4

The chartered Boeing 737 was above the state of Colorado heading north. Leased through a third party, the federal authorities had no idea their murderous quarry was heading out of the country.

Sagli leaned forward in his chair and placed his glass of water on the table. Deonovich looked around at the thirty-five men seated around the aircraft.

“I am curious as to why we cannot dispose of our guest—she is too dangerous to keep around,” Deonovich asked Sagli, taking a large swallow of water from an iced glass; he then turned and eyed his partner.

“I asked the same question and was told she may be an asset later when we arrive at our destination. She is to be kept healthy at all costs.”

“Have you thought that maybe we have placed too much confidence in our new ally?” Deonovich asked, raising the glass vodka and draining it.

Sagli frowned. “That is enough drinking; we have very serious days ahead. I do not need you half comatose.”

Deonovich raised his brows and eyed his partner.

“You have not answered my question.”

Sagli hated talking about the plan to Deonovich as the large man had a hard time grasping the intricacies of the plan. He could tolerate his small peccadilloes such as his penchant for inflicting pain upon others, but when he tried to question their new partner, it made them both look foolish. After all, the intelligence information this man had delivered to them over the last five years had all been dead-on accurate. The man had proven his reliability and his plan was almost foolproof.

“Look, old friend, when he came to us, I myself was suspicious, but since I have come to know him, I find that his penchant for planning and his eye for detail far exceed the people who trained us in the old days. He is a cold warrior, and we are committed to his plan.” He eyed Deonovich closely. “Now, no more drinking.”

Lynn Simpson looked up from her seat, handcuffs on her ankles and wrists. The duct tape was itching beyond all belief as she looked up and into the dark eyes of Sagli. She never even flinched when he raised the silenced pistol and pointed it at her right eye. Lynn had figured a long time ago she had been living on borrowed time, so she had mentally prepared herself. She closed her eyes and then said a silent good-bye to her mother and then to Jack.

“I just want to ask you a question,” Sagli said as he reached out and gently pulled the duct tape from her mouth. Then, placing the silenced weapon on the seat beside Lynn, he undid her handcuffs.

Lynn opened her eyes at the question and the relief she felt when the cuffs were removed. She glanced at the silenced handgun beside her on the seat, and then she looked from it to Sagli, who was actually smiling, daring her to take it. Instead of taking up the challenge, Lynn rubbed her wrists, taking care not to strike her injured hand.

“The Canadian agent, this Alexander fellow—in your opinion, what are his capabilities?” Sagli asked, finally picking up the handgun and removing temptation from her thoughts.

“Go to hell,” Lynn said with a hint of her own smile touching her lips. “You mean what were his capabilities.”

“No, I mean, what are his capabilities. It seems our Canadian spy survived the assault. Now what can you tell me?”

Lynn remained silent as the thought of Punchy Alexander flashed through her mind. She could hardly believe he lived after her witnessing him getting executed by Sagli.

“I suggest you look down at your hands, Miss Simpson, count your fingers and then in five minutes I will ask you to do it again. I guarantee you will not come up with the same number as before. The only reason you are alive is for the fact that this Alexander just may get lucky and get a track on us,” Sagli bluffed as he just wanted more information on Alexander. “I am skeptical at best, but if he does I believe you may still be a handsome bargaining chip.”

Lynn was down to seven fingers and two thumbs. Her older brother would have said she was still way ahead in the game, but she wasn’t her brother and she wasn’t as brave as Jack.

“If Punchy Alexander is after you, I hope you’re going to a very deep hole in the earth and pull the dirt in after you, because he can be relentless—the second most relentless man I have ever known.”

Sagli smiled broadly. “As a matter of fact, we are going someplace much better, Miss Simpson, a place where the most recent maps were made over a quarter of a century ago; a forgotten place right in your own backyard.” He gave a slight nod of his head. “And yes, we will pull the dirt in after us, and also over you.”

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

The twin-engine Grumman Goose was flying as low as Alice felt comfortable with in the growing darkness. She manipulated the throttles that she could barely reach on the upper console, firewalling the engines to raise the agile seaplane over hills, and then cutting power to slide the aircraft nimbly into a valley. Jack really didn’t know how she could see anything.

“Colonel, it’s time you went into the cabin with the others. When you get back there, ask Lieutenant Ryan to come up here, please.”

Jack was hesitant about unsnapping his seatbelt, but finally managed enough courage when Alice brought the seaplane into level flight.

Nervous eyes watched Jack as he stumbled his way from the cockpit and into the passenger area. Everett was sitting next to Sarah, and Ryan was sitting across from them. Mendenhall was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Will?” Collins asked as he slammed into the seat in front of Ryan.

Jason Ryan pointed to the back of the plane with an outstretched thumb, then he grabbed for the life vest he had found under his seat when Alice sent the Grumman down into a shallow dive.

“He’s . . . he’s in that little closet back there. I think it’s the head, but I think it’s too small to have a toilet,” Ryan finally said. “He doesn’t feel too good.”

“Can’t say as I blame him,” Jack said as he snapped his seatbelt. “Ryan, report to Alice up front.”

