A Treasure Deep (12 page)

“When did he do this?” Perry asked. He had to
push the words past lips that didn’t want to move.

“This morning,” Claire answered, lowering the
picture. “He seemed a little sad, so I suggested that he draw. That
always makes him feel better. Well, it usually makes him feel
better.”

“I don’t understand,” Perry admitted. “I
don’t know how this can be possible. Did you tell him about where
we were going? I mean, did you describe the setting?”

“No. I’ve never been to Southern
California.”

Perry took a deep breath then released it
slowly. The subject of the picture was unmistakable. Somehow,
Joseph had portrayed exactly where he and his crew were
working.

“Perry . . . uhh . . . uhh.”

“It’s a great picture, Joseph,” Perry said
with a broad smile. “You’re the best artist in the world,
buddy.”

“Claire, has he drawn anything else
today?”

“Just this. Why? You seem disturbed.”

“Not disturbed, just puzzled.” He told her
about how the painting mirrored the work site.

“That is a coincidence,” she said. “You
really think it’s that similar?”

“It’s hard to tell because I’m viewing it
over the computer, but it sure looks like it from here.”

“What does the dark red spot mean?” she
asked.

“I have no idea, but it seems to be right
where we plan to dig.”

ALEX OLEK SETTLED back in the leather chair and
checked his seat belt for the third time. He was not a nervous
flier, but he was impatient. He also wanted a drink from the
onboard bar of the Citation X business jet. A splash of Crown Royal
would fit the bill, but he was forced to wait until the aircraft
was airborne and above the clouds that were dropping sheets of
rain. The craft was perfectly capable of flying through rain. It
was, after all, one of the best business jets on the market. It
could cruise just below Mach 1, if it ever got off the ground.

Turning his attention to the entertainment
center, he watched the stock reports scroll beneath the image of a
CNN anchorwoman. The sound was muted. He had little interest in
what the pretty brunette had to say. The real news was in the stock
numbers.

The craft lurched forward then began a gentle
roll as the pilot moved from the concrete apron to the runway. Once
on the long, straight path, the pilot brought the jet to a complete
stop, powered down the engines for a moment, then brought them up
to speed. The jet moved forward, slowly at first, then accelerated
with alarming speed. Rain on the wings began to run in rivulets off
the metal skin. A few seconds later, Alex felt the craft break free
of the ground and smoothly climb skyward. It bounced and shook
slightly as it passed through the storm clouds but then settled
into an easy glide.

Above the pillowed clouds, the sky was still
bright, though dimming quickly as the sun settled toward the
horizon. A gentle turn put the plane on course to the south. This
would be his first visit to Southern California.

The decision to fly from Seattle to The Site
(that was what Rutherford Straight had taken to calling it) was not
impromptu. He knew he’d be making the journey the moment he learned
that Sachs was onto something. Truth be told, all of this was still
an assumption, but an educated one. They’d been unable to get
direct information that Sachs Engineering had indeed come up with
the right location. Every attempt to hack into their corporate
computers had failed. What they did know was that Perry Sachs had
rescued Dr. Jamison Henri, and that subsequently he’d had access to
the material that Henri had always kept near.

They also knew that Sachs had visited the
Henri home many times. Now, the fact that Perry Sachs had brought
equipment and workers to a lightly populated area of the Tehachapi
Mountains meant that Alex couldn’t make the pieces of the puzzle
work any other way. Sachs had done what Alex had failed to do.

The jet lowered its nose, decreasing the rate
of climb. Alex released his seat belt, made his way to the bar,
poured golden scotch into his glass, and dropped in two ice cubes.
Although he was alone in the twenty-four-foot, ten-seater cabin, he
raised his glass and said, “To fortune.”

He hadn’t told Dawes he was coming. He
preferred to retain the advantage of surprise. Dawes worried Alex.
He was the loose end. It was necessary to have a man on the scene,
but it also presented problems. The more people who knew, the
greater the risk of discovery. That was a fact, and he specialized
in facts. Now that Alex was more convinced than ever that Sachs was
onto something, he needed to be the one on the scene. The next
stage of work couldn’t be delegated. He would just have to deal
with Dawes, one way or the other.

