The Hunt for Atlantis Page 7

  “Yes, Edward and I have known each other for a long time,” the long-faced, ebullient European—French, Nina thought, from his accent—confirmed when she asked. “We worked together on many special joint operations for NATO. Strictly hush-hush, as you say,” he added, tapping the side of his beaky nose.

  “So you were in the French army?”

  Unlike on a commercial airliner, the seats on the private jet faced each other across the aisle. Castile drew himself up in his with a look of great outrage, one fist clenched against his chest. “French? Please! I am Belgian, Madame!”

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize,” Nina said in hurried apology, before it dawned on her that Chase was laughing. Castillo’s face cracked into a smile. “Wait, are you making fun of me?”

  “Just taking the piss,” said Chase with a teasing grin. “Hugo’s been doing his ‘French? ’Own dare you!’ routine for years. I mean, he comes from Belgium, it’s the only gimmick he’s got.”

  “English philistine,” Castile sniffed. He took a polished red apple from a jacket pocket and examined it carefully before taking a bite.

  “So, what can I expect in Iran, Mr. Chase?” Nina asked.

  “Call me Eddie.” His expression became businesslike. “Hopefully you shouldn’t have to deal too much with the locals. Should be a straightforward job: in, meet Ajar, decide if this thing’s real, then the boss,” he nodded at Kari, still occupied with her computer, “transfers the money, and out. That’s if everything’s legit.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  He patted his leather jacket, which was draped over the arm of his seat. The butt of his pistol was visible inside it. “Then there’ll be trouble. Don’t worry, though, we should be okay. I’ll watch out for you, Doc.”

  “We will watch out for you,” corrected Castile, mouth full of apple.

  “Thanks,” Nina said, keeping her concerns to herself.

  Kari’s laptop chimed. She regarded the screen with surprise, then her blue eyes flicked up and caught Nina’s gaze for a moment before turning back to the computer. She quickly typed something, firmly tapped the return key, then closed the laptop and moved to the empty seat facing Nina.

  “Something wrong?” Nina asked.

  “No—just an e-mail from my father, something I wasn’t expecting. Nothing to worry about, though—in fact, it’s good news. But it’s not important right now, so …” She leaned forward, smiling for the first time since Nina had met her and revealing flawless white teeth. “I thought I should apologize to you, Dr. Wilde.”

  “For what?”

  “I haven’t been the best hostess. I’ve been preoccupied, with my work for the foundation, with this expedition … I’m sorry if I’ve come across as cold and distant.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Nina assured her. “You’re very busy, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of things all going on at once.”

  “Not anymore. From now on, I’m devoting all of my attention to you and this mission. I want it to be a success—and I also want to make sure that you stay safe.”

  “Thanks,” said Nina, smiling back. Then Kari glanced at Chase.

  “Mr. Chase,” she said, fixing him with a disapproving look, “are you trying to look down my top?”

  Nina stifled a giggle, while Castile covered his own amusement by taking a hurried bite from his apple. Chase had undeniably been caught in the act, but rather than try to deny it, he simply sat back and raised an eyebrow. “If I can do it, then so can any Iranian blokes who see you, and they’re a bit funny about women in sexy clothes. We don’t want to draw any more attention than we have to. I was just thinking it’s probably worth you changing into something a bit more frumpy before we land.”

  Kari was wearing a tight white top and leather jeans similar to the ones she’d had on at Ravnsfjord. “You have a point. Fortunately, I came prepared.”

  “The doc here’s okay, though. Just needs a coat.”

  Nina glared at him. “Are you saying I look frumpy, Mr. Chase?” She would have used the word “modest” or “practical” to describe her own outfit of jeans, sweatshirt and sturdy boots.

  “You look fine,” Kari grinned, standing. “If you need anything, just ask me.” She went into the rear compartment.

  Castile finished his apple. “Ah, England,” he announced. “A country of the charming, the sophisticated, the romantic. And there’s also Edward Chase.”

  “Ah, sod off, Hugo.”