The small naval officer looked taken back for the briefest moment.

“Go on, Lieutenant, she’s waiting.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason said as he nervously popped his own belt loose. At that moment the door to the restroom opened just as Alice pulled up to avoid a small hill just outside of Riverside, California. Before anyone could see Mendenhall clearly, he ducked back inside and slammed the door.

Ryan made his way up front and pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the small cockpit. He hurriedly slammed down into the copilot’s seat and fumbled with the seatbelt until he finally managed to get it locked.

“Not like flying F-14 Tomcats is it, Mr. Ryan?” Alice asked with a smirk, managing a quick glance over to her right.

“No, ma’am, not at all.”

“Listen, I need you to watch what I’m doing, because you’re going to have to take the controls in a minute. I suspect we may have to do some evading.”

“Take the controls?” he said as he pulled the belt tighter. “But this thing has propellers, and frankly, ma’am, I don’t see any controls, just a steering wheel—I think.”

“Yes, it does have propellers, young man. It’s called real flying. Now, take the wheel, don’t worry, she’s real responsive. Use your rudder and stabilizers for up and down, and don’t worry about the wing flaps, got it?”

“Why not worry about the wing flaps?” he asked as he took the half-moon wheel in front of him.

“Because we won’t use them in flight—stabilizers, tail and engine acceleration and deceleration, that’s all. Now, I need to find us a good place to land this thing where we won’t bring every policeman in two counties down on us.” She let go of the wheel and pulled a map from an oversize front pocket of her coveralls.

“Ma’am, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re one crazy . . .”—he stopped and looked quickly at her smiling face—“lady.”

“Good choice of words, Mr. Ryan,” she said as she unfolded the map, while the former fighter jock tried desperately to see out of the half-oval windows to his front.

“I think here would be the best place.” Alice held the map out so Ryan could take a glance, but he was so intent on keeping the plane in the air, that he only looked for a split second and then turned back.

Ryan was getting a quick feel for the ancient Grumman and his vision was picking up far more than he should have been able to, thanks to the advanced windscreen installed in the plane that picked up ambient light and made seeing easier in the darkness. As he turned slightly to avoid a string of power lines on the far side of Upland, he knew he liked flying the old seaplane.

Alice reached out and turned a knob on the aluminum control panel. As Ryan watched a small green illuminated grid appeared on the windscreen, the copilot’s side of the window showed the foothills to the right, and on the left side in front of Alice, the Chino Valley spread out as far as the glass allowed. Ryan was shocked at the modern hologram being projected onto the windscreens.

“A little gift from Pete Golding,” she said when she saw the amazed look on Ryan’s face. “He flew with me and the senator once, and decided we needed some upgrading—poor man almost had a nervous breakdown.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Ryan said with a sheepish grin.

As Ryan flew toward Los Angeles, popping up over Kellogg Hill and then down over West Covina, he knew to hug the hills to his right side. Alice stretched her arms out and then flexed her fingers before she slowly placed the flying gloves onto her small hands once more. Then she reached beneath her seat and pulled out a small cylindrical object that resembled the casing for a small kitchen clock. She ran a cord to the console and then plugged the device into a small socket. When its face lit up, she slid it into an open space in the console.

“There,” she said smiling, “now we have radar.”

Ryan looked from the hologram in front of him to the avoidance radar on the console.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why weren’t you using that all along?” Ryan asked incredulously.

“Because, young man, I like to fly once in a while. Now we’re heading into a place where buildings can pop up out of nowhere.” She looked over at him after adjusting the radar sweep speed. “Pete was really the nervous type; he insisted we have a radar. He’s a real wimp.”

Ryan was amazed. Alice was either the bravest woman he’d ever met, or she had gone over the edge and into the bleakness of senility.

“Okay, Mr. Ryan, I’ll take it from here. If you don’t remember how scared you were during night landings on a carrier, you’re about to be reminded.”

As Ryan let go of the wheel, his eyes widened when Alice Hamilton pulled back on the throttles and allowed the seaplane to dip far too low to the ground.

“Uh, ma’am, there’s nothing down here but houses.”

Alice leaned back in her seat and then turned her head and shouted through the curtain.

“Everyone, hold on to your behinds, this is going to be pretty dicey,” she called as a moment later the sound of the bathroom door being slammed sounded through the cabin.

Inside the passenger area, Sarah touched Carl on the arm and, unfastening her seatbelt, she hopped quickly across the small gap between the eight seats and then threw herself onto Jack’s lap. She kissed him quickly and then rolled over to the seat beside him.

“I expect you to save me if we crash, you got that?” she said seriously.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Up front, Ryan watched as Alice turned the wheel sharply to the left, at the same time slamming her small foot into the left rudder pedal as hard as she could.

“Pete could have suggested power steering for this thing!” she said, taking a quick look over at Ryan and winking.

The Grumman pitched over onto her left side and the large plane took a nosedive for the ground. Ryan wanted to close his eyes, but he watched the hologram on the windscreen instead. It went from showing greater Los Angeles to the front right, to nothing but houses, bridges, and streets. Then he saw a straight blank area.

