Blowback

TWENTY-EIGHT

I didn’t know Hannibal’s soldiers were mercenaries,” said Jillian.

“According to one of the articles Vanessa had in her office,” explained Harvath, “the Carthaginians were predominantly merchants. There was no need to maintain a large standing army when they could just hire out the best one money could buy whenever they needed it.”

“Which would explain the presence of a Numidian cavalry soldier,” said Davidson. “They were considered some of the best horsemen of their day.”

“Normally each family in Carthage,” continued Harvath, “committed at least one son to a life of military service, and like Hannibal, those men were extremely well trained. They were the ones who led Carthage’s mercenary army.”

Dr. Davidson watched Harvath as he walked over to the breastplates. “What can you tell us about these?” he asked.

“Not as much as I would like,” responded Davidson. “That’s what I was hoping you could help me with. Based on what my husband told me, your colleague at the University of Durham seems to believe that the snakes represent the Azemiops feae viper?”

“They do bear a great resemblance,” replied Harvath, “but like you, we’re feeling our way around this to a certain degree as well. What else can you tell us?”

Davidson pulled a pair of white cotton gloves from her pocket and put them on before handling the armor. “Each one of the plates shows exceptional workmanship, especially for the third century B.C. The Greeks were some of the best armorers of the period, but these surpass any of their work. Based on our metallurgical testing, we know the metal came from somewhere in North Africa.”

“Just like the war hammer,” said Harvath.

Davidson nodded her head.

“How about the purple stones used for the bodies of the snakes,” he said. “What are they?”

“Amethysts,” replied Davidson.

“Interesting,” said Jillian. “Any special reason amethysts might have been chosen?”

“I wondered about that too and did a little research. Like most stones, amethysts have a long mythological history. Da Vinci believed they possessed incredible powers, not the least of which was the stone’s ability to dissipate evil thoughts and quicken the intelligence.”

“But we’re talking about a time period way before da Vinci,” interjected Harvath.

“Right,” agreed Davidson. “That’s why I went as far back as I could, to locate the first reference to amethysts having any sort of special power. After all, it wasn’t unusual for ancient armies to employ specific talismans to give them particular advantages over their enemies in battle.”

Jillian couldn’t help but anxiously coax the woman forward. “And you found a connection of some sort?”

“Sort of. Ancient Greek mythology claims that Dionysus, the god of wine, had been insulted by a passing mortal and swore that he would take revenge on the next one that came his way. He conjured up a team of ferocious tigers just as a beautiful young maiden was approaching. The maiden’s name was Amethyst, and she was on her way to pay tribute to the goddess Artemis. As Dionysus released the tigers, Artemis turned Amethyst into a statue of pure crystalline to protect her from the tigers’ claws. Upon seeing the beautiful statue, Dionysus wept wine-filled tears of regret, which stained the statue a deep shade of purple.

“From that moment on, the amethyst stone was known to hold significant protective properties. Apparently, as the myth recounts, amethysts could even protect you from the wrath of the gods themselves.”

“So knowing that the Carthaginians had extensive contact with the Greeks, it’s possible they might have been familiar with this myth?” asked Harvath.

“Most likely,” replied Davidson. “We know that a tremendous amount of religious practices in the ancient world were actually borrowed from the Greeks.”

“Do you have any idea where these particular amethysts came from?” Scot asked as he took a closer look at one of the breastplates.

“Most of us in the modern world automatically think of South America when we think of amethysts. Places like Brazil, Uruguay, Bolivia, and Argentina come to mind, but most of the amethysts in the ancient world actually came from Africa.”

Yet another African connection, Harvath thought to himself, though at this point he needed no further convincing that the artifacts were connected to Hannibal. “What about the stones used for each of the snakes’ heads?”

“Rather unimpressive milk opals. They can be found all over the world.”

“Any significance there?”

“I don’t know, though they certainly aren’t being used as talismans in this instance.”

Harvath tilted the breastplate he was holding in the light. “Why not?”

“Amethysts,” said Davidson, “are revered for offering protection. But opals, on the other hand, are traditionally known to bring bad luck. The combination of the two stones seems to send a mixed message. Protect me, yet bring me bad luck.”

