Nexus Point (Meridian Series) (4 page)

       “No, not at all.
We’re
going to steal the damn thing! The two of us. We found it, didn’t we? Sixty five
fucking million years ago, my friend! If that isn’t an argument for first
rights, then what is?”

       “Oh, God!” Paul put his hand on
his forehead, clearly upset. It was another classic Nordhausen caper. Now, more
than ever, he wished Maeve were here so the two of them could nail the
professor’s ears to his head. “Are you crazy?” He burst out in frustration.
“You mean to say this guy is some kind of smuggler or something?” Paul thumbed
at the pilot who was oblivious of the argument heating up behind him in the
passenger’s compartment.

       “Something like that.”
Nordhausen had a grin
on his face in spite of Paul’s rising temper. “We’ll be over Wadi
Safra in a minute and then we make our turn to bypass Amman. To answer your
earlier question, yes. We are sight seeing—that is if we get caught for any
reason. But I don’t expect much trouble. It’s just a nice little jaunt through
Wadi Rumm. The place gets all sort of tourist traffic like this and, once we’re
in the gorge, it’s almost impossible to track us on radar.”

       “Oh, crap!” Paul was really
angry now. “This isn’t the U.S., Robert. We have no civil rights in this
country. If we get caught, we’ll end up in a jail cell for twenty years! How
could you
do
this?”

       “With three interns and a
helicopter, that’s how.” The professor was not phased by Paul’s argument. “And
a ship, of course.”

       “A ship?”

       “Certainly. We disappear at Wadi
Rumm and stay as low to the ground as we can after that while we make the run
out to the
Arabesque
on the Red Sea.”

       “The
Arabesque?”

       “Wonderful name, isn’t it? I had
it registered that way, but it’s officially a freighter out of Yemen.”

       “And you plan on landing this
thing on the deck?”

       “No, I’ve got a heavy duty net
all set up in the main hold. All we have to do is get over the bay and ease this
baby in. Then we scramble down a rope and it’s off to Port Sudan. The Crew will
get the thing in a good packing crate on the way. We’ll just tuck it away in
the hold and nobody will be the wiser.”

       Paul was dumbfounded. He just
stared at his friend with a blank expression on his face.  “Just scramble down
a rope? Damnit, Robert! Do you realize the war on terror is still going on,
even if we did manage to prevent the disaster on Palma. There’s a US Navy task
force in the Red Sea and here we go trying to smuggle Jordanian national
property onto a ship bound for Sudan! You
are
crazy.
Certifiably insane. I think that last time jaunt was enough to scramble your
brain. Maeve was absolutely right about you.”

       “Oh, please. This hasn’t got
anything to do with the Time Meridian. OK, I’ll admit that my trip to London
was a bit out of the ordinary—”

       “That’s quite an understatement.
It was risky! Very dangerous—just like this little scheme. Only this time you
have implicated me.”

       “Serves you right. Payback’s a
bitch, eh Paul?”

       “Payback? What are you talking
about?”

       “Aren’t you the one who dragged
me off to the  late Cretaceous in the first place?”

       “You still harping on that?
Blame Kelly, not me. I had no idea we were going to end up brewing coffee on
the KT boundary.”

       “Yes? Well I’m holding you accountable in any case.
You were in on the discovery of this thing sixty-five million years ago, and so
you’re in on this now.” He folded his arms, holding his ground even if he was
beginning to feel a little guilty. “Don’t worry, Paul,” he began again. “I’ve
got this whole thing planned. You’ll see.”

       Paul was going to say something
else, but he lapsed into a sullen silence, resting his chin on his fist and
turning away to look out the window.  Nordhausen went on for a while, offering
more assurances and revealing a few more details of his plan: they were going
to slip off the freighter in Port Sudan and catch a plane that was waiting on a
small airstrip north of the city. The ship would make its innocent way to Houston,
and they would reclaim their prize a month later at a warehouse on the wharf.

       Paul wouldn’t say a word. He
kept a stony silence for some time, and that, more than anything, began to wear
down the professor’s arguments.  Eventually Nordhausen lapsed into silence as
well, until he finally spied the tawny cathedral spikes of Wadi Rumm in the
distance. Tall pillars of ochre rock thrust up from the gorge in a setting that
rivaled the Four Corners region of the US, or the Grand Canyon, for its natural
beauty.

       “Awesome, isn’t it?” Nordhausen
tried to get Paul’s mind off the situation and interest him in the towering
rock formations as the chopper lowered its altitude to slip into the gorge.

       Paul said nothing. He remained
frozen, as flinty as the wind sculpted canyons about them until Nordhausen
swallowed his pride and apologized.

       “OK, I’m sorry, Paul. I realize
this wasn’t fair. And I wasn’t serious with that bit about payback earlier.
Kelly botched the numbers on that first mission and it wasn’t your fault. At least
we found the Ammonite! Now we’ve got the damn thing, and we’ll be over the Red
Sea in half an hour. That puts us in international waters and safely out of the
country. With any luck we’ll be in Port Sudan tomorrow night and I’ll treat you
to a wonderful dinner at this little dive near the harbor. They’ve got some of
the best seafood that I’ve ever—”

       “Look there!” Paul had noticed
something in the distance.

       “Incredible, isn’t it?” The
professor was gaping at the rock formations in the gorge, pleased that he had
managed to get Paul to say something after more than an hour of silent
treatment, but Paul was pointing at something else.

       “See that aircraft over there?”
He reached down under his seat to retrieve a small pair of binoculars. He was
focusing in on the sighting while Nordhausen began explaining things away
again.

       “Probably just a tourist
flight.”

