Sam smiled, and withdrew the pendant out from beneath his shirt. It was made of solid red garnet and its rider carried a longsword. “We need to gather the Four Horsemen.”
Chapter Forty-One
Sam stared at Wallis as he took in all that he’d been told. Wallis’s face was hard and impassive. It was impossible to know what to make of it. The concept was impossible, yet the man had seen the impossible before.
“Do you have any idea where they are?” Wallis asked.
“No. I’ve been following a lead about a recent movement by the Master Builders in the hope of finding a temple where our friend, Dr. Billie Swan, is being held prisoner. It’s led us to search for something called the Third Temple — a pyramid we believe is in the Kalahari Desert.”
“I wasn’t aware there were any pyramids that far south.”
Sam smiled impatiently. “Yes, well we haven’t been able to find one either. That said, while we were searching for it, we were attacked by a strange man. Do you know what he told us his name was?”
“No.”
“He said his name was Famine and his time was now.”
“Okay, so we find the Third Temple and we might find the rest of the Four Horsemen.”
“The only problem is all of our leads have run dry.”
“If there’s anything I could do to help I would, but right now, I think we’re both out of options.” Wallis stood up to shake his hand. It was a courtesy and at the same time a dismissal. “What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll head back to the Maria Helena to follow up on some other leads.”
Sam turned to face the door and then stopped. His eyes caught sight of the old world map hanging up on the wall. He’d spotted it before, but hadn’t taken any particular interest. It was only now that his eyes fixed on the date of production — January 1655.
“Do you know when this map was surveyed?”
Wallis seemed surprised by the question. “Not a clue. The date’s on there somewhere. 16 something.”
“Then it’s not a fake?”
“Absolutely not. Why would I have a fake map hanging on my wall?”
“Why would you have a map you know nothing about?”
“Touché.” Wallis smiled patiently. “It’s not a fake. It was taken during a period when the Catholic Church was sending missions to all corners of the globe to promote God’s will. Of course, God — in his almighty wisdom — chose to repeatedly sink a number of our ships in the process. That’s why his Holliness ordered a complete survey of the African coastline and that of South and North America. Why would you think it was a fake?”
Sam apologized. “It just appears drawn incorrectly.”
“How should I know?” Wallis grunted. “I’m not a cartographer.”
“But you’re certain it’s not a forgery?”
“No. Why are you so concerned with it?”
“Because I’ve extensively studied maps of the region, dating as far back as 1655…”
“And?”
“This part here.” Sam pointed to a large bay along the west coast of Africa.
“Yes?”
“In my maps, the coastline starts all the way out here.”
John Wallis shrugged indifferently. “Is that a big difference?”
“It’s nearly ten miles.”
“So? Lands change. Particularly sandy ones, it would appear. Why are you so interested?”
“Because the last visitors to the Third Temple became shipwrecked there. Since then the sandy coast has shifted inward and outward a hundred or more times, like the turning of the tide. But if we know what the coast looked like during the same year the ship sank while at anchor, then I think Tom and I might just have a chance of finding her.”
Chapter Forty-Two — Istanbul
Dmitri waited just inside the dilapidated hovel Peter Smyth called home. He still wore a dark custom made suit, but had removed his sunglasses. He didn’t carry a handgun. Contrary to what popular culture and movies would have you believe, Interpol agents never did. And even if he had, Dmitri wouldn’t need it today. His hands were strong and his reflexes inhumanly fast. If Peter needed more persuasion, Dmitri was confident he knew how to provide it using his hands alone.
He had been keeping track of Peter for the past three years. After finding information about the Third Temple, the man had become a problem for Dmitri. But all problems have solutions. He thought about ending this problem three years ago. In retrospect, he probably should have, but there was always the concern that maybe, just maybe, the man might lead him to what he was after — access to the Third Temple.
So instead of killing him, Dmitri kept digital eyes on him. The man, frightened they were after him, had naturally gone to ground and removed all evidence of his life. In the past three years there were no records of any banking transactions, passport hits, credit, rental applications, cell phone use, or social media. As far as modern society was concerned, the man was already dead. Hell, if Dmitri had to kill him now, no one would ask questions — you can’t be punished for killing a ghost.
But Peter hadn’t died and Dmitri never stopped watching him, or the progress that he made. The most recent of which, had genuinely surprised him. He could have guessed roughly where the Mary Rose had sunk, but given her location, he’d never bothered. It would be too difficult for him to reach a depth of 3000 feet and if he hired a team of professional divers to do so it could cost far more than he could afford, and bring dangerous attention to himself — from the others.
He watched as the tile that hid the entrance moved. He waited until the tile had slid all the way to the side. When he was confident the tile couldn’t be shifted back into place and latched from below, Dmitri stepped out of the shadow.
“Hello, Peter — it’s been a while.”
Peter stepped off the ladder below, trying to drop to the ground. He was quick, but Dmitri was faster. He gripped Peter’s wrist and pulled him up into the above ground section of the hovel. Peter twisted and wrestled to free himself.
Dmitri looked at him, amused by the man’s efforts. His fingers were like a vice, and would simply dig deeper into his arm the more he struggled. Peter whimpered under the pressure. When he caught his breath, he redoubled his effort to escape.
Dmitri shook his head. “I can do this up here — where THE OTHERS may be listening. Or we can do it downstairs and speak where they can’t listen.”
Peter looked at him, his eyes wide with terror. “Okay.”
“I’m going to let go so you can climb down all by yourself. If you try to do anything at all not to my liking, I won’t simply catch you again. I will extract what I’m after and then I’m going to give THE OTHERS the tracking code.”
Peter glanced at the small tattoo on his wrist, where Dmitri had imbedded a GPS tracking chip three years ago. For an instant, Dmitri wondered how many times the man had considered lopping off his own wrist, simply to get away from it. Peter looked up and nodded in acquiescence.
“Are you certain?” Dmitri’s voice was firm.
“Yes.”
Dmitri let go, and Peter hurriedly climbed down the stairs. His eyes glanced at the couch and then back to Dmitri. One glance and Peter stood perfectly still.
“What do you want?” Peter asked.
“You found the map, didn’t you?”
Peter nodded.
“Do you have it or do they?”
“I have it,” Peter said. “It’s over there, resting against the wall.”
Dmitri stepped toward the stone tablet. At a glance, he knew it was authentic. The timing couldn’t have been better. “Well done, Peter. It appears it was worth my while keeping you alive these past three years.”