The Navigator - Cussler Clive - Страница 37

“The queen has her dainty little prints over centuries of historical record. I’ve been following her trail for years.”

“It wouldn’t be the first case of cherchez la femme. Too bad an accidental fire destroyed your Phoenician ship replica before you could prove your theory.”

Anger flashed in Saxon’s eyes. “That was no accident,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“It was arson. But that’s the past.” His charming smile returned. “I’ve scratched the idea of a Pacific crossing. Too costly and complicated. I’m trying to pull together a more modest expedition. I’d like to sail a vessel from Lebanon to the Americas and back by way of Spain, like the old ships of Tarshish might have done.”

“I’d hardly call a two-way transatlantic crossing modest, but good luck.”

“Thanks. What brings you here?”

Austin nodded at the statue. “Miss Mechadi invited me to stop by and see this gentleman. And you?”

“I heard through my sources at the Smithsonian that the old boy was in town. Thought I’d say hello.”

Judging from the elaborate camera setup, Saxon’s interest in the statue apparently was more than casual. Austin touched the Navigator’s metal arm. “Miss Mechadi said you were quite knowledgeable about the statue. How old is he?”

Saxon turned to the Navigator. “More than two thousand years old.”

Austin gazed with curiosity at the dark green statue that had almost cost the lives of hundreds of people. The figure was nearly six feet tall, standing with his sandaled left foot slightly forward. It was wearing an intricately embroidered kilt tied at the top by a wide sash. An animal skin was draped over the right shoulder. Hair hung down in rows from under a conical hat. The smile on the bearded face had an almost Buddha-like peacefulness. The eyes were half closed.

The right hand held a boxlike object at waist height. The left hand was held high, slightly clenched, like Hamlet contemplating Yorick’s skull. A skinny, small-headed cat curled around the legs. The artist had cleverly used the animal’s legs to give the statue added stability.

“If I hadn’t been told this was Phoenician,” Austin said, “I’d be hard put to identify any specific culture or period.”

“That’s because Phoenician art doesn’t have any particular style. They were too busy trading to create great works of art. The Phoenicians produced goods made to sell, so they imitated the art of their market countries. The statue’s posture is Egyptian. The head is Syrian, almost Oriental in style. The natural way the folds of his kilt fall is borrowed from the Greeks. The size is unusual. Phoenician bronzes tend to be small.”

“The tabby is an unusual touch.”

“The Phoenicians brought cats on board ship to catch rats and to use as trade items. They preferred orange-striped tomcats.”

Austin examined the boxlike object in the statue’s right hand. It was about six inches across. A circular section on the top was recessed about a half inch. An eight-point star was etched into the circle. One point was larger than the rest. A thick line, pointed at both ends, crossed from one side of the star to the other.

Saxon noticed the intense expression on Austin’s face. “Interesting, eh?”

“Carina mentioned the compass paradox. The Chinese supposedly invented the compass hundreds of years after the heyday of Phoenician trade.”

“That’s the common perception. What do you think?”

“I’d keep an open mind,” Austin said. “The Phoenician empire stretched along the shores of the Mediterranean and beyond. They would have needed constant contact with their colonies. They had to cross long open stretches of water. From Tyre to the western end of the Mediterranean is more than two thousand miles. That presumes an unparalleled skill at navigation, good charts, and nautical instruments.”

“Bravo! I have no doubt that these inquisitive, clever people knew the peculiar properties of the lodestone. They had the technical expertise to mount a magnetized needle on a wind star like this. Voila! A compass.”

“Then the statue is authentic?”

Saxon nodded. “I’d guess that it was made around 850 B.C., when the Phoenician empire was at its highest peak.”

“The compass needle seems to be pointing east and west.”

Saxon raised an eyebrow. “What else do you see?”

Austin studied the bronze face. The nose looked as if it had encountered the business end of a sledgehammer. Except for the damage, it was a reasonably good likeness of a young man, with a layered beard. What Austin thought at first was a smile might actually be a grimace. The eyes were tightened in a squint. Austin stood behind the statue and studied the upraised hand.

“I think he’s looking into the sun, as if he were navigating with a cross-staff.”

Saxon chuckled. “You’re downright frightening, my friend.”

The camera lens was pointing at the statue’s midsection, where a motif was repeated in the sash. Repeated throughout the design was a horizontal line, with a Z facing inward at each end.

“This mark was in your book.”

Austin was intent on the detail and failed to see the startled expression on Saxon’s face. “That’s right. I believe it symbolizes a ship of Tarshish.”

“You found similar motifs in South America and the Holy Land.”

A furtive expression flickered in Saxon’s gray eyes. “My detractors say it’s coincidence.”

“They’re Philistines,” Austin said.

Austin inspected the circular medallion hanging from the figure’s neck. Engraved in the medallion were a horse head and a palm tree, with its roots exposed. “This was in your book. The horse and the palm tree.”

“The horse was the symbol of Phoenicia and the tree symbolized a planted colony.”

Austin ran his fingers like someone reading Braille over several raised lumps under the palm tree. A female voice rang out, cutting his unspoken question short.

“How did you get in here?”

Carina stood in the doorway, an expression of disbelief on her face.

Saxon tried to deflect her glare with a smile. “I don’t blame you for being irate, Miss Mechadi. Please don’t take it out on the guard. I showed him my Explorers Club credentials. They’re authentic, by the way.”

“I don’t care if they’re tattooed on your derriere,” Carina said. “How did you know the statue was here?”

“I have sources who knew of my interest.”

She came over to the camera tripod. “Photos of this statue will be featured in a book that we will sell during the tour. You have no right to take unauthorized pictures.”

Saxon looked past Carina, and his expression changed dramatically. His grin faded. He bared his teeth like an angry pit bull and growled a single word:

“Baltazar.”

The minerals magnate had stepped through the doorway. Behind him was a young man carrying a leather case. Baltazar strode over to Carina.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Mechadi.” He offered his hand to Saxon. “Viktor Baltazar. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Saxon kept his hand by his side. “Tony Saxon. You tried to buy a boat I had built to sail across the Pacific.”

“Oh, yes,” Baltazar said, unfazed by the snub. “I wanted to give it to a museum. I heard it burned to the waterline. A great pity.”

Saxon turned to Carina. “My apologies, Ms. Mechadi. I hope you will remember our conversation at the embassy.”

He folded the tripod’s legs and hoisted it onto his shoulder. With a final fierce glance at Baltazar, he strode to the door and left the warehouse.

Carina shook her head in frustration. “Sorry if I overreacted. That man is the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Well, enough about him. Kurt, I’d like you to meet Viktor Baltazar, whose foundation is sponsoring the tour.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Austin. Miss Mechadi explained your role in thwarting the hijacking. Thank you for saving this remarkable young lady and preserving the collection.”