“Uh, ma’am, can I ask what it is you’re doing?” Ryan said as he reached out and steadied his slide from the seat.

“The report said this Chavez creep lived in Elysian Park, right?”

“I have no idea!” Jason said as the plane drew closer to the ground, the right wing tip almost touching some of the larger houses beneath them.

“Well, I was informed he ran his illegal operations out of there. Now, we can’t very well land at LAX or Burbank now, can we? The police are looking for you and your little merry band if I heard right, so that leaves us one place where we can land that won’t put us thirty miles from Elysian Park.”

“Where is that?”

“Right here—the Los Angeles River.”

Ryan wanted to scream that Los Angeles didn’t have a river in the remotest and loosest sense of the word. He knew the river to be a concrete canal that ran through L.A. like a winding snake, and at most this time of year it had about an inch of water running right down its center. He also knew there to be bridges every six hundred feet.

“Oh, shit,” he said as Alice leveled the seaplane and then in a blur of motion, pulled down the landing-gear lever on her left. She fought with the old-fashioned wheel and then started furiously pumping the wing flaps down as the Grumman’s engine screamed power as she hopped over three houses and then over a small bridge. She cut power to the engines and the eerie silence belied the sheer terror of everyone on the plane.

Finally, the large wheels that had popped free of the boatlike body of the plane struck concrete. She bounced once, twice, finally hitting a foot-deep rivulet of water in the center of the river. Alice pumped up the wing flaps to their stops and the plane slowed after rising again into the air. Finally, she bounced down and then the next bridge in line rose up before them only a hundred feet away. Alice calmly started to apply the brakes, squealing and grinding as the seaplane slowed. Now realizing they wouldn’t slow in time, Alice Hamilton turned the wheel as sharply as she could to the left while at the same time slamming down on the left rudder pedal once more, turning the Grumman’s rear wheel. The large plane skid and then finally turned to the left, finally fishtailing to a stop.

Silence gripped the interior of the plane as Alice quickly looked around after shutting down the hologram. Ryan, for his part, only stared straight ahead. Alice quickly fired up both engines and then taxied back the way they had come until they settled underneath one of L.A.’s old bridges, where she feathered both engines. She took a deep breath and then looked at the white-faced Ryan.

“Well, we’re here. Up the road about two miles is Elysian Park. You see Dodger Stadium up there? Well, the park is right below it.”

Ryan was still staring straight ahead, not moving.

“I hope you watched what I did, Mr. Ryan, because you’re flying my baby out of here since I have to get home.”

“Wh . . . what?” he finally asked, still not looking at Alice.

“I said, you’re flying my plane out of here. I have to get to LAX and catch a flight home. I left a casserole in the oven and I can’t trust Garrison to follow instructions until he sees flames.”

“But . . . but . . .”

Alice slapped him on the leg. “Oh, for an old carrier pilot like you, it should be fun.” She smiled wide and unsnapped her seatbelt.

From the back there were audible signs of relief as the others started to realize they hadn’t crashed. Then the sound of the small bathroom door was heard opening.

“Hey,” Mendenhall said with a shaky voice, “that restroom is officially off limits.”

Alice looked back at Ryan as they came through the curtain and a questioning look crossed her face as she removed her headset.

“We don’t have a bathroom on this plane.”

A moment later, Alice stood under the large wing and the left wing float of the plane after checking the undercarriage of the Grumman. She pronounced everything fit as she looked at Jack.

“Colonel, you know I wouldn’t abandon you like this if I hadn’t the need to keep an eye on that old man. If I could—”

Collins just reached out and pulled Alice to him, and hugged her, cutting off her words.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.

Alice hugged him back and then pulled away, locking her eyes with his. “Find your baby sister, Jack, and bring her home,” she said, patting him on the chest just over his heart.

Collins nodded and then turned away toward the tall sloping sides of the concrete Los Angeles River.

Alice Hamilton looked over the old seaplane one last time, patting it lovingly on the wing float.

“Take care of her, Lieutenant.”

Ryan smiled and gave Alice a salute as he turned and left, following Jack, Carl, and Mendenhall up the slick sides of the river.

Sarah hugged Alice good-bye. “You sure you can get out of here alright?” she asked.

“Honey, if I can climb K-2, I can get my old ass out of here.”

“You climbed—”

“You go help Jack, he needs you. And listen to me, I think this is far more than just finding his sister; this may be the reason Jack has been so distant and secretive. Now go, I’ll be fine.”

Sarah half smiled and then turned and ran after the others. Alice looked over her old airplane one last time.

“You take good care of them,” she said and then walked away toward the steep sloping side of the river.

The low rider, a 1961 Chevy Impala, pulled slowly up to the curb and let out a loud whine as the front air shocks and hydraulics were relieved of their pressure, then the rear suspension raised to level out the car as it settled next to the curb in Elysian Park.

Jack climbed from the passenger seat, followed by Sarah. The others piled from the backseat, with Will Mendenhall lagging while he admired the old-fashioned Tuck N’ Roll upholstery. Will knew he was home again.

