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  The section reserved for return flight information was stamped ONE WAY.

  Chapter 3

  The engines of the big jet dropped in pitch as it rolled to a stop at the arrival gate. The passengers stood and began pulling packages and carrying cases from the storage bins along the top of the cabin. Muted conversations filled the confined space as people reached across each other for their belongings and crowded into the narrow aisle. Late afternoon sunshine slanted through the oval windows, its yellow glow contrasting with the sterile white of the cabin lights.

  Leahy kept his seat while the other passengers filed down the aisle and began exiting the plane. He had spent most of the flight mentally examining them for anything that might indicate they were NSA agents or other federal operatives. He finally decided he was being paranoid and gave it up. When the aisle cleared, he rose and followed the last of the passengers to the front of the plane. As instructed, the only luggage he carried was the raincoat he was wearing when he departed Atlanta. Two pretty flight attendants with frozen smiles nodded mechanically as he exited the aircraft.

  The covered ramp led into a large waiting room crowded with people. Leahy stopped just outside the entrance and scanned the crowd, looking for the unidentified contact that was to meet him. Everything appeared normal. The usual variety of people were scattered around the waiting room, most of them looking bored and sleepy. A young soldier sat slumped in one of the seats, legs extended before him. He turned from looking out a large window over the tarmac long enough to give Leahy a blank stare. Leahy smiled and nodded. The soldier ignored the courtesy and resumed his vigilance of the concrete expanse beyond the window. Two men in business suits were sitting against the wall to his left. Both were reading newspapers and showed no interest in the milling crowd. If his contact was waiting for him, he or she was not obvious.

  Across the room a young woman wearing a buckskin jacket and jeans caught his eye. Her long blonde hair was braided and held back by a red headband. They made eye contact and he waited while she worked her way through the crowd toward him. As she approached, Leahy noted the worn out moccasins on her feet and the leather thong holding up her tight jeans. A young man, similarly dressed, watched her from across the room. The girl put on a brilliant, white-toothed smile and held up a cardboard can with a money slot in the lid.

  “God bless you, sir, and may the sweet light of Jesus brighten your day,” the girl said with well-acted enthusiasm. “Would you like to make a donation to the Church of World Hope?”

  Leahy started to say something but she cut him off.

  “It’s for a very good cause. We’re on our way to Boston where we’re sponsoring a relief fund for the victims of housing discrimination. We need your help in sharing God’s bounty with the homeless." A smile lit up her pretty face again.

  Irritated, Leahy shifted the raincoat to his other arm and reached into his pocket for some coins. He had been so intent on watching the girl that he failed to notice the man and woman who had approached from his left.

  The man reached out, took the girl by the arm, and jerked her around to face him. “Beat it,” he said in an authoritarian voice, “before I share the bounty of the Albuquerque jail with you.” He held up a police ID case, jerked his head in the direction of her companion across the room, and said, “Take your friend over there with you.”

  “I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” she complained with feigned indignation. She jerked away from him and stepped back.

  The police officer took a step toward her.

  "Damn cops," Leahy heard her mutter as she hurried away.

  When she was gone the man turned to Leahy. “Sorry about that but it’s hard to keep them out of public places.” He stuck out his hand. “You’re Lieutenant Leahy.” It was a statement rather than a question. He was about Leahy's height, red hair, slightly overweight.

  As Leahy shook hands he glanced toward the departing girl. “No problem. We have them in Atlanta, too.”

  “I’m Ryan Pierce, Albuquerque P.D. This is Taylor Griffin,” he nodded toward the woman.

  Leahy, really looking at her for the first time, saw that she was strikingly pretty. Her medium length hair was dark brown, almost black, and swept back behind her ears. She was tall and slender, just a few inches shorter than Leahy’s six-foot frame. She wore a dark gray suit that accentuated a well-proportioned figure. Around her neck was a yellow scarf fastened at the throat by a golden brooch of unusual design. Small characters that looked like hieroglyphics decorated its edge. He noticed the scarf accentuated the jade color of her eyes. She returned his gaze and smiled. He saw with pleasure that she smiled with her eyes as well as her lips. She held out her hand.

