Authors: Boyd Morrison
Midas Code (24 page)
A
t an outdoor café along Via Chiaia in Naples, Orr checked the tracker signal while Gaul ate a slice of pizza. When he saw where the tracker was, he nodded with satisfaction. His plan was working out perfectly.
It was now eight o’clock, but Locke and Benedict had been in the city since 3
P.M.
Orr tossed back an espresso and smiled at the thought of having the Midas Touch in his possession by the end of the night after all these years of searching.
His phone rang. It was Crenshaw.
“Where’s the video?” Orr said. He was supposed to have received the last proof-of-life recording thirty minutes ago.
“The video?” Crenshaw said, his voice cracking. “Jesus, that’s the last thing on my mind!” Orr heard an engine downshift in the background. Something was wrong.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the truck heading up to New Jersey. The warehouse is toast. Had to blow it early. Phillips is dead.”
Dead? That idiot Crenshaw.
“What the hell happened?”
Gaul stopped chewing and looked at the phone.
“General Locke got loose somehow. He killed Phillips, but I was able to shoot the general twice. I would have stayed, but the police were on their way. Locke must have called them.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s in pieces, along with the girl and those two Muslim guys.”
Orr stopped himself from screaming in frustration.
This
was why he kept his team small. He had to do everything himself if he wanted it done right. Still, if Crenshaw completed his part of the mission, the situation could be salvaged.
“What about the truck?” Orr said. “Is it ready to go?”
“I’ve got the bomb rigged. It’s buried in the trailer under the sawdust.”
“Good. You know where to park it, right?”
“You think I’m doing this on my own?”
“Crenshaw, we are a couple of hours away from finishing the mission. As soon as I call you, I want the timer on that bomb set.”
“No way. You think I’m dumb? I know that you’re after the treasure of Midas. And I want my share.”
Orr’s lip curled in anger. That was not the plan, and no one changed his plan but him.
“What do you want?” Orr said.
“I know that what I’m doing is worth a lot more to you than two million dollars. I want twenty million.”
Orr heard the plastic seams on the phone crack as his grip tightened. “Fine. But you’d better do your part.”
Orr planned to sell off the Midas Touch in a private auction. When the price of gold shot through the roof after lower Manhattan was rendered uninhabitable, he would start the bidding at a billion dollars. Crenshaw was jeopardizing everything.
“I’m not setting off the bomb by myself,” Crenshaw said. “I want you here.”
“What?” Orr yelled, drawing the stares of the other patrons. “Why?”
“Because I want to see the Midas Touch in person. I want to know that it really works.”
Orr snorted in disgust. Asking for more money was one thing. But this weasel was going too far by blackmailing him. He vowed silently that Crenshaw would never get to spend the twenty million.
“Okay,” Orr said, “we’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Oh, and when we see each other, don’t try to kill me. I’ve designed the detonator with a code. You’ll never be able to set it off without me.”
That little pig.
Orr couldn’t believe it, but he had no choice but to agree.
“All right. We’ll do it your way. I’ll call you when we have it.”
Orr hung up. He wanted to indulge his rage somehow, upend the table or throw the phone through a plate-glass window, but he had to control himself. The Midas Touch was all that mattered right now.
“What’s the problem?” Gaul asked.
“Sherman Locke and Carol Benedict are dead. Some shootout at the warehouse.”
“Phillips?”
“The general killed him.”
Gaul nodded slowly as he mulled over the news, his face revealing nothing more than his concentration on how it affected their scheme. “What now? Locke won’t show himself without the proof-of-life video.”
Orr checked the tracker again. It was headed straight down Via Don Bosco. If it kept going, as he thought it would, it would be near Piazza del Plebiscito in ten minutes.
Instead of Locke’s number, he dialed Stacy Benedict’s.
“Yes?” she said.
“You have the geolabe?” Orr said.
“Yes.”
“Good. Let me speak to Locke.”
Locke answered. “What?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ve missed you terribly.”
“Screw you. What about the proof-of-life?”
“I’ll send you the video before we meet. But I need assurance that you have the geolabe with you. Have Benedict take a picture of it right now using your phone. Put her phone next to it so I can see my number and text the photo to me.”
He heard a muffled voice. Locke was covering the mic on his phone.
“It’s on the way.”
Orr’s phone buzzed. He opened the text. There was the gleaming geolabe. His number was easily visible on the phone beside it, meaning the photo had to have been taken in real time.
