The Navigator (21 page)

Austin took a quick shower and changed into slacks and a polo shirt. He filled a travel mug with the Jamaican coffee he favored, slipped behind the wheel of a turquoise Jeep Cherokee from the NUMA motor pool, and headed toward the Maryland suburbs.

He arrived at the Smithsonian Institution’s complex of warehouses a half hour earlier than Carina had asked him to come. He wanted time alone with the statue that had caused so much commotion. The security guard at the door checked his name against a clipboard list and waved him into the corrugated-metal building. Running the length of the building’s interior were rows of shelves neatly stacked with labeled cardboard cartons that held overflow from the Smithsonian’s massive collections.

A slender man was fiddling with a camera mounted on a tripod that stood next to a bronze statue. The photographer looked up from the viewfinder and frowned.

Austin extended his hand. “Anthony Saxon, I presume.”

Saxon hiked a bushy eyebrow. “Have we met?”

“My name is Kurt Austin. I’m with NUMA. I attended your lecture on lost cities a couple of years ago at the Explorers Club. I recognized you from the jacket of your last book,
Quest for the Queen.
”

Saxon’s frown vanished and he reached out and shook Austin’s hand like a pump handle.

“
Kurt Austin.
You found Christopher Columbus. I’m honored to meet you.”

Austin hedged his reply. “I was part of a team effort that found old Chris taking a nap.”

“Nevertheless, your discovery of the Columbus mummy on a Phoenician ship in a Mayan tomb established the scientific base for pre-Columbian contact in the New World.”

“Many people still don’t accept it as fact.”

“They are Philistines! I used your find as a foundation for my theories. What did you think of my book?”

“Entertaining and informative. The concepts are highly original.”

Saxon snorted. “When people call my work
original,
they’re often saying that it’s nutty. They compare my stuff to those books that brought UFOs, cow mutilations, and space aliens into the debate.”

“I didn’t think the book was nutty at all. Your theory that the Phoenicians came across the Pacific, as well as the Western Hemisphere, was fascinating. When you stirred the Queen of Sheba into the mix, it was bound to cause controversy. You made a strong case that she is the key that will unlock the ancient puzzle of Ophir.”

“The queen has her dainty little prints over centuries of historical record. I’ve been following her trail for years.”

“It wouldn’t be the first case of
cherchez la femme
. Too bad an accidental fire destroyed your Phoenician ship replica before you could prove your theory.”

Anger flashed in Saxon’s eyes. “That was no accident,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“It was arson. But that’s the past.” His charming smile returned. “I’ve scratched the idea of a Pacific crossing. Too costly and complicated. I’m trying to pull together a more modest expedition. I’d like to sail a vessel from Lebanon to the Americas and back by way of Spain, like the old ships of Tarshish might have done.”

“I’d hardly call a two-way transatlantic crossing modest, but good luck.”

“Thanks. What brings you here?”

Austin nodded at the statue. “Miss Mechadi invited me to stop by and see this gentleman. And you?”

“I heard through my sources at the Smithsonian that the old boy was in town. Thought I’d say hello.”

Judging from the elaborate camera setup, Saxon’s interest in the statue apparently was more than casual. Austin touched the
Navigator
’s metal arm. “Miss Mechadi said you were quite knowledgeable about the statue. How old is he?”

Saxon turned to the
Navigator
. “More than two thousand years old.”

Austin gazed with curiosity at the dark green statue that had almost cost the lives of hundreds of people. The figure was nearly six feet tall, standing with his sandaled left foot slightly forward. It was wearing an intricately embroidered kilt tied at the top by a wide sash. An animal skin was draped over the right shoulder. Hair hung down in rows from under a conical hat. The smile on the bearded face had an almost Buddha-like peacefulness. The eyes were half closed.

The right hand held a boxlike object at waist height. The left hand was held high, slightly clenched, like Hamlet contemplating Yorick’s skull. A skinny, small-headed cat curled around the legs. The artist had cleverly used the animal’s legs to give the statue added stability.

“If I hadn’t been told this was Phoenician,” Austin said, “I’d be hard put to identify any specific culture or period.”

