Tuscan Hoax: An Archaeological Thriller (A Darwin Lacroix Adventure Book 4), page 26
She angled her chair for an optimum view of traffic coming into the village. After a sip of tea, she pulled the tuppo from the brioche and popped it into her mouth. Its delicate crunch gave way to a soft, yeasty texture, mildly sweet. Nice. She tore a piece of the bun and chewed it while watching peoples’ morning rhythm: divers leaving the shop, tourists deciding on breakfast locations, and a woman arranging vegetables in a pop-up market stall. Her neck and shoulder muscles relaxed a little from the tense all-nighter she had spent gripping Hypatia’s wheel.
“Bonjourno,” said a white-haired man at the next table when she made eye contact.
“Bonjourno,” she replied.
“How does a beautiful young woman find herself alone?” he asked in English.
“My husband went on a dive. It’s not my thing,” she said, taking a bite of the pastry and hoping her “husband” comment would dissuade further conversation.
He went back to reading a newspaper, and Eyrún licked her fingers after another bite of brioche. A few moments later, it occurred to her that the man might have seen people from the megayacht. She asked, “Do you live here? It’s a lovely village.”
He laid down his paper and said, “Up the hill. And, yes, it’s charming. A little overrun in the season but quite peaceful. Are you staying in one of the hotels?”
“No. We’ve just arrived. Our boat’s anchored in the bay.”
“The big one?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Ours is in the smaller bay. We saw that one and decided to stay away. They had a rather menacing security man aboard.”
“Ah, yes. We get some of those. Besides diving, what brings you to this part of our island?”
“We’re art collectors and heard of a fantastic artist here. We were hoping to meet him.”
“Most artists here are of middling talent.”
Eyrún gambled that he knew more and shifted tactics. “Actually, my husband and I are more than collectors. We founded an institute on Corsica to preserve cultural heritage, the Agrippa Center for Archaeology. We seek a restorer of exceptional skill recommended to us by a dealer in Alexandria.”
The man folded the paper and smiled while adjusting his rolled-up white cotton shirt sleeves. His blue eyes sparkled, bringing a more youthful appearance to his lined face. “I read about it. Impressive mission.” He sipped from his cup and replaced it on a saucer with a teabag.
“Thanks. I’m Eyrún Stephansdottir, by the way.”
“Valon,” he said, offering a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Eyrún.”
She shook it and noticed a tattoo on his forearm. Its dark lines were hard to make out against his deeply bronzed skin. He added, “I think I know the artist you mean. He sometimes comes here.”
Eyrún nearly came off her chair. “Could you introduce us?”
“He doesn’t like collectors. Calls them a greedy lot.”
“If you’ve read about our center, you know our mission is to safeguard and conserve. We have pieces that our experts say have been restored by this man. I would like to talk with him about them.”
“He must be very popular today,” he said. Eyrún knitted her brows, and he added, “You are not the only person asking about him. The coffee shop owner said a large, bald man inquired about him earlier.”
She blurted out, “He’s in danger.”
“From whom?”
“The people on the yacht. They mean to hurt him. Please tell me where—”
A gunshot came from the harbor.
85
Darwin’s legs dangled from the swim deck into the crystal clear water. He watched fish schooling in the rocks seven meters below. When Zac started the jet ski to warm up its engine, the fish shot off, but they returned and settled down a few moments later.
“You’re sure this’ll work?” Darwin asked.
“Almost guaranteed.”
Earlier Zac had explained their plan for Eyrún to organize a diversion. “We did this kind of thing all the time, pay the locals to create a disturbance.”
“What if they refuse?” Eyrún had asked, to which Zac had replied, “Only the most hard-core zealots would turn down a month’s wages in cash.”
Eyrún’s text arrived. “Let’s go,” said Darwin.
Zac checked the gun in the back of his waistband and jumped on the jet ski. Once Darwin slid in behind him, they powered away from Hypatia and around Faraglione di Tracino.
Not two minutes later, they drew even with the megayacht, and Darwin confirmed the fishermen were at its stern. He could see one of them holding up a fish in each hand while someone on the rear deck tried waving them off. “Go for it,” he said to Zac.
