Chapter 3

3
RIO DE JANEIRO

The driveway from the sentry at the castle's main gate took five minutes. The main house itself was four stories of forbidding stone, lit only by a few lights on the first floor. A pair of dimly lit lamp posts straddled the great steps to the massive doors.

As Benson reached the top step, the door swung open. An ancient man servant dressed in a tuxedo greeted him wordlessly, waiting to accept his coat. As the servant reached to take the two parcels, Benson swiftly rolled them under his other arm, out of the man's reach. The servant led him through the entry way, past a wide spiral stair case climbing up through three floors in a cavernous room tiered with balconies.

It was clearly the servant's intention to seat him in a rather large and luxurious sitting room visible through the doors ahead, but at the last moment a weak but commanding voice descended from the balcony above. He could see Senor Robeles, himself, in a wheelchair a floor above him.

"Welcome Mr. Benson. Please join me up here, if you will. The elevator is just to your right." The old man's voice was somehow amplified by the four story ceiling in the room.

As the elevator car door opened one floor above, the old man in his wheelchair proffered a hand to shake. "I see that you have brought the parcels. That's good. That's very good. I'm prepared to pay you very well if they are, in fact, what you have said they are." Senor Robeles spun forward in his wheel chair and started down the hallway. "Bring them. Bring them and follow me to my study where I can examine them."

Benson had to hasten his stride to stay close behind the motorized chair. He glanced again at the cavernous room. The ceiling, still looming three floors above, made the balcony seem like an aerie halfway up a canyon. The fact that no lights lit any of the upper floors exaggerated the effect. Only the gigantic chandelier hanging twenty feet down the center of the space gave the dim light which seemed to add more to the gloom than abate it.

Senor Robeles wheeled easily into a brightly lit doorway. As Benson entered behind him he was confronted by a well lit room filled with scientific equipment of all kinds. In the center of the room was a helium filled examination cabinet with working gloves along one side.

Robeles took one of the Plexiglas tubes and inserted into one side of the cabinet. Sitting intently he reached from the wheelchair to place his hands in the gloves. The hissing sound of the pressure equalizing as he removed the end of tube was reassuring. The precious contents were intact. At least as intact as anything two thousand years old could reasonably be.

The old man gingerly withdrew the cloth covered scroll, placing the ancient linen to one side. His hands quivered slightly as he carefully unrolled the scroll itself. It was papyrus with linen thread woven into it. "So far it seems quite authentic. But these tired old eyes cannot detect what the gas spectrometer can see."

The laser for the device was built into the cabinet itself. Three tiny red dots winked on the items within and the computer screens to Senor Robeles' right instantly displayed a single line with peaks spaced a few places across the screen. "Yes! Yes indeed. Mr. Benson these are exactly the items I seek. You won't object if I check the other canister, will you?"

The contents of the second tube proved to be as authentic as those of the first. Benson was becoming agitated, anxious to complete the transaction and depart this gloomy place. He watched at the old man staring at the computer screens, reviewing the results of each sample over and over.

Finally, Robeles turned to face him once again. The old man's face was on fire. "Now we have only the matter of six million dollars cash US between us. Let's take care of that, and you can be on your way. We'll need to go downstairs to my safe. Will you follow me?"

Benson had to suspect that there were more people around here than the old butler. Not even this madman would hold six million without some kind of security. He went on guard, somehow reassured that he still had his pistol.

The elevator door opened and the two exited to the same large room. Robeles led in the wheelchair through an arched way deeper into the house, then to another room which was apparently some kind of office. It was dark and Benson hesitated at the doorway. Strong arms pulled a tough canvas bag over his head. It was soaked in ether. The last voice he heard was Robeles giving a curt order to two other men. "You two will take the helicopter and drop it in the jungle. This is important. Don't make any mistakes. I'm going to bed. You can report to me in the morning. Just remember, the word of God commands us not to abide murderers, and Mr. Benson here is not only a murderer but a heretic and a sacrilege."

Senor Robeles had to stop in to look at his scrolls again on his way to a sound night's sleep.