road that ran through China, India, Persia, and Byzantium. It was destroyed in 1209, but it’s now a modern city called Taraz. Its location is 42° 54' north, and 71° 22' east, just north of Kygyztan and east of Uzbekistan.”

“It doesn’t sound too hard to find,” Remi said. “I assume we can fly there.”

“As you can see, while we’ve been moving backward in Attila’s life with each of the treasures he buried, we’re also moving east. Kazakhstan is probably where the Huns became the nomadic horseback power they were. It also seems to be the place where they launched themselves toward the Roman world. The name Kazakh means ‘free spirit,’ meaning a nomad of the plains. The country is about one-third dry steppe, and the distances there are enormous. Kazakhstan contains more area than all of Western Europe. Selma will tell you about the travel arrangements.”

“Hi, you two. I’ve made a reservation for you to fly from Budapest Airport to Moscow this evening. From there, you’ll fly to the capital of Kazakhstan, Astana. You’ll pick up your visas and letters of invitation there. From Astana, you’ll fly to Almaty, the largest city, and on to Taraz.”

“Sounds like a long trip,” said Remi.

“It will take a while, but maybe after all the running around you two have done, it will give you a chance to rest up. At least sitting in an airplane will help you catch up on your sleep before you reach Taraz.”

* * *

A FEW MILES AWAY, Arpad Bako sat in his office in a rage. He had just learned that the diligence and care he had expended and the risk he had faced to excavate the royal tombs of the Huns had been wasted. His weak and stupid security men had allowed two people, a husband and wife from America, to rob him of ten crates of gold and gems, much of it finely wrought ornaments, chalices, and crosses from the oldest churches in Europe. The rest were Roman-made ornaments from the garrisons along the Danube. This was the plunder the Huns had taken from the whole Balkan region. Some of it was from even farther away and longer ago, probably worn on the wrists, necks, and fingers of Central Asian warriors and their wives and buried with their descendants after reaching Hungary.

It had taken years of study and considerable luck to find this treasure, but he had done it. And now he had been robbed, as he had been in France. He couldn’t even get the culprits arrested because he’d had no legal right to dig on the museum grounds. His foolish men had even fired at the Fargos and the stolen lifeboat, so they’d had to throw their guns in the river before being arrested.

The telephone gave an abbreviated ring on the other end, then some mysterious clicks and disconnection sounds, like doors opening and closing. Finally a female voice with a singer’s lilt to it said in Hungarian, “The offices of the Poliakoff Company are closed for the day. If you would like to leave a message, wait for the tone.” Bako knew that the machine was simply programmed to speak Hungarian to a Hungarian phone number.

He said, “This is Arpad Bako. Please call me back.” He ended the call, then set the cell phone down on his large, highly polished rosewood desk and looked at it expectantly. The telephone rang almost immediately and he picked it up. “Hello, Sergei.”

“I was surprised to hear your voice, Arpad. You’re a fat, lazy plutocrat to call me at night.”

“Ideas come to me like birds flying in my window. When I see a good one, I snatch it out of the air regardless of the hour.”

“I like ideas. You can tell me yours. This is a scrambled line.”

“All right,” Bako said. “I have found a treasure hidden by Attila the Hun.”

“A treasure,” said Poliakoff. “Are we using metaphors now?”

“I say the word treasure the way Attila would have. A collection of coins and jewels, works of art, and ornaments made of gold and precious stones. They will be in a burial chamber.”

“Attila’s?”

“Attila’s father’s. You will get a third if you help me.”

“A third of what?”

“A third of whatever we find,” said Bako. “I can tell you we’ve found some of the treasures already. There was one in Italy. There was one in France with so much gold it took a truck to carry it out. There was a smaller one in the Transylvanian forest, and one on the north bank of the Danube that was ten shipping crates of gold and gems.”

“You have all of this gold and jewelry? Send me pictures of yourself standing with it and send me a small sample in your next shipment of pain pills. A ring, a necklace, anything in your next shipment of pills. I’m expecting one by air tomorrow.”

“I can send you a sample. Not much more. While my resources were devoted to searching in France, some competitors went and found the one in Italy. That treasure I never saw. I only read about it in the newspapers. The one in France was dug up by our friend Étienne Le Clerc. He took pictures, but those competitors stole it from his shipping warehouse. The one along the Danube, my men dug up today, and they took pictures. The actual treasure is now in the hands of the Hungarian government.”

Poliakoff said, “So you know these treasures exist, but you don’t have them. Who are these competitors who took these treasures from you?”

“It’s an American couple named Samuel and Remi Fargo. They’re rich treasure hunters, and they’ve found some magnificent riches in other parts of the world, but never anything like this. There can’t be many treasures like these. Attila swept out of Asia across the Ural and the Volga all the way to France, robbing cities. And I found out where he hid most of those riches.”