Castro Directive (35 page)

"There's some question about that. A couple of researchers who looked into the origin of the skull found evidence that the adventurer who supposedly found it and sold it to Dad may have actually bought it from an English art dealer and only claimed he'd found it."

"Then where did the art dealer get it?" Pierce quizzed. A hint of a smile appeared on her lips. "Maybe he found it in an umbrella stand."

"I like that." Pierce laughed and picked up the article. On the last page was a drawing of the fountain. It looked like an upright block of stone on a rock platform. Water spouted from the platform, and in the center of the upright piece of stone was a crude outline of a skull.

"This isn't a very impressive fountain. No wonder Ponce de Leon never found it. It looks like. . . You know what it looks like?"

"What?"

"There's something called the Bubbling Altar at the Coral Castle. It's the same shape, and right where this skull is drawn is a human face made of shells."

"Are you serious?"

"Positive." He shrugged. "But, of course, that couldn't be it. The altar is fifty or sixty years old, at best."

Elise shook her head. "Doesn't matter. No one said the skull was hidden in ancient times."

Pierce was confused. "What are you talking about? The Mayan myth is hundreds of years old, right?"

"Nick, remember what I said about Tzolkin, the four-dimensional clock? The legend is prophecy, not history."

"You think the skull could be there?"

She rose from the chair. "I think it's worth a look. I'm going to call Bill."

B
y the time they walked through the coral rock arch after taking a circuitous route to their destination, the afternoon sun was burning down on the oversized rock furniture. The air was still, scorched. The same guide Pierce had seen on his first trip here stood in front of a pack of tourists at the rear of the courtyard and demonstrated how easily the massive revolving door opened.

"Here it is. Not much to look at, is it?" Pierce said. Elise gazed at the Bubbling Altar. "It does look like the drawing."

"My God," Redington muttered. "1 don't know how many times I've walked by here. At some level, I must have known. Why else was I drawn back here so many times?"

Pierce squatted down and touched the base where the upright and horizontal blocks were cemented together. The old cement crumbled to his touch. "You know, if you had a chisel and a hammer, it wouldn't be too difficult to take a look inside."

"What if we're wrong?"

"There wouldn't be any damage. They need to repair that cement anyway."

"This place is privately owned, Nick," Redington said. "Even if we convinced them to let us do it and were successful, they'd have every right to claim the skull."

"They'd probably sell it to Andrews for a paltry fifty thousand and count their blessings," Elise chimed in.

Pierce stood up, brushed his hands. "Then we've got to try something else."

The group with the guide was moving in their direction, and Pierce motioned for Elise and Redington to follow him. "Bill, do you know what the security situation is here at night?"

Redington glanced sharply at him. "No, I don't. And if you're thinking of—"

"Bill, give him a chance," Elise said. "Let's hear Nick's idea."

Pierce touched the white bag in his pants pocket—the amulet. When he'd changed clothes from his funeral dress after visiting Andrews, he'd transferred the bag to the khaki pants he'd worn to Redington's house for dinner and was still wearing today. "I'm just speculating on the possibility of taking a look on our own."

"Sorry for jumping on you, Nick. Come to think of it, I do recall one of the guides telling a story about several kids getting caught crawling out over the wall one night. They admitted trying to turn over the furniture, but couldn't budge it. The point he was making was that there was no need for security systems other than a wedge in the revolving door and a nightly check by a cop."

"Any idea what time he comes by?" Pierce asked.

"As a matter of fact, he said the cop swings by after the bars close."

Pierce stepped back from the well. "Let's go outside and take a look around."

As they walked along the wall after leaving through the main entrance, Elise began to fidget. She nervously glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching them. "I don't know. This could be dangerous."

"Elise, Nick's right. It's time to take a chance," Redington said firmly, flipping his white ponytail over his shirt collar. "If we find the skull, we'll have some bargaining power over Andrews. Maybe enough to draw him into a trap and take advantage of his obsession."

"I agree," Pierce said. "If I tell Ray I know where the other skull is, I'm sure he'll go after it."

"How would we do it and not get ourselves killed?" Elise asked warily.

"Let's think on it. We'll figure something out," Pierce said.

"Well, the timing couldn't be better," she conceded. "Exactly in line with Tzolkin."

T
hor adjusted his legs as he tried to get comfortable. His perch on a lower branch of a massive banyan tree provided an excellent view of the street and Marisol Puente's house. It was dusk, and a flock of green parrots were making a racket on the limbs above him as they settled in for the night. But he filtered out the distraction and concentrated on the brown Ford that had parked on the street about ten minutes after he'd arrived with Odin and Frey.

The brown Ford with Carver in it.

Carver was trouble. Thor knew he'd been following them, and Odin had told him to wait outside and take care of the cop. That's the way he'd put it. The same thing he'd said about Fuego. Take care of him. Killing Fuego was one thing, but knocking off a cop was something else. If Carver's body was found before they'd made their escape, there'd be hell to pay.

It was all arranged; they'd leave at sunrise tomorrow.

With the two skulls or with only one. If it was up to him, they'd forget about the other skull and lay low until morning. But he knew it wasn't going to be that way. There was a long night ahead.

Thor glanced at his watch. It was time. If he waited any longer and Odin and Frey came out with Marisol, he had no doubt Carver would follow and pull over the Mercedes. They had to take control of the situation. There was no choice.

He sprang to the ground and moved in a crouch toward the rear of the Ford. Up along the driver's side now. Mach 10 out of his shoulder holster. Tight in his hands. Cool and deadly, this weapon. He jabbed the end of it into Carver's temple. "Hands flat on the dash. Don't blink, don't breathe too hard, don't turn your head. Very good, Detective."

