The Emerald Scepter Page 32

  “They might believe us. For a little while.”

  “In the meantime, we must get rid of Marzak. He’s the only one who can connect the strands of the Prophet’s Necklace. He must disappear without a trace. Leave that up to me.”

  The commander took Mohamed by the elbow and moved him toward an exit. “I have to get back to my guests. Call me in the morning.”

  Later, at his own house, Mohamed crawled into bed, but only slept a few hours before he was awakened by a phone call. It was the commander.

  “There’s been an important development concerning Marzak,” he said.

  “He’s been arrested?”

  “Not exactly. A squad went to the hotel. Apparently, he never checked into the room.”

  “What? He’s gone.”

  “Correct. Our friend Mr. Marzak seems to have pulled his own disappearing act.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sutherland was on the move most of the day after leaving Route 66, scudding along under a cloudless sky to Durango, following Route 550 north through the San Juan national forest to Silverton where she stopped for a burger and Diet Coke before setting off again.

  She caught her first glimpse of Ouray, Colorado after an exhilarating ride along a snaking stretch of mountain road known as the Million Dollar Highway. The city of Ouray calls itself the Switzerland of America, and the description works on some levels. Ouray is more than seven thousand feet above sea level, nestled in a narrow valley hemmed in on three sides by the thirteen-thousand-foot-high peaks of the San Juan mountain range, and laced with canyons, waterfalls and rushing rivers. The Victorian buildings that line the main street have a charm rivaling the quaint villages that occupy alpine valleys.

  But the place lacks the green pasture gentility of its Swiss counterparts. The countryside around Ouray was shaped by volcanoes and glaciers, and later by rugged people who tore the riches from its rocky soil, leaving the evidence of their work in abandoned mines and the ruins of once-rich ghost towns.

  Sutherland passed through Uncompahgre Gorge and followed a series of switchbacks to the city’s main thoroughfare. She found a comfortable B and B on a side street and washed the road dust off her face. Taking her computer bag, she got on her Harley and rode to the tourist information booth next to Ouray’s big hot springs pool.

  She got a map showing all the abandoned mines in the area from the woman behind the desk, then she rode back to the B and B and sat on her bed with her computer. She called up the U.S. Geological Survey map of Ouray and surrounding countryside.

  The Kurtz property was located off the Alpine Loop scenic byway, a sixty-five-mile-long road that winds through the northern San Juan range in the heart of mining country. Using the USGS chart for guidance, she called up satellite photos of the territory around the Kurtz mines and was able to zoom in on a section of woods at the base of a mountain. Some buildings were visible through the thick foliage.

  She reread the file she had compiled on the Kurtzes. The first Kurtz mine was started in 1880 on former Ute Indian land at an elevation of 9800 feet. It closed in 1922, the same year Hiram Kurtz set off for Afghanistan, but during its decades of operation, produced nearly twenty million dollars in gold and silver, mainly, along with copper, lead and zinc as well. The peak population was nearly a thousand, and the mining town included stores, saloons, brothels and even a brick mansion for Kurtz. It was abandoned after the mines played out.

  She found the old mining town using Google Earth and saw a few dirt roads and several buildings in the satellite picture. Most of the site was hidden by tree foliage. On the way out of town she stopped at a sporting goods store and bought a paper version of the survey map which she tucked into her computer bag, and a few minutes later she was back on Route 550 heading south.

  She left the main road at Animas Forks and headed east, riding around twenty minutes before she turned off onto a gravel road and traveled around fifteen miles without seeing another person or vehicle. She was riding at a fast clip and almost missed a side road that after a hundred feet or so led to a double metal gate around ten feet high.

  On either side of the gate was a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The insulators spaced along the fence indicated that it was electrified. A second fence several feet inside the first had no insulators, but sprouted antennae that could broadcast the presence of an intruder. She saw no cameras, but that didn’t mean they weren’t cleverly disguised to blend into the thick pine woods.

  As she got off her bike and approached the gate, she heard a soft rustling patter and two Doberman Pincers as big as ponies galloped along the road on the other side of the gate. They stood up with their front paws against the second fence, and their black eyes stared at Sutherland as if she were a doggie chew.

  “Nice puppies,” she said in a high voice.

  She backed away and walked the bike another hundred yards along the road. The dogs must have been trained to stay silent because as they paced her they didn’t even growl. She had seen enough. There was no way she could penetrate security without getting electrocuted, sliced by razor wire or torn to pieces by guard dogs.

  She turned around and headed out of the forest. She analyzed the problem on the ride back to Ouray. When she pulled up in front of her B and B, she knew what she had to do. She went to her room and stared at her pudgy cheeks and round glasses in the mirror. Wussy. Not much she could do to change her appearance, but as a student of human nature, she knew that personality is projected from the inside out.

  She opened a can of diet soda, popped her laptop and began to read the Kurtz website. She allowed herself to soak up the venomous outpouring that emanated from the screen. The paranoia was the easiest for her to absorb. There were some advantages to being delusional, she reflected. She clicked the link labeled Contact Us. She took a deep breath, stifled her disgust and started typing.

