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“Well done,” Bunch said, a smile on his face.
Stephanie did not appear to be as pleased.
Bunch called for a screwdriver, brought by an eager young man, which he used to remove the top. Inside lay a dull-pointed iron spearhead, about twenty inches long and three inches wide. Its color reminded Cotton of battleship gray. The tattered remnants of a copper sleeve wrapped its midsection, partially covering an aperture chiseled from the top third of the blade. He knew it once harbored a nail, like the Spear of Destiny in Vienna, but the spike was gone. At its lower end were two wings, above which stretched a crisscross of wire. Below that was the round receptacle that once attached it to a lance.
Bunch lifted out the artifact. “You think it might actually be the spear that pierced Christ?”
He couldn’t resist. “Does a big white bunny bring candy to kids on Easter?”
Bunch wasn’t amused. “I take it you are not a religious man.”
“I’m a practical man. No piece of iron, two thousand years old, would have survived this intact.”
“Why not? It’s possible.”
Actually, it wasn’t. But he decided not to argue.
He did notice the clear disparity between this spear and the one on display in Vienna. Though similar in size and shape, that Spear of Destiny had a more pronounced oval aperture chiseled from its center where a forged iron pin still rested. Supposedly a nail from the crucifixion. A bright-gold sheath protected it. Lots of testing had been performed on the Vienna spear, which had revealed that it definitely had been forged, not molded, and its size was a bit large for those used by the Roman army at the time. Metallurgy testing dated the iron to long after Christ.
But who knew?
It was all a matter of faith.
Something he’d never had much of.
Bunch replaced the spear in the box. “That’s the safest place for it.”
On that Cotton agreed.
Bunch sat at the desk, faced an open laptop, and began typing. He then hit one final button and said, “I just RSVP’d to the auction.”
The laptop immediately dinged, indicating an incoming message.
That was fast.
Had to be an auto reply.
Bunch read it, then turned the screen around so Cotton and Stephanie could see.
THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING. PLEASE EMAIL AN IMAGE OF YOUR ARTIFACT TO THIS ADDRESS. THEN HAVE YOUR TWO REPRESENTATIVES AT THE MAIN BRANCH OF THE TATRA MUSEUM IN ZAKOPANE AT 11:00 A.M. TOMORROW. THEY WILL BE RETURNED THERE AFTER THE AUCTION IS CONCLUDED. NO CELL PHONES, WEAPONS, OR ANY ELECTRONICS ARE ALLOWED. NO TRANSLATORS, EITHER, AS THE SALE WILL BE CONDUCTED IN ENGLISH ONLY. YOUR REPRESENTATIVES SHOULD BE FLUENT. PAYMENT VERIFICATION WILL BE MADE ON SITE. CONFIRMATION OF PAYMENT MUST BE RECEIVED BEFORE THE SALE IS CONCLUDED. PLEASE ENSURE THAT ALL NECESSARY ARRANGEMENTS FOR PAYMENT HAVE BEEN MADE. ANY VIOLATIONS OF THESE RULES WILL RESULT IN A DISQUALIFICATION TO BID.
Cotton thought about Ivan and his warning for the United States to stay out of this. He’d passed that on to Stephanie, who’d surely shared the information with Bunch.
“The Russians don’t care about any of that,” he said. “They’re going to either win or stop that auction, no matter what.”
“We’ve dealt with that, too,” Bunch noted. “President Fox has spoken with the Kremlin and related the same thing we told the Poles. He assured them we are not participating in the auction.”
Cotton pointed to the box. “What happens when they find out that the spear has been stolen?”
Bunch shook his head. “None of the other thefts have been made public. We’ve kept a lid on them.”
Incredible. These people really were stupid. “None of the other thefts happened on Polish soil. That spear is not a Catholic relic, stolen from a church. It’s a national historical artifact. What’s to stop President Czajkowski from telling the world it’s gone? He has to know, by now, that you double-crossed him. Sonia Draga was there, waiting for me.”
He omitted the why from that statement.
“Who cares? What can Czajkowski do about it?” Bunch asked. “Not a damn thing. Same with the Russians. We’re the United States of America, for God’s sake, and we’re going to that auction with it.”
