Black Scorpion Read online

  “You haven’t answered my question yet,” Bernard was saying.

  “Which question is that?”

  “Are my instructions clear enough?”

  “Plenty. It’s what’s best for the dig, right? You’d never do anything that wasn’t in the dig’s best interests, would you, Henri?”

  He checked his watch, suddenly reluctant to meet her gaze. “I’ve got some calls to make. Where’s Francis? I want him to take charge in my absence.”

  “It’s Franklin,” Scarlett said, pointing over Bernard’s shoulder, “and he’s standing right behind you.”

  * * *

  Late that night, with the camp utterly quiet and still, she slid out from her tent and took the darkest path to the chamber. There, Scarlett eased the tarpaulin covering the opening aside and climbed down the ladder already lowered into place under the light spilled from the dome lamp built into her dig helmet.

  Once inside the chamber, she did her best to restrain her excitement to make sure she didn’t make an amateurish mistake by rushing. Instead, she worked collapsed sections of the wall deliberately and painstakingly, using a simple trowel and an object not unlike an everyday dustpan and brush to clear the debris without missing a potential find. That process unearthed stones inlaid over the mortar forged from baked mud in a process the Romans were known to have mastered. Scarlett chipped away lightly with a hammer and chisel until she was able to pry the mortar away with her gloved hands to reveal what could only be a secret storage compartment measuring approximately two feet wide and a foot tall.

  It had been beveled into the flat rock wall, perfectly symmetrical although she couldn’t tell yet how deep into the stone it penetrated—what would have passed for a wall safe circa one hundred AD. The work was painstaking, methodical, and she loved it. There remained such a fine distinction between uncovering a find that could define her career and potentially damaging a fragile artifact buried here for nearly two thousand years. The work was that exacting and challenging.

  Scarlett continued chipping away gingerly at the limestone façade inlaid with what looked gold dust for both appearance and structural integrity. Whoever had built this hold of sorts, judging by its layering, had intended its contents be concealed down here forever. That was what had her so excited. The vast bulk of finds recovered from archaeological digs were not hidden or squirreled away at all, but recovered from the ordinary nature of everyday life. Rarely did an archaeologist find something no one was ever meant to, and Scarlett had the very strong sense that was exactly what lay before her now.

  It was pleasantly cool down here ten feet below ground level. Scarlett continued chipping, careful to use both her brush and small air gun to clear the dust and debris aside. Her helmet’s dome lamp pushed out a focused beam on anything at which she aimed it.

  Her toils finally revealed the rectangular chamber in its entirety, stretching inward between eighteen inches and two feet to fill out the approximate dimensions of a modern-day safety deposit box. Then her dome light illuminated an object her efforts had just revealed. Scarlett eased a hand, cloaked in a plastic glove to keep skin oils from damaging potential finds, inside and closed it around what felt like a stitched leather pouch or sack of some kind. She drew it toward her gently, careful not to let it snare on any debris that might’ve been left by her toils. Her dome light illuminated the pouch gradually as it emerged, looking to be the kind that scribes of the time used to store or transport their writings, either on papyrus or parchment.

  The entire pouch came free, enough weight to indicate a decent number of pages inside. Likely folded over in the codex form that was the forerunner of the book, as opposed to a scroll more common prior to the close of the first century AD and far less likely to avoid degradation through the centuries.

  In the night and belowground chill, the pouch suddenly felt warm in her grasp, the heat pulsing through her clear plastic gloves. At first Scarlett thought it was an illusion, a trick of the mind under conditions known for causing such things. But the next moment found the air around her heating up, too, swallowing the cold the narrow confines had maintained. She felt it through her clothes, penetrating her skin, reminding her of a sunburn coming on. Her helmet’s dome light flickered, plunging her into intermittent splotches of utter blackness.

  Then, as quickly as it had gone, the night’s chill returned, and her dome light held its beam straight and steady. Scarlett eased the proper brush from her tool kit and ran it over the pouch in gentle strokes to see if that might reveal anything of note. She found the remnants of a wax seal, much of it having decayed through the years but enough present for her to recognize it as one with the distinctive signature of ancient Rome. And that served only to increase her anticipation and excitement over whatever the pouch contained, to be examined only with the proper equipment and protocols in place.

  Scarlett tucked the pouch carefully into her shoulder bag and eased her camera out in its place. She aimed the lens to record the entire find, and touched the button on the right-hand side.

  A pooooffffff sounded as the flash mechanism exploded.

  Shaken, Scarlett started up the ladder, heart thudding against her ribs. At the top of the ladder, she eased the tarpaulin up enough to slither out back into the night and then replaced it when the darkness greeted her anew.

  It was, of course, too early to get her hopes up over what the pages might contain. But they clearly told some tale no man, or woman, was ever meant to hear. Otherwise, why would someone have gone through so much trouble to hide them here beneath a holy site? Or, as she’d thought initially, perhaps that holy site had been erected in this spot to conceal the pouch’s contents forever as much as anything.

  Could it be, could it actually be what I’ve been searching for?

  Scarlett resisted temptation to slip into the command tent and inspect the contents of the pouch for herself. For now.