  Castile flicked his apple core at him, which Chase effortlessly caught, his hand snapping up like a striking snake.

  “Is he always like this?” Nina asked Castile.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And the ladies love it that way,” said Chase, dropping the apple core into his empty water glass. Castile tutted and rolled his eyes. Chase checked his watch, then stretched out in his seat.

  “Getting comfortable?” Nina asked.

  “Just making the most of it,” he replied. “We’ll be landing in half an hour. And I bet you the ride’s not going to be nearly this smooth once we’re on the ground.”

  Chase was certainly right about that, Nina thought. The Land Rover taking them to their meeting with Failed Ajar had seen better days, and the road beneath it apparently had never seen a good day in its entire life.

  The Gulfstream landed at the airport serving the Iranian city of Esfahān, in the Zagros mountains on the country’s western side. Though the group had no trouble getting through customs, even when Nina presented her American passport—it turned out that the Frost Foundation had provided considerable aid following the devastating earthquake of 2003, earning the gratitude of the Iranian government—they still received plenty of suspicious looks. All of the women Nina saw as they drove out of Esfahān wore head scarves at the least, and a fair percentage were veiled. While Iran was not as strict as its Islamic neighbors like Saudi Arabia in how its women were forced to dress, overgarments that concealed the female form were mandatory, even for visitors.

  Kari’s preparedness had extended to having something suitable for Nina to wear, a pale brown coat that came down to her knees. Though Nina instinctively resented the presence of any system that dictated what she could or couldn’t wear in public, at least she didn’t have to bury herself inside a burka. However, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy at the long coat Kari had chosen for herself. While it no doubt adhered to the letter of Iranian law, if anything the flowing, narrow-waisted white garment made her even more striking a figure.

  Although she had worn a head scarf at the airport, as soon as the Land Rover started moving Kari pulled it off. Nina did the same—once the vehicle was safely clear of the city.

  Driving the Land Rover was a man whom Chase introduced as “an old mate of mine.” A good decade older than either Chase or Castile, Hafez Marradejan was a stocky, dark-skinned man with a graying beard that stretched to an impressive point four inches beyond the tip of his chin. He was also a chain-smoker, to Nina’s dismay—all the more so when she learned they had at least an hour’s drive ahead.

  “So,” said Hafez—although Nina spoke a little Arabic, he opted to talk in English—“you’re back in work, eh, Eddie?”

  “Yep,” Chase answered. He was in the front passenger seat, Nina sandwiched between Kari and Castile in the back. “Same business, new bosses.” He tipped his head back in Kari’s direction.

  “Ah! I’d say welcome to Iran, Miss Frost, but current government? Pah! Doesn’t deserve your respect.” Hafez kept looking back at Kari as he spoke, making Nina wince every time he took his eyes off the worryingly busy road. “Finally get government that at least tries to be progressive, and then what happens? They get voted out of office at next election! Democracy, eh? No use if people are idiots!” He made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a hacking cough. “Still, good to see you again, Eddie.”

  “So you have been to Iran before?” Nina asked.

  “No, nope, never,” Chase said quickly
. Castile adopted an innocent look, gazing out of the window.

  Hafez laughed his coughing laugh again. “Westerners and their secrets! What happened was—”

  “Absolutely nothing,” cut in Chase. “NATO special forces have never run operations in Iran. Ever.” He glared at Hafez, who just chuckled and drew in another lungful of smoke.

  “Eh, then I must have been helping ghosts. By the way, one of the boxes you never brought with you is in the back, like you asked.”

  Castile reached over the rear seats and lifted up a dirty metal container the size of a large shoe box. “Buried treasure!” he proclaimed, opening it and taking out a black automatic pistol, some ammunition clips and, to Nina’s horror, a hand grenade. “Here, hold this.”

  Nina squeaked as he casually dropped the grenade into her hand. Castile quickly and expertly checked the gun, loaded it, then slipped it into his jacket.

  Chase glanced at Nina, who was still staring, petrified, at the grenade. “Nothing to panic about,” he said, taking it from her. “It won’t explode unless you pull out the pin. Like this.”