PERRY PILOTED HIS Ford Explorer up the dirt road
toward the site. His mind was still saturated with the image that
Joseph had drawn. Try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself
that it was a coincidence. There were too many similarities. Of all
the trees that Joseph could have drawn, he drew oak trees—not tall
pines or redwoods, not droopy willows, but mature oaks. And not
only had he gotten the trees right, but he nailed their location.
Where two trees were close on the site, they were close on the
drawing, and the clutch of trees that they called “the office” had
been perfectly rendered. It wasn’t possible. But it was true. And
it made no sense.

The Ford bounced and rocked as it moved over
the uneven ground. Perry had to interrupt his mental wanderings to
focus on the path ahead of him, but the moment the road rills
smoothed out, he returned to his wonderings.

Joseph was unique in so many ways, but
precognition wasn’t one of his talents, at least as far as Perry
knew. Had Perry mentioned oak trees? Had he spoken to Joseph of the
rolling hills and green grass? No, he was sure he hadn’t, and even
if he had, he doubted that Joseph would have understood. Then why,
he asked himself, did Joseph draw such a picture?

Something else bothered Perry. The picture
included a landmark he’d not seen at the site: a crimson blotch on
the ground. Joseph had placed it right where the early surveys
placed the target of the dig.

“Doesn’t make sense,” Perry said to himself.
Maybe someone from the site had spoken to Joseph, but he had to
dismiss the idea. Of the group, only he had met the prodigy, and
only a couple of others—Jack and Gleason—even knew of him.

Pictures? Perhaps Joseph had seen photos of
the area, and after hearing that was where Perry was going, copied
the image. It was remotely possible, but too difficult to believe.
A photo book could contain such an image, but that was an
unbelievable stretch. Still, he would ask Claire next time they
talked.

Perry steered the big vehicle off the dirt
road and onto the narrow path leading to the bottom of the slope
that led to the work site. As he crested the small rise to the
staging area, he saw the trucks and bus of the caravan. He also saw
a white car with a red-and-blue light bar on its roof. “This can’t
be good,” he mumbled as he parked behind the patrol car, exited,
and marched through the tall grass and up the slope.

He found what he expected. Under the canopy
of oak branches stood Jack, Gleason, a sheriff’s deputy, and the
woman who had come banging on his motel door. Even from a hundred
yards, he could recognize her short blond hair. She was standing
with her hands on her hips and appeared to be doing all the
talking. Several strides later, Perry was in earshot.

“You’re being obstinate,” the woman
groused.

“And you’re being . . . ,” Jack started. He
trailed off as Perry approached.

“Annoying?” Perry suggested.

The woman and the officer turned.

“You!” she said.

“Most people call me Perry, but ‘you’ will
work just as well.”

“Perry,” Jack said, “this is Mayor Anne
Fitzgerald. She’s concerned about what we’re doing here.”

“We’ve met,” Perry said.

“You have?”

“She paid me a call at the motel room. I was
expecting a basket of fruit but got the third degree instead.”

“I didn’t tell her where you were staying,
Perry,” Jack said. “No one here did.”

“I know. Madam Mayor is persistent.” He
looked at the officer. His uniform name tag read Greg Montulli, and
the three stripes on his sleeve said he was a sergeant. “Officer,”
he said with a nod.

“You are the man in charge?” Montulli
asked.

“Yes. I’m Perry Sachs. How can I help
you?”

“Well,” the officer began. He seemed
uncomfortable, and Perry thought he had reason to, considering the
attitude of his mayor. “You can tell me what you plan to do
here.”

“Dig a hole,” Perry said flatly. “Did anyone
offer you a drink? We have water, juice, and soda.”

“No thanks,” Anne said. “This isn’t a social
call.”

Perry saw Montulli close his eyes then open
them slowly. Clearly the man didn’t want to be here. “I’m fine, but
thanks for the offer. What do you mean, dig a hole?”

“Just that,” Perry answered. “We plan on
digging a hole.”