       “I don’t think so…” Paul was
turning the knob to get a better focus. “Looks like another helo. That’s the
RJAF. Lord! Now we’re in for it!”

       “What do you mean?” The
professor was reaching for the binoculars. “What’s the RJAF?”

       “The Royal Jordanian Air Force,”
said Paul with a deflated look on his face. “I knew something like this was
going to happen. I just
knew
it.”

2

Paul squinted
through his binoculars
again. “Yup, that’s a Super-Puma, if I’m not mistaken. They fly search and
rescue ops for the RJAF, and probably make border patrol runs as well,
particularly in an area like this where the radar signatures are blocked. Now,
what do you think they'll  do with us when they catch up?”

       “What makes you think they’re
interested in us?”

       The professor was distracted by
the squawk of the gain control on the radio. The pilot was adjusting his
reception and speaking in Arabic, and the modulation of his voice spoke clearly
across the cultural barriers—he was nervous. A moment later he leaned back and
motioned to the two men in the cabin.

       “Bad news,” he said with a thick
Middle Eastern accent. “Very bad. Maybe we land soon.”

       “What? Land?” Nordhausen was
aghast. “No we
can’t
land. We’ve got a precious artifact hanging from the damn
undercarriage.” He shook his head and gestured to the west where they could
just make out the dim haze of Red Sea. “Go that way!”

       “No, No…” The Arab pilot was
clearly upset. He pointed at the distant aircraft. “Air Force. We land for
inspection. Very sorry. Too bad, yes?”

       “Too bad, NO!” Nordhausen was
adamant. He kept shaking his head. “Ship waiting!” Then he realized that it was
pointless to bandy half-grown English phrases with this man. He reached
forward, his fingers twitching as he gestured for the pilot to hand him the
radio microphone. “Let me have that thing and I’ll sort this business out.”

       The pilot was clearly annoyed,
but Nordhausen had hold of the mike and he thumbed it heavily as he began to
speak. “Hello there, may I be of service?” He looked at the pilot. “Does this
thing have a speaker? How will I hear them?” His gestures indicated what he
wanted and the pilot flipped a switch to enable the cabin PA.

        “You suppose they know any
English?” He looked at Paul as he squinted at the radio handset mike.

       Paul rolled
his eyes. “You’re in luck. A Chinese pilot can’t land in Peking without knowing
English. It’s the universal language of flight everywhere on earth. But what the
hell do you think you’re going to tell them? Excuse me, gentlemen, but we’re
making off with a national treasure.” He mocked the professor to dig in his
point.

       There was a
wash of static on the speaker, an then they heard a voice, speaking English,
but heavily accented.

      
“This is the
Royal Jordanian Air Force Border Patrol. Who are you? What are you doing out
here? Over.”

       Robert thumbed the mike switch.
“Archeology team,” he began. “We’re working a permitted dig out near Bailar
Ridge. It’s all been cleared through the University of Amman.”

       “I thought you said we were
going to be tourists,” Paul hissed, but Nordhausen shushed him.

        “This is better. A good lie
always needs a hint of truth in it to be believed.”

       There was a long silence before
the signal came back.

“You are a long way from Bailar. Are
you lost? Do you need assistance? Over.”

       “Lost? No, we’re well on our
way. No problem at all.”

       Again a silence.

       “You’re supposed to say
over
when you
finish speaking,” Paul put in.

       “Be quiet and let me handle
this!” Nordhausen gave him the wide eyed look he was famous for when anyone
dared challenge his assertions.

      
“What are you
carrying? Over.”

      
“Carrying?
Oh…We’re moving supplies to a dig party in Wadi Rumm. Returning borrowed
equipment.”

      
“You are landing soon? Over.”

       “Just long enough to off load
this equipment. Then we’ll be heading north to Bailar again.”

      
“I assume, you
have filed a valid flight plan. Please read us your number. Over.”

       Robert instinctively cupped his
hand over the mike as if the men in the other aircraft could hear him. He
rasped out a question to Paul, who couldn’t help breaking into a smile with the
scene. “What does he mean by that?”

       “Don’t worry, they can’t hear us
until you press the send button, Robert. And what he means is this: when you
fly somewhere in a small craft like this you file a flight plan. They want your
plan number so they can verify you. The jig is up, my friend.”

       “Shit!” Nordhausen’s charade was
beginning to unravel. The voice on the other aircraft came back again, more
impatient.

       “I repeat: What is your flight
plan number, please. Over.”

       Nordhausen had a desperate look
on his face. “We never filed one.” He made his confession to Paul, but was
still cupping the mike handset close to his chest. Paul just folded his arms
and waited, letting the professor boil in his own stew.

       Robert fiddled with the mike. “I
say oh …fiver… two…” he was clicking the send button on and off as he spoke to
deliberately break up his transmission.

      
“Say again,
blue helo. You are breaking up. Over.”

       “Must be … damn hills … Over.”
Nordhausen was going to play his game for as long as he could. “Think we can
outrun that thing, Paul?”

       “A Super-Puma? Not a chance.
Particularly with a ton of contraband dangling from the undercarriage.”

       “Speed this thing up!” Robert
gave the Arab pilot a rude gesture, but the man was very upset and kept shaking
his head in the negative.

       “This very bad,” he said with a
pleading tone. “Maybe we land now, yes?”

       “Absolutely not! I’m paying you
a thousand dollars for this run. So get this thing moving!”

      
“Blue Helo, Blue
Helo. We do not copy. Say again. Over.”

         The professor was very
frustrated now. All his careful planning was coming to naught on this single
mischance, and he knew Paul would never let him hear the end of it. It was
obvious to him that the men in the other aircraft were going to crank the
scenario up a notch in a moment. He needed time, but what should he do?