“Or from a soldier’s perspective,” offered Jillian, “they could mean Protect me from the bad luck I am bringing upon my enemy.”

Davidson set her breastplate down thoughtfully. “That’s also a possibility, but if these are Azemiops feae vipers, why would the Carthaginians depict them on their breastplates at all? What’s the purpose? From what my husband tells me, Azemiops feae is an East Asian viper. Armies in the Mediterranean never would have seen one, much less have known how deadly they were. If these breastplates were intended to inflict some sort of psychological damage, why not depict cobras, which were much feared and much better known? Or better yet, since we’re very likely talking about the Carthaginians here, why not use obviously ferocious creatures from their part of the world like crocodiles, rhinos, or even lions?”

“If these are in fact representations of Azemiops feae vipers,” replied Jillian, “then they must have been very significant to the men who were wearing the breastplates.”

“I’d have to concur,” replied Davidson. “But significant how? And why?”

Jillian looked up from the table and caught the look in Harvath’s eye. They were both thinking the same thing. It was time to get to the bottom of things. “Dr. Davidson, we need to know who sent you these artifacts,” said Jillian.

“Why?” she asked incredulously.

“Because people’s lives may depend on it,” stated Harvath.

“People’s lives may depend on a table full of military relics over two thousand years old?”

“This goes much deeper than military relics,” said Jillian.

“How?”

“We’re not at liberty to share that with you.”

“Mr. Guerin,” said Davidson as she used Harvath’s alias, “don’t insult my intelligence. Any lives concerned with what I am doing here have long since passed. If you’d like to tell me the real reason we’re talking, maybe then we can help each other out. Are you suggesting that these relics are connected to some sort of crime? If so, I’d like to know how a respected paleopathologist like Vanessa Whitcomb fits into all of this.”

“We can appreciate that you have questions of your own,” said Jillian as she tried to take control of the conversation and prevent things from turning too adversarial. She was a scientist herself and understood the way Davidson’s mind worked. She wouldn’t respond well to intimidation, and Harvath looked all too ready to jump into his “bad cop” uniform. It was obvious what her role was going to have to be. “We, on the other hand, need you to appreciate that we’re limited in what we can tell you.”

Davidson walked over to her desk, folded her arms across her chest, and sat down on its edge. She said, “Why don’t you start with what you can tell me. Because until you do, I’m not sharing anything else.”

“Dr. Davidson, you’re obviously an intelligent woman—” began Harvath.

“Don’t try to flatter me, Mr. Guerin,” she shot back.

“Believe me, flattery is the least of my intentions,” he responded. “I’m trying to be nice, so why don’t you cooperate and listen to what I have to say? Your employer, Sotheby’s, has been involved in multiple cases of fraud and trafficking in stolen and otherwise illegally tainted merchandise over the years.”

“How dare you?” snapped Davidson. “Sotheby’s has never knowingly participated in any illegal activity whatsoever.”

“Dr. Davidson, not only do I not care, but the general public at large is not going to care either when this story breaks. I guarantee you it will be the end of Sotheby’s. A stolen painting, a forged diary, they’re nothing in this day and age compared with colluding and providing material aid to terrorists.”

It was preposterous. Davidson couldn’t believe her ears. “Terrorists? That’s how they’re making their money now, by trafficking in relics over two thousand years old? Are you serious?” she laughed.

“Deadly serious,” replied Harvath.

“I don’t think you are. If you were, you wouldn’t be speaking to me. You’d be speaking to someone else here with a lot more power than I have.”

“You’re the one studying these for the client,” said Harvath.

“Mr. Guerin, you’re not only wasting your time, you’re wasting mine, and I want you to leave.”

Harvath was about to give it to Davidson with both barrels when Jillian motioned for him to back off. Shaking his head in exasperation, Harvath walked toward the other end of the room and the faint music bleeding through the wall.

“Dr. Davidson,” said Jillian, “I can assure you this is a very serious matter. We need to know where these artifacts were discovered and who found them. In answer to your previous question, yes, we believe they are connected to a major international crime.”

