The Navigator (NUMA Files 7)

Chapter 20

THE NEXT MORNING Austin arose early and threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Slipping into a pair of sandals, he made his way to the river’s edge and knelt next to the muddy heel mark. The footprint was still faintly visible. He measured the outline next to his own foot. Big man.

Austin stood for a minute deep in thought, squinting at the silver sheen of sunlight on the Potomac. There was little he could do now; the peeping Big Foot was long gone. He shrugged and headed back to the boathouse. Austin might not have been so complaisant if he had glanced above his head and seen a compact transceiver with a whisker-thin antenna that was attached to the branch of an oak tree.

Austin took a quick shower and changed into slacks and a polo shirt. He filled a travel mug with the Jamaican coffee he favored, slipped behind the wheel of a turquoise Jeep Cherokee from the NUMA motor pool, and headed toward the Maryland suburbs.

He arrived at the Smithsonian Institution’s complex of warehouses a half hour earlier than Carina had asked him to come. He wanted time alone with the statue that had caused so much commotion. The security guard at the door checked his name against a clipboard list and waved him into the corrugated-metal building. Running the length of the building’s interior were rows of shelves neatly stacked with labeled cardboard cartons that held overflow from the Smithsonian’s massive collections.

A slender man was fiddling with a camera mounted on a tripod that stood next to a bronze statue. The photographer looked up from the viewfinder and frowned.

Austin extended his hand. “Anthony Saxon, I presume.”

Saxon hiked a bushy eyebrow. “Have we met?”

“My name is Kurt Austin. I’m with NUMA. I attended your lecture on lost cities a couple of years ago at the Explorers Club. I recognized you from the jacket of your last book, Quest for the Queen.”

Saxon’s frown vanished and he reached out and shook Austin’s hand like a pump handle.

“Kurt Austin. You found Christopher Columbus. I’m honored to meet you.”

Austin hedged his reply. “I was part of a team effort that found old Chris taking a nap.”

“Nevertheless, your discovery of the Columbus mummy on a Phoenician ship in a Mayan tomb established the scientific base for pre-Columbian contact in the New World.”

“Many people still don’t accept it as fact.”

“They are Philistines! I used your find as a foundation for my theories. What did you think of my book?”

“Entertaining and informative. The concepts are highly original.”

Saxon snorted. “When people call my work original, they’re often saying that it’s nutty. They compare my stuff to those books that brought UFOs, cow mutilations, and space aliens into the debate.”

“I didn’t think the book was nutty at all. Your theory that the Phoenicians came across the Pacific, as well as the Western Hemisphere, was fascinating. When you stirred the Queen of Sheba into the mix, it was bound to cause controversy. You made a strong case that she is the key that will unlock the ancient puzzle of Ophir.”

“The queen has her dainty little prints over centuries of historical record. I’ve been following her trail for years.”

“It wouldn’t be the first case of cherchez la femme. Too bad an accidental fire destroyed your Phoenician ship replica before you could prove your theory.”

Anger flashed in Saxon’s eyes. “That was no accident,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“It was arson. But that’s the past.” His charming smile returned. “I’ve scratched the idea of a Pacific crossing. Too costly and complicated. I’m trying to pull together a more modest expedition. I’d like to sail a vessel from Lebanon to the Americas and back by way of Spain, like the old ships of Tarshish might have done.”

“I’d hardly call a two-way transatlantic crossing modest, but good luck.”

“Thanks. What brings you here?”

Austin nodded at the statue. “Miss Mechadi invited me to stop by and see this gentleman. And you?”

“I heard through my sources at the Smithsonian that the old boy was in town. Thought I’d say hello.”

Judging from the elaborate camera setup, Saxon’s interest in the statue apparently was more than casual. Austin touched the Navigator’s metal arm. “Miss Mechadi said you were quite knowledgeable about the statue. How old is he?”

Saxon turned to the Navigator. “More than two thousand years old.”

Austin gazed with curiosity at the dark green statue that had almost cost the lives of hundreds of people. The figure was nearly six feet tall, standing with his sandaled left foot slightly forward. It was wearing an intricately embroidered kilt tied at the top by a wide sash. An animal skin was draped over the right shoulder. Hair hung down in rows from under a conical hat. The smile on the bearded face had an almost Buddha-like peacefulness. The eyes were half closed.