  She said she was a former soldier and inserted snippets of the truth as bait. Her birth in the poor coal mining state of West Virginia. Her decision to join the army. Her service in Iraq. Her distrust of the government. She said she was traveling through Colorado, had looked up organizations that shared her philosophy, learned about the Ouray camp, and asked permission to visit.

  She reread what she had written and hit the SEND command.

  Nothing to do but wait for Kurtz to check out her background. She was sure he had his sources. She went out for pizza and while she was finishing her last piece she checked her computer.

  PERMISSION GRANTED. LOOK FORWARD TO MEETING YOU, CORPORAL SUTHERLAND. SEND ETA.

  The email had been sent by Colonel Hak Kurtz.

  She had set the hook, very much aware that a five-hundred-pound great white shark might be hanging on the line. She’d have to make up the rest of her plan after she got on the other side the fence.

  She replied to the invitation.

  THANK YOU SIR. ETA 1100 HOURS.

  She checked her email and saw the message from Hawkins. She breathed a sigh of relief knowing that he was on his way home and that no one had been hurt, but she simmered over a feeling that she had been abandoned. He let her wait; she would let him wait. She imagined herself presenting himself with the emerald scepter and a shower of gold and gems.

  She sent a summary of her plan to Hawkins, but clicked off before he had the chance to reply. Then she went to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Over the Atlantic Ocean

  The 747 was flying at thirty-six-thousand feet and racing west across the skies at nearly six-hundred-miles an hour, but to Hawkins, who was worried about Marzak, the jet seemed to plod toward North America at a snail’s pace. He decided to call a war council.

  “First of all, I want to thank everyone for going above and beyond during this mission,” he said. “But our job isn’t finished. As we discussed, we’ve got to find the treasure before Marza
k does. It’s the only way to stop the Prophet’s Necklace. And it might give us the chance to take out Marzak once and for all, something I know we all could go for.”

  Calvin made a face. “True. Only one problem, Hawk. We don’t know where the treasure is.”

  “Marzak doesn’t know that. We’ll make him think we found the treasure. Or at least give the impression that we know where it is. The chance to get the treasure and me will be irresistible. He’ll come to us. And he’ll make mistakes.”

  “You know what happens when a catfish gets a hold of bait,” Calvin said.

  Hawkins was well aware of the danger his plan presented. “I don’t know of any other way.”

  “How do you plan to get word to Marzak?” Abby said.

  “Through the Newport Group.”

  “You’re not serious,” Abby said. “Those are the people who hired you.”

  “I’m well past the naïve stage,” Hawkins said. “It was obviously a set-up. Sutherland’s research confirms that Captain McCormick was tied in with Trask and Murphy. I asked Murphy to pass along a proposition to trade the treasure for Trask and McCormick. Not sure how far it will go.”

  “That’s a long way from connecting them to a thug like Marzak.”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Hawkins said with a wry smile on his face. “It was no accident that the Marzaks arrived at my house with guns blazing.”

  “McCormick?” Abby said.

  “Seems like a good guess for now. I’ll withhold judgment on the rest of the group.”

  Calvin was already thinking operationally. “What’s your plan, once we get Marzak on the hook?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you and Abby. First, I’ll see if I can even get the ball rolling.”

  Hawkins strolled to the back of the cabin with the satellite phone in hand.

  Years seemed to have passed since he had been called to the navy War College. He remembered his go-around with McCormick and was glad that his instincts had been on the mark. Not knowing how deeply the Newport Group had been compromised, he would have to tread carefully.

  He punched out Fletcher’s number. The dry, patrician voice answered almost immediately.

  “Hello, Lieutenant Hawkins. Nice of you to call from wherever you are.”

  “I’m on my way home, Dr. Fletcher.”

  There was a pause and Hawkins could almost hear the sound of Fletcher hiking up his bushy eyebrows.

  “Then the mission was a success, I take it.”

  “Yes and no. We dove into the lake, but the treasure was no longer there. All we found was a coin.”

  “What sort of coin?”

  “Gold. Inscribed with the name Prester John.”

  Another pause.

  “Do you have any idea where the treasure is now?”

  “We’ve got a strong lead. We’ll know more when Dr. Everson has the coin verified.”

  “Dr. Everson? I don’t understand.”

  “She’s with us. She was in Afghanistan doing further research on Prester John and was able to help us with our explorations. She even intervened with the local drug lord.”

  There was a dry chuckle on the other end of the line. “You certainly never lack for surprises, Lieutenant.”

  “Speaking of surprises, we had problems with a dive team that tried to horn in on our operation.”

  “Do you know who they were?”

  “My guess is that they were mercenaries. They were led by a guy named Marzak. Luckily, we drove them off without any injuries to our team. Marzak escaped.”

  “Too bad, but the good news is that you are all safe! Your country owes you a great debt.”

  “That’s nice to hear, because I believe there is a payment coming my way.”

