The Moses Riddle (Thomas McAllister 'Treasure Hunter' Adventure Book 1) (22 page)

“Mr. McAlister, your guests have arrived. Would you like to come down for them? Or should I send them up . . . unescorted?” Thomas assumed it must be a pretty seedy bunch. Both he and Taylor had already told the guard that they were expecting a large group and to send them up immediately, unescorted.

The group that entered Taylor’s penthouse a few minutes later was not the typical Dakota party assemblage. Thomas ushered the men into the living room. There were six of them. Drew, the doctor, and the four men that were supposed to be professional thieves. Drew and the doctor split off from the group to help Thomas and the four other men sat down. Drew introduced the four as Ethan and his friends. Aside from Ethan, who was well dressed, clean-cut, and looked like John F. Kennedy Jr., they were a motley crew. The friend of Ethan’s who’d entered first had long, grungy, Rastafarian style dreadlocks. The smell of incense wafted out of his loose fitting sweats, which he wore with old compressed flipflops. The next had a crew cut and bore a striking resemblance to Robert DeNiro in later scenes of
Taxi Driver
. And the fourth had short, squarely cut blond hair and looked like the standard blue collar worker: flannel shirt, khaki work pants, and steel-toed boots. He would’ve been normal except that he carried a little brass spittoon in his left hand and every time someone referred to him he sucked the saliva out of an enormous piece of chewing tobacco in his cheek and spat it with great celerity into the little spittoon, thereby answering every question directed at him with a little ‘ting’. Taylor appeared from cleaning up the kitchen and didn’t bat an eye. He’d seen much worse. Thomas took Drew and the doctor into Taylor’s bedroom.

“I’ve been shot in the arm with a pistol. I think the weapon was a .38. An automatic. She was about ten feet from me when she fired.”
The ex-doctor nodded and instinctively headed toward the private bathroom located off of the bedroom where he began to wash his hands at the sink. “I’ve seen similar wounds. Though it’s been awhile. Are you dizzy?”
“A little. Less than before. I think the food helped.”
“Would you say you’ve lost a lot of blood?”
“I don’t know. I did bleed heavily for a while. But it’s leveled off now. Drew, will you tell your friends I’ll be awhile, but that it will be worth the wait.” The doctor removed the flannel shirt Taylor had draped around Thomas’s shoulders and began to cut away the gauze bandages.
“My name is Lance, by the way. Hell of a name for a doctor, huh? Why don’t you lie on the floor. Wait, I’ll put a bath towel down first.”
He knelt beside Thomas and began prodding. “You’ve got a fairly common gunshot wound. I used to see a lot of them in the emergency rooms I worked in. I think I can safely say that the bullet is still in there. Nothing vital has been damaged. Whoever shot you either really liked you or they were a bad shot. I’m going to give you a local anesthetic and then take the bullet out. As far as I can tell, it’s sitting in the trapezius muscle, between the clavicle and the scapula. Are you allergic to any medications?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll sanitize it, stitch it up, and bandage it. Your neck and upper back will be very sore for a while, but with low to moderate activity for a few weeks, you’ll be good as new. I brought some antibiotic cream, and an oral antibiotic. I’ll put the topical on before we bandage you up. Put it on every time you change the bandages. Every four or five hours. Only use the oral if it gets infected. I’ll leave you extra bandages and cream. Ready?”

Forty-five minutes later, Thomas emerged from the bathroom feeling much better. He’d finished another whiskey and his arm was still numb from the local the doctor had given him.

The group of men surrounding Drew were having an animated discussion, with Drew in the middle, doing an obvious imitation of a drunk girl. The guys were laughing and drinking. They’d found Taylor’s bar.

