Hatch Page 4

  “All of which are nebulous theories, without any proof to back them up.”

  Hatch shrugged. “All we know is, they were in their hotel suite, supposedly secure for the night, and, come morning, they’re gone. In the hotel which supposedly had security but conveniently doesn’t when it counts.”

  “Right, but then given this part of town—”

  “The hotel was a big American chain. They should have had all the security bells and whistles. This is not exactly a part of the world considered crime free.”

  At that, Corbin laughed. “Is there any place in the world like that?”

  “Nope, not unless you’re in the middle of Canada, way up in the bush, where not many people live.” Hatch chuckled.

  “Sure, and then you still have predators.”

  “I’ll take those four-legged predators over two-legged ones any day.” Hatch looked around. “Even now it feels like we’ve got one million eyes watching us.”

  “And that is something to consider too,” Corbin murmured. “We’re working off electronic surveillance, but these locals are working off spies on the ground. Many of them. Hell, this could be a well-paid job for thousands who live here.”

  “Speaking of networks, if Millie and Marcus have been taken by a group who’s after hidden treasure, I imagine that the antiquities network—used to move the products in and out of the country—is vast. The supply chain, the people they have, the payoffs and connections, … that must involve a massive amount of logistics. And some big dig or big treasure hunt, like this theory, would encompass dozens of people easily, if not hundreds,” Hatch murmured.

  They got back to their hotel and slipped up to their room. “What are the chances we were followed?”

  “I don’t think we were followed as much as they just know that we’re here now,” Corbin stated.

  Hatch nodded. “Time to change rooms before we get visitors.” He quickly grabbed his gear, packed his laptop, and slipped across to the door. Outside, they moved up to the top, exited on a fire escape, and looked out from the rooftop. “We can head out”—he checked his phone—“two blocks over.”

  “Where are you getting that from?” Corbin asked.

  “Killian just sent me a new address.”

  “Did you tell him that we were compromised?”

  “Yeah, that’s the nice thing about the Mavericks. They always have an answer.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Corbin admitted, “because we need one. Right now actually.” He nudged Hatch and pointed across to the adjacent roof, where four men raced toward them.

  Hatch took one look. “Shit!” They both then bolted in the opposite direction.

  Chapter 3

  When the door finally opened again, Millie lifted a weary head and stared at the man coming toward her. She’d hoped for a bottle of water, but instead she was jerked to her feet and hauled from the room. She cried out; her feet were partly numb from being in the same position for so long, and she stumbled several times. Finally she was shoved into the next room, pushed onto a chair, and handed some water. She opened the cap and drank thirstily, but, before she had her fill, the bottle was snatched away.

  A very American voice said, “You shouldn’t drink so much at one time.”

  She stared at him. “Then perhaps you should let me have more water on a regular basis.”

  “But then you’d just need more bathroom breaks.” He shrugged. “My men have better things to do than waste time on you.”

  She stared at him. “If that’s the case, why are we even here?” she asked bitterly, trying to see him clearly, but her eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of light.

  “Your father knows something, and I need that information.”

  She shook her head. “If you’re talking about a private dig, we don’t know anything about them—only our own digs.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt that you don’t.” The man studied her. “However, your father is a different story. He’s been out here over many, many years. He’s secretive, argumentative, and he uses his ridiculous outbursts to hide what he’s really up to.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. “Seriously? His outbursts, as you call them, are the result of the bottle he has buried himself in. Trust me. I should know.”

  The American looked at her soberly. “And I can see, as a loving daughter, that is what you believe. Nobody ever wants to see their parent in a bad light. As an archaeologist, he’s one of the finest, but, as a businessman, a historian, a man who wants to preserve his treasures, … he sucks,” he stated bluntly.

  Her heart sank, as she stared at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She didn’t, and that fact was obvious on her face.

  He sighed as he sat in his own chair. “Well, I believe you, … and that’s too bad.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t even know what to say.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Could I have some more water, please?”

  The bottle was immediately returned to her. She unscrewed the cap and took a long drink, before carefully recapping it. Then the stranger took away the water bottle again. “Are you serious about your claims regarding my father?” she asked, looking at him intently.

  He leaned forward. “Very serious.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  He laughed. “I have lots of proof. But I’m not here to try to convince you of your father’s betrayal.”

  She swallowed hard again, wishing she still had the water bottle. “I don’t want to believe it.” Her voice gained in strength. “I won’t believe it.”

  “You see? That’s why there’s absolutely no point in wasting the energy to persuade you otherwise because he’s your father, and you’ll believe the best that you can of him.”

  “This has been his life.”

  “Until his life went off the rails.”

  She stared at him. “When do you think he started doing this?”

  “About ten years ago,” he replied, “on the dig where your mother was murdered.”

  She gasped and sank back into her chair, horrified. “What?”

  He nodded. “Did you not wonder what happened to her?”

