A single guard manned a control console in the center of the room. He was watching half a dozen monitors which appeared to be hooked to video cameras. Some displayed the area around the gates, others showed the entrance to the main building, and a few were interior shots of the foyer and corridors.
“Leave us,” Metcalf instructed the sentry.
Without a word, the man got up and exited the room.
“Have a seat,” the diviner told Bowdeen.
The mercenary dropped his duffle bag in a corner and took a chair at the console. Metcalf sat down beside him.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I interrupted your next mission,” the diviner began.
“Yes, sir,” Bowdeen replied noncommittally.
“I have a more pressing need for your expertise here,” the diviner explained.
“But I’ve already trained the boys at this location,” Chopper objected.
“Your other area of expertise,” Metcalf countered. “You have experience setting up surveillance systems, do you not?”
“Yes sir, I do,” Bowdeen agreed cautiously.
“Then you’re the man for the job.” Metcalf gave a fleeting smile. “I need you to improve the security at this location before you go on to provide weapons training at any of the other compounds.”
“Sir?” Chopper asked mildly. “It seems to me you have an extensive security apparatus already in place.”
“Extensive, yes. Adequate, no.” Metcalf chose his next words carefully. “We had an incident recently which alerted me to the need for more surveillance.”
Bowdeen perked up his ears. “You mean somebody tried to break in?”
The diviner hesitated for a second. “No, not that. Someone is missing.”
Despite Metcalf’s delicate wording, Chopper got the picture. Somebody had broken out. He guessed it wasn’t just anybody either. “One of your family, sir?”
“One of my wives, in fact.”
Now the pieces were falling into place. The last thing an old rip like Metcalf could stand was a woman besting his state-of-the-art security system. No wonder he wasn’t sleeping well. Of course, Bowdeen’s face betrayed none of the conclusions that were leaping into his head. He cultivated an impassive expression the way some people, Leroy Hunt, for instance, cultivated a wave in their hair. “What would you like me to do, sir?” he asked blandly.
“I want you to make sure that every square inch of the compound which could constitute a means of escape is monitored. Price is no object, and I’ll double your usual fee if you can finish the task quickly.”
Bowdeen blanched. He’d been on the payroll of some paranoid dictators in his time, but this beat anything he’d ever seen. “Every square inch, sir?”
“Every square inch. No gap in our defenses can be suffered to remain.”
“You’ll need to beef up your sentry staff to accommodate that kind of surveillance.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” The diviner waved his hand airily. “You’re already familiar with the skills of the young men you’ve trained. Choose those who were the best marksmen and assemble as big a team as you need.”
Bowdeen hesitated before posing the next question. “You want them to shoot at anybody who might try to escape, sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Bowdeen. I want them to shoot to kill.”
Chapter 22 – The Maltese Owl
A blast of bright Mediterranean sunlight hit Cassie right between the eyes as she raised her window shade to watch the plane make its descent. Even though she and her teammates had been in transit for more than eighteen hours, it was still only mid-afternoon on Malta. They had flown from Chicago to Heathrow and, after a tediously long layover, were now en route to their final destination. Once the plane taxied to the terminal and disgorged its passengers, the trio moved to the baggage claim area to collect their suitcases.
Cassie yawned. “I don’t know about you guys, but I feel like a zombie.”
“You get used to it,” Erik replied.
“What? Jet lag or being a zombie?”
“Take your pick.”
No one seemed in the mood to talk, so they waited for their luggage in silence at the baggage carousel. Only after they’d retrieved their belongings did Griffin turn to survey the milling crowd behind them. “She should have been here by now.”
Cassie gave him a quizzical look.
“The Maltese trove keeper,” the scrivener explained. “She sent me an email offering to meet us at baggage claim.”
Cassie followed his gaze toward the exit doors. A trio of businessmen were standing together and conferring over a map. Eventually, they moved off to reveal a woman positioned against the wall, holding a hand-written sign with the words “Cassie - Griffin - Erik” scrawled on it in magic marker.
“Look,” the pythia pointed. “That must be her.”
The woman appeared to be in her late-twenties. Though she was of average height, her slight build made her seem fragile and delicate. She wore a demure floral sun dress with cap sleeves and her shoulder length brown hair was pulled away from her face and secured by a barrette. Although her overall appearance suggested that she was about twelve years old, her eyes completely contradicted that impression. She wore glasses whose lenses were as thick as the bottoms of Coke bottles mounted in round black frames. Her unblinking gaze through those glasses mimicked a wise old owl.
Cassie walked directly up to her, but the woman didn’t appear to notice. She was murmuring to herself and staring off into the distance.
“Hello, I’m Cassie.” She extended her hand in greeting.
The woman blinked once. “Who?”
“Cassie Forsythe.” The pythia jogged her memory. “You came to meet us?”
Her eyelids fluttered rapidly. This action seemed to refocus her attention on the present. “Oh, I am very sorry.” She smiled and pumped Cassie’s hand energetically. Her English was perfect with only a slight accent—a cross between Italian and Eastern European. “You see, I was working on a word puzzle in my head. I was trying to make a palindrome of your names, but all I could come up with was ‘Eissac’ and ‘Kire’ and ‘Neffirg.’
