Turned to Stone (16 page)

22

Piraeus

When the cloud of smoke dissipated, Jaime expected to see the face of the devil himself. Instead he found himself gazing at the soot-blackened features of a man who was looking at him with concern. The face didn’t seem familiar, but Jaime’s brain wasn’t in any condition to recognize people. “No, Paloma,” he muttered, battling back toward consciousness. “I promise I won’t do it again . . .”

“Who’s Paloma?” The stranger spoke in English.

Jaime turned his head and saw that he was lying beside a container on the main deck of the
Artemis
. The ship was stationary and had heeled over to starboard. A strange red haze kept him from seeing clearly, and when he tried to wave it away he realized there was blood in his eyes. As he sat up, pain seared his temples and the face before him split into three.

“Take it easy, buddy. You’ve had a good crack to the head.”

The voice was deep and calm. Jaime had heard it before, but the man in front of him didn’t look much like the friendly, red-bearded inspector who owned it. The beard, like the hair, was nearly gone, leaving only a charred, straw-like mass where it had been. “Kraniotis . . .” Jaime said. “What happened to the others?”

“There was nothing I could do for them.” He gave Jaime a devastated look.

Jaime pushed himself up with his elbows and wiped the blood from his forehead. He didn’t have to be an expert on freighters to know that the boat, now tilting several degrees to starboard, was quickly sinking. “What happened?” he asked.

“The engine room blew. I saw them die . . .”

Memories of the charred bodies came back to Jaime. “How am I still alive?” he managed to ask.

“I was looking for a way out of the inferno below when I stumbled into you. We nearly didn’t live to tell the tale.”

“You saved my life. What does a person say in a situation like this?”

“Nothing we have time for,” said Kraniotis. “We have to get off this ship—now.”

Jaime got himself to his feet. His head was spinning, so he took several deep breaths before scanning the sea in front of him. The deaths of the rest of the team had not yet fully hit him. The deep attraction he’d felt for Sonia Durán just a few hours earlier had been pushed down to be dealt with later. His main concern now was saving the lives that were left, including his own.

“How far from land are we?” he asked.

Kraniotis thought for a few seconds. “I don’t know for sure. Judging by how fast the engines were going and how long we’ve been at sea, I’d guess we’re at least twenty miles from the coast.”

Jaime didn’t want to think about them swimming that distance, especially in complete darkness. “The lifeboats?” he asked.

“Gone.”

“How many were there?”

“Two!” said a voice from the other side of the deck.

The startled men turned toward the voice and saw Amatriaín hobbling over to them, clutching his wounded shoulder. “They loaded the artifacts onto one,” he said, “and used the other to escape.”

“Thank God you’re alive,” said Kraniotis, exhaling. “Where’ve you been?”

“When the ship tilted I rolled to starboard. If it wasn’t for the gunwale I’d have wound up in the water.”

Jaime peered overboard and looked down. The fuel that had leaked from the ship was ablaze, forming a wall of fire around the hull. Some wooden boards were floating inside the burning circle; whenever one of them came into contact with the flames, it disappeared as if it had been suddenly devoured by a sea monster.

A light breeze was spreading the flames across the ship. Amatriaín, Azcárate, and Kraniotis were trapped in a small space on the forecastle, totally surrounded by the fire. Behind them the bridge burned; in front of them stretched the sea. Under their feet, the
Artemis
, now tilting fifty degrees, was quickly sinking. The massive freighter was about to become a giant grave, and the number of deceased stood to rise at any moment. “We have to jump now,” Jaime said, his eyes fixed on the water.

Kraniotis looked at the wall of flames advancing toward them and agreed. But Amatriaín wasn’t so sure. He limped over to the rail, then looked back and forth between the fire and the sea. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“You can’t have seen
Titanic
, then.” Jaime walked over to a damaged container that had a large wooden crate poking out of it.

Kraniotis quickly saw what Jaime had in mind and without a word he helped him free the crate. Together they removed the lid and threw it overboard. Then they did the same with another crate. Amatriaín joined in and a moment later there were three wooden boards floating in the water. “Those are our rafts,” said Jaime.

“All right.” Amatriaín grimaced in pain. “Azcárate, you jump first. Then Juliun. I’m hurt, so I’ll wait for the ship to heel over a bit more. It’ll make for a shorter drop.”

They agreed this was the best course of action and Jaime prepared to jump. He took a couple of steps back so he could build up speed and then ran toward the gunwale, glancing over his shoulder to get one last glimpse of the doomed ship. When he reached the ship’s edge he launched himself headfirst into the water.

The fall was brief thanks to the heel of the ship, and the water enveloped his body completely, as if the sea had swallowed him. He plunged deep below the surface then arched his back until his body was horizontal. His heart was beating twice its normal speed and he felt as if firecrackers were going off inside his head. Fire raged above him. He kicked and began to swim upward. When his head surfaced, smoke-scented air rushed into his lungs, making him cough. He tried to relax. As he waited for his breathing to return to normal, he looked at the ship just as someone jumped. It was Amatriaín.

Jaime swam toward him. “Where’s Kraniotis?”