  He pulled out the pin. Nina shrieked.

  “This one’s got a five-second fuse,” Chase noted. “But don’t worry, it can’t go off unless you release the spoon here, as well.” He slid the pin back into place, then took his thumb off the curved metal clip protruding from one side of the grenade. “See?” Castile and Hafez chuckled.

  “That wasn’t funny!” cried Nina.

  “Gentlemen,” Kari added, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t terrorize the most important member of our expedition.” The words were mild, but there was no mistaking the authority in her voice.

  “Sorry, boss,” said Chase. He handed the grenade back to Castile, who returned it to the box. “Just thought it’d be a way to pass the time.”

  Nina made a face. “Next time, bring an iPod!”

  After traveling for an hour, Nina wished she had an iPod.

  The mountains were impressive at first, but after a while one brown peak looked much like another. The bumpy highway had been as smooth as a magic carpet ride compared to the potholed, twisting road they were now on, in places little more than a dirt track above a perilously steep slope. A lumbering diesel locomotive on the railway line below belched out fumes as it hauled a long string of grimy tanker trucks. Following the twin steel lines along the valley, she saw sidings alongside them about a mile ahead, another train stationary in one.

  “How much farther is it, Hafez?” asked Chase.

  “Not far,” Hafez said, pointing into the valley. “Past the train yard.”

  “Thank God,” Nina sighed. The thin seats and constant bumping of the old Land Rover were becoming a literal pain in the butt. “Why did this guy want to meet all the way out here anyway? Couldn’t we just have met in the Tehran Hilton?”

  “Christ, I wish,” said Chase. “Nah, he’s being cautious. Which means we need to be too.”

  “Do you expect trouble?” Kari asked.

  “We’re spending ten million dollars to buy an ancient artifact stolen off a maniac from a very dodgy bloke in a remote part of Iran. Don’t you?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Once again, you have a point.”

  Ten bumpy minutes later, Hafez brought the Land Rover to a halt outside an abandoned farmhouse. The train yard was out of sight behind them around a bend in the valley; even the railway lines had disappeared into a tunnel below. A steep, dusty rise above the house was topped by scrubby trees, while on the other side of the structure the slope dipped sharply down to the valley floor. There was no other trace of human habitation in sight.

  “Hugo, check around the back of the house,” Chase said, sharp and businesslike again. “Hafez, stay with Dr. Wilde and Ms. Frost. Any sign of trouble, get them out of here.”

  “Where are you going?” Kari asked.

  “To make sure the house is empty.” He got out of the Land Rover and took a powerful LED flashlight from a pocket. “If I’m not out in two minutes,” he told Hafez, “that’s a sign of trouble.” The Iranian nodded as the two other men jogged to the farmhouse.

  It actually took less than two minutes for Chase to reappear, Castile completing his circle of the building soon after. “It’s clear,” Chase said, returning to the Land Rover. “Only two rooms, and nowhere for anyone to hide.”

  “Nobody around the back,” added Castile.

  “Okay then,” Chase continued, “this road’s the only way in or out. Anyone comes, we’ll have plenty of warning.”

  “I don’t think he’s coming by road,” said Castille, an odd expression of distaste on his face.

  “Why?”

  “Can’t you hear it?”

  Chase tipped his head to the side, then grinned. “Oh yeah,” he said, clapping the Belgian on one shoulder. “It’s the sound of your nightmares! Woo, it’s coming to get you!”

  “As you so elegantly say in England … piss off.”

  Nina moved to the open door to listen. “What’s the matter?” She could hear it now, an unmistakable clatter echoing from the surrounding mountains.

  “Hugo once had a bad experience with a helicopter,” Chase said. “So now he’s got a phobia about them. Chopperphobia! Every time he sees one, he reckons something’s going to go wrong and kill him.”

  “They fly with huge whirling blades spinning at insane speeds!” Castille protested. “How can they not be dangerous?”

