“And my father?”
“He’s all right. For now.”
Orr was a great liar, but something about his expression made Tyler think he was covering up.
“I want to see him.”
“When we find the treasure, I’ll let him go.”
“If you already know where the well is, why do you need us any more?”
“Because I’m on a deadline, and even though we might have the correct well, I can’t spend days looking for the right tunnel that leads to the chamber. Your expertise with the geolabe will take us there. I have some pages from the codex that you haven’t seen.”
Tyler remembered Stacy saying on Wednesday night that she thought the codex was missing some pages.
“Those pages show how to navigate the tunnels?” he said.
“Using the geolabe, yes. At least, I think they do. You’ll have to figure it out.”
“And if I won’t?”
“I’ll kill you both right here and take my chances on my own. What’ll it be?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Stacy said.
Tyler considered the options and realized that he had none. He didn’t know what was going on with his father, but to have any chance of taking Orr and finding out about the nuclear device, he had to stay alive until he had an opportunity to make his move. If he could escape once he was in the tunnels, he might be able to get back to the surface and get reinforcements. At the very least, he could keep Orr from coming back out.
Tyler nodded. “All right.”
Orr smiled. “Good. Keep walking.”
In three minutes, they were in a parking lot next to a Fiat sedan. Gaul opened the trunk and took out two belts.
“Put your arms up,” he said.
“Why?” Tyler asked. “What are these?”
“Stun belts,” Orr said. “Used in prisons to control inmates. You’ll wear them so that I can keep you in line when we’re in the tunnels. I don’t want pistols sticking out of our belts. With the close quarters down there, you’ll be too tempted to grab for one.”
Orr removed two wristbands from his pocket and strapped them to his left arm. Each of them had a color that corresponded to the color of the belt-red for Tyler and blue for Stacy. The buttons were enclosed in a plastic covering. Orr tapped them lightly. “For easy access.”
Tyler didn’t resist. This meant Orr was planning to give them freer range in the tunnels. If Tyler could figure out a way to get his belt off, he might be able to get away before Orr could activate it.
Gaul snapped the belts on Tyler and Stacy and locked them with a key. The nylon belts were snug enough that they couldn’t be slid off. A box the size of a pack of playing cards was centered over their bellies.
“Get in the backseat,” Orr said. Tyler and Stacy climbed reluctantly into the Fiat. Orr and Gaul got into the front.
As Gaul threaded the car out of the lot, Orr turned in his seat. “Oh, one more thing. Those stun belts have been modified by a colleague of mine. It’ll be difficult for me and Gaul to keep an eye on you at all times while we’re in the tunnels, so these are our fail-safes to keep you from escaping.”
“You think I’m scared of a shock collar?” Stacy said.
“Actually no,” Orr said, holding up a Taser. “But I have this just in case you need some prodding.”
“Then what are the belts for?” Tyler asked.
“As I mentioned before Stacy interrupted,” Orr said, “they’ve been modified. They’re not stun belts any more. They’ve each been fitted with three ounces of C4 and molded into a clever shape charge. If either of you is out of my sight for more than ten seconds, I push this button. I’m told you’d be cut in half before you hit the ground.”
FIFTY-TWO
C oncussion. That’s the word that swam into Grant’s mind as he was driven across Naples. He’d experienced one before when a wrestling move went wrong and a chair hit the back of his head. With effort, he focused on recalling the symptoms. Fuzziness: check- squinting helped a little. Nausea: if he’d had a bigger dinner, the backseat would be a mess. Lack of concentration: had he already thought of that? Loss of memory: that was a tough one.
He remembered some of the fight in the galleria, but he didn’t know how he ended up in the car. He tried to focus on the two men on either side of him. One was massaging his knee and the other was holding his stomach. Only the driver and Sal in the front passenger seat looked unharmed. Grant knew there were more guys, but they would be in even worse shape. As far as he could recall, he’d kicked the crap out of five of them. Not bad, but not good enough.
The car was waved through an iron gate and up the driveway to the gaudiest mansion he’d ever seen. Eggshell color, pillars dominating the front, ornate decorations curling around the windows and doors, cherubs adorning the eaves. It looked like the White House redecorated by Liberace.
Two new guys yanked Grant out of the car and hauled him up the steps into the house. He was taken through the foyer and to an outdoor patio that was situated on a cliff a hundred feet above the sea.
He’d only gotten a glimpse of Gia Cavano when she’d hopped into the sports car outside the Boerst building in Munich, but the woman sitting in front of him was unmistakable. Her voluptuous form was squeezed into a tight black T-shirt and black jeans. Her long dark hair was wrapped on top of her head in a sexy updo. She looked sleek and curvy all at the same time. If Grant had been in a bar, he would have sidled up to her by now and offered to buy her a drink.
“Welcome to my home, Mr. Westfield,” Cavano said.
The fuzziness was fading, but Grant had to hold himself steady to keep from falling over. “If you want to invite me over to tea, an engraved invitation would be appreciated next time.”
“You’re a tough man to bring down, I hear.”
“Give me one of those batons and I’ll really show you what I can do. You know, I’m kind of parched.” He nodded at Sal, one of the three men hovering around them, guns at the ready. “Could you ask your girlfriend to get me an ice water? And a Scotch chaser. Neat.”
Sal glared at Grant. Apparently his English was good enough to get the insult.
“Get Mr. Westfield his drinks,” Cavano said.
Sal left, and Grant took a seat without asking.
“You’ve got your tentacles into everything if you could get the police to intercept my men,” he said. “Where are they?”
“Oh, they’ll be fine. A night in jail and then they’ll be free in the morning. Long enough for my purposes.”
“Which are?”
“Jordan Orr. You know where he is?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I would have known precisely where he is if your meatheads hadn’t interrupted the party.”
Sal returned with the drinks.
“Thanks, Sallie.” Grant took them, chugged the Scotch, and pressed the cold glass of water to his temple.
“Can you find him?” Cavano said.
“Why should I?”
“Because if you don’t, I will have my men throw you off the patio.”
Grant took a sip of water and looked at the long drop to the Mediterranean below. “That is a darn good