“He’s still on the ship,” Amatriaín replied nervously. The flames from the freighter’s hull reflected in his eyes. “He said he saw movement on the bridge and went to investigate. He must’ve thought it was a survivor.”

“There are no survivors. Why didn’t you wait for him?”

“I waited as long as I could. The ship was sinking.”

Jaime felt a twinge of contempt for the man in front of him. He kicked his legs to keep himself from sinking and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Kraniotis! Can you hear me?”

“Juliun!” Amatriaín cried. “Oh God, what has he done?”

Grief stricken about the fate that might have befallen the man who’d saved his life, Jaime swam around the hull. By the time he had circled back around to Amatriaín, the flames from the deck appeared to be planing across the surface of the water. He knew it was a matter of minutes before the freighter would disappear under the waves. “No sign of him.”

“What could’ve happened? What could he have seen?”

They called his name several times, even as they carefully swam as far as possible from the freighter to avoid being sucked down with it.

Neither man blinked during the
Artemis
’s final minute. The flames went out; the ship went down; and the sea was left in silence as if nothing of great importance had happened there.

Five minutes later, the sound of rotor blades came from above and a powerful light shone down on the ship’s only two survivors. The helicopter descended until it was almost floating on the water, and Amatriaín raised his hand to greet the crew that had come to their aid.

That was when Jaime knew that whatever else Vicente Amatriaín was, he was not a man Jaime could trust.

23

Madrid

As soon as Laura Rodríguez received Isidro Requena’s call, she dropped what she was doing and rushed down to meet him in the lecture hall. On the way, she ran into Roberto Barrero, who was still wearing his guard’s uniform. “I saw it on the news. What’s happened to Jaime?” He blocked Laura from going any farther down the hallway.

“I don’t know yet. Let me past.”

“How can you not know?”

“I know as much as you. Something happened in Piraeus—”

“ ‘Something’? The press is going off about a tragic incident, a hijacked cargo ship, a patrol boat sunk, several dead and wounded, and some kind of investigation.”

“That’s what they’re saying, yes—”

“So stop screwing with me. Is Jaime all right?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know!”

Laura had been working since she got to the office at eight that morning. The recent discovery of Neanderthal remains in the Cova Negra area of Xátiva warranted extensive coverage in the December issue and she was weighing who should get the assignment. She’d just started to peruse the online news sources when Isidro Requena called her down. “So where are you going in such a hurry?” Roberto asked.

“Isidro called me down. I think he has news.”

“About Jaime? I’m coming with you.”

“He won’t want you coming in there.”

“Tough shit.”

Pursued by both Roberto and her own guilt over having allowed Jaime and the other CHR researchers to participate in a mission so far beyond their purview, Laura ran toward the room where they’d met and agreed to cooperate with the EHU.

“No, Barrero. Not you,” Requena said, blocking Roberto’s way at the door.

“I want to know what’s happened to him.”

“You’ll be told what you need to be told, but not now.”

Roberto snorted like an enraged bull, but Requena’s order was categorical. Laura gave the security guard a tense look and followed Requena into the room. Standing by the window was a short, bald man in a suit who turned toward them as they entered. His thick-rimmed glasses magnified sad, mousy little eyes. He introduced himself as Herbert Monfort, commissioner of the EHU’s Spanish branch. “I’m Amatriaín’s immediate superior,” he said after he’d shaken their hands. “First of all, I’d like to thank you for responding so graciously to our request.”

“Get to the point,” Requena said. “Are our colleagues all right?”

Monfort looked like he could be a pleasant man, but he wasn’t smiling now. He cleared his throat, rubbed his hands, and looked at them with sadness. “As I imagine you’ve gathered, I have bad news. Last night a group of armed men boarded the freighter
Artemis
while it was anchored in port. They arrived by skiff and boarded the ship using grappling hooks attached to cables. These men stole the artifacts from the container our colleagues were inspecting and then fled. But first they locked the team in the hold, started the ship’s engines, and, once they were in open water, sank it with explosives.”

“But why?” Laura looked at him, horrified.

“Come on, out with it,” Requena growled. “What happened to our colleagues?”

Monfort took a deep breath. “They’re all dead except for Vicente Amatriaín and Jaime Azcárate.”

Laura felt all the strength drain from her body. Using every bit of concentration she could muster, she managed to stay put and not run straight to the restroom to throw up.

Dr. Requena sat down and dug his fingernails into his knees. “How did this happen? Who . . . ?”

“We don’t have any of those answers yet. Amatriaín was struck several times and was shot in the shoulder, but he’s well enough to help the Greek police in the investigation. Two police officers and two of the pirates also died. The rest managed to escape.”

“And Jaime? Is he all right?”

“He has burns to his hands and is also being treated for smoke inhalation. He’s under observation at one of the best hospitals in Athens. The minute they discharge him I’ll have him brought home.”

Requena took his hands from his knees and gently massaged the places he’d dug at with his nails. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I spoke with Amatriaín and he told me none of the pieces they inspected appeared in the catalogue of stolen artifacts, so it seems unlikely that the crime was committed to prevent our team from finding something. The thieves took almost all of the works of art that were in the hold, so it’s more than likely this was just a robbery.”