Thomas approached and waited until Drew was finished before interrupting.
“I’m sorry to jump right in, but I’m not feeling well and the doctor says I’ve got to get some rest as soon as possible. But I want to have plenty of time for this meeting.”
The one with dreadlocks said, “Where were you hit?”
Thomas was taken back. “How did you know?”
“Your color. That particular shade of pale. I was in the Gulf the first time. Seen it many times.”
What an odd skill. “I’m impressed. In the shoulder. Bullet’s out.”
Thomas sank into one of Taylor’s brown leather chairs and Drew handed him a glass of orange juice that contained a large dollop of whiskey. “I’m an archeologist. I unearthed an artifact that I value very highly. Earlier today, that artifact, my artifact, was stolen from me. To rub salt in the wound, the woman I love, and who I thought loved me, shot me. Point-blank. Apparently she’s working for the other side. She’s either been with them all along, or they’ve got some kind of leverage over her. Or they brainwashed her, or something. I don’t know which . . . I-I don’t know which, yet.” Thomas paused, looked down, and took a deep drink.
Ethan, the smart-looking man in a black turtleneck and sport coat cleared his throat and said, “You found the tomb of Amenophis a few years ago, right?” He had a heavy British accent.
Thomas was impressed. He hadn’t expected any archeology aficionados in this group. “Karl Johnson led the expedition but, yes, I found the tomb. And I got most of the publicity, due to the technique I used to find it. Currently, I’ve been working on another find and I was successful.” It was treasure far greater in magnitude and importance, but Thomas decided not to share that information. They might be tempted to steal it from him. “My new find has a lot of historical significance.” Thomas took another drink. The anesthesia was starting to wear off and his arm was beginning to ache.
The men were still, hanging on his every word. This was the stuff childhood dreams were made of. “About a week ago, I found what I was looking for in Mexico. I hadn’t had it out of the ground for more than ten seconds when a group of people swooped in and took it from me. Although I’ve never seen one in action, they looked and acted like a Special Forces team. Luckily, I was expecting just such an attack, and had removed the original the night before and replaced it with a fake. The GPS tracking device I planted in the frame of the fake tracked it to Washington D.C.” Ethan nodded, acknowledging Thomas’s shrewdness.
“Government,” the man with the crew cut said disgustedly.
“Do you know where in D.C. they took the fake?” Ethan asked. He was clearly their leader.
“They took it to the National Museum of Art.”
Ethan nodded again.
Thomas continued. “They kidnapped my girlfriend at the same time they stole the fake. They were holding her hostage, until I agreed to give them the real thing.”
Ethan interrupted again. “Did she know it was a fake?”
“No. I didn’t tell her,” Thomas acknowledged. “Today, we traded. I gave them the real treasure in exchange for the safe return of Ann. But, as I’ve already told you, something went wrong. Somehow, they got her to shoot me. She shot me and they got the treasure. I think she was supposed to kill me, but I got away. They’re looking for me.”
The Rastafarian spoke up. “So, you think they’re going to take it to the National Museum of Art again, and you want us to help you get the object back?”
Thomas nodded. “Yes. And it needs to be taken back before Monday. I think they’ll move it after they’ve examined it.”
Ethan stood up and began pacing. “What makes you think they’ll take it to the same place?”
“There’s no reason why they wouldn’t. I put the GPS in the frame of the crate, not in the object itself, so I don’t think they ever found the tracking device. They have no reason to think I know where they took it the first time. And I think the guy I’m dealing with would’ve told me if he’d found it.”
“He might not have mentioned it on purpose. So that you’d think they’d take it there again.”
“Maybe. There’s also another reason. The museum is close to all of the Washington officials they might want to involve. They were comfortable using the National Museum the first time. I think they’ll use it again.”
Ethan continued. “What if they
did
find the device and are waiting for us?”
“I don’t think they think that I’d try very hard to get it back, especially not wounded. But, hey, anything is possible. It’s a risk. With any operation there is a certain amount of risk. Right?”
Ethan nodded, as did some of the other men in the room. He stopped pacing and leaned against the back of one of Taylor’s chairs. “Thomas, this is like buying a house. We have to know the price you’re willing to pay for our services, and you have to know the price we’re asking for them. Because we may not even be in the same ballpark and then we’re wasting each other’s time. So at the risk of sounding offensive, let’s talk price first. Okay?”
“All right.”
“You want us to break into the National Museum and steal an object from the government. A museum that is so close to the Pentagon, it surely has updated security systems. And we have no more than twenty-four hours to prepare.”
“Correct. But not just an object, it’s
my
object.”
“Okay, we’re clear on that. I’ve worked with all of these guys before.” He motioned to the other men in the room. “I know what they do and how much they’ll take for a job like this. I will serve as their negotiator, to save time.”
