“Then don’t get caught by the people with the pistols and shotguns,” Kurt said.
“Good advice under any circumstance.”
Kurt grinned and offered an archer’s two-finger salute before moving off and focusing on the dimly lit space ahead of him.
26
Hassan had arrived in Malta just before the party with orders to take charge of the operation. He was to retrieve what he could of the hieroglyphics record and destroy any evidence that remained. Fortunately, his men had already infiltrated the museum’s security service. Posing as legitimate guards, they’d now taken over the warehouse and were ready to search for and remove the artifacts. All Hassan needed for his plan to go smoothly was to keep the security supervisor talking to the rest of his men.
He stood behind the supervisor with a gun drawn as the man spoke to the guards assigned to the ballroom via a radio. In what seemed like a suspicious bit of good fortune, three-fourths of the security detail was stationed in and around the ballroom. That left only eight men at the warehouse. And two of them were operating undercover for Osiris.
Hassan knew the artifacts in the warehouse were valuable, but to him they were worth nothing in comparison to the yacht-owning, private aircraft–flying captains of industry who were attempting to buy them for their own collections.
A call came over the radio. “We’ve made our rounds. More diamonds and pearls than you can shake a stick at. But everything is secure over here.”
The supervisor hesitated.
“Answer him,” Hassan prodded, jabbing him with a pistol.
The manager keyed his own microphone. “Very good,” he said. “Report back in thirty minutes.”
“Affirmative. Do you want to swap any of the guys out? They’re probably getting bored back there.”
Hassan shook his head. There was no one left alive to swap out.
“Not at this time,” the supervisor replied. “Continue your watch over there.”
Hassan figured they were safe for a little while. “Now,” he said, “show me where lots thirty-one, thirty-four and forty-seven are.”
The supervisor pondered over this for a second too long. Hassan backhanded him across the face and he fell over, taking the chair to the ground with him.
“You’ll find I don’t like to wait,” Hassan explained.
The night supervisor held up his hands submissively. “I’ll show you.”
Hassan turned to Scorpion. “Get the explosives and something to transport the items on. If we have to, we’ll destroy them, but I’d prefer to bring them back to Egypt where they belong.”
He pointed to a second man. “Infect the computer with the Cyan virus. I want all record of these artifacts erased.”
The man nodded and Hassan stood back satisfied. All seemed to be in order. But no one paid any attention to the flickering TV screens displaying the feed from the security cameras. On two separate displays black-clad figures could be seen sneaking through the darkened warehouse.
Scorpion reappeared with a four-wheeled cart.
“Excellent,” Hassan said. “Let’s start with lot thirty-one.”
—
Joe stood in front of a hard plastic case. Beside it was a placard that read XXXI.
“Thirty-one,” he said.
Joe pulled open the hard case and unzipped a fireproof sheet of Nomex. Underneath it lay part of a broken tablet with Egyptian art on it.
Depicted on the stone was a tall green man holding his hand over a group of people that were lying on the floor of a temple. Men or women in white robes stood behind them. Lines drawn from the hand of the green-skinned man to the sleeping or dead people made it look as if he were levitating them. In the upper corner, a disk that might have been the sun or moon was covered as if in the midst of an eclipse.
Joe had spent some time in Egypt. He’d even done a little archaeology there. He recognized some of the iconography.
Joe held a wire connected to an earpiece. Squeezing it allowed him to talk and the signal would be transmitted to Kurt. “I’ve found a tablet with Egyptian art on it,” he said. “You should see this green guy, he’s huge.”