Laura had stopped smoking more than a year ago, but at that moment she would have killed for a cigarette. She began to pace between the chairs. “If it was just a robbery they wouldn’t have needed to blow up the ship and kill everyone. How did they remove the artifacts before sinking the freighter?”

“It appears that the pirates loaded them onto one of the lifeboats and launched it before taking over the cargo ship by force. But we don’t yet know all the details. We’ll know more once Amatriaín can investigate what’s left of the ship and question staff at the port. Some workers may have been bribed; that’s the only thing that would explain how the thieves boarded and hijacked the freighter so easily.”

“My God. How is it possible that almost everyone was killed?”

“Amatriaín said that the assailants fled in the other lifeboat, so the opportunities for anyone else to escape were limited. What’s more, all the victims except Azcárate and Amatriaín were locked in the container hold when . . .”

“When what?”

“When a blue smoke suddenly filled the hold. No one knows where it came from. Amatriaín and Jaime were on deck at the time, and that’s what saved them from being burned to death when the engine room exploded.”

“A blue smoke?”

“Like at the museum!” cried a muffled voice.

Monfort glanced from side to side. “Who said that?”

“I did!” The door to the room flew open, revealing Roberto Barrero.

Requena jumped to his feet. “Barrero, I told you, you can’t come in here!”

“I didn’t come in. I was just listening from behind the door. You didn’t say anything about that.”

“Do me a favor, and get out of here.”

“Wait a moment, Isidro,” Laura said. “What did you say about the museum, Roberto?”

“The Pontecorvo House Museum, where the Medusa was stolen from. In his statement before he died, the security guard said something about smoke that had a life of its own and attacked him.”

Monfort blinked behind his large glasses. “Who is this gentleman?”

“He’s one of the center’s security guards,” Laura said. “And a friend of Jaime Azcárate.”

Roberto appeared annoyed. “What do you mean,
a
friend? I’m the only friend that pansy has.”

“Getting back to the blue smoke . . .” said Requena.

Herbert Monfort snapped his fingers. “Someone’s using the same trick.”

“The Medusa!” Roberto said. “Maybe that fucking statue was on the ship after all.”

Requena frowned. “Language, Barrero.”

“Sorry, but you know I could be right.”

“Where are you going with this?” Monfort sounded intrigued. “That legend of the curse is—”

“I don’t believe in curses any more than you do,” Roberto said. “But think about it for a minute: The night the Medusa was stolen, the smoke appeared at the museum. This time, it appeared on the ship. Where there’s smoke, there’s—well, a Medusa. This isn’t rocket science.”

Laura and Montfort were listening attentively, but Requena wasn’t impressed. “Barrero, you’ve completely lost it. Go home, your shift’s over. Aren’t you on vacation?”

“My vacation starts tomorrow.”

“I suggest you start it now. This is affecting your judgment.”

“Wait—what if the smoke kept them from finding the Medusa?” Laura said excitedly. “Suppose someone was watching the team: a member of the crew, someone at the port, one of our own researchers . . . anyone who knew that the Medusa was on the freighter. When the search got too close, this person released the smoke, kidnapped the team, and then sunk the ship.”

“But why?”

“It’s obvious: to keep us from finding the Medusa.”

“But who would want the Medusa to disappear?” said Requena in despair. “Besides, according to your theory, there had to be a mole in the team, and it could only be one of the survivors: Vicente Amatriaín or Jaime Azcárate.”

“Not Jaime.” Laura shook her head.

“And I can vouch for Amatriaín.” Montfort looked disconcerted by the turn the conversation had taken. “He’s been fighting against art theft and contraband for years, and his loyalty is beyond question. At any rate, sinking the ship just to hide the bust from us would be a rather drastic plan, don’t you think?”

“Can you think of any other reason for what happened? Maybe the people who sunk the ship already removed the bust. Or perhaps they plan to dive and retrieve it.”

“Forgive me, but that theory’s pretty far-fetched. The blue smoke appeared when the mysterious assailants had already emptied the container. If the Medusa had been there, they would already have taken it. It would make no sense to then sink the boat and arrange all those fireworks.”

Laura’s longing for a cigarette intensified. Trying to banish all thought of smoking, she studied a photograph hanging over the room’s dais: Isidro Requena and the Spanish minister of culture. She shook her head. “Maybe you’re right. We’re all losing our minds.”

“We’ll know more in a few hours’ time,” Monfort said. “Dr. Rodríguez, Dr. Requena, I’m deeply sorry for what has happened. If there is anything I can do for you, I—”

“There is something,” Laura said. “Find the people responsible for this atrocity.”

“You can depend on it.”

“Thank you for coming to tell us in person.” While Isidro Requena walked Monfort to the hallway, Laura took the opportunity to confront Roberto Barrero. “What do you think you’re doing? What if Requena loses his temper and fires you for insubordination?”

“Then you can hire me as a photographer.”

“Right. Like I’m in a position to hire anyone,” Laura replied gloomily.