  “I was told,” she began, denial and shock in her voice, “that she got malaria and died of the fever.”

  He stared at her, astonished. “Wow, it really is a daughter’s love, isn’t it?”

  “What happened to my mother?” she cried out. Getting no response, she bolted to her feet and leaned over the table, separating her from this man. “What happened to my mother?”

  “Will you even believe me?” he asked. “Because the truth, … well, let’s just say, the truth’s a bitch, and it hurts. You won’t like it. You have your sunny little bubble around your father, but it’s not based on the truth.” With a nod, two men grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her back to her chair.

  She stared at him. “I need to know the truth.”

  “Your mother was murdered,” he repeated, “on a dig. She didn’t die peaceably in the night, and she didn’t have a fever. A cloth was shoved over her mouth, and she was suffocated.”

  Millie’s heart constricted in pain, and she instinctively covered it with her hands in shock.

  He shook his head slowly. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

  She shuddered, as his words slammed into her heart. “No,” she murmured, “and, by the time I got her back home again, we had no open casket or an autopsy or anything like that. … She was buried as soon as we could get it done.”

  “Of course,” he replied, “respect for the dead and all.”

  Her mind just spun with this new information. Yet, at the bottom of it all, was the awareness that, if Millie had been lied to once, she could have been lied to again, … like right now. “So how do you know that’s what happened?” she asked, staring at him suspiciously.

  “Because one of my men killed her.” She bounced to her feet again but was immediately slammed back into her chair. “Of course you’re angry,” he st
ated. “You wear your emotions on your face, you know.”

  Just enough amusement was in his tone to get her right back on her feet again. “You murdered my mother,” she yelled, staring at him with fury.

  “No,” he replied immediately. “My man had instructions to bring her to me, so I could talk to her. To see if she was part of the plot to steal antiquities, along with her husband. Instead my man became overzealous, and he accidentally suffocated her. And, for that, I’m very sorry. I have since learned—or at least came to believe—that she was innocent of all wrongdoing.”

  Millie stared at him in shock, her heart aching at the thought of what her mother must have gone through. That and the ten years of lies. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “It’s too horrible.”

  “Well, you need to,” he said, his voice determined. “Your father never told you the truth. That should tell you something.”

  “Did he know?” She didn’t want to believe it, but this man’s statement, his assurance, her father’s boozehound lifestyle—it all fit.

  “Oh, he knew. He also understood that threats had been made against her life, even before that.”

  The blows were coming too hard and too fast, and she couldn’t even react. She felt like a punching bag. She was reeling, yet maintaining her composure and an upright position on the chair—so far. It was hard for her to breathe, as she stared at this man. Finally, after a long silence, she whispered, “He knew that my mother was being threatened?”

  “Well, he heard about threats against her. I don’t think your mother had any idea because I don’t think that he ever warned her.”

  And again Millie couldn’t say anything. It was all she could do to formulate any response in her head. “When did you find out my mother was innocent?”

  “About a year later,” he said. “We knew people involved in the processing of these artifacts, and they made it very clear that she had nothing to do with any of it.”

  “Yet they made it clear that my father had?”

  He nodded. “What we don’t know is who he was doing it for—the American government, the Egyptian government, or a totally unrelated third party, some private individual or collector.”

  “That’s impossible.” She shook her head. “He never got paid for anything.”

  “So, either he’s a shitty businessman, or he has hidden it, where you would never see it.”

  “What would be the point of that?” She stared at the stranger. “The money, if there is any, … I’ve never seen evidence of it. He lives simply. There is no property, no holidays he enjoys, no flashy car. … There’s nothing.”

  “But none of that matters to him, does it?” the stranger asked.

  She studied the white panama hat on his head, realizing that he was far too cool, while she was dealing with the shocks of a lifetime. “No, he only believes in these digs.”

  “So, who do you think has funded them all this time?”

  “The government,” she replied, “and I do have proof of that.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured, “while the facts underline his alternate involvement.” She didn’t even know what to say. “I’ll leave you to think about that for a while.” He stood. “You need time to process it.”

  She nodded slowly. “You’re right. I do, and I need to talk to my father.” She stared at the door, knowing her father was on the other side. As the stranger motioned to the two men, she said, “Wait. May I use the bathroom first?”

  He sighed. “See? That’s what happens when you have water.”

  “And, without water, I die,” she murmured.

  “I have no intention of killing you,” he replied. “You’re both too valuable for that to happen.”

  “If that is the truth,” she argued, “why did you so viciously beat my father? And you should have given us water and food, without me asking for it. And why drug me? I’m still sick, reeling from the effects of whatever you gave me.”

  “What effects?” he asked, his voice sharp.

  “Headache, stomachache, cramps, sore arm,” she murmured. “I don’t even know if it was from something you gave me or from being carried and tossed around like a sack of potatoes.”

