“Absolutely right,” Carina said with a smile. She applied the latex process to the side and half-turned face of the cat.
After the cast hardened, she removed it. Her work was done, but she was reluctant to leave.
“What should we do with him?” she said.
“We can’t bring the statue back,” Austin said. “It’s too heavy to move without specialized equipment, and transporting it overland would be a major problem. Someone is bound to see us. The Turkish authorities do not look kindly on foreigners who steal the country’s antiquities.”
Carina had a sad look in her eyes. She gave the statue a kiss on both cheeks. She patted the bronze forehead and got back into the skiff. Back on the boat, Austin asked Mustapha the depth of the water in the cove. The Turk said it was around fifty to sixty feet deep.
Austin and Zavala rowed back to the launch platform and, bracing their backs, shoved the statue with their feet. The statue teetered on the edge. One final push sent it over the side. The Navigator plunged into the depths, as if eager to return to the sea, and quickly disappeared from sight.
Chapter 30
THOUSANDS OF MILES FROM Turkish waters, the Navigator’s twin rotated slowly on a circular pedestal about a foot high, shimmering like an angry god under the battery of lights that bathed its bronze skin in a polarized glow.
A ghostly white, three-dimensional X-ray image of the Navigator pivoted on a large wall screen. Arrays of electronic probes surrounded the ancient statue.
Three men sat in leather chairs facing the screen. Baltazar was enthroned in the center. At his right was Dr. Morris Gray, an expert in the use of computed tomography. On Baltazar’s left was Dr. John Defoe, an authority in Phoenician history and art. Both scientists had been absorbed into Baltazar’s corporate empire with the expectation that the statue eventually would be found.
Gray aimed his laser pointer at the screen. “The X-ray technique we’re using here is similar to the CT scans employed in hospitals,” he said. “We take photographic slices of the object. The computer renders the photos into a 3-D image.”
Baltazar was slouched in his chair, his thick fingers entwined, his gaze fixed on the pale image projected against a dark blue background. He had waited for this moment for years.
“And what does your magic lantern tell us, Dr. Gray?” he rumbled.
Gray smiled slightly. He moved the laser’s red dot to a display panel, one of several that ran from top to bottom along the right side of the monitor.
“Each box shows information taken from the probes. This displays the statue’s metal composition. The bronze is the standard ninety percent copper and ten percent tin. The other boxes deal with thickness, tensile strength, as well as information that’s not pertinent.”
“What are those dark areas on the statue?” Baltazar asked.
“The statue was made with the lost wax process,” Defoe said. “The artist made a clay form, which was encased in wax, then clay again. The X-ray shows the channels and vents that were drilled in the outer shell to allow wax and gas to escape and molten metal to be poured in. The statue was fabricated in pieces, so we’re also looking at rivet points and hammer marks.”
“All very interesting,” Baltazar said. “But what is inside the statue?”
“The X-ray shows nothing behind the bronze exterior except for a hollow space,” Gray answered.
“What about the exterior?”
“A lot more promising.” Gray produced a slim remote control from his suit jacket and pointed it at the screen. The ghostly figure disappeared. Filling the screen was a close-up of the statue’s face. “I’ll let Dr. Defoe deal with this area.”
Defoe squinted at the screen through round-framed glasses. “The damage makes it difficult to gauge the subject’s age, but, judging from the muscular body, he is probably in his twenties.”
“Forever young,” Baltazar observed in a rare poetic moment.
“The conical hat is similar to that we see in pictures and sculptures of Phoenician sailors. The beard and hair have me puzzled. The way they are layered denotes someone of upper-class Phoenician society, yet he is garbed in the kilt and sandals of a simple sailor.”
“Go on,” Baltazar said. There was no discernible change in his expression despite his growing excitement.
The image morphed into a close-up view of the pendant around the Navigator’s neck. “This pendant replicates a Phoenician coin design,” Defoe said. “The horse is the symbol for Phoenicia. The uprooted palm tree to its right denotes a colony. Here’s where things get intriguing.”
The red dot jumped to a semicircular space below the horse head and palm tree where there was a horizontal line of squiggles.
“Runes?” Baltazar said.
“That was the common assumption when figures like these were seen on the coins. However, none matched any known Phoenician script. The markings remained a puzzle for years. Then a geologist at MountHolyokeCollege named Mark McMenamin came up with a startling new theory. He submitted the symbols to computer enhancement, which I will do here.”
The symbols on the screen became sharper and more defined.