“This job is a felony, so you’re asking us to risk a minimum of fifteen years of our lives. It’s a felony directly against the government and judges always side with the government, so we’re really risking twenty to twentyfive years.”
Thomas interrupted. “I don’t plan on us getting caught!”
The man’s face flushed red, a momentary flash of anger. “Thomas,
you
don’t plan on anything!” He calmed himself. “You don’t have a plan, because you’re an archeologist and you don’t know how to plan something like this. If we do it,
I’ll
plan it, and part of my plan is realizing that if I get caught, I’m screwed for twenty-five years. That’s an important variable. When it’s that long, my price goes up. Simple economics.”
Thomas grinned. Ethan had the essential ingredient to make this operation a success: passion. “Keep in mind, I’m going with you. I’m taking the risk, too. I’m not hiring you to go in alone. You might steal the fake. So I’m right there with you.”
“How many men will it take to carry this object?”
“Two can carry it. Three would be easier. Either way it will be cumbersome.”
“Then you need me, two break-in men who will also serve as carriers, and one good security system man, like Mack over there. So you need four, plus you’ll be there. I have to tell you that in your shape and with no prior experience, you’re more of a hindrance than a help. Our price is one hundred thousand per man. Four hundred thousand total.” He leveled his stare at Thomas, ready for a debate.
Thomas drained his glass. Drew quickly got up, so Thomas wouldn’t have to, and refilled it.
“Ethan,” Thomas said, “you and your men have been around some. You’ve been involved in a lot of illegal activities. I’ll bet you’ve spent a lot of time bickering about money, too. You’re used to it. As you say, I’m only an archeologist, but I’m willing to bet your rock bottom price for the job is probably fifty thousand per man. That’s if you’re hungry right now, which I have no way of knowing. In the mind of a professional thief, like yourself, one hundred thousand is out of the question. It’s only a starting point. To use your analogy, it’s like the initial asking price of a house. No one in their right mind would pay you that. Seventy five thousand is what you expect to get, and fifty is rock bottom.”
Ethan tried to stifle a smile. Thomas’s assessment was dead on.
“Here’s the deal, guys. You get me into that goddamn museum and get my treasure back, I’ll give you your hundred thousand apiece. On top of that, I’ll give you
another
twenty thousand apiece . . . if we get in and none of us get caught. If we don’t get the treasure you get nothing. If we go in and it’s not there, I’ll give you half: fifty thousand. I’ll pay you well, if you do what you’re supposed to do.”
Drew interrupted. He didn’t know Ethan well, and he was afraid Thomas had pissed him off. “So, Ethan, Thomas’s offer is one hundred and twenty thousand per man, if you get the object back, and nothing if you don’t, half if you go in and it’s not there. Is that acceptable?”
Ethan stroked his jaw, estimating expenses in his head. “Yes. That’ll do it.” He put his empty glass on the tabletop. “Thomas, you need to get some rest and I need to put a plan together. I will meet you here at noon tomorrow, to take you through it. You’re paying a lot of money, and I’ll make sure you get what you want. But now, I have research to do.”
Thomas nodded.
Ethan continued. “All I ask is that if you want to go with us tomorrow night, you’re fit and ready to fly down to D.C. at midnight. We’ll charter a plane, do the job, and, if all goes well, be back here before they know the treasure is gone. You need to be ready for a long, intense night. Come on, guys. Let’s let this man get some sleep.” They rose and headed for the door. “Thomas, I’ll see you tomorrow at noon. Sleep well.”
Thomas said nothing. He liked Ethan. Drew showed them out and then came back to talk to Thomas as he was getting undressed. “Do you know what you’re doing here, chief? This isn’t some liquor store robbery. I mean, I’ve heard of some heists, but I’ve never been this close to one.”
Thomas said, “I lost my job. They just took the biggest archeological find of my life, and my girl. Those two things were all I had left. You ask me if I know what I’m doing here?
Hell
no, I don’t!” He looked at Drew and a faint smile appeared. “But Ethan seems to.”

The fact that Ann, the woman he loved, had shot him, was eating him from the inside out. No one saw it, except Taylor, who heard the occasional waiver in his voice, saw the occasional hand tremor. Luckily, there was the work of organizing the break-in, and his driving desire to get the Ark back
. Otherwise, I don’t know what would become of the poor man, Taylor thought.

Taylor was right. Underneath the eternal optimism, he was hurting. Ann had damaged him in every way. Physically, yes, but emotionally it was ten times worse. And as hard had he tried to stay focused on the task at hand, his normally disciplined mind wandered. Her image seeped through; her quick turn, played back in slow motion, turning, raising the gun. Smoke. Impact. Being flung backward. Had he seen the bullet? Surely not. But he imagined it coming towards him, high and tight. Like a little lead fastball. And then her angelic, deadly face, and the detached eyes. How was he to do it? How could he simultaneously hate someone he loved? What twisted emotional condition had resulted from being in love with Ann, only to be betrayed by her?
They must’ve coerced her, brainwashed her, threatened her. That is the only way my Annie would’ve, could’ve, done what she did.