The Sacred Vault (3 page)

‘It’ll hold,’ Fernandez assured him. He raised his voice. ‘Move back!’ Everyone cleared the area beneath the dome.

The men on the roof had also retreated, one of them pushing a button on a control box—

The explosive charges they had placed round the dome detonated as one.

Glass panels shattered into a billion fragments, the severed steel framework plunging down into the gallery and smashing the marble floor. The horrendous noise echoed through the museum’s halls - followed by the piercing shriek of sirens as vibration sensors throughout the building were triggered.

The police would be on their way. But with attention diverted by the forest fire to the east and the car bombings to the southwest, their response time would be slowed, their numbers reduced.

And Fernandez and his men would be gone.

The two men who had planted the explosives were already rappelling into the museum as the others quickly cleared wreckage out of the way. Even over the alarms the Spaniard could hear another sound, a thudding bass pounding getting louder and louder . . .

The breeze blowing in through the hole was magnified a hundredfold as a helicopter surged into view overhead, the beat of its rotor blades shaking the air. The massive aircraft was a Sikorsky S-64 Skycrane, the machine’s name revealing its purpose: to lift extremely heavy objects.

Like Michelangelo’s David.

Cables dropped from the helicopter, heavy hooks on their ends clanging on the cracked marble. Fernandez and his men each took one line and pulled it to the statue. Six cables were attached to the D-rings on the base, while Kristoff and Franco scaled the pedestal again and hooked their lines to the webbing around the great carved figure itself.

Fernandez moved back beneath the hole and looked up. The Skycrane had been painted dark green to match the livery of the Italian Forest Service’s fire-fighting S-64s, its radio transceiver hacked to give air traffic control the identification number of one of the real choppers. But where the Italian aircraft had giant water tanks beneath the long dragonfly spine of their fuselages, this had just a bottomless mockup, thin aluminium concealing a powerful winch.

A wave from Fernandez, and the winch began to draw up the cables.

The men took positions on each side of the statue, hands pressed against the pedestal. The cables pulled tight, the straps creaking as they took the strain. Fernandez watched the marble figure closely, hoping his calculations were right. If the harness didn’t protect David from the worst stresses of the lift, this would get very messy . . .

The pedestal slid off the shock absorbers and ground noisily across the floor. Everyone pushed harder to keep it in a straight line as the lines tightened. They had to get the sculpture directly under the hole before they could escape. The cables scraped on the edge of the ruined dome, glass fragments and pieces of broken masonry raining down.

The Skycrane rose, the statue jerking up and swinging half a metre before the edge of the base crunched against the marble. Fernandez waved angrily at the winch operator. Even minor damage to the statue would affect their payment.

The winchman got the message. The statue lifted again, more gently. Another two metres to go before it was in position. The men kept pushing, guiding it. One and a half, one . . .

The plinth thumped down on the broken floor, grinding glass to powder beneath it. Fernandez saw that the cables were more or less dead centre of the circular hole. ‘Hook up!’ he shouted.

Each man attached his harness to the D-rings. Once they were all secure, Fernandez gave another signal to the winchman.

The engine noise rose to a scream as the helicopter climbed.

Another jolt as the statue left the floor - this time for good. Fernandez and his team were lifted with it. The noise and downwash from the Skycrane were horrific, but if everything went to plan they wouldn’t have to endure it for long . . .

More power. The statue began to twist in the wind as it rose. Fernandez had expected that; there was no way to prevent it. All he could do was hope it didn’t get out of control.

Four metres up, five, the ascent getting faster. The Galleria spun around them - and then they cleared the roof. They were out!

He scanned the city as they continued to climb, the Skycrane lethargically tipping into forward flight and turning northwards. Strobe lights flicked through the streets leading to the museum. The police. Fernandez smiled. They were too late.

There was one police vehicle that concerned him, though. Off to the southwest, he saw a pattern of pulsing lights in the sky. Another helicopter.