  “Well, you just keep your head down back here and I’ll meet him when he lands, okay?” Chase winked at him, then added in a quieter, more serious voice, “Keep an eye open.” Castille nodded.

  The helicopter swept over the rise above the farmhouse. The type was familiar to Nina from hundreds of movies and TV shows, and even a couple of flights as a passenger: a Bell Jet Ranger, a civilian workhorse found all around the world. It made a rapid circle of the farmhouse, then came to a hover and landed about a hundred feet from the Land Rover.

  Chase waited for the rotors to slow, then walked over. Hajjar had brought company. As well as the pilot, there were three other people in the Jet Ranger. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of the Wildey .45 Winchester Magnum in its holster under his jacket, ready for use in an instant. Just in case.

  The helicopter’s rear doors opened, two large, bearded men in dark suits and sunglasses jumping out and surveying the area before fixing their black-hole stares on Chase. He stared back, unintimidated. From the way they held themselves he could tell they were ex-military—but just regular soldiers, not special forces. Definitely nowhere near SAS level. He could handle them.

  One of the men leaned closer to the helicopter and spoke in Farsi. The door opened, and Failak Hajjar emerged.

  Unlike his bodyguards, Hajjar was dressed in traditional Arab robes. But like them, he was wearing sunglasses—though his were far more expensive.

  Another man followed him out. He was white, with short spiky hair, several days’ growth of stubble and a distinctly wary air. Chase guessed it was Yuri Volgan.

  “Are you Chase?” Hajjar called.

  “Yes!”

  “Where is Ms. Frost?”

  “Where’s the artifact?” Chase demanded. Hajjar glowered, then reached back into the Jet Ranger and took out a small black leather briefcase. Nodding, Chase backed away, heading to the Land Rover.

  “In the house,” said Hajjar, gesturing with the briefcase. “Out of the wind, yes?”

  “What wind?” Chase muttered. Now that the rotors had stopped, there was only an intermittent breeze. He checked the area once more for signs that they weren’t alone, but saw none.

  He reached the Land Rover. “Well?” Kari asked.

  “Looks okay, but…” He glanced around again, surveying the landscape. No sign of anyone—not that somebody couldn’t be in hiding nearby. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “You don’t trust him?” said Nina.

  “Christ, no. I’m just not sure exactly how much I don’t trust him. Okay, Hafez, you w
ait out here. Any trouble, sound the horn.”

  “I will.” Hafez reached under the dashboard and pulled out a revolver, which he placed on his lap.

  Chase opened the door for Nina, Castille doing the same for Kari. “I’ve got to say, I’m a bit nervous about all the guns,” Nina told Chase.

  “What? Thought you archaeology types were always running around shooting people, like Indiana Jones.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Hardly. The only shooting I do is with a camera.”

  “I hope it stays that way,” said Kari as she headed for the farmhouse, the hem of her white coat flaring out around her as she walked. Hajjar and his companions stopped outside the door of the little building, unable to take their eyes off her. “After you,” she told them, gesturing inside with her own slim steel briefcase.

  The interior of the farmhouse was dark, the only light coming from a single window. Although the room’s contents had mostly been cleared out when its owners abandoned it, there was still a long table made from roughly hewn wood in the center.

  Castille took a large glow stick from his jacket and bent it to crack the glass inside, chemicals mixing to release a vivid orange light like a fireside glow. Such a strong reaction, Nina knew, would only be able to sustain itself for fifteen minutes at most, so presumably the entire transaction was expected to be completed before then. She didn’t feel comfortable about that. It meant she would have to determine the authenticity of the artifact in a rush—and if she was wrong, the Frosts would be down ten million dollars. She could do without that kind of pressure.

  So she would just have to be right.

  Hajjar and his bodyguards stood at one end of the table, Chase, Kari and Castille at the other. Nina found herself facing Volgan. The Russian seemed worried, fingers jittering with nervous energy.

  “Are you ready to make the money transfer?” Hajjar asked.

  “Once we see the piece,” Kari replied coolly. “And once Dr. Wilde has confirmed that it’s genuine.”