The last statement was too much. "I never," she protested.
"You know that, and I know that, Annie. And we don't want to charge you with anything. We just need your help with that journal you found."
Her eyes welled up again, and he held out a hand as if that could dam the river of tears. "I already told you—"
"And we believe you. We believe you don't know much about this journal." He paused a second until she looked into his eyes. "It's okay, Annie. I believe you. Promise. I just need to ask you a few more questions."
"Then you'll let me go?"
"I'll do the best I can."
The tension in her face eased a tad, and Jack could see his words had soothed her.
"Attagirl. Now. I need to know the names of every person you sent a copy of that journal."
"I already told your men. The only person I sent that to was my friend Reece Skelton. He's interested in Aboriginal culture, and I figured maybe he could figure out what it meant. Maybe even give it to the right authorities."
He smirked at the last statement. "That's good, Annie. Tell me something. Have you ever heard of Tommy Schultz?"
Her face twisted into an expression of genuine confusion. "Tommy Schultz?"
"I didn't think you had. Just to be sure, do you know anything about the International Archaeological Agency?"
The second question caused her to think a bit harder. She glanced down at the ground and then stared into his eyes. "I think I've heard of it before, but I'm not sure."
He decided to see if he could jar her memory. "They're based in the United States—Atlanta, specifically. They recover important artifacts for private organizations and governments all over the world. Does that ring a bell?"
She thought again for another few seconds and then shook her head. "No. No, I don't think I've ever heard of that before."
Before she could ask why, he continued. "Annie, we have to be very careful about this situation. There was some sensitive material in that journal you shared."
"Sensitive material?"
"Yes." He nodded. "Extremely sensitive."
"But it just looked like..."
"I know. It looked like a treasure hunter's journal. Innocent enough, right?"
It was her turn to nod, albeit filled with uncertainty.
"You see," Jack said, "within that journal, we discovered a code embedded in the words."
"A code?"
"That's right. A code. And this code reveals the location to some things that could be potentially dangerous for a large group of people. It turns out this treasure Mr. Mathews was referring to in his notes could actually be a threat to the security of our nation. So you see why we have to be so cautious."
She mulled it over but wasn't able to connect the dots. "I still don't understand. What could that man have found over a hundred years ago that could pose a threat today?"
Jack smiled without breaking character. "Again, Annie, I'm afraid I can't share that information with you. It's sensitive material."
"Oh, right."
She bought the story. Now he had to see what else she knew.
"Hopefully we will have this whole thing resolved soon enough, and you'll be back in your museum. I just have to ask one more question."
She gave a reluctant nod.
"What do you know about the Baiame Boomerang?"
Annie thought for a moment. "I only know a little bit about Baiame from books I've read on Aborigines. He was one of the creator gods in the many stories they have about Dreamtime. Other than that, I'm afraid I can't be much help. While I do love history, I'm afraid my job is more in tune with cataloguing things from the past instead of learning about them."
"So you don't know anything about this deity's boomerang or where it might be?"
She shook her head. "No. I sent that email to Reece because I wanted to see if he could figure out the riddle at the bottom of the journal entry. Like I said, he's better with that stuff than me. I figured if someone went to the trouble of hiding that document in a false drawer, it must be important."
Jack's demeanor turned in a second. "And yet you didn't feel like that was something you should report to your boss or perhaps the authorities?"
"What? No." Her head twitched back and forth again. The new aggression from her inquisitor was clearly throwing her off. "I... What are you suggesting? That I was trying to steal it?"
Jack rolled his shoulders. "No one is accusing you of that, Annie. But you have to admit, it does look a little suspicious. I mean, you find some old note hidden in an antique desk, and you didn't tell anyone about it except a friend who may or may not be able to help you figure out what it means?"
"No," she shook her head violently at the accusation. "I was never going to steal it."
"No. Maybe you were just going to use it to find whatever treasure it mentioned. I imagine you don't make a great deal of money working at the museum. And you're getting up there close to retirement age now. Maybe you figured it was time to give your retirement plan a little boost."
"I never—"
Jack stood up suddenly, cutting her off. "Where is the paper, Annie? What did you do with the original? We know who you sent a copy to. Now we need to know where you hid the journal entry." His voice thundered in the tiny room.
She winced with every emphatic syllable until she broke out in another fit of tears. "It's at the museum. I swear, I never meant to steal it. I never cared about any treasure." Her words were barely intelligible with the sobbing and moaning. "I just thought it might interest my friend. I swear that's all."
Jack decided to play another card to make sure she understood the stakes. "Well, you got your friend killed, Annie."
The crying stopped for a moment, and she stared at him with eyes full of shock, of horror, of disbelief. "What?"
Jack gave a slow nod. "That's right. Your friend Reece Skelton is dead. Someone murdered him in cold blood, and we think it has something to do with what was in the journal."
A new bout of tears was fought off by the shocking revelation. "I...I... Reece is dead?"
Jack stepped close and crouched down so their eyes were level. "Annie. We can't protect you if you don't tell us everything you know. I need you to start with exactly where you hid that piece of paper."