Heading towards them.

As he’d expected, it had been called in to provide aerial support for the cops responding to the car bombs - but the Skycrane’s deviation from its course and the alarms at the Galleria dell’ Accademia had caused someone to put two and two together and realise that the explosions were, like the forest fire, just a diversion.

The Skycrane picked up speed, Florence rolling past below. Not quickly enough. The police chopper would rapidly catch up with the lumbering Sikorsky - and for the plan to succeed, the next stage had to be carried out without witnesses.

Fernandez looked ahead, eyes narrowed against the blasting wind. The city’s northern edge was not far away, twinkling lights abruptly replaced by the blackness of woods and fields as the landscape rose into the hills. No roads; only an aircraft could pursue them.

But he had planned for that. Another member of his team was positioned on a rooftop at the city’s periphery, directly beneath the Skycrane’s course.

The Sikorsky and its strange cargo swept over the urban boundary. The police chopper was gaining fast. Glaring blue-white light pinned the Skycrane from behind as the other aircraft’s spotlight flicked on, playing over the green fuselage before tilting down to turn the suspended statue a dazzling white.

The police helicopter closed in—

And suddenly dropped out of the sky in a sheet of flame, spiralling down to smash explosively into the woods beyond the city.

Fernandez’s man on the ground had been armed with a Russian SA-18 anti-aircraft missile, the shoulder-fired weapon homing in on the helicopter’s exhaust and detonating over a kilogram of high explosive on impact.

The Spaniard smiled. The Italian air force would now be called in to hunt down the helicopter - which was exactly what he wanted them to do. Because a few minutes from now, he and his men would be putting as much distance between themselves and the Skycrane as possible.

More dark forests below as the Sikorsky descended and slowed. They were nearing their destination: an isolated road winding through the hills. He spotted a red light flashing amongst the trees. The last team member, waiting with the truck.

Treetops thrashed in the helicopter’s downdraught as it hovered, the statue swinging pendulously for several worrying moments before settling down. The truck’s trailer was directly beneath it - a standard twelve-metre container, with an open top. A metal frame of a very specific shape had been welded to its floor and covered with thick foam padding. Beside the trailer, a large object was hidden beneath a tarpaulin.

‘Okay, drop!’ yelled Fernandez, pulling out a clip on his harness. His support line uncoiled and fell away. He quickly rappelled into the truck, the other men following. The moment their boots hit metal, they detached the lines and stood beneath the statue. Fernandez switched on a lamp to give the winchman a clear view, then joined the others.

The statue’s base was about three metres above the container’s top, slowly turning. Fernandez signalled for it to be lowered. The winch whined, cables shuddering as the statue descended. The men warily reached up. An agonising moment as the pedestal’s corner clipped the container’s edge, steel bending with a screech, then it slipped inside.

Hands gripping the base, eight men strained in unison to turn David in a particular direction as the great figure continued its steady descent. Fernandez gestured for the winchman to slow. The men pushed harder, the statue still at an angle. Less than half a metre. Another push—

The base lined up against a length of metal pole at the end of the frame. Fernandez waved his hands. The winchman responded - and the statue landed with a bang that shook the entire container.

But the Skycrane’s job wasn’t done. The container was less than two and a half metres tall, the statue standing high above its top. The men moved to each side of the framework as the Sikorsky slowly moved forwards. The cables pulled tight again, dragging the statue after the aircraft - but the bar across the container’s floor stopped it.

Like a footballer tripped by a sliding tackle, David began to fall.

In slow motion. The cables and the harness took the strain. Little by little, the giant was lowered towards the waiting frame, each section of which was shaped to support a specific part of the statue’s body. Lower. Fernandez held his breath. David’s sneer now seemed directed at him personally, daring him to have miscalculated . . .

He hadn’t. The statue touched down, the foam compressing, steel creaking - but holding.