The jet ski banked sharply, closing the gap in seconds. Zac slowed the craft, and they drifted alongside the vessel’s port side, with Zac looking ahead and Darwin watching for anyone on the above deck. The hull lowered as the went aft, and Zac whispered, “Get ready.”
Another few meters, and Zac stood on the seat, grabbed the railing, and hoisted himself over the side. Darwin pushed off toward the stern and surprised two crew members trying to chase off the fishermen.
“Hey!” yelled the larger crew member. “This is a private vessel.”
“Move away. Now!” Zac shouted, pistol in hand, from behind them.
Darwin disarmed the remaining thug, the one who had piloted the Zodiac in Bonifacio, and tossed his pistol overboard. He then thanked the fisherman in their boat behind the megayacht, who withdrew as Darwin joined Zac.
“We mean you no harm,” Zac said to the crew, “but we need to know where Thierry went and how long ago.”
“We will not help you,” said the captain.
“Perhaps we can change your mind,” said Darwin, and he crossed to where the crew sat. He pointed back at Zac. “If you haven’t figured out, this man holding the gun is an American special forces agent with extraordinary talents. You tossed him overboard yesterday, yet here he is again. Now, let’s consider your situation. Your employer kidnapped a British intelligence officer, the tall woman, and attempted to kill this man, who, by the way, is still furious.”
Zac glowered at them from behind crossed arms, one finger on the gun’s trigger.
“Who are you?” asked the captain.
“Your worst nightmare if you don’t drop the attitude. You and your crew have two options.” Darwin paused a few beats while he made eye contact with each of the seven crew members and the thug. “Option one: you voluntarily tell us where Thierry went. Option two: I look away and let this angry American coax the answers out of you.”
The captain looked left and right at his crew as if to silence them. “Option two, then,” said Darwin. He moved back to Zac, who handed him the pistol and unsheathed a diver’s knife from his lower leg.
“They went to a house…at the base of that mountain,” said a young crew member, pointing above the village. “I heard Thierry ask Jasmin about it. That’s all I know. I swear.”
Zac asked him a few more questions, but the young man had nothing more. He recrossed the deck to Darwin and said, “I need to see the location they discovered on the laptop. You good here for a minute?”
“Yes.” Darwin focused on the crew. A minute later, as the morning sun beat down on his neck, he shifted into the shade. His watch vibrated, and he glanced at it.
Emelio: Got the documents
The captain used the momentary distraction to pull a gun from a seat-back compartment.
86
Zac burst from the upper galley at the shot, knife in hand, and flattened himself near the deck railing. Dammit! He had trained Darwin with handguns and knew he hunted, but practice and combat were different.
Fearing the worst, he moved beside a bench and peered over the edge. The crew had gathered around the captain. Blood covered the shoulder of his white uniform. A woman cried out, “Get the medical kit!”
“Darwin!” yelled Zac.
His friend moved into view. “I’m fine. The captain reached for a gun.”
Zac picked up the laptop he had dropped on a table and rushed downstairs. Darwin’s arm shook as Zac took the pistol from him. “I got it, buddy. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Asshole had to be a hero.”
Zac crossed the deck to the captain, who sat against the railing. “Move away, people.” He knelt, pressing the gun barrel into the man’s gut, and checked the wound. The bullet had torn the shoulder’s skin but not deeply. “You’re lucky. A bit to the right, and you might not be using this arm again.”
Darwin’s mobile rang. As he answered it, Zac stood and instructed the crew to compress the wound to stop the bleeding. Then he had them join the captain. He looked at Darwin, who, he figured, was speaking with Eyrún.
“No. No. We’re unhurt. The captain grabbed a hidden gun. We dealt with him,” said Darwin. He paused, listening, and then added, “Flesh wound. The crew’s subdued now.”
“Did she find anything?” asked Zac. Darwin nodded.
“Good. We’re secure here. See you in thirty minutes or less.” Darwin ended the call and turned to Zac. “Our agent on shore found the location.” Then he said to the crew, “Do not alert any of your party on the island. Doing so would assist criminals wanted by Europol and the American FBI. You will be blacklisted from future travel in the EU and America.”