“Happy?” Locke said.
“Very. I’ll call you in an hour with our meeting location. You’ll get the video then.”
“If we don’t get the video, we don’t show.”
“Oh, you’ll get it. Ciao.” Orr hung up and tapped the table absently.
“We have to accelerate our schedule,” he said finally.
“You sure?” Gaul said.
“Crenshaw’s stupidity crapped all over the original plan. Make the call.”
Gaul nodded and pulled out his phone, dialing the number Orr had obtained through some of his local contacts.
“I need to speak to Gia Cavano,” Gaul said. “A message? Okay, tell her I know how she can find Jordan Orr.”
Gaul grinned. That got their attention. Orr leaned close to the phone so that he could hear Cavano.
“Who is this?” she said.
“I hear you’ve got eyes all over Naples looking for Orr,” Gaul said.
“So? You have information?”
“Better. I can give you a man named Grant Westfield. He’ll tell you where Orr is.”
A pause. “Why should I believe you?”
“Then don’t.”
Another pause. “All right. Where is he?”
“He’s heading down to Piazza del Plebiscito.”
“Alone?” Cavano asked.
“No,” said Gaul, who had seen Westfield and his men less than an hour ago when he intercepted the tracker signal on a city street. “He has company.”
“That’s a big area. How will we find him?”
Gaul gave her the Web address with the tracker location.
“How do I know this isn’t some sort of trap?” Cavano said.
“You don’t. Be careful.” Gaul clicked END.
“Think she’ll do it?” he said.
“She won’t be able to resist. Once her men confirm that it really is Westfield, they’ll take him.”
“What if he’s killed?”
“Then he’s out of our hair. If not, we have provided potent bait for Gia.”
Orr slapped a twenty-euro note down on the table and stood.
“Let’s go. They’ll be here soon.”
He and Gaul gathered up their gear and headed to the car.
Orr felt the adrenaline begin to kick in. He was getting pumped for the operation, as he did before any big heist he pulled. It wasn’t nervous energy. It was excitement at finally putting the plan in motion, because he had confidence that it would succeed. And it wasn’t misplaced optimism at all. He had every piece of information he could possibly need, all thanks to his priceless accomplice, Stacy Benedict.
A
fter dropping off their vehicles, Grant and the four men from Neutralizer made their way toward the Palazzo Reale, the royal palace of Naples built by the Bourbons in the seventeenth century. Grant wished
he
had a shot of bourbon. He didn’t like the idea of holding back while Tyler went into harm’s way without him.
The palazzo would be the perfect observation post for Piazza del Plebiscito. They would wait in the publicly accessible palace until Grant got the signal from Tyler that Orr had appeared. Then Grant would take two men into the crowd while another two watched them from a discreet distance, ready to wade in if trouble arose.
Grant took the team on a shortcut through the Galleria Umberto. The cavernous indoor shopping plaza was built in the shape of a cross, and the last of the afternoon sun streamed through a 184-foot-high ceiling made of glass and iron latticework with an enormous dome in the center.
Although the streets were packed, the space held few shoppers. The stores were closed for the evening, and the focus was on the concert in the square outside. Everyone on Grant’s team was wearing rubber-soled shoes, so they made no sound on the marble floor.
At the far portico they got three steps outside when two light blue Alfa Romeo sedans marked POLIZIA screeched to a stop in front of them. Four cops jumped out and drew their pistols.
One of the Neutralizer men reached for his weapon, but Grant stopped him. Getting into a gun battle with the Naples police was not on the agenda. They raised their hands. A group of bystanders was already forming to watch, snapping photos of the hubbub.
“What seems to be the problem, Officers?” Grant said. One of the Neutralizer men was fluent in Italian and translated.
“Drop your weapons,” came the reply.
They all looked to Grant, and he nodded. Guns clattered to the sidewalk.
Someone had set them up. Grant had picked this team specifically because they were not from the Naples area, so the chances of them being corrupted by the Camorra were nonexistent. How had the police found out exactly where they would be?
“Tell him we have permits for these weapons,” Grant said. When the policeman who looked as if he was in charge heard the translation, he shook his head. He made them all put their hands on the cars, where they were frisked. Everything in Grant’s pockets, including his phone and the tracker, were confiscated, along with the guns. Then they were all cuffed.
All except Grant.