‘Secure it!’ he barked. Three of the men lashed the statue down, the others detaching the cables. Fernandez hurried to the container’s open end and jumped out. The Skycrane increased height slightly and edged sideways, hooks banging on the corrugated metal. Inside the container, the team hauled on ropes hanging over its side - pulling up the tarpaulin so the open roof could be covered.

As the grubby blue tarp moved, it revealed the object lying on the ground. The sight almost made Fernandez laugh out loud at its sheer audacity, even though he had thought of it in the first place.

A replica of David.

It was crude, only nine-tenths life size, made of fibreglass where strength was needed, chicken wire and papier mâché and cardboard elsewhere. At close range it looked like a joke, a refugee from a school craft fair. But nobody
would
see it at close range. All they would see was what they had been told to expect: a priceless national treasure suspended from a helicopter.

He and the truck driver secured the hooks to the harness round the duplicate’s chest, then Fernandez signalled to the Skycrane. The helicopter’s engines shrilled as it increased power, pulling the imitation statue upright, then turning away once its new cargo was clear of the truck.

Fernandez watched the helicopter go. That was the final stage of the plan: the ultimate decoy. The pilot would take the Sikorsky up to ten thousand feet, heading northeast, then lock the controls to put it into a slow but steady descent - and he and the winchman would bail out, parachuting down. When military aircraft intercepted the helicopter, they would be unable to take any action for fear of damaging the statue, leaving them impotently following until it eventually smashed down in the hills some fifty kilometres away . . . by which time the real statue would be safely on its way to its new owner.

He laughed, unable to hold in his delight any longer. They had done it! He really
was
the greatest thief in history. One more job, and the team would receive the rest of their hundred million dollar payment - with half of it going to its leader and mastermind. And the final robbery, in San Francisco, would be a piece of cake in comparison to what they had just achieved.

The tarp roof was secure, the rear doors closed. Still smiling, Fernandez climbed into the cab and signalled the driver to head off into the darkness.

 

 

‘. . .
S
o I’d like everyone to join me in a toast - a
belated
toast - to the marriage of two great friends of mine . . . Eddie Chase and Nina Wilde.’

Nina leaned round her husband to speak to the grey-haired man beside him as applause filled the room. ‘That was a nice speech, Mac.’

‘Yeah,’ rumbled Eddie, less impressed. ‘You only mentioned a
few
embarrassing moments from my time in the Regiment.’

Jim ‘Mac’ McCrimmon grinned. ‘What are best men for? Besides,’ the bearded Scot went on, ‘I’d never tell any of the
really
embarrassing SAS stories in mixed company. Certainly not in front of your grandmother!’

Nina stood. ‘Okay,’ she said, running a hand self-consciously through her red hair as everyone looked at her, ‘I know it’s not traditional for the, ah, “new” bride’ - she made air-quotes, raising laughter - ‘to speak at this point, but our lives have been anything
but
traditional since we met.’ More laughs. ‘So I wanted to thank you all for coming - it’s great that so many of you could make it for our first wedding anniversary, and we’ve had some lovely cards and messages from those who couldn’t be here. And most of all, I’d like to thank the man who made it all possible - my strangely charming, sometimes crazy-making, but always amazing husband.’ She kissed the Yorkshireman to more applause. ‘Anything to add, Eddie?’

‘You pretty much covered it. Except for . . . bottoms up!’ He raised his glass. ‘Enjoy the party!’

The DJ took the cue and put on a song - which, as per Eddie’s instructions, was a version of ‘Por Una Cabeza’. He stood, holding out a hand. ‘Fancy a dance?’

She smiled. ‘Y’ know, I might have practised this one a few times . . .’

‘Good job too - you were bloody rubbish at it in Monaco!’ He led her to the dance floor, the couple exchanging congratulations and jokes with friends along the way before taking their positions for a tango.

‘Ready to dance, Mr Chase?’ said Nina.