8
Sydney
Reece let the phone ring one last time before ending the call. "Still no answer," he said.
He'd tried calling Annie at least a dozen times over the course of their drive to Sydney. Each one had the same result.
The visitors had been fighting fatigue for the last several hours. As the car passed beyond the borders of the Sydney city limits, they started losing the battle.
Adriana slept with her head on Sean's shoulder. He managed to stave off exhaustion by replacing it with paranoia. Keeping a watchful eye on the road behind them kept him awake. Still, he was ready for a bed.
Tommy sat in the front passenger seat with his arms crossed and head leaning against the headrest. He'd decided to let Reece drive because dying in a fiery car crash due to a sleeping driver wasn't in anyone's best interest. Sean couldn't tell if his friend was asleep or not under those sunglasses, but sudden snappy movements alluded to him dozing off or waking up intermittently.
Sean let his eyes wander out the window to the passing city. Night washed over the buildings, shops, apartments, and condos. Somewhere beyond the skyline, the famous Sydney Opera House loomed over the water with its dramatic white roof.
Tommy had made a call and set everyone up with rooms at one of the upscale hotels in the downtown area. The group agreed they would check in after they paid a visit to Annie's museum. The chances that she'd somehow be there were slim, but they at least had to check.
Reece parked the car around the back of the old brick building. Getting access to the museum after normal business hours had required another Tommy Schultz phone call, this time to the director of antiquities. The man—a guy by the name of Wilbur Kurt—had been almost ex
cited to have agents from IAA coming in for a visit, much less the one in charge of the entire operation.
Wilbur was waiting for them at the back entrance when the group exited the car. He was a portly man with a ruddy face, splotches of red on his nose and cheeks, and a receding gray hairline. He greeted the visitors with an exaggerated smile and waved them over.
"Welcome!" he said. He eagerly reached out a hand to Tommy first. "It's just such an honor to have you here with us. I've heard and read so much about your exploits. The historical world is lucky to have you."
Tommy blushed in the pale light of a metal halide bulb shining down from a lamp post near the street. "Why, thank you. I really appreciate you accommodating our unusual request at this hour of the day."
"Not at all. Anything for you, Mr. Schultz."
"Please. Call me Tommy."
Sean, Adriana, and Reece all exchanged befuddled expressions.
Wilbur bit his lower lip at the offer.
"Thank you...Tommy. I'm honored." He stepped to the side and held the door open with one hand while motioning with the other.
Tommy twisted around for a moment to see the looks on his friends' faces. "Thank you, Mr. Kurt."
"Wilbur," he corrected.
Tommy patted the guy on the shoulder and stepped into the building.
The others followed, and Wilbur closed the door behind, rushing past the other three to catch up to Tommy.
"Wilbur," Tommy said, "these are my friends Sean, Adriana, and Reece." He put the side of his hand to his cheek as if about to share a big secret and lowered his voice. "Reece is a local."
"Ah well. It's a pleasure to meet you all. Any friend of the great Tommy Schultz is a friend of mine."
Again, Sean turned his head to Reece. This time he mouthed, "Great Tommy Schultz?"
Reece twirled a finger around his ear to indicate what he thought about the guy.
Wilbur didn't notice the interaction because he was already walking down the long corridor.
"I'm sorry if our coming here on such short notice is an inconvenience, Wilbur," Tommy said.
Wilbur shook his head vigorously. "Not at all. I must apologize. One of our curators disappeared a few days ago, and we haven't heard from her. Very unlike her, actually. She's one of the most reliable employees I've ever worked with."
The four visitors raised an eyebrow.
Tommy played coy. "You don't know what happened to her?"
"No. She was here earlier in the week. I believe she worked late one night. Then she never came in the next day. Or the next. We've called several times, even had someone go to her house to check on her."
"And?"
"Never answered," Wilbur said. "And her house was empty. It's like she just up and vanished." A somber tone overshadowed his boyish joy. "The police said they don't think any sort of crime occurred. Maybe she'd just gotten tired of working in the vault and needed a mental health day or two. Can't say I blame her. Every year when we do inventory drives me a little bonkers too. She'll turn up soon."
Tommy decided to move the conversation to the reason they were there.
"So you said that she was working on something in the vault? Like a bank vault?"
Wilbur chuckled. "No, nothing like that. We just call our stockroom the vault because it's down in the basement. It feels like being stuck in a vault when we're down there. Plus the entire room is encased in concrete to keep it fireproof."
He turned a corner and led the way down a wooden staircase. At the bottom, a short corridor ended at a pair of metal doors. The one on the left was open.
Wilbur stepped inside and put both hands out wide. "This is our vault," he said. "I have to admit, I'm so excited to be a part of one of your pursuits, Tommy. All the wild adventures you've been on... It's all just so exciting."
Sean leaned over to Adriana and whispered in her ear. "Maybe Tommy should have booked a room for two tonight."
She playfully swatted his shoulder as if to chastise him, but couldn't fight off a tiny snort.