“You sure have a lot of equipment to just dig
a hole.” Anne crossed her arms. Her back was now to Jack and
Gleason. Both men rolled their eyes.

“Some holes require more equipment than
others.”

“I know who you are, Mr. Sachs,” Anne said.
“I know your company builds structures all over the world. Why
would a builder dig a hole?”

“Mayor,” Perry replied, “we’ve had this
discussion. I’m under no obligation to tell you anything. This is
not in the city limits, we have permission of the land owner, and
we are doing nothing illegal.”

“Why the secrets?”

“Secrets are our choice.”

“Perhaps I can have a look at the printouts,”
Montulli suggested.

“I’m sorry, Officer, but you can’t, unless
you have a warrant.”

“I can get one.”

Perry recognized the bluff. “I doubt it, and
even if you could, you don’t have one now.”

The deputy lowered his head. “May I have a
word with you, Mr. Sachs?”

“Sure.” Perry motioned toward the open
field.

“I’m going with you,” Anne insisted.

“No, you’re not,” Montulli snapped. The mayor
froze mid-stride. The two walked a few yards away. After they had
put some distance between themselves and the others Montulli said,
“Listen. You and I both know that I’m on thin ice here. I can’t
make you tell me anything unless I suspect a crime, but if you
could just give me something to quiet the mayor’s nerves, then I
can go home to my supper, and you can get on with digging your
hole.”

Perry smiled. “Stuck between the devil and
the deep blue sea, eh?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“I can sympathize, Deputy, but I can’t be of
any help to you. We’ve done our homework and made certain we are
breaking no laws. What we do here will have no impact on the county
or the City of Tejon.”

“Is it a government project?” Montulli
probed.

“I’m not going to play twenty questions,
Officer. I’m sorry to be such a stickler about this, but it’s the
way things must be.”

The officer pursed his lips and frowned. “I
want to be clear about one thing. If I get wind that anything
illegal is going on up here, I’ll be back, and I will shut you
down.”

“No need to worry, we’re all good citizens
here.”

“I hope so,” the officer said and started
back. Perry followed.

“Let’s go, Mayor,” he said. “There’s nothing
that can be done here.”

“But we do not know any more than when we
came,” she shot back.

“That’s true, but we still need to call it a
day.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” she asked.

“Suit yourself,” Montulli replied. “But you
came up here in my car. Unless you have another way of getting
home, I suggest you come along.”

“And if I choose to stay anyway?”

The officer sighed, turned, and looked her in
the eye. “Then they will call and complain that you’re being a
public nuisance,

or the landowner will call and say that
you’re trespassing, and I’ll have to come up here and arrest you,
and that may look bad on your résumé.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I wouldn’t have any choice. Now let’s
go.”

Perry watched as the mayor stewed then
relented. She strode off without looking back, leaving the deputy
to follow.

“There goes one unhappy woman,” Jack
said.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be seeing
her again.”

“No doubt,” Jack agreed. “Come over to the
table. Gleason and I have something to show you.”

JULIA STRAIGHT WALKED into Rutherford’s office
unannounced. Apart from Rutherford himself and the duty nurse, she
was the only one on the planet with the identification card that
allowed such access. It was a concession reluctantly given when
Rutherford’s health had reached the point that a simple cold could
kill him.

Rutherford looked up from his monitor, his
head bobbing slightly as his ever-weakening muscles tried to steady
the weight of his skull and brain. His sister paused a few steps
past the threshold and folded her arms. She was tall, just under
six feet, a trait she never concealed. On dates she wore heels,
even if the man was shorter than she. Thick mahogany hair flowed
down past her shoulders. Her green eyes revealed a keen intellect
nearly matching that of her brother. Science was never her
interest, but business was. It was she who guided the fledgling RS
BioDynamics from its early “garage” days to the financial force it
was today. As president of the company, she answered only to
Rutherford and the board, and the board had never had the courage
to press her about anything.

“What?” Rutherford snapped.

“The nurse said you refused to eat your
lunch.”

“I’m not hungry. I’m busy. I have things on
my mind.” He looked back to the monitor.