‘If you are, Mrs Chase,’ Eddie replied. Nina arched an eyebrow.

‘All right, Dr Wilde,’ he said with a playful sigh of defeat. ‘Just thought I’d try to have one vaguely traditional thing in our marriage.’

‘You’re so old-fashioned,’ she said, teasing. ‘And a one, and a two, and . . . dance!’

 

‘I’m actually impressed,’ said Elizabeth Chase to her younger brother. The DJ had switched to pop after Nina and Eddie’s display, the dance floor now drawing the younger and/or more inebriated guests while the host and hostess split up to circulate. ‘I had no idea you were so graceful. Shouldn’t you be wearing spangly trousers and dancing with celebrities?’

Her grandmother tutted at her. ‘Well,
I
thought it was very nice, Edward.’

‘Thanks, Nan,’ said Eddie. ‘And I’m glad you’re here to see it. And you, Holly,’ he smiled at his niece, ‘and even you, Lizzie . . . I mean Elizabeth.’

Elizabeth gave him a look somewhere between acknowledgement of the shared sibling joke and actual annoyance. Holly’s expression, meanwhile, was of genuine pleasure. ‘It’s so awesome to be here, Uncle Eddie! I get to see you and Nina - do I call her Aunt Nina now? It sounds weird - and check out New York,
and
I’m getting time off school! Mum never normally lets me skive out of anything.’

‘Probably for the best - mind you, I skived out of school all the time, and it never did me any harm,’ Eddie told her, smirking at his sister’s sarcastic snort. ‘Anyway, it’s good to have the whole family here.’

‘Not the
whole
family,’ Elizabeth said pointedly.

Eddie forced himself to ignore her. ‘So, who wants another drink?’

‘Me!’ Holly chirped, holding up her champagne glass.

‘You’ve had enough,’ her mother said firmly.

‘Aw, come on! I’m seventeen, I’m
almost
old enough.’

‘Not here, you’re not,’ said Eddie. ‘Drinking age is twenty-one in the States.’ At Holly’s appalled look, he went on: ‘I know, how crap is that? But if you had any more, Amy here might have to arrest you.’ He tugged the sleeve of another guest. ‘Isn’t that right, Amy? I was just telling my niece about how strict you American cops are about the drinking laws.’

‘Oh, totally,’ said Amy Martin, joining the group. She regarded Holly’s glass. ‘I mean, that’s a potential 10-64D right there. I’m off duty, but I might have to call that in and take you downtown.’ Holly hurriedly put down the glass.

Eddie laughed, and introduced the young policewoman to his family - then looked round at a commotion from the function room’s main entrance. ‘I might have bloody known he’d cause a scene. Hang on.’ He crossed the room to close the doors, a task made harder by the press of onlookers trying to see inside. ‘Private party, so piss off!’ he warned the gawpers as he shut the doors, then turned to the new arrival and his companion. ‘Glad you could make it. You’re only an hour late.’

As usual, the sarcasm went completely over Grant Thorn’s head. ‘Sorry, dude,’ said the Hollywood star. ‘Jessica couldn’t decide on a dress.’

Eddie recognised his partner as Jessica Lanes, a starlet-of-the-moment famous for a couple of successful teen comedies and a horror movie, as well as her willingness to remove her clothes for lad-mag photoshoots. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said to the blonde, who smiled blankly.

‘Eddie here saved my life,’ Grant told her. ‘He’s a cool dude, even though he’s a Brit.’

‘Wow, you saved his life?’ asked Jessica. ‘Awesome. So, you’re like a lifeguard?’

‘Something like that,’ Eddie replied, deadpan. Someone else tried to peer into the room; he moved behind Grant to secure the doors again, whispering, ‘Thought you were bringing that other Jessica? You know, the dark-haired one?’

‘Old news, man,’ Grant said quietly. ‘Besides, a Jessica’s a Jessica, right?’