Collins walked up to the driver’s side of the car and handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill. The Mexican American driver took it and then looked the colonel over closely. The red bandana covering his short hair was pulled down almost to his eyes.

“You know, jefe, you guys stand out like white corn in an alfalfa field.”

“I suspect we do,” Jack said as Sarah stepped up beside him.

The driver eyed the small woman for a very noticeable minute. Then he looked at Jack and then to the hundred-dollar bill. “Keep it, my man, buy the lady something nice,” he said as he raced his engine and then peeled away from the curb, the music loud enough to feel it through the soles of their feet.

Jack looked around and then down at Sarah. He smiled and then started walking to catch up with Everett who was confirming the street address.

“I think it may be the one covered in police tape, Captain,” Mendenhall said as he pointed to the large house on the corner.

“Smart-ass,” Carl said as he spied the house ahead. Then Mendenhall caught sight of Everett reaching into his shirt, obviously clicking the safety off of his hidden nine-millimeter.

At ten at night, most families were still out and about. Lights were on and televisions could be seen flickering through shaded windows. Looking down into Elysian Park, Collins could see kids still hanging out in large numbers, and far up in Chavez Ravine, a Dodger game was just starting. As he took in the Chavez house, yellow police tape was pulled from column to column on the wraparound porch and was crisscrossed at the front door. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. When he saw only an old battered Ford pickup across the street from the house, he walked up the small slope of grass and bounded up the six wide front steps.

Sarah, Mendenhall, and Jason Ryan followed Collins onto the front porch. Everett held position at the base of the front steps, looking outward from the front yard. It seemed no one cared about the house where the thief Chavez used to live.

“Jack?” Carl said after a moment of time.

“Yeah, I feel it, too,” Collins said backing away from the door.

“Feel what,” Sarah whispered, not feeling at all comfortable.

“Someone’s watching us,” Jack said backing away from the door. Then Ryan leaned over the side of the porch and shook his head.

“Police cruiser—empty,” he said, knowing they had been too hasty to climb the porch.

Suddenly the door opened, pulling away the yellow police tape that was stuck to the outside. Jack and the others placed hands on their hidden weapons.

“Don’t shoot,” a voice from the dark said. “There were two L.A. police officers here, they’re cuffed at the moment and sitting in the living room, unharmed.”

Jack shook his head and watched as the front door opened all the way.

“Damn, you’re still a sneaky old bastard,” Collins said, relaxing.

As the door opened fully, the dim streetlamps that lined the sidewalk showed a large bear of a man as he stepped into the frame of the door.

“At least I don’t go bounding up the front steps without reconnoitering first.”

“Damn, Punchy, it’s good to see you,” Jack said as he held out his hand. “There was a rumor you were dead.”

Alexander shook Jack’s hand and then grimaced and grabbed his chest and then gestured forward with his wounded shoulder. “If it wasn’t for the body armor I had on, I would be, my friend. As it is, those two Russian bastards were so intent on taking your little sister they didn’t linger to do the job right.”

“I always thought you hated wearing armor. You always said your chest and big belly was enough to stop any bullet made.” Jack eyed his old friend closely.

“Yeah, well, getting old will make you feel closer to the afterlife than you would think,” Alexander answered, not noticing the closeness of which Jack was eyeing him.

“Everyone, this is Jonathan Alexander, the head of the Montreal sector of CSIS, the Canadian Intelligence Service.”

“If you’re Jack’s people, Punchy will do.”

“You were there, at the ambush?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, young lady, I was there.”

Jack stepped around Punchy and entered the Chavez home. He immediately saw the two policemen sitting against the far wall of the living room. They were, as Punchy had said, unhurt. Collins eased the nine-millimeter into his waistband and then turned as the others entered the entrance hall, followed finally by Everett who eased the door closed.

“Nice touch, Punchy,” Jack said, looking away from the two L.A. policemen.

Alexander cleared his throat. “I hate to burst your bubble about my being a sneaky bastard, but they were like that when I arrived.”

Their eyes met and Jack raised his brows. “Is that right?”

“Trussed up pretty as a picture, just like you see them now,” Punchy said and then quickly saw the look on Jack’s face. “Don’t worry; I checked the rest of the house. Whoever cuffed them isn’t here.”

“Punchy, why in the hell are you here?” Collins asked.

“You know why: It’s not only my job, but I happen to like Lynn, almost as much as you.”

“What in the hell happened out there, Punchy?” Collins asked as he slowly stepped from the living room into the kitchen.

“It was a setup. Lynn was anonymously contacted and she showed up in my yard. Evidently, only her direct boss knew she was coming to Canada. I guess they wanted to make a mark by bagging Sagli and Deonovich on their own. You know how kids are, they just don’t know how to play the game,” he said looking at Ryan and Mendenhall. “No offense.”

Ryan looked at Will and they both just shrugged.

“Do you think Lynn is still alive?”

“You know me, Jack, forever an optimist. That’s why I’m here and willing to breach my orders.”

“Thanks, Punchy.”