  “Welcome to New Mexico. How was the flight?”

  A couple of long seconds passed before he realized that he was staring at her. When he recovered, he was gratified to find that his mouth had not been hanging open. Embarrassed, he took her hand and said, “Fine, just fine. It was a relief to get out of the rainy weather back home.” They stood gazing at each other, still holding hands.

  Pierce finally broke it up. “Anything you need to pick up before we go?” He nodded in the direction of the luggage receiving area.

  Leahy let go of her hand and said, “Uh…..no….this is everything.” He patted the raincoat.

  “You travel light, Lieutenant,” Pierce observed.

  Taylor came to his rescue before Pierce could continue. She hooked her arm through Leahy’s and said, “We’d better be going. Our ride’s waiting.”

  "I take it you're my contact?” he asked.

  "Of course. I hope you don't think I make a habit of picking up strange men in airports,” she kidded with a mock frown. He laughed, but did not answer.

  They walked across the waiting room and into the main concourse. Like most airports, the wide walkway was congested with people. Near the exit turnstiles several more representatives of the Church of World Hope were vainly attempting to solicit money from travelers. Taylor turned in the opposite direction and guided them into a side corridor with a metal door at the end. Pierce stepped around them and inserted a key card into a slot beneath the handle. The door opened onto an enormous concrete area laced with runways and taxi strips. As they exited, a big jet roared into the sky, leaving a trail of black exhaust.

  Taylor, still holding Leahy’s arm, leaned close and shouted over the noise, “This way!” She put her free hand on his forearm and guided him to their right. He had been keenly aware of her close proximity since she had taken his arm inside the airport. He thought her feminine demeanor added a very attractive touch to her already alluring physical appearance. He had long since stopped forming opinions of people based on first impressions, but having known this woman less than five minutes he decided he liked her. The feeling took some of the edge off his apprehension. She pulled him toward an olive-drab helicopter sitting a few yards away. MARINES was painted in large yellow letters on the fuselage.

  The pilot glanced out the cockpit’s side window as they approached, and started the blades rotating. Two armed Marine guards dressed in camouflage fatigues stood near the door. When they reached the chopper, the guards slid it open and stepped aside. The blades picked up speed, creating a turbulence that blew their hair and clothes tight against their bodies.

  Pierce tapped Leahy on the shoulder and reached for his hand. “This is where I leave you, Lieutenant,” he shouted above the noise. “Anything I can do for you while you’re here, just call me.” He stuck a business card into Leahy’s hand.

  “Goodbye, Ryan,” Taylor shouted over the noise. “Thanks for everything.” She disengaged from Leahy’s arm and kissed Pierce on the cheek.

  He grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anytime, sweetie,” he replied in mock embarrassment.

  Years of police experience had taught Leahy to read people by their body language. Though Pierce’s use of the term ‘sweetie’ was obviously intended as metaphor, there was something unusual about the way
he reacted when she kissed him. It indicated that there was more than just a casual relationship between them. He felt a twinge of jealousy, then dismissed it as being ridiculous. There had to be many men who admired Taylor Griffin.

  One of the guards helped her into the helicopter, then Leahy pulled himself up. The other guard took a final look around outside, got in and closed the door. Pierce retreated to a safe position near the building and stood watching as the pilot increased engine power and prepared for takeoff.

  Leahy sat down on the webbed bench seat beside Taylor and fastened his lap belt. One of the guards climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and put on a white flight helmet. The other man strapped himself into a small swivel seat near the door. An inverted L-shaped stand that supported a multi-barreled machinegun was bolted to the floor near him. The stand was fixed to a narrow track that ran lengthways across the floor at the bottom of the door. When the door was open, the gunner could move the weapon back and forth across the doorway to cover a wide angle of fire. Leahy recognized it as a minigun, one of the most deadly air-to-ground weapons ever built. From his military days he knew it was capable of firing thousands of rounds per minute. He guessed that a similar gun was mounted in the nose of the aircraft.

