12.21.12: The Vessel (The Altunai Annals) Page 6

  “Always.”

  “Good, and for that, you deserve a reward.”

  She closed her eyes and sank into him. When their lips touched, an infused dose of the toxins seeped into his mouth, taking his brain further down the rabbit hole. José blinked, trying to sharpen his gaze on the face and the situation in front of him. Confusion danced over his features, but in a moment or two, he cast aside his reticence and threw his arms around her, drawing her closer.

  The contact was all she needed to see out the tail end of her impromptu escape plan. It was time for the getaway, before José caught on to what she was doing and before she lost the advantage of the storm to cover up her escape. She couldn’t afford to leave the Plaxis chief of security dead; Dmitri was going to be pissed enough after the call he was sure to get in the morning from Hector. At the same time, she didn’t want to risk having José try to keep her from going by force. If he could just pass out for a while, it would provide the cover she needed and give her time to get out of Dodge before anyone was the wiser.

  José’s lips moved over Victoria’s. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

  She only hummed into his mouth, but could hear his voice slur when he spoke.

  “The storm is keeping everyone away. No one will find us here if we … It’s getting so cold in here. And … spinning?”

  She broke their kiss and brought his hand to her face, pressing it against her warm flesh. He could barely move his fingers to stroke her cheek.

  “Just breathe through it, José. You’ve done well.”

  He fell back into a chair as numbness rendered his limbs useless. “What have you done to me?”

  Victoria tracked him, never breaking the contact. “You’ll be fine. You’re just going to take a little nap, and you won’t remember any of this. Tell Dmitri I said hello, okay?”

  Understanding and confusion warred in his features before José’s muscles relaxed completely. He passed out, slouching, but not before an amused grimace flashed across his face. To her surprise, the momentary twitch of his lips set her insides a quiver. No matter his station, José was a warrior, and she respected that. To see he respected her back filled her with pride. She turned to leave, pausing at the door and turning back, hoping his subconscious could still pick up on her commands.

  “Dmitri will make a pet of Shep now. I know it. Whatever you do, José, protect him. Not only from Dmitri, but also from himself.”

  12.16.12

  Chapter 6

  The site was frenzied but not dysfunctional. The jungle had served as a deterrent to the full force of both the rain and the winds. With the exception of a few shredded palm fronds, haphazard pieces of refuse, and puddles, they’d passed the hurricane well. Except for the damage evident on Hector’s face; that was monumental in its scope. Shep was right there with him. Ten hours ago, he’d felt like after years of wandering the desert, he’d finally reached water. Now the mirage of hope faded.

  Hector immediately began accounting for every member of his team, trying to pinpoint if an accomplice had fled with Victoria. Much to his relief, everyone else was present and accounted for. Only the thief had managed to escape, using the storm as a cover. Shep couldn’t help but admire her cunning. The rain and wind had wiped away the evidence of which way she’d ran, and given her a significant head start at an escape.

  “What about the camera feeds?” Shep asked.

  “We just installed the cameras two days ago when we uncovered the artifacts,” Hector informed him. “And they only record inside the camp. After Victoria got outside the perimeter of the shelters, we’d be blind to her whereabouts. Dios mio, I don’t understand why someone with her academic pedigree and promise would throw away any chance at a legitimate career.”

  While Shep wondered the same thing, he had some clue as to the answer. Had not he himself thrown away ‘academic pedigree and promise’ for something crazy? Shep knew the root of his professional apostasy: justice for Cleopatra. What drove Victoria? And why take everything? If she was truly an Egyptologist, why not just snatch the scroll and the statue?

  The Cleopatra Statue … Remembering the feel of it in his hands, the smoothness of its surface, he sighed. He felt like a cherished family member had been kidnapped. More than that, he couldn’t help but be suspicious. How was it that an intern specializing in his same field of archaeology had elected to work at a Mesoamerican dig where, lo and behold, a rare statue of Cleopatra turned up? Had she known it was there all along? Did Anathea send her, perhaps?

  The security chief seemed as out of sorts in the wake of the robbery as a suntanned Swede. José reported falling asleep in the security shelter, claiming he discovered the items gone when he awoke. Of course, the one shelter not monitored was the one from which the robbery occurred. After milling about in confusion, José ordered a sweep of the nearby jungle. As Shep suspected, nothing turned up. Hector lost his temper more than once, screaming in a mixture of English and Spanish about how such overbearing, professional thugs-for-hire could be outmaneuvered by an intern. Victoria hadn’t taken any of the team’s vehicles, Hector reported, which meant either she had escaped on foot or arranged a rendezvous somewhere nearby.

  “Of course she didn’t take your vehicles. She’s smarter than that,” Shep said. “All of your vehicles are bugged.”

  Hector pulled on his beard. “What?”

  “You didn’t know?” Shep squashed the temptation to choose this moment for laying into Hector about working for mobsters. Instead, something else occurred to him. “Come to think of it, when she picked me up yesterday, she said she had been meeting with somebody. Maybe that had to do with all this.”

  Hector’s eyes widened. “José! Uno momento, por favor.”