“Look, those two coppers in there are going to be relieved soon. If the LAPD overlooked anything here, we better get to looking for it.” Alexander watched Collins closely, wondering if he was still as sharp as he once was. “If not, I have to get back to Montreal.”

Jack nodded and silently pointed at Will and Everett, then used his thumb to point toward the basement. He silently ordered Sarah and Ryan to take the kitchen and living room. Then he nodded toward the wooden staircase for him and Punchy Alexander to check out.

On the way up the stairs, Jack slowly pulled the nine-millimeter from his waistband and knew Alexander was doing the same three steps behind him.

“You got the report on the man that Sagli and Deonovich murdered in Seattle?” Punchy asked as he gained the landing outside of a long hallway. He pointed his weapon left as Jack was doing the same to the right.

“The Russian-American, Serta?”

“Yeah, we don’t know the reasoning for it yet, just a bunch of rumors.” Alexander eased the bathroom door open and easily flipped on the light switch. The shiny tile and wood was clean but he could see where the police had tossed the closet as towels and washrags were strewn about on the floor and even in the bathtub.

“Rumors such as . . . ?” Jack asked as he eased the first bedroom door open with his right foot and then quickly stepped inside. He moved the handgun from side to side. He relaxed when he saw the mattress to the king-size bed had been thrown free of the box spring and had even been cut into. Pretty thorough, he thought.

“Some fantastic tale that this old man in Seattle inherited one of the Twins of Peter the Great.”

Jack looked back into the hallway just as Alexander eased the second bedroom door open.

“Twins?” Jack asked, now feeling that they were on a wasted mission to the Chavez house. He pushed the last bedroom door open and peered inside the already tossed and torn-apart room.

“Diamonds. Legend has it that Peter the Great had made a gift of twin diamonds the size of—hell, I don’t know, lemons or something. Well, this lumber magnate supposedly was in possession of one of them.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Collins said as he dejectedly placed the handgun back into his pants. He also wondered why nothing was mentioned in Europa’s investigation about these diamonds.

“Well, they supposedly disappeared around the time of the Russian revolution, along with everything else of value, including the tzar and tzarina.”

“Well, we know where they went, don’t we?” Jack said.

Alexander watched as Collins shook his head and started down the stairs. When he joined him at the bottom, they saw Sarah and Ryan throwing a few of the items still remaining in the coat closet out into the hallway. Sarah straightened and then looked at Jack, and shook her head.

“This is going nowhere fast. What in the hell was I thinking, that this asshole would leave a note behind telling us who his employer was?”

Sarah took his arm and squeezed it. Ryan was also aware the colonel was just grasping at straws, trying out anything for a single lead.

Punchy Alexander slapped Jack on the back and then walked passed. “Don’t worry, Jack, we’ll turn a rock over soon enough and find out where she’s at.”

They heard footsteps running up the stairs from the basement. Will Mendenhall soon opened the door and then with his breathing coming in short gasps, said, “Colonel, Captain Everett says you’ve got to take a look at this.”

Jack immediately went to the door and followed Will down the long flight of two different stairs. When they reached the bottom, he saw Everett standing in the middle of a dirt floor with his hands on his hips and staring at one of the outer walls. Collins felt the others behind him as they stopped; he held up a hand when he saw that Carl was thinking something out.

“Number one, the percentage of basements in Southern California is so low I don’t even want to think about it,” Everett said without turning away from the far wall. “I lived here, in a house just like this in Oxnard. Pre–World War II, stone, just like a million others. Hell, that was the bulk of cheap building material back then, no brick, just rocks.”

Jack moved his eyes from Everett’s back where he was just staring at the walls, to the open and broken bits of crates, old cardboard boxes, broken furniture, and moldy old clothes. He felt Ryan stir behind him, getting ready to ask the captain a question, but again, Collins held his hand up, wanting Carl to think through what he was tossing about in his head.

“How many tons of rock went into building this house—fifteen or twenty, maybe even thirty?”

“Captain, I don’t see one rock down here.”

Everett finally turned and looked at Ryan. “That’s the point, flyboy, the basement isn’t constructed of the same material as the house, which means it was—”

“Recently added,” Collins finished for him.

Carl smiled. “Not only that, Jack, look over here.” Everett moved forward and pointed at the dirt that made up the floor of the giant basement.

Where most of the dirt was rough, full of footprints from the police investigation, there was a spot about the width of the entire rear wall that was perfectly smooth, as if the entire width had been artificially dragged smooth.

“Remember our antiquities thief in New York, Westchester County, and his remarkable basement?”

Jack smiled at Everett and then walked quickly to the far wall and started looking. Everett, Sarah, Ryan, and Mendenhall did the same, remembering the amazing basement that another antiquities thief had built using a false floor and winding stairway.

“Without sounding downright stupid, may I ask what it is you are looking for?” Alexander asked, placing his hands on his hips as the others started feeling around the walls.

“A switch, or a release of some kind,” Sarah said as she went to her knees and started feeling around the bottom of the drywall.