  “Your honorable discharge is all taken care of. I’ll have the un-redacted report on what happened to you five years ago in Afghanistan. Send me a tally of other expenses. When will you arrive home?”

  “We’ll be in Washington in a few hours. I’m disbanding my team and heading back to Woods Hole.”

  “A wise decision. And Dr. Everson?”

  “She will try to verify the coin and continue her research into Prester John. If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Fletcher, I’m on the run. I’ll send you a detailed report.”

  “Yes, please do. Sooner than later. I’m anxious to hear about it. And I’d like to have you up to my home in Newport within the next few days so we can toast your success. Please call when you get back.”

  “I will,” Hawkins said, clicking off. He went to his computer and scrolled through his message board. Only one new message awaited him. It was a follow-up on Sutherland’s warning about Murphy and Trask, and had been sent several hours earlier. He read her plan and the theory she developed on the treasure and her intention to visit the militia camp.

  He tried to call her, and when there was no answer, sent her a quick text message. No answer. He cursed softly and walked to the other end of the cabin.

  Minutes later, Hawkins had gathered everyone around a table at the forward end of the cabin. He said:

  “There’s been a change in plans. While we trekked through the mountains and deserts of Afghanistan, Molly Sutherland, the fourth member of our team, has been working on a theory that the treasure may have been moved to the Kurtz mines in Colorado.” He opened his computer and read Molly’s report.

  When he was finished, Abby said, “Given what we know about Kurtz, and the fact that the treasure is no longer in the tomb, I’d say Sutherland has a pretty sound theory.”

  “Yes, but she’s going to need help,” Hawkins said.

  “And I suppose you’re going to need fast transportation to Colorado,” Abby said.

  “I think Sutherland is getting in over her head with this militia thing.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. I can arrange for a Gulfstream to be waiting at the airport when we arrive,” Abby said.

  “Thanks, Abby. Let’s look at the satellite pictures Sutherland sent of the camp.” He set the computer in the middle of the table. “There’s a main road—the one Sutherland described in her report—and a number of off-road trails that snake around behind it and up the mountain. There’s a road going to the top of mountain as well.”

  Calvin said, “That looks like a cleared boundary line surrounding the camp. Probably where they cut the woods back for the fence.”

  Another aerial photo showed several buildings in a row near a large structure.

  “Those must be old mining buildings and the Kurtz mansion,” Hawkins said. “Pretty far off the beaten path. From what Sutherland said about these guys, they’re expecting black helicopters to drop in any day. Anyone got any ideas on how to gain entrance without getting shot?”

  Abby said, “Could you go back to the aerial with the topographical overlay?”

  Hawkins clicked the mouse and the screen showed the camp and surrounding terrain with contour squiggles and elevation numbers.

  She studied the screen. “I think I know a way.” Abby described what she had in mind. “I know it’s not the perfect plan, but it could work.” She paused. “Then again it might not.”

  Calvin laughed at the disclaimer. “The possibility of a monumental failure is SOP for us special ops guys,” Calvin said. “You should have joined the SEALs, Abby.”

  “I didn’t like that yucky green stuff you had to smear on your face,” she said. “Well?”

  Hawkins stared at the screen, mentally working out each step of the plan.

  “A thousand things could go wrong, and back in the day I would have tossed a plan like this into the shredder. Only one detail makes it worth the risk.”

  “What’s that?” Abby said.

  “Sutherland.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Ouray, Colorado

  Exactly one minute be
fore the appointed time Sutherland rode up to the gate of the Kurtz camp. She was glad to see that the Dobermans were not there to greet her.

  At the stroke of eleven, her ears picked up the sound of an engine. A khaki-colored World War II Jeep with two men in it drove up to the other side of the gate. Both men were dressed in camouflage. Aviator sunglasses shaded their eyes. The driver wore a wide-brimmed fatigue hat and the other man had a do-rag tied around his head Rambo style.

  The Rambo impersonator got out of the car. He had a thick muscular body and his black hair was cut close to the shiny white scalp. A droopy mustache emphasized the downward tips of his unsmiling mouth. Sutherland’s eye went to the pistol holster and hunting knife at his waist.

  Rambo pressed the button on a remote control. The gates swung open and he gestured for her to come inside. When she had ridden in, he closed the gates behind her and said: “Follow the vehicle.”

  As she trailed the Jeep, she couldn’t help thinking how her poker-playing father used to say, “In for a dime, in for a dollar,” an adage meaning that if a hand was worth a little bet it was worth a big bet.

  The road sloped gradually through thick piney woods. About a mile from the gate the forest ended and the road ran between a dozen or so one-story wooden buildings that looked like worker housing. They sported a fresh coat of white paint and seemed in generally good condition.

  The Jeep kept on going past the buildings and stopped at a guard house manned by two armed men in camouflage. The driver jerked his thumb at Sutherland and the guards waved them through. The driveway went through a patch of dark pine woods and led to a two-story brick Victorian mansion with a black mansard turret and roof. The lawn that surrounded the mansion was overgrown with weeds.

  The Jeep stopped and Rambo got out. “Go around back. General’s waiting for you.”