  The be-muscled minion and Hector conversed in rapid-fire Spanish, during which Hector pointed briefly to Shep and said Victoria’s name. Understanding washed over José’s face, and he barked something that sounded slightly wary and somewhat threatening to Hector. Hector cowered, leaping up from the table and pacing, looking like he was trying to create a mental wall around him to block out José’s continuing argument. With a slumping of his shoulders, Hector finally conceded. The security chief left, only to return a few moments later holding a cell phone on steroids. Hector accepted the gadget with a sense of defeat that drew Shep’s pity.

  “So, what’s up?” Shep asked, slightly bemused at the exchange despite himself.

  “We’re going to see if we can get a detailed report on Victoria’s trip yesterday,” he answered. “Only, to get that kind of information, we need to call in. All the security data uploads to Plaxis’s servers in Mexico City and gets swept off our local hard drive after Jose’s reviewed it each night. Yesterday, his excitement over your arrival deterred him, and he rushed the review so the files could upload before the hurricane hit. He expected to see her car in town, so he didn’t think anything about the route Victoria took. I think he’s scared that this will somehow be pinned on him, so he’s demanding that I be the one to report it. This ... is going to hurt.”

  “Huh?”

  Hector chuckled lowly. “This project is coded gold by Plaxis. Top priority. Gold project security reports and permission requests go directly to Kronastia’s right-hand man. Which means, Kronastia will know about it within minutes after I call. This is going to bring hell down, and fast.”

  As Shep turned that fact over in his mind, he had another realization. If what Hector said was true, it meant that the evening before, it had been Kronastia’s guy whom José had called about their trip down into the pit. Shep wasn’t sure what it meant that a Russian mob boss was now familiar with his name, and probably knew all his critical details from blood type to beer choice. He suspected nothing good.

  Hector let out a hefty sigh as he looked down at what Shep now realized must be a satellite phone. In clear resign
ation, Hector coded in the number and raised the phone to his ear as though it were a fifty-pound dumbbell. Or a loaded gun. An association with Russian roulette seemed oddly appropriate. His eyes pinched shut. Though he had near-native fluency in English, whenever Hector got overly excited or nervous, he began to babble like a third grader trying to explain Tolstoy. Shep recalled how, back in college, cool, collected Hector could be reduced to monosyllabic chattering when the right coed was in company.

  Finally, with a static-filled click, the other line picked up.

  “Da?”

  Shep heard the voice come through the phone, and Hector jolted. “Hector Gonzales calling from Project Bullfighter.”

  Now the words on the other end were more muffled, but a few unintelligible mumbles flowed through, followed by a pause, and then another voice. This one, a baritone as opposed to a tenor, spoke low and chased the life from Hector’s face. Shep tried to decode from Hector’s expression the direction of the discussion from the one-sided conversation.

  “Hector Gonzales, verification code alpha-omega-six-epsilon. Sir, there’s been a robbery.” There were a few words from the other side, causing Hector to suck in his bottom lip and wince. “All of them, sir. Except that amulet. That we were able to send ahead of the storm, as you requested. The other things we didn’t have time to properly prep for transport.”

  There was a long pause as Hector took on a shade of white far too pale for a Latino.

  “We’re pretty certain we know who it was, sir, yes. She went missing last night at the same time everything else did. We believe it was the intern from Plaxis. We think if we could get a trace on the vehicle she was driving yesterday ...” A questioning phrase echoed. “The intern, sir,” Hector repeated, raising the volume of his voice slightly and over-accentuating his words.

  Shep could have sworn he heard a wry laugh come from the other end before Kronastia spoke again. There was little he could glean, however, from Hector’s next responses.

  “Yes, sir ... No, I wasn’t aware of ... Yes, Smyth is still ... No? But then, how ... Of course, not, sir. I’m sure you’re right ... All of it? Yes, sir, will do. Th–thank you, Mr. Kronastia.”

  Shep felt his heart take off on a marathon. Kronastia? Hector had been speaking directly with Kronastia? He hadn’t missed, “Smyth is still …” giving Shep undeniable proof that he was on radar and being targeted for trouble. Lowering the phone, Hector hit the end button and found a spot in the distance, giving his gaze the exclusive.

  “Hector, what’s going on?”

  As though he just realized there was another living being in his presence, Hector’s eyes focused. The man would soon register on the Richter Scale if he kept up this level of shaking.

  “He’s coming.”

  “Kronastia?”

  Nodding, Hector licked his cracked lips. “But that’s not all. Apparently, Plaxis doesn’t have an internship program.”

  Chapter 7

  Dmitri Kronastia considered himself a patient man, but even he’d admit he could be a terrible judge of character. The few people who’d spent significant time with him preferred terms like driven, condescending, severe, and his personal favorite, vindictive. Was it so wrong to expect others to follow orders, and to punish them when they fell short? He didn’t think so, and yet others continually were surprised when his bill came due and he set out to collect, no matter the cost.

  “Problems with Bullfighter, sir?” Anton Sluga, his red-headed valet, focused on Dmitri’s hand with unease.