“So you lied then. You’re not a paleopathologist at all,” said Davidson, breaking her silence. “What are you? Interpol?”

“Dr. Davidson, I didn’t lie to you. I am a paleopathologist, but this case is very complicated. Please. We need your help. You have to tell us who sent these artifacts to you.”

“Let me disabuse you of that notion right now,” snapped Davidson as she rose from her stool. “Unless you want to make all of this very official, I don’t have to tell you anything. It is strict Sotheby’s policy not to divulge the names or any other personal information about our clients. If you have reason to believe that these artifacts or the person or persons who supplied them to us are tied to some sort of criminal activity, then I suggest you speak with a local magistrate. Unless this company is properly served with the appropriate legal paperwork, we will give you nothing.”

“You’re asking us to start legal proceedings? Through the French legal system no less? Do you know how long that will take?” beseeched Jillian.

“That’s not my problem.”

“Dr. Davidson, I am imploring you—”

“What the hell is he doing?” demanded Davidson, standing up.

“Cutting through the red tape,” stated Harvath, who had walked back to the head of the table and was now rifling through a stack of file folders. “We don’t have time to wait for French or any other jurisprudence. We need this information now.”

“I’m calling security,” said Davidson as she reached for her phone.

“Stop her,” Harvath ordered Jillian.

Alcott couldn’t believe how rapidly things were deteriorating. “Let’s just all calm down here.”

Harvath had no intention of calming down. In the world Davidson and Alcott lived in, people might patiently sit back and move at a snail’s pace dictated by science, but that wasn’t his world. In Harvath’s world, either you set the pace or somebody else set it for you. Too many people were depending on him to get to the bottom of things as quickly as possible. Jillian had had her chance and failed. Now they were going to do things his way.

Harvath dropped the files he was looking at, came around the table, and got to Davidson just as she began speaking. He yanked the phone’s cord from the wall and said to her, “I always try my best to be nice until it’s time not to be nice, and guess what time it is now?”

Davidson fixed him with an icy stare. “What is it you want?”

“You know what I want,” said Harvath as he moved into her personal space, hoping to increase the intimidation factor. He didn’t like having to play hardball with a woman, but she wasn’t leaving him much choice. “I want all of the information you have on whoever sent you these artifacts, and I want it now.”

Davidson pointed to the pile of folders spilled on the floor and replied, “It’s down there in one of those.”

She was lying, and the lie was accompanied by a not so subtle shift of Davidson’s weight from one foot to the other. She wasn’t trying to get away — she was trying to obscure something from Harvath’s vision. What was it? Then Harvath figured it out. Her computer.

“I don’t suppose you want to make this easy for me?” he asked.

Davidson just glared at him.

“Okay, have it your way,” said Harvath as he pulled her chair out for her. “Take a seat.” The woman refused, and Harvath had no choice but to physically encourage her. The move scared her more than anything else, and she immediately dropped down in front of her computer. Harvath kept one hand clamped around her upper arm just in case there was any resistance. Little did he know that the resistance was going to come flying through the door at him like a Mack truck.

Before he could get Davidson to open any of her computer files, the office door exploded inward, and a powerful, black-clad, uniformed body came sailing across the desk toward him. Harvath let go of Davidson’s forearm just in time to raise his hands to protect his face. The security guard crashed into him and sent him tumbling over backward. His head smacked against the hardwood floor, and before he could clear the stars from his eyes, the security guard began pounding on him. Despite the stars, Harvath’s instincts immediately kicked in.

In two quick moves, he had gotten the better of his attacker and was on top of him, holding the man’s head and neck in a hammerlock. There was only one problem — Harvath had forgotten that the man had a partner.

Before he could free one of his arms to parry the blow away, the second security guard had landed a searing kick to his ribs. Harvath thought for a fraction of a second that he might be able to hold it in, but inevitably the air rushed from his lungs. His hammerlock collapsed, and his body crumpled to the floor as it heaved for oxygen. Somewhere off in the distance, he thought he heard Jillian scream as a round was chambered into an MP5 and its muzzle was pressed against the side of his head.