Eddie shook his head, then escorted the pair through the room, which had suddenly been energised by the injection of star power. Holly in particular was dumbstruck by the appearance in three dimensions of a man who had previously been limited to posters on her bedroom wall. ‘Everyone, this is Grant and Jessica, who . . . well, you probably recognise.’

Nan peered at the pair as Eddie completed the introductions. ‘Ooh, I know you,’ she said to Grant. ‘I saw you on the telly. You were in an advertisement, weren’t you?’

‘Nan!’ hissed Holly, mortified. ‘It was an advert for his
film
! That he was starring in! As the star!’

‘Oh, that explains it. I don’t watch films these days,’ Nan confided to Grant. ‘They’re all so noisy and violent, just silly nonsense. But I’m sure yours are very good,’ she added politely.

Eddie held in a laugh at Grant’s discomfiture. ‘Anyway, I was getting drinks, wasn’t I?’

He headed for the buffet tables, passing Nina along the way. ‘Who’s that with Grant?’ she asked.

‘A Jessica.’

‘I thought his girlfriend was the one with dark hair?’

‘Keep up, love. You’re a celebrity yourself, you should know this stuff.’

‘I am
not
a celebrity,’ Nina said, faintly irked by the accusation.

‘Right. Being seen on live TV inside the Sphinx by two hundred million people doesn’t count.’

She groaned. ‘Don’t remind me. See you later.’ Giving him a kiss, she continued circulating, spotting some friends and workmates at one table. ‘Matt, Lola!’ she called, joining them. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Great, thanks,’ said Matt Trulli, holding up his glass. ‘Top bash you and Eddie’ve put on. Congratulations!’

‘Well, it’s mostly Eddie who organised it,’ she told the tubby Australian engineer. ‘I’ve been a bit preoccupied with work - I spent most of the week in San Francisco. But if you’re enjoying it, I’m happy to take the credit!’

‘You look lovely, Nina,’ Lola Gianetti said. Nina felt her cheeks flush a little at the compliment from her personal assistant - though she had to admit that her cream dress was considerably more elegant than the suits she wore at the office or the rugged and functional clothing preferred out in the field. ‘And I didn’t know you and Eddie could dance!’

‘That tango looked pretty hot stuff,’ said Matt. ‘There, er, there many single women at dance classes?’

Nina was saved from having to answer by the arrival of another guest. ‘There you are, Nina,’ said Rowan Sharpe. ‘I thought I’d never catch up with you.’

‘We’ve spent practically the past week together, Rowan,’ she said, grinning. ‘I would have thought you’d be sick of the sight of me by now.’

‘Oh, don’t be absurd.’ The tall, black-haired Connecticut native was in his late thirties, and in his tuxedo looked even more dashing than usual. Lola’s attention had definitely been caught, Nina noticed with amusement. ‘I certainly wasn’t going to miss this - even if I had to fly all the way from San Francisco to be here.’

‘Rowan, this is Matt Trulli,’ said Nina, making introductions. ‘He used to work for UNARA, and now he’s with the Oceanic Survey Organisation. Matt, this is an old friend of mine, Dr Rowan Sharpe. He’s in charge of the Treasures of Atlantis exhibition.’

‘Oh,
I’m
in charge?’ said Rowan, feigning surprise. ‘Funny, I thought you were. I mean, you’re constantly there bossing everyone about . . .’

Nina gave him a little laugh. ‘I’m the boss, so I’m allowed to be bossy. Besides, the exhibition’s really important to me. I just want things to be perfect.’

‘Well, you always were a perfectionist.’ He winked at her, then looked her up and down. ‘And speaking of perfection, you look absolutely incredible tonight. I’m very jealous of Eddie.’ He sighed, smiling. ‘Ah, the path not taken . . .’