  They lifted off and banked steeply to the right, moving away from the cluster of airport buildings. Through a small oblong window located behind his head Leahy caught a glimpse of Pierce, hands still in pockets, looking upward. He seemed small and lonely as the turbulence from the helicopter’s blades lashed his hair and clothes. He was lost from view as the chopper leveled and headed out over the city.

  Taylor had been watching him since their takeoff. “First time in a helicopter?”

  Her question broke his reverie. He shook his head. “I had a little flight time when I was in the service. Are you with the police department or the NSA?”

  It was a blunt question, and caused the guard sitting across from them to look up and give Taylor a questioning look. She nodded slightly. He unfastened his seat belt and walked forward, taking up a position behind the pilots.

  “Actually, neither,” she responded. “I’m a scientist. I work at the Apache Point research facility. Dr. Durant was going to meet you personally, but something came up at the last minute and he asked me to come. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Leahy decided to ignore the reference to Dr. Durant, whoever he might be. “I’m not the least bit disappointed,” he said with a smile. “I thought you might be connected with the Albuquerque police because of the detective.”

  “With Ryan? No, he’s just an old friend. His sister used to work at the facility.” Her expression became blank and she looked down at the floor. She was quiet for several seconds, occupied with private thoughts.

  Her rapid mood swing led Leahy to believe he may have been right about Pierce. There did appear to be more than just a casual relationship between them. In any event, it was none of his business and he felt bad about having mentioned it. He tactfully changed the subject. “The men who contacted me in Atlanta didn’t tell me much. Why would a federal facility need a city detective, especially one from out of town?”

  The question broke her pensiveness and she looked up. “I know you have a thousand questions,” she answered, “and you’ll get answers to all of them soon. It’s complicated and very sensitive. It would be better if you waited until we reach the facility and give Dr. Durant an opportunity to explain things personally.”

  “Miss Griffin, could you come forward please?” The pilot’s voice came over a small speaker above their heads.

  She unfastened her seat belt. “Excuse me for a minute, Lieutenant.”

  “I will if you promise to call me Matt.”

  She stood up and smiled, showing a row of white teeth. “Okay, Matt. I’ll be right back.”

  He watched her walk to the cockpit, using the wall as support. Walking in a helicopter was like walking on the deck of a boat; it took practice before you got your sea legs. The high-heel shoes were not helping either, except to accentuate the shapely curve of her calves. Things were definitely beginning to look up. He felt an emotional rush and it bothered him somewhat. Jesus, Matt, he thought, take it easy. You don’t even know this woman. Just remember, you swore you would never allow yourself to become vulnerable again. With an effort he looked away and began a visual examination of the helicopter’s interior.

  When Taylor reached the cockpit the guard standing behind the pilot handed her a headset with a curved microphone attached to the left ear cup. She placed it against her head and said, “This is Dragonfly.”

  “This is Stopwatch,” a tinny voice replied from the headset. “Do you have the package?”

  She turned and glanced at Leahy, who was looking out the window. “Affirmative,” she answered.

  “Any problems?” asked the voice.

  “Negative.”

  “What is your ETA?”

  She looked inquiringly at the pilot, who was listening to the conversation over his own headphones. He put his hand over his mike and gave her the information.

  “Approximately forty minutes,” Taylor relayed the estimate.

  “Good. There will be a slight delay meeting you. Suggest you use the time to provide our guest with an aerial tour of the facility before landing.”

  “Any problems?” She sounded apprehensive.

  “Negative. Just handling some technicalities.”

  “Received and understood.”

  “Stopwatch out,” said the voice.

  She handed the headset back to the guard and returned to her seat. As she sat down and twisted to fasten her seat belt, a beam of sunlight came through the window and glinted off the gold brooch at her throat. It caught Leahy’s attention, and for the first time he noticed the strange character in the center. On close examination it appeared to be a fat, oval-shaped insect with its legs pulled tight against its sides. The head sprouted a set of serrated mandibles, and tiny rubies had been embedded on each side for eyes. The insect’s head was crafted in slightly darker gold than the rest of the brooch, giving it a bold contrast. A finely tooled rope encircled the edge of the piece. There was just enough imperfection in the workmanship to indicate that it was handmade; but in any case, it was the most unusual piece of jewelry he had ever seen. The shape of the insect was familiar, but he was unable to place it. His brows knitted as he searched his memory. He made a mental note to ask her about it.