  ELEVEN

  CARSON CITY, NEVADA

  “State your name for the record, please,” the clerk asked, the morning after Michael’s battle with Durado Segura.

  “Michael Tiranno.”

  “And Mr. Tiranno, for the purpose of this hearing, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  “I do,” said Michael, straightening the sleeves of his suit and fighting the desire to return the glare of the Gaming Control Board hearing’s chairman, Robert Kern. Naomi Burns, stepping back into her role as his legal counsel today from corporate CEO of King Midas World, had advised him to avoid making this personal, something that Kern had been doing for years now.

  “Could you raise your right hand and repeat that?” the clerk requested.

  “No.”

  “Sir?”

  “I can’t raise my right hand. I suffered a shoulder injury last night.”

  “Very well,” said the clerk. “You may be seated.”

  Michael sat down next to Naomi. The Gaming Control Board hearing chamber was laid out on an upward grade like a theater with the witness table on a figurative island between the crowd packed in behind it and the hearing bench placed on a raised dais before it. Kern was currently seated between the other two hearing commissioners who mostly never had anything to say, letting the chairman do all the talking and occasionally passing him a written question as if that were the prescribed protocol.

  The main offices of the Nevada Gaming Control Board were located not in Las Vegas, but an office park on College Parkway in Carson City. A seven-hour drive or, in Michael’s case, a one-hour flight on board his Tyrant Class Gulfstream into the local airport just a few miles from the building. He was no stranger to this chamber or to Robert Kern, who’d questioned Michael’s motives and efforts in building the Seven Sins Casino, as well as anytime he wished to expand his interests.

  Most recently, that had involved rumors of a proposed buyout of MGM Grand’s gaming interests across the board. Michael did not lack for enemies in Vegas, given the fact that his greatest adversar
y Max Price, the mogul who’d once kept men like Kern in his pocket like yesterday’s lint, was long missing and presumed buried under the rubble of his Maximus Casino from which the Seven Sins had risen. But this hearing should’ve been nothing more than routine, given Michael’s commitment to expanding his gaming interests along with increasing his investments in a myriad of other areas as well.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Tiranno,” Kern began, careful to speak into the microphone before him. “We appreciate your time.”

  “As I appreciate yours, Mr. Kern,” Michael said, moving his gaze from Kern to the other two board members seated on either side of him, “along with the opportunity to work with the Gaming Control Board in pursuit of what’s best for my interests as well as those of Las Vegas.”

  “You seem in a cooperative mood today.”

  “I’m always in a cooperative mood when I know what I’m doing will serve the interests of all parties involved.”

  “Then I’m sure you understand the concern expressed by some about your intent to expand your holdings in Las Vegas and gaming in general.”

  “Some, Mr. Kern? And may I ask who might they be exactly? I ask because perhaps I should be answering their questions instead of yours.”

  “By answering my questions, Mr. Tiranno, you are answering theirs, and I’m sure we can put all matters of concern to rest. As you suggested, we are in this together.”

  As Kern was speaking, Michael felt his Tyrant Class Samsung Galaxy vibrate with an incoming text. He slid it from his pocket, glancing down to find a message from a woman he’d be meeting in Paris in ten days’ time.

  MISS YOU

  Michael noticed beads of moisture starting to collect on Kern’s brow. “For the record, Mr. Tiranno, where are you from?”

  “I’m an American, just like you, Mr. Kern. A naturalized citizen of native Italian heritage,” Michael added. “And, as you well know, I pay my taxes, more than my share of taxes just like everyone else in this room,” Michael said, drawing soft murmurs of assent from the crowd squeezed into every available chair behind him.

  “I object to this entire line of questioning,” said Naomi, sliding the microphone toward her.

  Michael used the opportunity to reply to the text he’d just received: I MISS YOU MORE.

  The response from halfway across the world came almost immediately: CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU IN PARIS. MAY HAVE A SURPRISE!

  “This is not a legal proceeding, Ms. Burns,” Kern told her, taking his glasses off. “There is no presumption of innocence, no standard of proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Holding a gaming license in the great state of Nevada is a privilege and not a right. If this committee finds credible new evidence that your client has associated with organized crime figures or is involved in any unsavory activities toward recklessly expanding his interests and holdings in Las Vegas, or is deemed unfit for any other legitimate cause, we will permanently revoke his license to operate a gaming establishment in the state.”

  “Allow me to reiterate, Mr. Kern,” Michael said, leaning back toward the microphone, “I have never had any associations with figures in organized crime, unless you include stock brokers and investment bankers.”

  Kern waited for the ripple of laughter to dissipate in the chamber before responding. He took off his glasses and laid them down on the raised desk before him. Suddenly his eyes looked too small for his head, the size of dimes when nickels would’ve been more fitting.

  “And do you believe, sir,” he resumed, “that casino owners should routinely expand those interests into energy, telecom, and speculative technology in addition to other assorted so-called high risk venture capital bets?”

  Naomi Burns eased herself in front of Michael before he could respond. “And how does that lie within the purview of this commission, Mr. Kern?”