  Dmitri hissed when he saw the thin line of blood trickling down the inside of his wrist. After wiping away the mess, he took to picking out the glass slivers that had become embedded in his fingertips when he’d crushed his cell.

  “How quickly could we get to the site?”

  “Four hours, sir. Shall I have the jet readied for departure?”

  “Yes, Anton, please see to that. Also, call our people and have them forward me crew profiles. And I’ll need another phone.”

  “Again, sir?”

  Dmitri groaned. “Yes, again.”

  Like a circling buzzard, he’d kept himself in the regional vicinity of the site for the last few weeks. Honestly, he would have been at San Lorenzo during the entirety of the excavation. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going to be unearthed there, and what impact that might have on his actions, however. Despite his reputation, Dmitri was not an indiscriminate killer. He never terminated without cause, and even then only as a last resort. If something in the excavation indicated ... well, anything, he respected Gonzalez too much professionally to end his life rashly.

  When news had reached Dmitri that the amulet had been found, he immediately ordered it to Mexico City. He had intended to be en route to the Plaxis labs there a day earlier. Wouldn’t you know it, a “surprise” hurricane popped up, blocking his flight path. Then came the call from José Montoya De La Plana, alerting him to Sheppard Smyth’s presence, and his suspicions about the storm’s timing were confirmed. Still, nothing in Smyth’s current publications made him think he’d pieced together anything since Christine’s death. Even if Smyth managed to connect dots from the smattering of evidence at the site, it was unlikely he’d stumble on to the truth. Unless that had been Anathea’s plan. Somehow, Dmitri doubted that. She kept her secrets as close as he himself did. One of the many things the two of them had in common was their need to stay aloof.

  When the next phone call had arrived, however, he knew they were in serious trouble. Only one person would have the gumption—or the capability—to pull off such a heist.

  “Anton?” Dmitri called his valet’s attention back from his fervent keying on a laptop across the room. “Pull whatever strings you have to get me the phone number for Anathea Hermapolous. Tell her it’s time she and I had a little chat.”

  -Ψ-

  The plane descended into the Veracruz airport just as Plaxis notified Anton that the requested records had been patched back to the dig site. The chirp of Anton’s cell drew Dmitri’s attention away from the window.

  “Miss Hermapolous, sir.” Anton presented his intact device.

  Dmitri acknowledged him with a nod and pulled the phone to his ear. He didn’t bother with small talk. What was the point with someone with whom he had so much history?

  “I bet you think you’re pretty sly.”

  He could hear her breathing, slow and steady. In his mind’s eye, he could see those wispy little lips of hers curling into a mischievous grin. It was likely she had been expecting the call. Hell, she had probably sat down somewhere and just stared at the phone, willing it to ring so that she could get over with it.

  With a long sigh, he continued, “Twelve twenty-one is less than a week away, my dear. What can you possibly achieve in a few days that you haven’t been able to get away with in all this time?”

  “Weren’t you the one who told me that I could achieve anything I set my mind to?”

  He gave a wry chuckle. “I will admit, the intern angle was clever. Don’t suppose you’ll tell me whose arm in security you twisted to get the proper credentials?”

  “You should know better, Dmitri. I never reveal my sources.”

  He returned to the more pressing issue. “What exactly do you intend to do with it all, I wonder?”

  “Whatever the hell I want,” she snapped. “Maybe I’ll expose the truth to the world.”

  “No one of worth would believe you.”

  She was silent for a moment, before answering in a voice lacking of all doubt, “I don’t need everyone to believe me, just the ones that matter. Don’t doubt my abilities. I took my lessons from you well.”

  Curling his hand over the receiver to ensure that Anton heard nothing, Dmitri growled with a lusty lilt, “I still could teach you a lot, if only you’d give me a chance.”

 
; “Please, don’t you know how old I am?” Her throaty, insincere dismissal rang in his ears. “I learned long ago never to trust anything you say in that tone.”

  Two beeps, and the signal was lost. Dmitri handed the phone back to Anton and resumed his stare out the window. In his mind, he remembered once upon a time driving a beautiful young woman half insane in his bed, using that tone of voice as he willed her zenith with both his body and his words.

  Chapter 8

  Hector approached the newly-arrived Humvee like a man ascending the execution block, forcing Shep to wonder for a moment if, in fact, that was exactly the scene unfolding before him. He ransacked his brain, trying to recall the little he did know, or thought he had heard, about Dmitri Kronastia.

  Oddly enough, Kronastia was somewhat known in the archaeological field. Even years ago while in college, cautionary tales warned of the newest player in the antiquities black market. Plaxis, a small time Moscow-based tool and die company, had been long used as a front for directing his “international projects”. They still produced tools and dies. The tools were any number of international criminal leaders. And the dies? Well, Shep really hoped they weren’t about to be recruited into that allegedly vast, “discontinued” product line.

  Hector held all the fortitude of a shamed puppy. When alas the back door of the Humvee opened and a young, graceful man stepped out in an Armani suit despite the rugged locale, Shep wasn’t quite sure just what was going on.

  Hector’s head bowed in submission as the suave gentleman approached.