‘Knock it off, Rowan,’ said Nina, but not before Lola and Matt exchanged curious looks. ‘Rowan and I used to date,’ she explained. ‘A long time ago, when I was an undergraduate.’ Another look passed between them. ‘
Yes
, I had boyfriends before I met Eddie. Why is everybody always so surprised about that?’

‘Though I’d actually known her for years,’ Rowan added. ‘I was a friend of Nina’s parents - Henry Wilde was my archaeology professor. I even helped them with some of their research on Atlantis.’ He put a gentle hand on Nina’s shoulder. ‘Henry and Laura would be so proud of you. You found what they spent their lives searching for.’

‘Thank you,’ Nina replied, with a twinge of sadness: her parents had lost their lives searching for Atlantis. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Both the impending exhibition and this evening were about celebrating what the hunt for Atlantis had brought her, not regretting what it had taken. ‘But the main thing now is that the whole world can see it for themselves.’

‘It’s a shame you can’t come with me for the exhibition’s entire tour. But I suppose Eddie would get rather annoyed if I took you away from him for four months.’

‘He might at that,’ said Nina, smiling. ‘And speaking of Eddie, I should go and find him again, so I’ll see you all later.’

‘Have fun.’ Rowan held up his drink to her, then said to Matt, ‘So, what do you do at the OSO?’

As Matt launched into what promised to be an extremely technical summary of his work building robotic underwater vehicles, Nina continued through the room, looking for Eddie. Before she saw him, though, she encountered more very familiar faces. ‘Hi!’

‘Nina!’ said Macy Sharif in delight. The archaeology student had been in conversation with Karima Farran and Radi Bashir, the Jordanian couple respectively a friend of Eddie’s from his days as an international troubleshooter-for-hire, and a producer for a Middle Eastern news network. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ said Nina, embracing her. ‘How are your studies going?’

‘Well, you know that I used to be kind of a C-student?’ Macy said with a cocky grin. ‘Well, I’m now a . . .
B
-student! B-plus, even. Sometimes.’

‘That’s great! And you’ve still got another year and a half to get that A - like I said at the UN, if you want a job at the IHA when you graduate, just ask.’

‘I think I will. Thanks.’ She glanced past Nina. ‘Hey, is that Grant?’ Nina nodded, and Macy’s look became more predatory. ‘I’m gonna say hi. You think he’ll remember me?’

‘You’re hard to forget,’ Nina assured her. Macy quickly applied another coat of lipstick, then darted off through the crowd. ‘He’s with someone,’ Nina called after her.

‘We’ll see!’

‘She’s very . . .
forward
, isn’t she?’ said Karima.

‘That’s one way to describe her,’ Nina replied, amused.

Rad nodded. ‘She was just telling us in alarming detail about her night with some racing driver in Monaco. It’s only the second time we’ve met her! I might be a journalist, but there’s still such a thing as too much information.’

‘She’s a live one, that’s for sure. So how are you two?’

‘Edging ever closer to getting married,’ said Karima, putting an arm round her fiancé’s shoulder. ‘Next spring, we think.’

‘Or maybe summer,’ Rad added. ‘Or autumn.’ Karima jabbed him with her sharp nails. ‘Ow.’

‘That’s fantastic,’ said Nina. ‘And it’s so great of you to come all this way for tonight. Thank you.’

The beautiful Jordanian smiled. ‘We wouldn’t have missed it. Although I have to admit we’re making a vacation of it.’

‘Two weeks in the States,’ said Rad. ‘We’re doing a tour. I can’t wait to see the Grand Canyon.’

‘He means he can’t wait to see Vegas,’ Karima said knowingly.

‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,’ Nina told them. ‘Have you told Eddie that you’ve almost set a date?’

‘Not yet,’ said Rad. ‘We only spoke to him very briefly when we arrived.’

‘I’ll go find him. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.’ Nina spotted her husband talking to Mac. ‘Eddie!
Eddie!
’ Mac looked round at her, but Eddie didn’t react. ‘Deaf as a post in his old age.’