  “Because, Ms. Burns, this board is well aware of the fact that Tyrant Global Ltd., Mr. Tiranno’s holding company, is heavily in debt, continuously seeking capital to expand its business interests and by so doing disproportionately leveraging its assets in Las Vegas that include the Seven Sins Resort. That means any misjudgment or poor decision making at this stage could cost the city of Las Vegas and state of Nevada dearly in loss of revenue and jobs. I speak specifically of a part of the Seven Sins Resort shrouded in mystery far too long, known as the Forbidden City. You’re familiar with that, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “And would I be correct in stating that this secret project has a price tag of one billion dollars and is now one year overdue, having endured constant delays and cost overruns estimated to be several hundred million dollars?”

  “Not entirely, no.”

  “Would you care to elaborate, Ms. Burns?”

  This time it was Michael who seized the microphone before Naomi had the chance. “It’s difficult to put a price tag on vision, Mr. Kern. And I would think that an attraction capable of luring hundreds of thousands, if not millions, more visitors to Las Vegas would be in this committee’s, and the city’s, best interests.”

  “Perhaps, Mr. Tiranno, providing the developer didn’t find himself overextended and undercapitalized due to such pursuits, since his casino could fall beneath the proper reserve threshold to retain its gaming license. And this commission has reason to believe that is indeed the case with Tyrant Global.”

  “Since when is debt a crime?” Michael asked him, fighting to remain calm. Didn’t this man understand the fundamentals of how business gets done?

  “It isn’t, of course. But the level of your leveraged holdings is a bit disconcerting to us, specifically your bond debt. At such a high interest rate, this commission is concerned it will be very difficult to pay it off in a timely manner, turning your debt into veritable junk bonds which is never good for the image of the gaming industry. As I’m sure you agree, that’s a very dangerous situation not only for your holdings, but the many Nevada families that rely on the Seven Sins Resort and Casino to make a living, the state of Nevada included which counts on its taxes. Not to mention the fact that even after all these years of construction there remains a veil of secrecy around this Forbidden City of yours that this commission finds extremely worrisome. We respectfully request the actual architectural plans in contrast to the ones filed to receive the necessary construction permits, since the original plans do not include the numerous changes and reconfigurations made by your own admission.”

  “All new plans and upgrades have been regularly filed and updated with the proper city officials. And, of course, it would be my pleasure to provide them to you regardless, Mr. Kern. I’d just like to ask you while we’re on the record to maintain confidentiality to ensure no information is shared or leaked to the press. I don’t need any more publicity.”

  Michael’s remark drew instant laughter and applause from those squeezed into the gallery, leading Kern to rap his gavel atop the table.

  “And, for the record, I do indeed agree with you about the nature of my bond holdings,” Michael continued, not giving Kern the chance to jump in. “But I would respectfully remind this commission that every casino, and their respective holding companies, are or have been dependent on those kind of bonds, Mr. Kern. We plan to refinance our debt soon enough.”

  “The level of such dependence by Tyrant Global exceeds any previous precedents, Mr. Tiranno, and our concern is that your plans for expansion, and cost overruns at this Forbidden City of yours, are at the root of that.”

  Michael reached over for a number of file folders Naomi had placed on the table from her briefcase. “My financial team has compiled ten analyses of other gaming entities that have pursued interests in expansion comparable to Tyrant Global. You’ll note upon review that in all of them the debt levels and ratios approximate my holdings’ current standing, in large part because interest rates are far more favorable today. The bottom line is the numbers simply don’t back up your claims as to the state of my company and its current liquidity.”

  Kern smirked again, rel
ishing the opportunity to look down upon Michael. “You speak like a man who’s guilty of something, Mr. Tiranno.”

  “I suppose I am,” Michael said, pausing to let a tense murmur flow though the crowd. “Guilty of building the greatest casino this state and the world have ever seen. Guilty of giving my guests the best time and experience, gaming and otherwise, that money can buy. Guilty of building a name in a town operated for years by a private exclusionary boys’ club. Guilty of wishing to expand my interests.”

  “Are you finished, Mr. Tiranno?”

  “No, Mr. Kern,” Michael told the chairman. “Not even close.”

  TWELVE

  THE BLACK SEA

  The Lucretia Maru sliced through the calm waters, blaring its horn repeatedly to alert any vessels waylaid by the fog-drenched air of its presence.

  “Captain,” the executive officer called to the freighter’s commander, “a Coast Command patrol boat coming up on our starboard side is hailing us.”

  “Put it on speaker,” Tarek Marmara ordered. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

  “Lucretia Maru,” a male voice announced scratchily, “this is Turkish Coast Command, please identify yourself.”

  “Tarek Marmara. Captain.”

  “State your designation.”

  “Alpha-Niner-Six-Gamma-Xray-four-three-one,” Marmara intoned, repeating the freighter’s call signal for this voyage. “Now, please identify yourself.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Soptir. Captain Marmara, we have a report that your ship has been boarded by pirates.”

  “Negative, Coast Command. We are under no duress. Repeat, no duress.”

  “Roger that, Captain. But procedure dictates we must board to confirm. Please acknowledge.”