The Navigator

cave. He followed it to an intersection. Another slate, another arrow. He came to the end of the tunnel. A fourth arrow pointed the way into the large mine chamber with the dais.

AS ADRIANO followed the arrow on the slate, two figures slipped quietly from the woods and made their way to the water’s edge. Austin checked his watch. “It’s been thirty minutes,” he said.

“That would put him down the shaft and into the mine,” Zavala said.

The phony telephone conversation had been set up as bait. Time to spring the trap. Austin waded into the water up to his waist. He was holding a transmitter protected in a waterproof case. He waited a few minutes, then lowered the transmitter into the water and pressed a button. Seconds later, multiple mounds of foam disturbed the surface of the lake.

Austin watched, tight-lipped, until the expanding ripples washed against his chest.

Then he turned and sloshed his way back to shore.

He was met by a grim-faced Zavala, who gave him a folder he’d found in Adriano’s car. The folder was marked NUMA.

FAR BELOW THE SURFACE of the lake, Adriano heard the explosions as a series of thuds.

He considered turning back but decided to keep on. Adriano had a robotlike sense of purpose, which made him an effective assassin, and he was determined to find the mine and its gold.

Following the arrow, he swam into the altar room. His pulse quickened at the sight of the raised dais, where the Thomas Jefferson box had rested.

Nestled in the shreds of wood was a diver’s slate with the words:

WHEN YOU GET TO HELL, ADRIANO, GIVE MR. BALTAZAR OUR REGARDS.

Austin again.

Adriano stared at the message, then threw the slate aside and swam with all his strength along the route that would take him back to the shaft. When he got there, he discovered a pile of rubble that was the only evidence of the collapsed shaft.

He glanced at his air gauge. He had minutes left. Even if there was a way out, he didn’t have enough air to search for it. Adriano sat on the pile of rubble until his air ran out completely. The last in the line of Spain’s official garrotters died, in a twist of irony, of asphyxiation.

Chapter 55

“AHOY, MR. NICKERSON,” Austin said. “Request permission to come aboard the Lovely Lady.”

Nickerson poked his head out the open door of the salon and smiled when he saw Austin. “Permission granted.”

Austin went up the gangway and shook hands with the State Department man.

He tapped a black plastic pouch. “I have something to show you, if you’ve got a few minutes.”

“I always have time for you, Mr. Austin. Come below, and I’ll brew up some coffee. I’ll mix in something to chase away the chill.”

“It’s eighty degrees, Mr. Nickerson.”

“No matter. It’s chilly somewhere,” Nickerson said.

They went into the cabin, and Nickerson made a pot of strong coffee, which he laced with slugs of Kentucky bourbon. They clicked glasses, and Nickerson said, “Well, now, what do you have for me?”

Austin opened the pouch and produced the squares of vellum. He handed one to Nickerson. “This is the piece Jefferson acquired from an Indian. Meriwether Lewis came across the other vellum in his travels. Together, they form a map showing the location of Solomon’s mine in Pennsylvania.”

“Wonderful! I knew you could do it. Have you explored the mine?”

“Yes, we have. That’s where we found the vellum sections. They had been placed there by Thomas Jefferson.”

“That’s beyond belief! And what of the relic?”

“The gold Ten Commandments? I think you might know the answer to that question.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“There was another text written under the map. It’s apparently a set of the Ten Commandments that’s quite a bit different from the original. Probably what’s on the gold tablets.”

“Go on, Mr. Austin.”

“These commandments were handed down by several pagan gods, including one who demanded human sacrifice. Now I know you know why you were so worried. The Mideast situation wasn’t the real reason for your concern.”

“Indeed. The Ten Commandments are supposed to be infallible moral guides, declared by a monotheistic god. They provide the foundation for religions followed by millions of people and the underpinnings of Western governmental thought. Some people say they are the inspired source of the legal systems of all Western countries. If the original Ten Commandments were based on pagan writings this frail foundation could be eroded further.”

Austin remembered Baltazar’s predictions.

“Bringing the world yet another source of unneeded conflict,” Austin said.

“Right on the mark. No one knows who had the commandments inscribed on gold instead of clay, but their existence implies validity. Solomon wanted the gold tablets as far away from him as possible. They contained the possibility of instigating unrest in his day. Much as they do today, I might add.”

“You knew when we first talked that the tablets were not in the mine.”

“I’m afraid I did.”

“Then why did you send me on this wild quest?”

“We know where the tablets are, not where they were. The ancient writings say that a Navigator will show the way to Ophir. When we heard about the attempted theft of the Navigator statue and the discovery of the Artichoke file, we feared that someone would track down the mine and that would lead them to the tablets.”

“We, meaning the Artichoke Society.”

“That’s correct. We learned of your role in the hijacking, heard about your team’s reputation, and thought you’d be best qualified for the job.”

“You owe me an introduction to these Artichokes, Mr. Nickerson.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

He reached for a telephone. After a short conversation, Nickerson said. “How soon can you assemble your team?”

“Almost immediately. Where shall I tell them to meet?”

Nickerson smiled. “A little place called Monticello.”

LATER THAT DAY, Austin, Zavala, and the Trouts, with Angela, walked between the columns at the entrance to the Jefferson mansion. Emerson and Nickerson were waiting to greet them and ushered them over the threshold.

Emerson waited for a tour group to pass. “I apologize for being devious about this matter,” he said.

“Apology accepted,” Gamay said. “If you fill in the blanks.”

Emerson nodded. “You were close. Meriwether Lewis had come across the missing half of the mine map in his travels. He had assumed that it was for a western location. He realized his mistake, and was trying to get it to Jefferson when he was murdered by those who wished to keep the mine a secret. Zeb carried the missing piece to Monticello. With the full map in his possession, Jefferson found the mine, and the tablets. He left the map in the mine. Like Solomon, he decided the tablets were best kept out of sight, and formed an organization to ensure this was the case.”

“The Artichoke Society you said didn’t exist?” Angela said.

“As a member of the society, I’m sworn to secrecy. The original Artichokes consisted of some of the country’s founders. As they aged, they recruited new members to take their place. You might be surprised at the names of current members.”

Austin gave a shake of his head. “I’m not surprised at anything having to do with