The four security contractors were shoved into the backseats of the police cars. The lead cop pointed back the way Grant had come and said “Go” in English. He waited until Grant started moving, then the police cars peeled away with their sirens blasting.
Grant didn’t know what was going on, but this couldn’t be good. He had to find a phone and warn Tyler that their plan had already gone to hell. He trotted back through the galleria. When he got to the center, a mountainous figure emerged from an alcove to his right. It was his old friend Sal from the British Museum.
Somehow Cavano had found him. She must have pulled strings with her police contacts to have Grant’s team apprehended.
Another man came in from the left. Two more from in front. Grant turned and saw another pair behind him. He was surrounded. Normally, this would be a good time to shout for the police, but Grant was pretty sure that wouldn’t help.
“I see you took my advice and brought more men this time,” he said.
Sal held up one meaty hand and grinned. “You come quiet, eh? We no hurt you.”
“I know you won’t. I can’t promise the same for you, though.”
That wiped the smug grin off his face.
They hadn’t drawn guns yet, so maybe that meant they weren’t supposed to kill him. At least it was something.
“So you want trouble, eh?” Sal said. “We can make trouble.”
The most effective tactic for taking down a single man when you have overwhelming numbers is simply to rush him and get him down on the ground as quickly as possible. Once he was on his back, it was almost impossible for even the best fighter to fend off attacks from a group that had him pinned.
Instead of taking that approach, only two men approached Grant warily, the others hanging back as, what, reinforcements? Well, if they wanted to be dumb, Grant wasn’t going to stop them.
As soon as they were within reach, Grant swept his leg out, sending the guy on his left to the floor, his head cracking on the marble. The one on his right swung his fist around, but only connected with air as Grant ducked under it. Using all his considerable strength, Grant hammered his fist into his assailant’s solar plexus. With a grunt, the man doubled over and collapsed, gasping for breath.
Grant stood up and smiled at the ringleader. “Pretty sweet, huh?”
Sal glanced at the other three, who rushed Grant. The degree of difficulty was harder this time, but nothing he hadn’t seen in the wrestling ring years before. Of course, those fights were scripted, but thanks to his Ranger training, Grant had learned a few more tricks.
He whipped around and threw an elbow into the chest of the man behind him, then kicked upward, connecting just under the chin of another guy, sending him flying backward. The third man was able to get a knee into Grant’s side, but Grant slapped the man on both ears simultaneously, likely shattering both eardrums.
Grant was feeling good about his progress in beating the crap out of six men when he heard the unmistakable snap of a police baton expanding. Too late, he turned to see Sal swing the baton around, catching him in the back. His kidneys exploded in pain from the impact of the baton’s steel tip, and he dropped to his knees.
Sal reared back for another blow. Grant swiped at his leg with one arm, knocking him over, but the distraction was enough to keep Grant from seeing a second baton sweep down.
A starburst blasted across his vision, and he had the vague sense to turn his head so that his teeth didn’t smash into the stone as he pitched forward.
He battled to remain conscious, if not for his own sake then for Tyler’s and Stacy’s, but the struggle lasted only another three seconds before a feeling of nausea overcame him and his world went black.
F
or the third time, Tyler called Grant and couldn’t reach him. Having separated from Grant and the security team earlier in the day, he’d agreed to stay in regular contact. The last time they’d spoken was fifteen minutes ago.
Tyler and Stacy were standing in the nave of San Francesco di Paola, the church that formed the western edge of Piazza del Plebiscito. The church was behind the music stage, and the square was already filling with concertgoers ready for a night of songs and fireworks. Tyler thought the church would be a safe haven until they needed to venture out into the square to meet Orr. Their location would keep him in close proximity to Grant’s team in case Orr made a move early.
They had separated in the afternoon so that Tyler and Stacy could explore Naples, looking for the well Archimedes had identified. With Aiden’s help researching Italian databases and contacting different cultural organizations in the city, they had found four possible wells that might be the one Archimedes was leading them to. They could only hope the well they needed hadn’t been filled in during the intervening years since Orr and Cavano had seen it.
Tyler and Stacy had stopped to look for the sign of Scorpio in each well and found a cluster of dots on the inside of the third one that precisely matched the configuration of the Scorpio constellation. He had called Grant to tell him the location, and that was the last time they had spoken.
“What’s the matter?” Stacy said as Tyler eyed his phone with concern.
“Grant’s not answering.”
“Do you think he can’t get a signal?”
