Huber shook his head as he stared at the strange carving of a sun in the base of the idol. It looked like a solar flare. He looked lost as he studied the intricate carved shape of the base — like a seven-pointed star but with peculiar terraces carved into it, receding in undulations like an inverted ziggurat. “I must have this wrong because if not, then God help us all.”
Aurora sighed and took a step closer to Huber. “Let the cat out of the bag, old man.”
“First, there are two inscriptions. The first is a very simple symbol that refers to the sun, and is as old as the idol — but it seems to show the sun exploding. The second series of symbols carved into the back are later, without a doubt. They’ve been added by someone else… a later culture perhaps.”
“And what do the later ones say?”
“I can’t read them, not with any certainty, I’m sorry. Maybe it’s some kind of ancient code — perhaps a reference to a flooded city, and then this business about the sun… You need someone else.”
“I thought you were supposed to be the best?”
Huber looked up at them, insulted and embarrassed. “I am the best public figure, but there are others with a greater knowledge who prefer to keep a veil drawn over their activities. One in particular stands out.”
“Go on.”
“His name is Kruger. Dirk Kruger. He’s an archaeologist, of sorts.”
“Where can I find this man?”
“He’s from South Africa but at the moment he’s in Munich on business. I spoke with him a few days ago. He’s at the Hotel Sendling.”
“Business?”
“He sells… relics.”
Mendoza thought for a moment about the way the old man had said relics and wasn’t sure he was telling the whole story. It sounded like maybe there were a few things hiding behind those relics. “And he will be able to tell me what this idol says?”
Huber nodded. “Yes, I think so. If anyone can, Dirk Kruger can.” Once again he held up the idol of Tanit in his hands. The late afternoon Viennese sunshine flashed on her golden face and weird headdress. The old man fixed his jeweller’s loupe into his eye once again. “She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Mendoza took the idol from the old man’s hands. He noticed two police cars pull up outside the apartment block, followed by a third large police vehicle and cursed inwardly as he directed Aurora Soto to look through the window. Yes, he thought, this idol must be of great value if the authorities were already tracking him through Europe.
He turned to Huber. “I must thank you so very much for your help, Herr Huber. You have been of immense assistance to me. It is true what they say about you — you really are a very clever man.”
“Well… I study very hard and… what are you doing?”
In a heartbeat Aurora Soto stepped aside as Mendoza took his knife from his pocket and as fast as lightning he pushed the blade against the wrinkled skin of Huber’s throat. “You’re coming with me, old man.”
“What are you talking about? Put that knife down!”
CHAPTER TWO
Mendoza pulled Franz Huber roughly through the lobby door and dragged him down the building’s stone steps. He pressed the tip of the switchblade against the professor’s jugular and whispered frantically in his ear. “Tell them to get back, or you die!”
Huber hesitated, not wishing to collude in his own kidnapping, but a rough jab of the blade into his neck hurried him along. “Get back!” Huber said in German. “He says get back or he will kill me!”
“Now tell that one to throw me his gun, or you die right here.”
“Er will eine Waffe!” Huber screeched at the police. “Oder er wird mich töten!”
Anxious glances between the leading officers were followed by a sentence of rapid German.
Huber twisted his neck towards Mendoza. “He says no way.”
Mendoza said nothing but flicked the knife over in the air so he was holding it by the blade. He threw it at great velocity and the next time anyone saw it, it was sticking in the neck of a police officer. The young man fell to the floor, clutching his throat and screaming in panic as blood pumped from his artery.
Mendoza pulled a second knife from a holster around his leg.
“The gun, or more death.”
Huber repeated the command, and this time the order was given. Another young officer reluctantly kicked his weapon across the cobblestones. Aurora picked it up and they began to walk backwards while continuing to use the terrified professor as a human shield.
Aurora lifted the police-issue Glock 19 into the aim and fired one two three rapid shots at a police VW Touran. The short recoil action delivered the goods when the nine mil parabellums punctured the gas tank and a shower of sparks ignited the fuel. The explosion was ferocious in its intensity, bursting out from the detonated tank and propelling a deadly burst of shredded steel across the street.
The force blasted men from the Federal Police and the anti-terror units into the air like a storm whipping dead leaves through a park. They tumbled in cartwheels and landed hard on the ancient cobblestones. Most survived, but several of the men were dead, their broken bodies sprawled on the street as a terrible testament to the gangsters’ ruthless brutality.
What was a serene picture of Viennese charm and calmness just a few moments ago, was now a warzone. Noxious black smoke billowed from the gnarled corpse of the Touran and piercer sirens rebounded off the Baroque architecture and drifted high above the chaos.
Huber was crazed with confusion and fear, but he watched with something resembling hope as the surviving law enforcement men regrouped and fanned out in a new tactical assault formation. They pushed closer to him and his kidnapper, but they were more cautious now and moving slower. Officers in riot helmets and body armor spoke into palm mics and waited for orders through their earpieces.
With Aurora’s Glock still pointed at the men, Mendoza was still holding the switchblade at Huber’s throat. “Which way out of here?”
With fear pounding in his heart, Huber knew he had to delay the madman’s escape but couldn’t risk enraging him further. “I don’t know what you mean…” he blathered.
Aurora’s reply was a sharp pistol-whipping. “Don’t play games, professor. If you want to live then get us out of here.”
Huber’s mind raced. He did want to live yes — he had three grandchildren and he wanted to see them grow up. Something told him the Mexicans weren’t bluffing either, so he decided not to aggravate them with lies and delays. “In St. Michael’s Church around the corner… you can access a network of tunnels that go all over the city.”
“Do you know them?”
Huber shook his head. “Access is very restricted for everyone’s safety.”
“Take us there!”
With the police keeping a safe distance but never letting him slip from their sight, Huber led the Mexicans past the café terraces of Herrengasse until a magnificent Romanesque church came into view.
“Die Michaelerkirche,” Huber said, with not even the terror around him diminishing the lifelong pride he felt for the eight hundred year-old church. “Go into the crypt here and you can disappear forever.”
They crossed the expansive Michaelerplatz and drew closer to the church. Normally buzzing with tourists snapping pictures of the neoclassical architecture or lining up to ride on the famous horse-drawn carriages, the explosion of the Touran and the presence of a hovering police helicopter had cleared the area of civilians.
Huber led Mendoza and Aurora inside St. Michael’s Church and along the impressive nave as he walked them toward the famous Michaelergruft, the enormous crypt which lay beneath the ancient building.