Suddenly, the room grew quiet as they all felt it at the same time, Jack, Punchy, and Everett just a split second before the others. They all three turned as fast as they could and then stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the three men with automatic weapons aimed directly at them. The men were Caucasian and were all very well dressed. Their suits were expensive and their weapons, Israeli Uzi submachine guns, were even more so. The man in the middle of the three shook his head negative and with his eyes, ordered their weapons to be removed without uttering a single word.

As the seven people complied, they heard slow, methodical footsteps descending the stairs. One step at a time, and it seemed to go on forever. Finally, a well-polished shoe appeared, and then the other. A tall blond man stepped down onto the dirt floor. In the bare-bulb light of the basement, Jack and the other members of the Event Group could not hide the shock they felt at seeing the tall, immaculately dressed man standing before them. He wore a white shirt and was wearing a plain pair of black slacks, but his identity was unmistakable.

“How many of your nine lives do you have left, Henri?” Collins asked, keeping his hands at his side.

Colonel Henri Farbeaux, archcriminal and a decade-long enemy of the Event Group, stood arrogantly before them. He slowly placed a hand in his right pocket and then shook his head. The last thing the Event Group knew about the former French colonel was that he had been supposedly swallowed up by the Ross Ice Shelf as it cracked apart and sank into the Ross Sea three months before.

“It’s not the lives, Colonel, it’s the man. I just happen to know when to bet one of those lives; sometimes as you can see, that wager pays off.”

Sarah stepped forward from where she had been looking for the switch that would open the wall. She was actually happy to see Henri alive; after all, it had been the Frenchman who had saved her, Senator Lee, Alice Hamilton, and the kids from the Leviathan, inside the cave known as Ice Palace.

“Little Sarah, how nice it is to see you again, and the fact that you made it home alive is something that makes me smile.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Tell me, how in the hell did you survive?”

“We will save that for another time, my dear. For the moment, I must ask how it comes to be that the Event Group is in the basement of one of my acquisitions people.”

Jack shook his head, really smiling for the first time. “Damn Henri, it is a small world, isn’t it? But when I think about it, the illegal antiquities community is so small and tight, this was probably inevitable.”

“I’ll ask again, Colonel, why are you here, and where is my employee?” Farbeaux took a step forward, his right hand coming free of his pocket.

“Chavez is dead. They found his body washed up under the pier at Huntington Beach this morning.” Jack watched for a reaction.

Farbeaux lowered his head in thought and half turned to his men and whispered something. Two of the men spread out so they could cover the group better. Jack heard the ominous clicks of their weapons being removed from their safe positions. Henri Farbeaux then turned to face Collins.

“The murder of my man doesn’t sound like you, Colonel Collins; it’s not your style,” Farbeaux said, taking a step toward Jack.

“No, but it is your style, Henri. What did this Chavez do for you that could get him murdered?”

“That is what I am here to find out. I’ll start by asking you once more, why you are here?”

“Henri, we need to know what this man Chavez removed from the Denver Museum of Natural History for you,” Sarah asked before Jack could pull her back behind him.

“First, who murdered my man?” Henri asked, focusing his considerable personality on Sarah.

“Two ruthless bastards, Gregori Deonovich and Dmitri Sagli,” Sarah said quickly.

Collins half turned and looked at Sarah, making her wish she hadn’t said anything.

“The names are not unfamiliar to me. They are a little beneath my standards for a working relationship, but I have heard of them.”

“That I find hard to believe,” Collins said, making Farbeaux look up and into his eyes. “Nothing is really beneath your standards, are they, Henri?”

Farbeaux remained quiet for a moment, eyeing Jack, and then turning his attention to the others. He stepped forward and moved between Collins and Punchy Alexander, who was totally confused as to who it was that had them cornered like rats inside the basement. He walked to the far wall and stood in the left-hand corner. He placed his right hand up against an ordinary piece of Sheetrock. When he finally removed his hand, the wall started to slide outward. He watched for a reaction as the Event Group watched the space widen into the walled and excavated entrance.

“Elysian Park was once riddled with dry underground riverbeds. We built this wall when we used to store stolen goods down here. Imagine our surprise when the excavation we were doing opened up into a natural storage facility. I believe this is what you were looking for?”

Farbeaux stepped aside and saw their reaction to the immense wealth of antique Queen Anne and Hawthorne furniture, a veritable art gallery of paintings and even rows upon rows of glass cases filled with stamp, coin, and paper-currency collections. Also there were row upon row of books—thousands of them.

“This is just one of my many storage facilities. All of it awaiting my soon-to-be-realized retirement.”

Jack turned and looked at Henri. His smile was genuine, at least until he noticed Collins staring at him.

“No judgments today, Colonel Collins; you of all people will not sit in judgment of me. I would trade all of this and all of the others just like it, for one more day with my wife. So don’t give me any indignant looks, not today.”

“What are you planning, Henri?” Sarah asked after she had ceased admiring one of Farbeaux’s many caches of merchandise. After the question, she saw the eyes of the man and the hate reflected in them as he looked at Jack.