“Unlikely. And if he wasn’t getting one, he’d move somewhere else.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”
Tyler tried the Neutralizer team members and couldn’t reach them, either. He didn’t like using Grant as bait, but he couldn’t imagine that Orr had been able to get the drop on him and the entire security team.
He put the backpack with the geolabe on the floor and checked the signal for the tracker they’d removed from the geolabe and given to Grant. Instead of broadcasting from the Palazzo Reale, it was en route away from the palace.
“The tracker’s on the move,” he said.
“What?”
“If it’s still with Grant, he’s heading north at a fast clip.”
“What do we do?” Stacy said.
“We abort until we know what happened to Grant.”
“But Carol—”
“Orr won’t kill her yet. Not when he’s this close. We’ll just postpone the meet.”
“Then we need to find Grant.”
“I’m going on my own.”
“But—”
“No buts. I can move faster by myself. I’ll find the tracker and assess the situation. If I can get him myself, I’ll do it. You need to hide someplace safe until I come back.”
“I hate doing that.”
“It’s for my safety, too. As long as you have the geolabe, we still have bargaining power. I’ll drop you off at an outof-the-way pensione. Give me two hours. If I’m not back in that time, call Miles Benson and he’ll help you. Do not meet with Orr on your own, no matter what he tells you.”
Stacy sighed. “Fine. But I don’t like this.”
“Your objection is noted,” Tyler said, putting the backpack on his shoulder. “Now let’s go get the car.”
He opened the front door to the breezeway outside. The semicircular colonnade embraced the piazza. Their car was in a lot to the north. He looked in both directions, but no one in the crowd paid any attention. With tens of thousands of people attending the concert and dozens of ways into the square, the chance that Orr would spot them was small, but with Grant no longer backing him up Tyler had to be prepared for anything.
He waved for Stacy to come out, and they weaved through the strolling crowd.
They had reached the end of the breezeway when a man in cargo pants and a U2 T-shirt stepped out from behind the last pillar and faced them. He had a jacket draped over his folded arms so that his hands weren’t visible.
He stared at Tyler. He had to be one of Orr’s men.
Tyler grabbed Stacy’s arm to run for it but froze when he felt the barrel of a pistol in his back.
“You’re early, Tyler,” Orr said behind him.
“So are you,” Tyler said.
“I had to change my plans. By the way, Gaul has a gun aimed at you.”
“I figured that out.”
With his free hand, Orr removed Tyler’s Leatherman from his pocket, tossed it to Gaul, and pocketed the Glock pistol he took from Tyler’s waistband. He didn’t bother to search Stacy. Her shorts and tank top couldn’t have hidden anything dangerous.
“I’ll take your phones,” Orr said.
Stacy whirled around with her fists clenched, ready to take on Orr, but Tyler grabbed her shoulders to stop her. Orr backed off but kept the gun trained on them from under his folded coat.
“What are you doing?” Stacy said. “They’re going to kill us!”
“If they wanted to kill us, they would have done it already.”
“Listen to Tyler, honey,” Orr said. “Now toss your phones to me.”
“Only if you never call me honey again.”
“Fair enough, sweetie.”
Stacy tensed again, before giving in. Tyler let her go. He took her phone and threw it to Orr along with his.
Orr dropped them both to the ground and stomped on them.
“Now we’re on our own. And finally the backpack. Slowly.”
Tyler didn’t move. “It won’t do you any good.”
“I’d just feel better holding it. I can shoot you in the leg and I’d get it anyway. Your choice.”
Tyler grudgingly held the backpack out for Orr, who took it and rested it on his shoulder.
“Good. Let’s go.” Orr motioned them forward, and he and Gaul fell into step behind them.
“Where are we going?” Tyler said.
“Where do you think?” Orr said.
“I don’t know. And you’re dreaming if you think we’re going to tell you where the well of Archimedes is. This is an exchange, and you haven’t offered us anything yet.”
“I do know where we’re going, thanks to Stacy. The church of San Lorenzo Maggiore near Piazza San Gaetano. You found it there.”
And it suddenly made sense to Tyler. Orr didn’t find them by luck. He had been waiting for them to come out of the church. He would have known where Grant was because of the tracker, but there was only one way he could have known where Tyler was. He and Grant had had a mole in their midst from the very beginning.
Tyler stopped and looked at Stacy, shocked at her betrayal.