“That’s because Phoenician art doesn’t
have
any particular style. They were too busy trading to create great works of art. The Phoenicians produced goods made to sell, so they imitated the art of their market countries. The statue’s posture is Egyptian. The head is Syrian, almost Oriental in style. The natural way the folds of his kilt fall is borrowed from the Greeks. The size is unusual. Phoenician bronzes tend to be small.”

“The tabby is an unusual touch.”

“The Phoenicians brought cats on board ship to catch rats and to use as trade items. They preferred orange-striped tomcats.”

Austin examined the boxlike object in the statue’s right hand. It was about six inches across. A circular section on the top was recessed about a half inch. An eight-point star was etched into the circle. One point was larger than the rest. A thick line, pointed at both ends, crossed from one side of the star to the other.

Saxon noticed the intense expression on Austin’s face. “Interesting, eh?”

“Carina mentioned the compass paradox. The Chinese supposedly invented the compass hundreds of years after the heyday of Phoenician trade.”

“That’s the common perception. What do
you
think?”

“I’d keep an open mind,” Austin said. “The Phoenician empire stretched along the shores of the Mediterranean and beyond. They would have needed constant contact with their colonies. They had to cross long open stretches of water. From Tyre to the western end of the Mediterranean is more than two thousand miles. That presumes an unparalleled skill at navigation, good charts, and nautical instruments.”

“Bravo! I have no doubt that these inquisitive, clever people knew the peculiar properties of the lodestone. They had the technical expertise to mount a magnetized needle on a wind star like this.
Voilà!
A compass.”

“Then the statue
is
authentic?”

Saxon nodded. “I’d guess that it was made around 850 B.C., when the Phoenician empire was at its highest peak.”

“The compass needle seems to be pointing east and west.”

Saxon raised an eyebrow. “What else do you see?”

Austin studied the bronze face. The nose looked as if it had encountered the business end of a sledgehammer. Except for the damage, it was a reasonably good likeness of a young man, with a layered beard. What Austin thought at first was a smile might actually be a grimace. The eyes were tightened in a squint. Austin stood behind the statue and studied the upraised hand.

“I think he’s looking into the sun, as if he were navigating with a cross-staff.”

Saxon chuckled. “You’re downright frightening, my friend.”

The camera lens was pointing at the statue’s midsection, where a motif was repeated in the sash. Repeated throughout the design was a horizontal line, with a
Z
facing inward at each end.

“This mark was in your book.”

Austin was intent on the detail and failed to see the startled expression on Saxon’s face. “That’s right. I believe it symbolizes a ship of Tarshish.”

“You found similar motifs in South America and the Holy Land.”

A furtive expression flickered in Saxon’s gray eyes. “My detractors say it’s coincidence.”

“They’re Philistines,” Austin said.

Austin inspected the circular medallion hanging from the figure’s neck. Engraved in the medallion were a horse head and a palm tree, with its roots exposed. “This was in your book. The horse and the palm tree.”

“The horse was the symbol of Phoenicia and the tree symbolized a planted colony.”

Austin ran his fingers like someone reading Braille over several raised lumps under the palm tree. A female voice rang out, cutting his unspoken question short.

“How did
you
get in here?”

Carina stood in the doorway, an expression of disbelief on her face.

Saxon tried to deflect her glare with a smile. “I don’t blame you for being irate, Miss Mechadi. Please don’t take it out on the guard. I showed him my Explorers Club credentials. They’re authentic, by the way.”

“I don’t care if they’re tattooed on your
derrière,
” Carina said. “How did you know the statue was here?”

“I have sources who knew of my interest.”

She came over to the camera tripod. “Photos of this statue will be featured in a book that we will sell during the tour. You have no right to take unauthorized pictures.”

Saxon looked past Carina, and his expression changed dramatically. His grin faded. He bared his teeth like an angry pit bull and growled a single word:

“Baltazar.”

The minerals magnate had stepped through the doorway. Behind him was a young man carrying a leather case. Baltazar strode over to Carina.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Mechadi.” He offered his hand to Saxon. “Viktor Baltazar. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Saxon kept his hand by his side. “Tony Saxon. You tried to buy a boat I had built to sail across the Pacific.”

