The Tombs (A Fargo Adventure) by Clive Cussler, Thomas Perry Page A

sights and smells of new people, then recognized Zoltán and quieted down. Remi knelt, held the big dog’s face to hers, and whispered something.
    When she came back to the car, Sam asked, “What did you say?”
    “I told him I would probably never see him again, but that I would always remember what a good brave dog he is and that I love him.”
    “What did he say?”
    “‘Do you want me to bite that silly man before you go?’ He loves me too.”
    Sam said, “I guess he and I are both jealous.”
    The cab pulled away, and Tibor drove them to the City Center Hotel. As they got out, Sam said, “Here, Tibor. I wrote this before we left.” Sam handed him a check. “Take it to the Credit Suisse bank in the next day or two. They’ll call our banker in the United States to verify it, but it will be in your account right away.”
    “Are you leaving Hungary?”
    “Not yet. But I thought that if something happens to us, it will be better if you have this now.”
    Tibor shrugged. “Thanks.” He put it in his coat without looking at it. “One more thing. Complain about your hotel room. Make them move you to a different one.”
    “I was just about to do that,” said Sam. “I’ll call you in a day or two.” He watched the cab pull away.
    While Tibor drove away from the hotel, he pulled out Sam’s check and handed it to János. “I can’t read it and drive too. What does it say?”
    “Pay to the order of Tibor Lazar one hundred thousand dollars. It sounds like a lot of forints.”
    “It is,” Tibor said, his eyes wide.
    Sam, Remi, and Albrecht Fischer stepped to the front door of the hotel, but Albrecht stopped Sam from opening the door so no one would overhear. “The man who kidnapped me, that madman Arpad Bako. He thinks that what we’re after is the tomb of Attila the Hun.”
    “It figures, I suppose. It’s one of the great treasures that has never turned up,” said Remi.
    “And probably never will,” said Albrecht.
    Sam shrugged. “At least we’re not getting kidnapped and shot at for pocket change.” He pulled the door open and ushered the others inside. But he turned and took one last look at the street outside, paying special attention to the dark and secret places where a man could hide.

 
S
ZEGED
, H
UNGARY
    S AM, R EMI, AND A LBRECHT SAT IN THE LIVING ROOM OF their new suite on the top floor of the hotel, all showered, wearing clean clothes and finishing their room service meal of fresh bread, soft körözött cheese, and kolbász sausages. They had a bottle of Balaton Barrique 1991 Hungarian merlot.
    “I lied, of course,” said Albrecht. “I wasn’t going to tell some glorified gangster about one of the most important discoveries in decades.” He shook his head. “To be honest, I haven’t figured out what it is I’ve found. I had no time to do much analysis or consult with colleagues before Bako’s thugs kidnapped me.”
    “What did you tell him?”
    “That I had been looking for signs of the Roman occupation force in this district. I carried conviction because, wherever I go in Europe, I’m alert to signs of Roman garrisons. Wherever they camped, they always dug in, and the structure of the place is virtually the same from England to Syria. This was Pannonia, a Roman possession until the Huns arrived.”
    “And that satisfied him?” Remi asked.
    “He’s a madman and nothing satisfies madness. He wants Attila the Hun’s burial goods. The man thinks he’s an heir of Attila the Hun. If he’s not a literal descendant, he’s certainly a spiritual one, and what he’s searching for is a big thing here. In Hungary, people still name boys Attila. And here we are on the southern plain, where Attila made his stronghold.”
    Remi said, “I may not be remembering clearly, but isn’t the treasure supposed to be the coffins themselves?”
    “Yes, that’s part of it,” said Albrecht. “Supposedly there’s an iron casket, and inside it a silver one, and inside it one made of