  “Anything wrong?” he inquired.

  “No, they were just anxious to know if you were aboard and asked our ETA.” She crossed her legs and leaned back.

  “I was just admiring your pin.” He touched it with a fingertip and said, “It’s very beautiful.”

  She reached up and took the brooch between her fingers, tilting it so he could get a better view.

  “It was a gift from someone I knew a long time ago,” she said. “Sort of a going-away present.” For a moment her mood seemed pensive, then the warm smile returned.

  “It has an unusual design. It seems as though I’ve seen something like it before, but I can’t quite place it.”

  “It’s a scarab,” she explained. “You’ve probably seen the symbol of the sacred beetle in magazine articles or books dealing with Egyptian artifacts.”

  Her explanation jogged his recalcitrant memory. The fabulous treasures of Tutankhamen! The discovery of the ancient king’s tomb by Howard Carter in 1922 had touched off worldwide publicity. Later, when the contents of the tomb had been organized and cataloged, photographs of the relics had appeared in magazines and newspapers in almost every civilized country on earth. Color layouts in magazines like National Geographic and Smithsonian periodically resurrected Carter’s discovery, keeping its treasures before the public eye. The scarab, or sacred beetle, was depicted on jewelry and other items recovered from the tomb.

  “The ancient Egyptians used the scarab as a symbol of the sun god,” Taylor continued. “Its habit of rolling balls of dung across the ground made them think of
the divine being that caused the ball of the sun to roll across the sky each day.” She paused and looked at him with an amused expression. “I suppose most people in this day and time would find that a little repugnant. The dung balls, I mean.”

  “Only the squeamish ones,” he replied with a grin.

  She laughed, fondling the scarab, while their eyes met and held for several long seconds. Conversation between them was easy, and it made her feel comfortable. He was not at all unattractive, and his smile appeared natural and sincere. If things worked out as planned they would be spending a good deal of time together. She found the prospect appealing. She knew he was totally unaware of the reasons for his summons to Apache Point, and when that knowledge was revealed, it could drastically alter their budding relationship. However, there was strength in the way he carried himself, and she doubted he was the type to run from responsibility. In any event, within the next few hours his questions would all be answered and he would know exactly why Apache Point needed a police detective, especially this particular one.

  “You said you were a scientist,” he said. “Not many women wear a scarab brooch. Does that mean you’re an archaeologist?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I’m a linguist with a specialty in philology. A great deal of my work is in the interpretation of documents and inscriptions recovered by archaeologists through their digs. Believe it or not, I can read hieroglyphics about as well as some people read their native language.”

  He reached out and felt the edge of her scarf where pictographic characters were embroidered in black thread. “What do these hieroglyphics say?”

  She hesitated a few seconds before she answered. It would be taking a chance to tell him exactly what the characters meant without going into more detail than she wanted to. She did not want to begin their relationship with lies, so decided to tell a partial truth, leaving out the details of how she had acquired the exact hieroglyphics.

  “They tell a story of sorts.” She leaned her head back against the metal wall, and stared at the overhead mass of wires and cables. “They say ‘The daughter of Ra holds the light of life that causes the faithful to come forth by day. Her radiance fills the land of Egypt and her countenance brings everlasting beauty among us.’ Ra, who was one of the greatest Egyptian gods, was represented by the sun. The daughter of Ra refers to another deity that they thought held the power of life after death. To ‘come forth by day’ means being raised from the dead, or to have eternal life. The inscription was inscribed on an article found in the tomb of an Egyptian queen who lived about 1250 B.C. I thought it was an especially beautiful passage so I had it embroidered on silk and made into a neck scarf.” She looked at him and waited for a response.