The Navigator by Clive Cussler, Paul Kemprecos Page A

remind me of aristocrats who have fallen on hard times.”

    “Interesting,” the man said. “My name is Yousef. I am with the Interior Ministry.”

    Saxon knew that the Interior Ministry was synonymous with national security.

    “You’re very kind to come out here.”

    “Kindness had little to do with this situation.” He opened the folder. “This is the file of the
real
Hassan.” His manicured fingers extracted several sheets of paper stapled together, which he slid across to Saxon. “And this is the list of antiquities.”

    Saxon read the list, which was in English. “This corresponds to the list published by the Baghdad Museum.”

    “Then I am afraid you are too late.” Yousef sat back and tented his fingers. “The items were removed by the army. They are in the possession of a representative from UNESCO. The day after the transfer, Hassan was tortured and murdered.” Yousef drew his finger across his throat.

    “If he didn’t have any antiquities, why did he tell me he had them?”

    “A thief steals more than once. He may have felt he could dupe a rich foreigner.”

    “Do you know who killed him?”

    “We are working on it.”

    “Who was the UNESCO representative?”

    “An Italian woman. Her name is Carina Mechadi.”

    “Do you know if she is still in Cairo?”

    “She left on a ship with the antiquities some days ago. She is taking them to the United States under an arrangement with the Baghdad government.”

    The wind went out of Saxon’s sails. He had been
so
close to his goal. “May I be allowed to go now?”

    “Anytime you wish.” Yousef rose from his chair. “There is always a woman at the heart of every case.”

    “Miss Mechadi?”

    He shook his head. “Sheba.”

    The Egyptian flashed an opaque smile and held the door open. Saxon drove back to the Marriott Hotel. Back in his room, he made some telephone calls and reached a contact at UNESCO, who confirmed that Carina Mechadi was on her way to America.

    Saxon went over to the window and looked out on the timeless Nile and the sparkling lights of the ancient city. He recalled Yousef’s smile at the mention of his quest for the ghost of a woman who died three thousand years ago.

    After a moment of thought, he picked up the phone again and made reservations for a flight to the United States. Then he began to pack.

    His long journey in search of the perfect woman had carried him to the most remote and dangerous places on the globe. He wasn’t about to give up now.

     
CHAPTER 8
     

    THE CONTAINERSHIP
Ocean Adventure
could hold nearly two thousand cargo containers, but even at seven thousand tons and a length of five hundred feet it was a pygmy compared with newer box ships that were as long as three football fields laid end to end. The finer points of spatial relativism were lost on Carina Mechadi as she strode along the ship’s long deck huddled against the bone-chilling rawness of the North Atlantic.

    Since boarding at Salerno, Carina had arisen early each morning and descended from her cabin on the third level of the bridge house to go on a brisk walk before breakfast. Her compulsion was fueled by an unnecessary obsession with keeping her lithe figure in shape and to sooth her impatience at reaching her destination. The number of laps varied according to the weather, which ranged from raw dampness to the bitingly cold air off the coast of Newfoundland.

    The
Ocean Adventure
inspired little of the romance immortalized by Joseph Conrad’s tales of the doughty tramp steamers that plied the world’s oceans in a bygone age. The ship was a seagoing platform that carried steel container units twenty feet long by about eight feet tall. They were stacked six high and covered most of the deck, except for fore and aft, and narrow aisles on either side. Hundreds more containers were stored belowdecks.

    As Carina made her way along the starboard rail, she recalled the chain of events that had brought her to a ship plowing