“I trusted you,” he said. “You’ve been telling Orr our every move.”
“What?” Stacy said with a puzzled look. “No, I don’t … You can’t think I’ve been helping him?”
Tyler shook his head grimly. “How else could Orr have found us?”
“I don’t know! I’m his hostage just like you are. So is my sister.”
Which Tyler now realized could have been a setup from the very beginning. For all he knew, Carol Benedict was in on it as well.
“Oh, Stacy’s been a good informant,” Orr said, “giving me updates along the way, but she got greedy and demanded more than her fair share. I’d kill her right now, but I still need her.”
“He’s lying!” she shouted at Tyler before turning on Orr. “You bastard!”
“Am I? Then how would I know that you went to Gia’s home outside London? That you rendezvoused with her in Munich? That you went to the Athens museum yesterday and the Parthenon this morning?”
Stacy sputtered, “This is crazy!”
“No, it’s not,” Tyler growled. “The tracker might have told him about our visit to Cavano and Munich, but he couldn’t have known about the Parthenon. We left the tracker in the plane.” He turned to Orr. “Where is Grant?”
Orr smiled. “Dead. Or captured. I don’t really know which, and I don’t care. That’s up to Gia.”
“You told her how to find him?”
“It got him out of the way, didn’t it?”
“And my father?”
“He’s all right. For now.”
Orr was a great liar, but something about his expression made Tyler think he was covering up.
“I want to see him.”
“When we find the treasure, I’ll let him go.”
“If you already know where the well is, why do you need us any more?”
“Because I’m on a deadline, and even though we might have the correct well, I can’t spend days looking for the right tunnel that leads to the chamber. Your expertise with the geolabe will take us there. I have some pages from the codex that you haven’t seen.”
Tyler remembered Stacy saying on Wednesday night that she thought the codex was missing some pages.
“Those pages show how to navigate the tunnels?” he said.
“Using the geolabe, yes. At least, I think they do. You’ll have to figure it out.”
“And if I won’t?”
“I’ll kill you both right here and take my chances on my own. What’ll it be?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Stacy said.
Tyler considered the options and realized that he had none. He didn’t know what was going on with his father, but to have any chance of taking Orr and finding out about the nuclear device, he had to stay alive until he had an opportunity to make his move. If he could escape once he was in the tunnels, he might be able to get back to the surface and get reinforcements. At the very least, he could keep Orr from coming back out.
Tyler nodded. “All right.”
Orr smiled. “Good. Keep walking.”
In three minutes, they were in a parking lot next to a Fiat sedan. Gaul opened the trunk and took out two belts.
“Put your arms up,” he said.
“Why?” Tyler asked. “What are these?”
“Stun belts,” Orr said. “Used in prisons to control inmates. You’ll wear them so that I can keep you in line when we’re in the tunnels. I don’t want pistols sticking out of our belts. With the close quarters down there, you’ll be too tempted to grab for one.”
Orr removed two wristbands from his pocket and strapped them to his left arm. Each of them had a color that corresponded to the color of the belt—red for Tyler and blue for Stacy. The buttons were enclosed in a plastic covering. Orr tapped them lightly. “For easy access.”
Tyler didn’t resist. This meant Orr was planning to give them freer range in the tunnels. If Tyler could figure out a way to get his belt off, he might be able to get away before Orr could activate it.
Gaul snapped the belts on Tyler and Stacy and locked them with a key. The nylon belts were snug enough that they couldn’t be slid off. A box the size of a pack of playing cards was centered over their bellies.
“Get in the backseat,” Orr said. Tyler and Stacy climbed reluctantly into the Fiat. Orr and Gaul got into the front.
As Gaul threaded the car out of the lot, Orr turned in his seat. “Oh, one more thing. Those stun belts have been modified by a colleague of mine. It’ll be difficult for me and Gaul to keep an eye on you at all times while we’re in the tunnels, so these are our fail-safes to keep you from escaping.”
“You think I’m scared of a shock collar?” Stacy said.
“Actually no,” Orr said, holding up a Taser. “But I have this just in case you need some prodding.”
“Then what are the belts for?” Tyler asked.
“As I mentioned before Stacy interrupted,” Orr said, “they’ve been modified. They’re not stun belts any more. They’ve each been fitted with three ounces of C4 and molded into a clever shape charge. If either of you is out of my sight for more than ten seconds, I push this button. I’m told you’d be cut in half before you hit the ground.”