Zac smiled and moved toward the jet ski tied to the swim deck. Once underway, he shouted over his shoulder, “Our agent on shore? Nice touch.”
In less than five minutes, Darwin and Zac were stepping onto Hypatia to change clothes. Emelio’s ringtone sounded on Darwin’s mobile as he pulled on short boots.
“Hey, Emelio.”
“Hello, Darwin. I’m at my bank. There’s a branch in Sicily. I’ve removed everything from the safe deposit box in Banco di Trapani like you suggested.”
“Perfect, Grand-père. Anything interesting?”
“Loads of documents. Fortunately, I packed a large duffel. Most are transaction records, and some look like lists of people. The most interesting is a cross-reference to the Panama Papers, you know that WikiLeak in twenty-sixteen. Looks like jail time for many people.”
Darwin went topside to join Zac on the jet ski, and he interrupted his grandfather as Zac hit the starter button. “Emelio, sorry to cut you off, but we’re catching up with Eyrún on Pantelleria.”
“Go get her. I’ll text you pictures of anything important.”
They disconnected, and Zac gunned it the short distance to the boat launch. He slowed, and they stepped off carefully to keep their feet dry. After tying it up, they joined Eyrún at a car park, beside a beat-up car.
“I guess the Teslas were sold out?” asked Zac, looking at the two-tone rust and white sedan.
“Careful of the chicken shit on the seats,” said Eyrún, smiling when Zac’s eyes went wide.
Darwin elbowed him and laughed. “How did you find the house?”
Eyrún told them about the man at the cafe as they got into the car and headed out. “He’s gone,” she added as they passed the empty table on the circuitous route out of the village.
“It smells in here,” said Zac. “Where did you get this?”
“I wasn’t kidding. The guy I paid to borrow it took out a chicken cage.” She watched in the rearview mirror as Zac pressed himself up from the seat and looked around.
The temperature picked up as they moved away from the harbor’s breeze. Darwin brought up a map and roughly figured out their position from the cafe man’s hand-drawn map. They passed a larger crossroad, and their route straightened as it climbed a wide slope covered with low vegetation grasping at life. The volcanic soil, while rich in minerals, drained away the little water that fell.
“Contrada Dietro Isola should be close,” said Darwin. “There. Go left. Okay, it elbows left in two kilometers.”
“He said to look for signs to the Byzantine tomb when the road bends,” said Eyrún.
A quarter of an hour later, they rolled past the tomb and looked for the second road on the right. They found it, and Eyrún rolled slowly up a steep track. What little precipitation fell had rutted it deeply, bottoming out the car’s ancient suspension.
“That’s what he described.” Eyrún pointed at a house coming up on their right.
“Darwin, duck down,” said Zac as he went flat on the rear seat. “Tell us what you see as you pass.”
Eyrún described a white plastered structure with a carport-like covering but no vehicle. “There’s a large rock-walled structure beside the house, but I don’t see anyone.” As the car went into the cliff’s shadow, she added, “There’s another house way up the hill, but I’m sure the one behind us is it.”
“Park anywhere,” said Zac.
She did, and they got out. Zac scanned the surroundings. Then he cut into an opening in the shrubs and popped back out. “A car’s hidden in there. Not your typical parking spot for a resident. I’m going overland to the back of the house. You two stay here. I’ll text if it’s clear.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Darwin.
“Nope. This ain’t a training run.” Without a sound, Zac moved between the bushes.
Zac reached the outbuilding and listened, but he heard nothing but cicadas. He considered his approach to the main building, as the cicadas would go silent on hearing his movement—a dead giveaway that something was on the perimeter.
He cautiously traveled parallel to the knee-high rock wall and then slipped over it into the covered front area. Once he cleared the house and workshop, he texted Darwin and Eyrún to join him. A minute later, Darwin came crashing through the rear brush. Zac shook his head, remembering their interrupted training on the GR20 trail.