  He smiled. “Most of the time you were unconscious anyway.” He waved his hand. “So it’s really not a big deal.”

  “Not for you, giving orders to your men who are ‘overzealous’ and who kill people regardless of your intentions. When I wake up, completely disoriented, bruised, and sore,” she muttered, “that is a big deal.”

  “I will see that you get something for the headache,” he stated stiffly.

  “Just water will do,” she replied hurriedly. “Water helps the healing process.”

  He nodded.

  “Though some food would be nice,” she muttered immediately. “We must have food to live, and you know it. And the heat, … it’s killing us.”

  “The heat is not killing you,” he said affectionately. “You guys are well adjusted to the climate here.”

  “No,” she countered immediately. “Not without water and food, we aren’t.”

  “I’ll have something sent in,” he added, “and, yes, you can go to the bathroom.”

  With that, he again waved at the two guards, who stood at her side. When she stood again, he spoke to her. “Don’t piss them off. I need you, but I don’t need any trouble from you. And, if you decide to go that route,” he continued, his voice taking a hard tone, “I’ll just take you out and bury you for some future archaeologist to find in a dig in another three thousand years.”

  She stared at him, wordless, and gave a clipped nod.

  Millie was jerked roughly from this room into the “bathroom” area, then given a roll of toilet paper and a small shovel. She sighed and headed off to the corner, where she was at least given a modicum of privacy. She did her business, then used the toilet paper and the sand to clean her hands, wishing for water. As she returned to her guards, the two men standing there, waiting, with sly looks on their faces, she asked, “How much water is there?”

  “Not enough for your hands,” one said immediately.

  “Of course not,” she muttered. “That would be way too hygienic.”

  He shrugged. “We don’t have a problem.”

  “Yeah, well, your basic equipment is different than mine,” she replied sarcastically and took better note of her surroundings, now that her eyes had adapted to the low light. One wall seemed to be part of a cliff. She didn’t know where she was, but, from what she saw, the cliff appeared to be quite old. Even as she wanted to take a closer look, the men jerked her forward into the room where her father was curled up on the floor against the wall.

  She raced to his side, determined to ask him questions, only to see that his sleep wasn’t natural. She called out, “Poppy, wake up.”

  There was no answer. She looked back toward the guards at the doorway, but the door was slammed shut and locked, and she knew no help would be coming from them.

  Safe for the moment in their new lodgings, Hatch quickly contacted Killian, sending him an image of the attacker he’d cornered in that alleyway earlier. We need the rundown on this guy. He knows both Marcus and Millie, but he’s not talking.

  And he’s still walking? questioned Killian.

  Hatch snorted at that. Leaving bodies behind on this mission is likely to happen at some point, but, with all the eyes on us, I just didn’t want to start that way so soon.

  Best if it doesn’t happen at all. Egypt is not very impressed about any foreigners being there.

  Hatch rolled his eyes at that. I suppose they just want Marcus to disappear.

  Killian picked up the phone and called Hatch directly. “I’m hearing some innuendos. Something about maybe everything wasn’t quite as presented.”

  “That would be bad news.” Hatch groaned. “I suppose the American government went to bat for him.”

  “Many times,” Killian agreed quietly. “So we need to find out exactly what’s going on and p
referably without egg on our face.”

  “I’m less concerned about the egg on the face and more concerned about making sure these two people are alive and well.”

  “I know. I hear you there,” Killian agreed. “When you say that your tail had an idea where our people are, what did you mean?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Hatch interrupted. “They know these two Americans, but they aren’t talking. Still, I do believe they know who has our people. All we really got was a very clear warning to get the hell out of town, before we didn’t have that opportunity anymore.”

  “Wow, so quite a threat already, huh?”

  “Yeah, which means we’re already shaking up somebody’s world.”

  “What have you done in the meantime to deserve it?”

  Hatch quickly gave him a rundown of the day’s events.

  “Which means you’re also being tracked,” Killian noted thoughtfully.

  “Absolutely, but what we don’t know is who is behind it and what their endgame is.”

  “Well, their endgame is for you to stop asking questions obviously,” he replied, “but the real question is, Why? What is it they’re afraid you’ll unearth?”

  “No clue yet.” Hatch yawned.

  “Have you guys had any rest yet?”

  “Not too much, plus the heat takes a bit to adapt to.”

  “Of course,” he acknowledged. “One more thing. We have secured Marcus’s and Millie’s things found at their hotel. Get this. Marcus’s journals were left behind. The local authorities want to catalogue everything, take photos, but I talked them into releasing everything to our third-party agent. When that’s done, I’ll get it delivered to you. Meanwhile, maybe lay low for the rest of the evening and do some online research. I’ll send you intel on this guy as soon as I track anything down.”

  “The problem here,” Hatch added, “is that database access won’t be great, right?”