The Navigator

Phoenicians again.

He seemed to be encountering these ancient mariners at every turn. He began to plot a strategy. He’d give Trout a call and get him started on the problem. Tony Saxon would be ecstatic if he knew that his oddball theories of pre-Columbian contact in the Americas were about to be vindicated by an international crisis. Austin wanted to take another look at the Navigator, only, this time, he’d bring along his own Phoenician expert.

THE CELL PHONE in his pocket was vibrating. He clicked it on and said, “Kurt Austin.”

A man’s voice said, “This is Sergeant Colby of the District police, Mr. Austin. We found your name in the wallet of a Miss Mechadi.”

Austin’s jaw muscles worked as he listened to the police officer go through the details in the monotonic, euphemistic language that is peculiar to police.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he said. He made his way to the pilothouse. While Austin was urging the captain to crank every possible ounce of speed out of the Lovely Lady’s engines, Nickerson was in the salon talking on the phone.

“Austin bit,” he was saying. “He’s taken the assignment.”

“From what I know about Austin, I’d be surprised if he hadn’t,” said the voice on the other end.

“Do you think this scheme will work?”

“It better. I’ll tell the others,” he said and clicked off.

Nickerson put the phone down and stared into space. The secret of three thousand years could be revealed in his lifetime. The die was cast. He went over to his liquor cabinet, extracted a bottle and glass. Damn the doctor’s orders to stay away from booze, he thought, and poured himself a stiff shot of brandy.

Chapter 23

SERGEANT COLBY WAS WAITING for Austin at the nurses’ station of the GeorgetownUniversityHospital emergency room. The police officer was engrossed in conversation with a man wearing a doctor’s green frock coat. Colby noticed Austin’s purposeful approach and guessed he was the man who had peppered him with questions over the phone.

“Mr. Austin?”

“Thanks for calling me, Sergeant. How is Miss Mechadi doing?”

“Pretty well, considering. Our car was patrolling a war zone of a neighborhood and found her in her car slumped over the steering wheel.”

“Anyone know what happened?”

“She didn’t make much sense when she regained consciousness,” the police officer said with a shake of his head. “I was just talking to Dr. Sid here about the physical evidence.”

He deferred to the other man, whose name was Dr. Siddhartha “Sid” Choudary. Dr. Sid was a resident anesthesiologist who’d been called in for consultation. “It appears from your friend’s blood test that she was given a dose of sodium thiopental, either nasally or through the skin. It would have knocked her out within seconds.”

“We don’t think robbery was the motive,” Colby said. “Her wallet had money in it, along with her ID and your phone number. We’ll have the lab people go over her car. To be honest, that’s not going to happen right away. Murders get priority, and there’s a waiting line at the morgue.”

“I’d like to see her,” Austin said.

The doctor nodded. “She’s wide-awake now. She’ll feel fine as the stuff leaves her bloodstream. It’s a bit like having one martini too many. A slight hangover, dizziness, and possible nausea. She can leave as soon as she feels able to walk, as long as she’s got help. No driving for a while. Third door on the right.”

Austin thanked the two men and then started down the corridor. “I wouldn’t get too close,” the policeman warned. “She’s nail-spitting mad.”

Carina was sitting up on the edge of the bed, trying to put a shoe on her foot. She was having a hard time with her hand-eye coordination. She seemed angrier at her foot than anyone in particular.

Austin stood in the doorway. “Need a hand?”

The deep frown on Carina’s face vanished. She broke into a wide smile, and grunted in triumph as she pulled the shoe on. She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled. She was sinking to the floor when Austin stepped into the room. He picked her up and deposited her on the bed.

“Grazie,” she said. “I feel like I drank too much wine.”

“The doctor said the drug should wear off soon.”

“Drug? What’s he talking about? I didn’t take any drug.”

“He knows that. You were knocked out with an anesthetic. Either you breathed it in or it was injected through the skin. Can you tell me what happened?”

A look of fear came to her eyes. “I saw the hijacker from the containership. The big man with the face like an evil baby.”

“You’d better start at the beginning,” Austin said.

“Good idea. Help me sit up.”

Austin reached around Carina’s waist, gently pulled her to an upright position, and poured her a glass of water. She sat on the edge of the bed and told her story between sips.

“The movers came for the Navigator. A man named Ridley was in charge. I followed the truck in my car. The truck turned into a terrible neighborhood. Stopped. I remember the old pizza sign. The rear door opened. I saw the hijacker in the rearview mirror.”

Austin flashed on the oversized footprint in the riverbank near his house. “Go on.”

“I heard a hiss. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in this place.” A thought occurred to her. “They took the statue. I have to tell the police.” She stood and leaned against the bed. “Still a little dizzy.”

Austin kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll talk to the police officer while you rest.”

COLBY WAS FINISHING a phone call when Austin approached and said, “Did she tell you about the truck and a missing statue?”

“Yeah. I thought she was delirious. Just checked into the station. A truck matching the description she gave went off the highway and caught fire. They found four bodies burned beyond recognition.”

“Any sign of a bronze statue?”

“No. The fire was pretty hot. Probably would have melted your statue.”

Austin thanked Colby and went back to fill Carina in. He didn’t tell her about the bodies in the burned-out truck. She glanced at the wall clock. “I’ve got to get out of this place. I’m going to miss my appointment with Jon Benson, the National Geographic photographer I told you about.”

“When are you supposed to see him?”

“About an hour.” She gave Austin an address. “Can we make it?”

“If we leave now. Depends on how you feel.”

“I feel fine.” She stood and managed a couple of steps before she wobbled. “I wouldn’t mind a helping hand, though.”

They hooked arms and shuffled down the hall. Colby had left a note at the nurses’ station to call him when Carina was ready for an interview. By the time she had signed the papers checking her out, Carina seemed much stronger. The nurse insisted that she ride down to the lobby in a wheelchair. When Carina walked out the front door, she was weaving only slightly.

ON THE DRIVE to Virginia, Carina tried calling the photographer. No one answered the telephone. She assumed Benson had simply stepped out and would be home at the appointed time.

Carina recovered rapidly thanks to the fresh country air blowing through the car window. She put in a call to Baltazar to tell him about the theft. She got an automated reply and left a message.

“You don’t suppose Saxon had anything to do with it, do you?” she said after a moment’s reflection.

“Saxon doesn’t seem the type. Maybe he can help. We could use the photos he took of the Navigator to publicize its loss.”

Carina dug into her pocketbook and found the card Saxon had given her at the Iraqi embassy reception. She called the number written on the back of the card and got the WillardHotel. The desk clerk said Mr. Saxon had checked out. Carina relayed the information to Austin with a self-satisfied smile.