Treasure

"We don't know yet. The wax tables from the ship only provided a few tantalizing clues. The hiding place could be anywhere between Iceland and South Africa."

"But you do intend to search," she said, her interest growing.

"The discovery project is underway."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Only the President, myself and a few trusted members of our government, and now you."

"Why have you included me and not President Hasan?"

Schiller got up and walked across the room. Then he turned back to Hala. "Your nation's leader may not be in control much longer. We feel the information is too far-reaching to fall into the wrong hands."

"Akhmad Yazid."

"Frankly, yes."

"Your government will have to deal with him sooner or later," said Hala.

"If the Library treasures and their valuable geological data can be located, Yazid will demand they be returned to Egypt."

"We understand," said Schiller. "That's the purpose behind our meeting here in Breckinridge-The President wishes you to a

Hala looked at Schiller thoughtfully for a moment. Then her eyes turned and anger came into her voice.

"How can I say the discovery is just around the corner when a search may take years and never be successful? I find it most distasteful that the President and his advisers insist on creating a lie and using me to speak it. Is this another one of your stupid Middle East foreign policy games, Julius? A last-ditch gamble to keep President Hasan in power and erode Akhmad Yazid's influence? Am I the tool to mislead the Egyptian people into believing rich mineral deposits are about to be found in their country that will Turn around our depressed economy and eliminate the terrible poverty?"

Schiller sat silently and made no denials.

"You have come to the wrong woman, Julius. I'll see my government fall, and face death from Yazid's executioners, before I deceive my people with false hope."

"Noble sentiments," Schiller said quietly. "I admire your principles; however, I firmly believe the plan is sound."

"The risk is too great. If the President fails to provide the Library's great knowledge, he will be inviting a political disaster. Yazid will take advantage with a propaganda campaign that will broaden his power base and make him stronger than your experts on Egypt can ever conceive.

for the tenth time in as many years, United States foreign policy experts will look like amateurish clowns in the eyes of the world."

"Mistakes have been made," Schiller admitted.

"If only you hadn't interfered in our affairs."

"I didn't come here to debate Middle eastern policy, Hala. I came to ask your help."

She shook her head and turned away. "I'm sorry. I can't go on record with a lie."

Schiller looked at her with compassion in his eyes. He didn't push her, but thought it better to back off.

"I'll tell the President of your response," he said, picking up his attache case and making for the doorway. "He'll be most disappointed."

"Wait!"

He turned expectantly.

Hala rose and came to him. "Prove to me that your people have a positive lead to the location of the Library artifacts and not a foggy clue, and I'll do as the White House wishes."

"You'll make the a

"Yes.

"Four days until your address is not much time."

"Those are my terms," Hala said bluntly. Schiller nodded gravely

"Accepted."

Then he turned and walked out the door.

Muhammad Ismail watched Schiller's limousine come off the private road leading to Senator Pitts lodge and Turn onto Highway 9 toward the ski town of Breckenridge. He did not see who was seated in the rear seat, and he did not care.

The sight of the official car, men patrolling the grounds who spoke into radio transmitters at regular intervals, and the two armed guards inside a Dodge van at the road's enumce were all he needed to confirm the information purchased by Yazid's agents in Washington.

Ismail leaned casually against a large Mercedes-Benz diesel sedan, shielding a man sitting inside peeling out an open window through a pair of binoculars. A rack on the roof held several sets of skis. lsmail was dressed in a white ski suit. A matching ski mask hid his perpetually scowling face.

"Seen enough?" he asked while seemingly adjusting the ski rack.

"Another minute," answered the observer. He was staring at the lodge, which was partially visible through the trees. All that could be seen around the binoculars was a heavy black beard and a mass of uncombed hair.

"Make it quick. I'm freezing out here just standing around."

"Bear with me another minute."

"How does it look?" asked Ismail.

"No more than a five-man detail. Three in the house. Two in the van.

Only one man patrols around the grounds at a time, not a second more than thirty minutes. They don't dally. The cold gets to them too. They walk the same trail through the snow. No sign of TV cameras, but they probably have one mounted in the van that is monitored inside the house."

"We'll move in two groups," said Ismail. "One takes the house, the other kills the guard patrolling outside and destroys the van from the road, where they least expect an attack."

The observer dropped the glasses. "Do you plan to move in tonight, Muhammad?"

"No," answered ismail. "Tomorrow, when the American pigs are stuffing their mouths with their morning meal."

"A daylight raid will be dangerous."

"We will not sneak around in the dark like women."

"But our only escape route to the airport is through the center of town," the observer protested. "The streets will be crowded with traffic and hundreds of skiers. Suleiman Ammar would not risk such an adventure."

lsmail suddenly spun and slapped the observer with his gloved hand. "I am in charge here!" he snapped. "Suleiman is an overrated jackal. Do not speak his name in my presence."

The observer did not cower. His dark eyes flashed with hostility. "You'll kill us all," he said quietly.

"So be it," Ismail hissed, his voice as cold as the snow. "If we die so Hala Kamil can die, the price will be cheap."

"Magnificent," said Pitt.

"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous," Lily murmured.

Giordino nodded in agreement. "A real wi

They were standing in an antique and classic automobile restoration shop, and their admiring stares were directed toward a 1930 L-29 Cord town car, a model with an open front for the chauffeur. The body was painted burgundy while the fenders were a buff that was matched by the leather-covered roof over the passenger's compartment. Elegantly styled, long and graceful, the car had front-wheel drive that helped to give it a low silhouette. The original coachmaker had stretched the chassis until it measured nearly five-and-a-half meters from front to rear bumper. Almost half the length was hood, begi

It was big and sleek, a thing of beauty that belonged to an era fondly revered by older generations but unknown to those who followed.

The man who had found Pitts car stored in an old garage, hidden under forty years of trash, and had restored it from a mangled hulk, was proud of his handiwork. Robert Esbenson, a tall man with a pixie face and limpid blue eyes, gave the hood a final, loving wipe with a dust cloth and turned the car over to Pitt.