He moved more slowly through the house now, looking for details that might give away their quarry’s purpose or where they had gone. “Be careful,” he said to Eyrún and Darwin as they entered the main room. He studied the teacups: one was nearly empty, but the other was untouched, most likely Lupita’s. He knew captives were rarely in the mood for anything but escape.
Picking up the empty cup, he smelled Jasmin’s strong perfume on the porcelain. A longing gripped him, followed almost immediately by repulsion at the reality of the situation. Resisting the urge to smash it against the wall, he set it back down.
“That painting’s been moved,” Darwin said as he studied the surrounding walls.
“How do you know?” asked Eyrún.
“The man’s an artist. Look at this place. Everything has an orderly aesthetic. He wouldn’t leave a picture at this angle.” He turned over the painting of a house, tinged orange in the setting sun. “There’s a key missing from this hook. Judging from its offset angle, I’d say it’s a big key.” He squatted to study the area below the picture. “And,” pointing to rectangular clear spot in the dust, added, “someone recently took an object from this shelf.”
Zac walked over. “Nice eye. You’re shit in the field, but your archaeology’s still first rate.” He waved Eyrún closer. “They may be in the outbuilding. Stay sharp. There are two thugs, and we know Thierry’s a loose cannon.”
He withdrew the sidearm and chambered a round as they stepped outside. In a few strides, they reached the workshop. Zac scanned its interior and turned back to them. “It’s empty. Go inside. I’ll search the surroundings.”
After a sweep around the building, Zac reentered. Eyrún said, “Someone had a tantrum in here.” He joined them to find tools on the floor and blood on the bench.
“What do you suppose happened?” asked Darwin.
“Thierry went crazy looking for his mask,” said Eyrún. “There’s nothing in the house, and this place is a workshop. Where are they?”
“Oh, they’re here. And they knew we were coming; otherwise, they wouldn’t hide the car. I didn’t think the captain would stay quiet.” Zac opened the cabinets near the vent hood and fingered the containers. “Damn. Helluva chemistry lab. This guy’s serious about his work.” He turned back to Eyrún and Darwin. “You two go back to the house and sit tight. I’m going to scour the property.”
Three minutes later, he had come up empty-handed. Zac had seen every kind of hideaway in Afghanistan, and nothing on the property looked even remotely suspicious. He reentered the house to find Darwin studying the painting’s back.
“I’m guessing the key’s about this size,” Darwin said, holding up a hand with thumb and forefinger spread. “I tested the frame’s offset weight with my pocket knife, and it’s about a hundred grams, so this key must have a substantial shaft. The kind used on an old vault.”
“Why an old vault here?” asked Eyrún.
“The same reason my ancestors on Corsica built the mountain house. This island’s on the Barbary Coast.”
“Okay, let’s say I buy your pirate story. We haven’t seen anything like a vault on the property,” said Zac.
Eyrún and Darwin made eye contact and simultaneously smiled.
“What?” asked Zac.
“It must be in a cave,” said Eyrún. “We’re on a volcanic island with plenty of hollow spots. That’s why he’s against this cliff.”
“Why is everything underground with you two?”
87
Thierry ran past Jasmin to the shelves along the cave’s left side. His mobile lit the way into the darkness. The others followed Jasmin, and each turned on a light. Lupita moved toward the door, but one of the thugs grasped her arm. “No, you don’t. Besides, where will you go out there?”
Jasmin shined her light into the cave, but the bright white halo failed to penetrate beyond twenty meters. “It smells like wine,” she said to herself, trying to make sense of the structure. The human-made cavern arched three meters high at its apex and was twice as wide as it tunneled straight through the basalt. Large shelves lined the left-side wall, stacked with vases in various stages of construction. Those farthest in from the door held painted vases in finished condition.
She walked to a workbench on the right wall, where a single askos vase rested next to a modern lighter. Liquid sloshed as she lifted the askos. Of course. Lamp oil. She moved her light across the walls beside the workbench, revealing lamps mounted about two meters up. Then she handed the lighter to the thug and said, “Light those.” Orange light sprang from the walls as he did, and he moved to other lamps now visible.