“You have once again placed me in a harsh situation, little Sarah. I cannot let you go, and I cannot allow you to hurt this operation more so than what has already happened.”

“Colonel Farbeaux, do you have the Lattimer Papers, or a Russian journal penned by a colonel named Petrov?” Jack asked, once more pulling Sarah to his side.

“Worthless. They were destroyed soon after they were contracted for, on my orders. They were a hoax.”

The Frenchman watched as Collins visibly deflated, making him curious as to why it visibly affected the American.

“I will have to ask you to wait inside of the storage room until I can figure out—until I can make a few arrangements. So, please, all of you,” Henri gestured for them to step inside of the large room. Sarah kept looking back, unable to believe what Henri may be contemplating. She thought she may have learned something about Farbeaux in the time they had spent imprisoned on Leviathan, but as she watched his eyes, Jack pulled her along. She could see the depth of the coldness that haunted them.

“I am truly sorry, but once more your agency was someplace it should not have been.” Farbeaux reached out and placed his hand in the same spot. The door started to pull back into the wall. Jack locked eyes with the French colonel and they met like two thunderheads inside of a small valley.

Sarah bit her lower lip as the wall was only two feet from closing. She suddenly made a decision and pulled free of Jack’s grip and quickly squeezed through the wall before the outside world was shut out.

“Damn it!” Collins shouted as the room went dark.

“Is she nuts, Jack?” Punchy Alexander asked.

Collins was quiet as he turned away and leaned against the cool dirt of the expanded cave.

Everett stepped up to Alexander, barely seeing his silhouette in the darkness.

“No, not nuts, but Sarah’s just like Jack, and that pisses him off to no end.”

The three men turned with raised weapons as Sarah came bounding out of the hidden room just as the wall slammed home. She saw she was about to be shot and she skidded to a halt on the dirt floor. Farbeaux, who had already started for the wooden staircase, saw what was about to happen.

“No!”

The three men didn’t shoot, but kept their weapons trained on her as Sarah looked from the muzzles pointed at her to the Frenchman standing on the bottom step.

“Brave little Sarah, you could have been shot.” He stepped down and made the man closest to him lower his weapon. He gestured with his right hand for the others to do the same. “I see you are no better at following orders than you were before.”

“Please, Henri, I need to explain why we’re here.”

“I want no reasoning from you or Colonel Collins. You are in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I have too many valuable items in that room to lose to your Group, or the authorities. I’m sorry. I have other places I need to be at the moment.”

Sarah watched as Farbeaux turned his back and started back toward the stairs.

“You know we wouldn’t ask for your help if it was for any of us. We need that diary or anything else that may lead to Sagli and Deonovich, we don’t care about that damn room or what’s in it.”

Farbeaux turned and tilted his head in Sarah’s direction. He remained silent and she decided he would hear her out.

“It’s Jack’s sister, his little sister. She’s been kidnapped by those two maniacs, for what reason, we don’t know.”

“I would suspect that Colonel Collins’s personality may run in the family and that has led to this young lady’s downfall.”

Whatever the Frenchman had been going through since she last saw him, Sarah could see that his eyes were still distant, meaning to her that the death of his wife down in the Amazon basin was still not far from the surface.

“We are tracking them and this may be our only shot, Henri. You wouldn’t want a young woman to get brutalized by these bastards by withholding something that may help her.”

“I noticed you have the head of the Montreal division of CSIS with you. Why is he here?”

“He was with Jack’s sister when she was taken.” Sarah thought something through very quickly. “How did you know Mr. Alexander was Canadian, and the head of his intelligence division?”

Farbeaux didn’t comment, he just started to turn toward the steps again.

“They cut off her finger just to prove to her employers what they are capable of.”

“Who is her employer?” he asked without turning back.

“She’s agency.”

Farbeaux started to laugh, but there was a serious lack of real humor coming from the eerie sound. Even his three men looked at each other with smiles. Henri started up the stairs.

“Place young Sarah back with her friends until I decide how to dispense with this problem.” He started up the stairs. “You have been a most helpful friend, Sarah.”

“What if it was Danielle that was taken and you needed Jack to help find her?” she blurted out as one of the three men took her by the arm.

Farbeaux only hesitated briefly on the stairs leading up into the house, then he continued on. “Follow my orders and place her in the storage room.”

My God, Sarah thought, he’s really going to kill us all.

The wall was opened only partially and Sarah was thrown back into the storage room. She fell to the floor and Jack, Everett, and Alexander were there to help her up.

“You go ahead and try something like that again, Lieutenant, and I’ll have your ass!” Collins hissed.

“That was very stupid, young lady,” Punchy said as he swatted some of the dirt from Sarah.

Everett walked toward the back of the room when he heard Ryan and Mendenhall coming back toward the front.

“Well?” Carl asked, when he saw their darkened outlines.

“Nothing. A solid wall of concrete—it would take dynamite to get through it, and then about three days of digging,” Ryan answered.

“How’s Sarah?” Mendenhall asked.

“I guess Farbeaux wasn’t in the negotiating mood.”

Up toward the large sliding wall, Jack took Sarah by the arm and steered her away from the others.

