“You didn’t waste any time. What was in it?”
“The answer depends on you, Kurt. I’m hoping we can work out an arrangement. I could use NUMA’s resources. I’m not interested in gold or treasure. Only knowledge. I want to find Sheba more than anything else. I readily admit that I am truly obsessed with the lady.”
Austin drew his lips down in a deep frown and turned to Zavala. “Think we should make a deal with this slippery character?”
“Hell, Kurt, you know what a sucker I am for romance. He’s got my vote.”
Austin had already made up his mind. NUMA’s help would be a small price to pay for Saxon’s expertise. He admired the man’s ingenuity and perseverance as well.
He leveled a steady gaze at Saxon. “I’ll make it unanimous, on two conditions.”
Saxon’s face fell. “What’s your first condition?”
“That you tell me what you found in the amphora.”
“I found a papyrus,” Saxon said. “Condition number two?”
“That you buy another round.”
“Egad! Austin. You are a hard man to take advantage of someone so desperate,” Saxon said, twirling the end of his mustache.
Then he grinned, called over to the bartender, and held three fingers in the air.
Chapter 40
BALTAZAR’S VALET MADE HIS WAY along the dark-paneled corridor and stopped at a thick oak door. Balancing a tray on one hand, he knocked softly. No one answered. His lips parted in a faint smile. He knew Carina was in the room because he had carried her unconscious body there from the helicopter.
The valet dug a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
Carina was standing across the threshold, her face contorted in a mask of fury. She clutched the heavy brass base of a shadeless table lamp in two hands as if it was a war club. She had been prepared to crown the first person she saw. She hadn’t expected someone holding a fine china teapot and cup on tray.
Without lowering the lamp, she demanded: “Who undressed me?”
The valet said, “A female member of the house staff. Your clothes were being washed. Mr. Baltazar felt you would be more comfortable wearing something clean in the meantime.”
“You can tell Mr. Baltazar that I want my clothes back right away.”
“You can tell him yourself,” the valet said. “He’s waiting for you in the garden. No hurry, he says. Come when you feel up to it. May I set this tray down?”
Carina glared at the man, but she stepped aside and let him into the bedroom. He put the tray down on an end table. Keeping his eye on the lamp, he backed out of the room, leaving the door open.
Carina had awakened minutes before to find herself in a strange bed. She remembered the sweet smell in the back of the taxi. She had thrown the covers off and discovered she was clad only in her underwear. She searched around the luxurious bedroom for her clothes. All she found, hanging in a closet, was a long white cotton shift with a scoop neck.
Holding the shift in her hand, she had glanced around. Except for the bars on the windows, the chamber was like a bedroom in a fine hotel. She went over to a window and was looking out at a manicured lawn when she heard the knock. She had thrown the shift on and grabbed the lamp.
After the valet left, she stepped out into the corridor and watched him disappear down another corridor. She went back into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Her hands were trembling with tension. She set the lamp down, settled into a plush chair, and began to cry.
The inner anger that had given her the courage to prepare for an assault on the valet had ebbed. She wiped her eyes and went into the bathroom, where she washed her face and combed her disheveled hair. She took a deep gulp of tea, stepped out into the corridor, and followed in the valet’s footsteps to a set of open patio doors. She stepped out into brilliant sunshine and looked around. She was in a courtyard garden. Water bubbled in a fountain whose centerpiece was a nude woman surrounded by naked cherubs. But her eyes went to Baltazar, who was clipping flowers from one of the beds that ringed the fountain.
Baltazar was dressed casually in white slacks and a black short-sleeve shirt. He wore espadrilles, rope sandals, on his feet. He smiled as she entered the courtyard and stepped over to offer her the bouquet of flowers.
Carina folded her arms. “I don’t want your flowers. Where am I?”
He lowered the bouquet and set it down on a marble bench. “You are my guest, Miss Mechadi.”
“I don’t want to be your guest. I insist that you release me.”
Still smiling, Baltazar gazed at Carina as if he were a butterfly collector who had captured a rare specimen. “Imperious. Commanding. Much as I would expect from the Mekada line.”