Thor pulled the weapon away from Carver's temple long enough to open the door, then ordered the detective to move over. He didn't trust him, not for a second, and as Carver inched toward the passenger side, Thor slammed the butt of the pistol against the back of his head, knocking him out. He crumpled forward, and Thor shoved him over.

When he was behind the wheel, he tapped the horn twice, then twice again. It meant the trouble outside was under control. A moment later, Odin and Frey appeared, Marisol between them. Thor waved; Frey slid behind the wheel of the Mercedes. Thor didn't like Frey driving his car, but they weren't going far.

Several blocks away, Thor turned into the parking lot behind an abandoned warehouse. No one was around. Frey pulled up next to him. He and Frey quickly moved Carver to the backseat of the Mercedes, then Frey slid in beside him. Odin and Marisol were in the front as Thor took the wheel.

He popped the Mercedes into gear and glanced at his watch. Goddamn. Four and a half minutes. Not bad.

P
ierce pulled into Elise's driveway at ten. He'd spent the evening preparing for their sojourn, and now in the trunk of his car was a backpack stuffed with everything he thought they would need. Elise's expression as she let him in the house warned him that she'd been thinking things over. Thinking and fretting.

"I'm going to call Andrews now," he said.

"Nick, listen, I don't know if it's such a good idea. Maybe we should just postpone doing anything until we have a better handle on where things are going."

"No. It's safer this way. We've got to be prepared to act. I don't want to give Andrews even one extra hour."

She turned away. "Go ahead then."

"Elise . . ."

"I said, go ahead, call him."

He shrugged, moved into the kitchen, and punched Andrews's number. "He's not available," a man's voice said. "Tell him it's Nick Pierce."

"I said he's not available."

Damn it. He'd waited too long. "Okay, tell him I made a breakthrough." He spoke slowly, clearly. "I should have what he's looking for tonight. Tell him to meet me at my office at two. . . . That's right, two A.M."

He hung up and met Elise's gaze. "Well, that's over." She still looked worried. "God, but if we don't find it—"

"Don't even think about it. We're going to get it."

"You keep saying that, but what if we don't?"

"Okay, I've got an alternate plan."

"What alternate plan? You didn't say anything to me about it."

"I didn't want you worrying, but I guess you're doing it anyhow."

"You should be worrying, too."

"All right, listen. Even if we don't get the skull, we'll still get Andrews. Once he's at the office, we'll say we've got it but not with us. Chances are he'll give himself away. He'll demand to see it, and say something about the timing of the reunion of the skulls."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Look, even if he doesn't, we're going to count on Carver and Bellinger having enough evidence to bust him right there."

"You're counting on a lot. What if Bill can't get Carver to go to your office with him? What if Carver's asleep and won't answer his phone?"

Pierce smiled, shook his head. "Not likely. Not Carver. He's too committed to this case to sleep through the ending."

The phone rang and Pierce snapped it up. He heard Redington's voice.

"I was hoping you'd be there, Nick. Listen, I want to show you both something that I know you're going to be very interested in seeing. Can you meet me at my office in an hour?"

"Well, I guess so. What is it, Bill?"

Redington cleared his throat. "I'd rather wait. I don't trust the phone line."

"Okay. We'll be there."

They left the house a few minutes later and headed in the direction of Redington's office. After driving a couple of miles, Pierce turned into a residential neighborhood and made a series of figure eights until it was virtually impossible for anyone to stay on their trail without being detected. Finally, he returned to U.S. 1 and headed south, en route to the Coral Castle.

Although Redington had wanted to be there when they opened up the altar, he'd agreed that it was best if he dealt with Carver. Right now, he was driving to the Miami Beach precinct, not his office. His call had been a diversion in case the phone was tapped. From the precinct, Redington would contact Carver, and together they would go to Pierce's office and prepare for the 2 A.M. meeting.

They parked the car in a dark corner of a vacant lot and walked a block and a half along U.S. I before they reached the castle. Pierce carried his backpack over his shoulder and wore a pair of threadbare jeans. Elise had donned a floppy hat and wore her favorite dungarees from her digs. Anyone who took notice of them would probably think they looked like a pair of street people searching for a place to crash.

When they reached the castle, they skirted the edge of the parking lot and hurried past the gift shop, toward the side wall. They had about two hours, maybe two and a half, before the beat cop stopped by. That is, if he still made his nightly check after the bars closed.

As they approached the wall at the spot they'd found earlier, Pierce slipped off his backpack, removed a pair of gloves from a side pocket, and tossed the pack over the wall. It hit the ground with a thud and a clatter of steel. "Now we're committed," he said. "I'll go over and let you in through the revolving door."

"No. Just give me a boost." She took the gloves from him, slipped them on, and turned to the wall.

"Suit yourself."

The coral rock was deeply pitted, and she had no difficulty finding footholds. She took several short steps as Pierce balanced her from below, then she swung a leg over the top. "Oh, God. I think I'm stuck," she whispered.

"Just swing your other leg over and drop down."

"Yeah. Right." Slowly she pulled her leg over and lowered herself, until he could see only her hands. Then she let go.

"You okay?"

A glove hit him in the head, and the other one fell at his feet. I guess that's a yes, he thought, and pulled on the gloves. On his first two tries, he lost his balance and fell off the wall. In spite of the gloves and his long-sleeved shirt, the rough-edged coral rock scraped his skin. On the third try he made it to the top.