“Oh, yes,” Baltazar said, unfazed by the snub. “I wanted to give it to a museum. I heard it burned to the waterline. A great pity.”

Saxon turned to Carina. “My apologies, Ms. Mechadi. I hope you will remember our conversation at the embassy.”

He folded the tripod’s legs and hoisted it onto his shoulder. With a final fierce glance at Baltazar, he strode to the door and left the warehouse.

Carina shook her head in frustration. “Sorry if I overreacted. That man is the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Well, enough about him. Kurt, I’d like you to meet Viktor Baltazar, whose foundation is sponsoring the tour.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Austin. Miss Mechadi explained your role in thwarting the hijacking. Thank you for saving this remarkable young lady and preserving the collection.”

“Carina has told me about the generosity of your foundation,” Austin said.

Baltazar dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand and turned his attention to the statue.

“At long last. The
Navigator
. Truly remarkable. I applaud your decision to make him the centerpiece of the exhibition, Miss Mechadi.”

“He was the natural choice,” Carina said. “Even with the damage to his face, he projects a dignity and intelligence. Then there’s his air of mystery.”

Baltazar nodded. “What do you think of our mute friend, Mr. Austin?”

Austin thought about his conversation with Saxon. “Maybe he would be more talkative if we could ask him the right questions.”

Baltazar gave Austin a strange look and turned his attention back to the statue. He walked around the
Navigator,
his eyes roving over every square inch of bronze.

“Have you had an expert look at the statue?” he asked Carina.

“Not yet. It’s going to be transported to the Smithsonian where it can be readied for the tour.”

“I’ve been a bit concerned about security in view of the attempt to steal the statue,” Baltazar said. “As Mr. Saxon’s unauthorized visit shows, security is lax. The statue might be particularly vulnerable while it is being moved. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for a trucking company to come in this morning to move the statue under guard. They should be here in a short while. If you don’t mind, of course.”

Carina pondered the offer. As more people knew where the
Navigator
was, the less secure it would be.

“That’s very kind of you,” Carina said. “I’d be glad to accept your offer.”

“Good, then. It’s done. I know it’s early in the morning, but I suggest we celebrate our success with a toast.”

He signaled his valet who set the case in his hand on a shelf and unsnapped the lid. Inside the case was a bottle of Moët. The valet popped the cork, poured from the bottle into three champagne flutes, and passed them around.

They clinked glasses, and Baltazar held his high. “To the
Navigator.
”

Austin studied Carina’s benefactor over the rim of the glass. He looked as if he had been carved in stone. Under the charcoal pin-striped suit, Baltazar had the powerful body of a wrestler. Even with his wide shoulders, the head that rested on the thick neck still seemed too big for his physique.

Baltazar was unaware of Austin’s scrutiny. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Carina and seemed to be studying her every move. Austin had detected a veiled hostility behind the warm smile. He wondered if Baltazar was interested in Carina and resented Austin’s friendship with the lovely Italian woman.

The valet began collecting the empty champagne flutes. The others were focused on the statue and no one noticed when the valet took Carina’s glass and slipped it into a plastic bag, which he tucked into the case. Then he went over and whispered in Baltazar’s ear. A moment later, Baltazar glanced at his watch and said he had to go.

Carina ushered him to the door. When she came back, she apologized to Kurt for cutting his visit short but said she had to prepare the statue for the movers. They agreed to stay in touch by cell phone and meet later in the day for their drive to Virginia to see the
National Geographic
photographer.

A BLACK YUKON with dark-tinted windows was parked close to Austin’s Jeep. A glance at the license plate told Austin it was a U.S. government vehicle. His conclusion was confirmed when the back door of the Yukon opened and a man in a dark blue suit and sunglasses got out and flashed a badge under Austin’s nose.

Holding the door wide, the man said, “Someone wants to talk to you.”

Austin didn’t take kindly to orders from rude strangers. He smiled. “If you don’t take that toy badge out of my face, you’re going to end up eating it.”