“Well?”

“He’s not listening, Jack. He hasn’t changed his attitude toward us. He still blames us for Danielle’s death.”

“You mean me.”

“It really doesn’t matter; all of us are his problem at the moment.”

Collins squeezed her arm and then pulled her to him and looked at her in the darkness. “Thanks for trying anyway, Short Stuff.”

“So what are we going to use to defend ourselves when that door opens and those Froggies open fire on us with those automatic weapons?” Mendenhall asked from the rear of the storage room.

“Well, we have a whole bunch of books to throw at them,” Everett said.

“Great,” Ryan and Will offered at the same time.

Ten minutes later, the wall fronting the storage room separated. It only traveled four feet before it stopped.

“Colonel Collins, and only Colonel Collins, step through the opening please,” Henri said from outside in the basement.

Sarah pulled on Jack’s arm and he could see her now that a dim light filtered into the room as she shook her head.

“No, make him come in and get us all, you stay put, Jack,” she said, the pleading evident in her words and Collins could tell she was close to crying.

“Listen,” he said in a low voice, “Farbeaux’s a lot of things, Short Stuff, but I don’t think he’s capable of cold-blooded murder.” He smiled. “At least not here, and not now.”

Sarah still tried to pull Jack back as he stepped through the opening.

Jack saw the lighted room beyond and the only man standing there was Henri Farbeaux. Collins stood and watched the Frenchman. His men were nowhere to be seen. Henri just stood in the center of the room waiting with his right hand in his pants pocket.

“Young Sarah should be a defense lawyer, she has quite a talent for lost causes.” Farbeaux took a few steps toward Collins. “For whatever good it may do you, Colonel, I will assist in your endeavor to recover your sister. I make no promises, the task will be arduous and difficult, but between myself and a mutual friend of ours, I think I know where it is your Russian friends are going.

“You may tell the others they may come out now, if you accept my offer of help.”

In answer, Jack turned and stuck his head through the opening and told them all to come out of the storage room.

Farbeaux smiled and looked at each face in turn and then faced Collins once again.

“So, Colonel, our destinies have been placed on hold once more. You can be certain that it was only my friend Sarah and that horrible rebuke I saw in her wonderful eyes that made me change that destiny for you tonight. As for us, we must leave this place; I have transport waiting outside, the local police will be sending their relief very soon.”

“Colonel Farbeaux, I’ve studied you more than any adversary I’ve come up against, and I can’t figure out why are you doing this? It’s not for Sarah, and it surely isn’t to help me find my sister.”

“Ah, you do know me, Jack. I do have one demand—I want the Twins of Peter the Great, when this little expedition is over of course.”

“Oh, of course, even though earlier you said they didn’t exist.”

Henri walked forward and stepped into the storage room and went to one of the first bookshelves and retrieved a small leather-bound book. He blew some dust off of it and then went back to face Collins. Farbeaux only hunched his shoulders, but kept the smile.

“The Petrov Journal and the Lattimer Papers, Colonel,” he said as he held the items and then gave them to the American.

“They weren’t destroyed—Chavez actually gave his life to protect them?” Jack asked as he took the journal.

“He took a chance that the men who killed him would have more mercy on him than—”

“You?” Jack said, finishing Farbeaux’s sentence.

“Exactly,” Henri said, smiling.

“Okay, Henri, but after I get my sister back, and you have these diamonds that don’t exist, we do have unfinished business.”

“Agreed, Colonel,” Farbeaux said as he stared right back at Jack.

“Now, you mentioned someone else who knew the destination of the Russians?”

“Ah, yes. Turn to the back page of the journal, next to the map; there is a name there I think you and your friends might be familiar with. He was the man responsible for delivering the journal and notes to Lattimer’s family back in 1968. He was a student then, but he was there when Lattimer found what he was looking for. I had planned on asking him myself for his assistance in the near future, but maybe now would be a good time since he knows exactly where to look, and as you say, time is of the upmost importance.”

Jack opened the old journal. Seeing the written Russian script, he thumbed carefully through the dried and yellowed pages until he came across the last page. On it was a detailed drawing of the area that had been discovered by L. T. Lattimer, but with no coordinates it would take someone familiar with the landmarks, such as the drawing of the plateau and bends in the river. Under the small diagram was a name. Jack read it and he knew the others saw the wonder of that name cross his facial features.

“What’s the name, Jack?” Sarah asked.

Collins handed the journal over to Sarah and the others stepped up to see the name as she held it out in front of her. They had to read the sentence that Lattimer had written to his family. Jack, for his part, turned, unbelieving toward the staircase and sat down on the bottom step. Sarah read as the others looked on. The name was of one of the Group’s very own professors.

I, Lawrence Thurgood Lattimer, hereby declare this journal as my personal property and the description listed as my claim to the property described herein. It is thus forwarded to my next of kin, Archibald Lattimer of Boston, Massachusetts. I hereby sign this article as true and unyielding this date of July 23, 1968.

L. T. Lattimer, Esq.

Witnessed this day by: Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III

Stanford University