Cotton glanced at Stephanie, who kept her face stoic, but he could read her mind. The Russians and the Poles were working together. To what degree? Hard to say. If it was all that close a relationship, then the Poles would have simply stopped the theft of the spear. Instead they allowed it to happen. That confirmed they were, to some degree, in the dark. How far?
Another unknown.
“You and I will be at that museum in the morning,” Bunch said to Stephanie. “I assume Malone is done. Right?”
“You assume wrong,” Cotton said.
And he saw the surprise on Stephanie’s face.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
Bunch smiled an irritating grin. “That’s what I like to hear. A team player. Loyal to the good ol’ US of A. We appreciate your dedication.”
He decided to not take that bait and instead said what was probably expected, “And my $150,000. Let’s not forget that. Paid in advance.”
“No. Of course not,” Bunch said. “A man has to make a living, right? We can appreciate that. I’ll arrange the transfer of funds.”
Better for Fox to think him a greedy mercenary than a loyal friend. No way he was going to allow Stephanie to walk into that quagmire of an auction alone. And that was precisely what Tom Bunch represented.
No help.
Cotton considered himself an expert in only a few things. One was the ability to deal with a tight situation and think on his feet. The old cliché was true. Desperate people did desperate things. And this scenario seemed the precise definition of the word.
“Are you sure?” Stephanie asked him.
He nodded.
“Absolutely.”
* * *
Cotton and Stephanie stepped from the office while Bunch talked on the phone with Fox, motioning that he wanted to speak to the president in private.
“I wonder if there are classes in ass kissing that idiots like him go to,” he said to her. “He has no appreciation for what’s going on here.”
“Not a drop.”
“My guess is the box is GPS-tagged,” he said, “and they’re tracking it right now. We’ll need to take a look.”
“I know. We’ll deal with that when he’s done with his important call.”
He caught the sarcasm.
“Sonia set it all up, with just enough resistance to make it look good. Though shooting that rope was a bit much,” he said. “I owe her for that one.”
Stephanie smiled.
“It all means that the Poles didn’t get an invite,” he said. “The Russians must have tipped them off to the whole thing. That would explain their partnership in Bruges. But it was a limited engagement. The Russians would not want anyone else involved after that.”
“Unless they force themselves in, or allow us to lead them to it.”
He agreed. “They’ll put out a story on what happened tonight. They have to in order to stay consistent with the other thefts. And they can’t allow the Russians to think they are cooperating with us in any way.”
He could see she agreed.
“Czajkowski will probably call Washington and raise hell at the lies,” he said. “That would be expected. Our problem is that the GPS marker will never make it to the auction. Based on the email we just saw, our transport tomorrow will check for tags and, if discove
red, the U.S. will be disqualified.” He smiled. “We could leave it in and this will all be over quickly. Bunch would even have to take some of the blame.”
“I wish. But that information would still go on sale.”
“I’m actually a little curious as to what’s being offered. It’s got to be pretty big. The White House didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head. “Not a word. And I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t curious, too. It has to be both personal and politically fatal. I say we keep going and see how it goes.”
He was okay with that. “The Russians are not going to lose that auction.”
“I know. But maybe it would not be a bad thing if they won.”
He caught the twinkle in her eye.
“I like the way you think.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jonty climbed into bed.
He’d chosen the largest chamber in Sturney Castle for his own, the one used long ago by the castle’s lord, the room fully furnished with period pieces, all representative of Slovakia’s past. Eli Reinhardt was down the hall, since he’d thought it a good idea to keep his newly acquired partner close.
They’d left the cache of documents in the mine, replacing the salt wall and disguising their invasion as best they could. Konrad had assured them that Level X was rarely accessed, since it was not actually part of the working mine. More a reminder from the past when the Soviets were in control, one few today cared to recall.
So the secret should be safe.
He’d promised Konrad some additional money, both to assure his silence and to cement his loyalty. They would need more visits to Level X in the weeks ahead as they determined what, if anything, there was to find. Unfortunately Jonty would be of little help, since his Polish was weak and his Russian nonexistent. Eli, of course, was fluent in both. But he was not about to allow his “partner” unfettered access. That would only end with Eli keeping the most valuable information for himself. No. He’d hire a surrogate and pay him or her enough to ensure that person stayed loyal. To further cement the relationship, Vic would accompany them at all times, since a little fear was a good thing. Both for Eli and for the hired help.