"Well, Wilbur, it's not all fun and games out there." Tommy's voice took on an overly masculine tone. "But it has its moments."
Sean had heard enough. "Yeah, so if I may cut in. We've had a long trip and really need to get some rest. So if it's not too much trouble, is it possible for us to have a look around and see if we can find anything that might help us...I don't know...find your missing curator?"
An uncomfortable pause took over the room for five seconds. Wilbur turned to Tommy. "Is he always this rude?" he asked in a theatrical whisper.
"You have no idea."
"Yes, Sean," Wilbur said. "Feel free to look around. All I ask is you don't break anything." He directed the last sentence at Sean and Reece.
"Of course, Wilbur."
"If I may, Tommy. What is it exactly that you're looking for?"
Tommy decided to let him in on a piece of the story. "There's a document that was here. It's from around the turn of the twentieth century."
"Document? Well, if it's something like that you're interested in finding, you'd best start with the files over there." He pointed at the big filing cabinets next to a wooden work table. "If we have anything like that in here, it would be in that cabinet. Do you happen to know who wrote this document?"
"Mathews. R.H. Mathews."
Wilbur put a finger to his lips as if it would help his concentration, but he couldn't come up with a connection. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that name. Was he a writer, a politician perhaps?"
"No. He was an anthropologist at the end of his career. He found something of interest and wrote it down in a message that we believe ended up here."
"Really?" Wilbur said, clearly surprised. "What makes you think it's here?"
Tommy had backed himself into a corner, and now he couldn't think fast enough to figure a way out.
"Well, you see..." he stammered.
"We searched sales records and other inventory documents that led us to believe it had been stored here, possibly hidden away in a piece of furniture. If one of the people who work here found that document, it could be in one of your files." Sean explained, bailing his friend out of a pickle.
"Right," Tommy agreed. "So if we can just get a look at what you've got, that would be a big help."
The director eyed the two for a moment. "How fascinating," he exclaimed. "All this time I've had a secret document right under my nose and had no idea. May I ask to what this paper pertains?"
Tommy went with full disclosure in his response. "We have reason to believe it contains the location to an ancient Aborigine treasure. If we were to find an artifact of that caliber, you can imagine what it would mean for the tribes...as well as this museum."
The visitors saw the man's eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning. "Incredible. Well, please, take a look around. Take all the time you need. And if you need my help, don't hesitate to say so." He pointed at the filing cabinets. "You'll find everything in alphabetical order. I'll just be over here working on the computer."
"Thank you."
Tommy had hoped the man would leave them alone to snoop around, but he wasn't going to push his luck. He had the museum director eating out of his palm. No reason to change that dynamic.
The four visitors walked over to the filing cabinets and began with the cabinet marked M on the outside. Tommy pulled it open and started sorting through the files. The others watched over his shoulder.
Reece stole a quick look over his shoulder at the director. "He's a bit strange, isn't he?" he whispered.
"What?" Sean asked, making sure Wilbur couldn't hear his response. "You mean the man crush he has on Tommy?"
Tommy didn't look up. He was busily thumbing through the dozens of files and documents in the cabinet. "Jealousy is an ugly color on anyone, gentlemen."
"Because everyone aspires to catch the admiration of a stout museum director someday?"
Reece chuckled at the comment.
Adriana shifted her feet. Sean
could tell she was restless. She was a woman of action and detested sitting around waiting while someone else did the work.
She stepped away from the others and looked down a row of boxes, stacked almost all the way to the ceiling on shelves that ran the length of the room to the far wall. There were only two such rows—the rest of the vault containing items such as furniture, sculptures, artifacts, and paintings. Adriana had seen a room like this before on a few occasions. Her hobby required it.
She'd spent years tracking down priceless art that went missing after World War II. Her skills as a master thief contributed to her success in recovering several and returning them to the rightful owners or governments. It was her attention to detail and a passion for research that accounted for the other portion of her success.
Wandering down the row, she noted a few boxes that were marked with nothing more than a large black X. Curiosity begged her to ask Wilbur what they were, but she thought better of it, realizing it could lead to a long, boring conversation with the man. Better to leave him to his work.
"It's not in here," she heard Tommy say.
Adriana pivoted and walked back to the files.
"Maybe we should check some of the other ones," Sean suggested. "She could have stored it by first name."
Tommy raised his head and shot his friend a look of haughty derision. "Really, Sean? Alphabetical by first name? What is this, amateur hour?"
Sean let the insult roll off his shoulders, but he laughed on the inside. "You never know; that's all I'm saying."
"Fine. Go check the R file if you want. I'm going to look through this one again."
Sean wasn't used to seeing this side of Tommy. He preferred the mopey, subservient version. He decided not to fight the battle and moved over to where he found a file marked with the letter R.
He flicked the locking button to the side, pulled on the handle, and when the file was open began flipping through the contents. Sean didn't really believe that he'd find the Mathews paper in the cabinet. If it was anywhere, it would be where Tommy was looking. Now he had to go through the process just for the sake of appearances.
The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4 Page 6