…
Jess knew things weren’t going well from the way Donovan’s mouth pressed into a line and muscles twitched in his jaw.
“They’re holding position,” he told her when he ended the call. “We don’t have any choice. All we can do is wait for him to come back out of whatever wadi or canyon he’s gone into.”
“If they’re holed up at Ramesses VIII’s tomb, that could take days.”
“I hope not.” He scowled.
“We have to lure him out sooner,” she said, her mind racing over the possibilities. They were limited, which made it easier to figure out.
“Sure. How? Stake out a few archeology students in the wadi to attract him?”
His sarcasm would have been offensive if he hadn’t sounded so frustrated. Jess understood. “No, we get him to make another delivery.”
He didn’t say anything, just sat back and looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Mr. Atallah will call in a few hours to tell us he has the vase, right? We go see him and I get all effusive over the beauty and condition of the piece and decide I want another one. Something to go with it. But only if he can get it right away, because my husband’s birthday is tomorrow and we’re leaving in the morning for Switzerland. I must have it by then. I think he’ll jump at the chance to make more money. He’ll have to get his courier to make another trip from the tomb, which is what we’ll be waiting for. But this time we’ll already be waiting in the wadi and he won’t be able to slip past us.”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe. There’s just one problem—Mr. Atallah’s not going to jump to fill your second order without seeing some cash first.”
“Of course not. As I told you before, we need to get one million dollars. Call Evan. What time is it in Chicago now?”
He sputtered a laugh and shook his head. “You act like all you have to do is ask.”
“And you act like that won’t work. But you don’t know that, do you?”
“No, I don’t. You’re right.” He still looked amused. “It’s eight hours earlier in Chicago, which makes it about eight thirty p.m. I think you should make this call.” He tossed his satellite phone to her, and she caught it. “Dial 001, then the Omega number in the directory. Good luck.”
She looked at the challenge in his eyes, lifted an eyebrow, and dialed. The connection took several seconds, but Evan’s voice came through clearly. “Donovan. I’ve been hoping to hear from you.”
“It’s me. Jess.”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “Is everything okay? Did something happen to Donovan?”
“We’re fine. You’re on speaker, and he can hear you. He’s sitting here trying not to laugh at me because I’m calling to tell you we need a million dollars.”
Silence. She held Donovan’s gaze and waited. “I assume you’re serious. Explain.”
She did. She told him about the vase and her theory about tomb robbers finding the lost tomb of Ramesses VIII. Also her offer to buy a vase they were shown. He listened without comment, then was silent a few more seconds.
“How sure are you that this is what Wally wanted you to see?”
“Positive. You know that discovering a new, untouched tomb is a big deal. Huge. Big enough to take two Americans captive if they stumbled across the operation. They probably would have been killed if they weren’t experts in exactly what the robbers need—sorting and pricing the items in the tomb. And what better place is there to hold them than in a tomb no one’s been able to find for the past three thousand years?”
“Good point.” More thoughtful silence. “When does he want the money?”
“Today. We expect him to call in a few hours. I realize it’s night there and the banks aren’t open, but—”
“It’s not night everywhere, Jess. Omega uses international banks.” He was silent for several seconds more while Donovan’s smug look changed to one of amazement. She resisted sticking out her tongue at him, but just barely. Finally, Evan said, “I’ll call you guys back as soon as I can.”
She tossed the phone back to Donovan, slowly letting a grin split her face. “He didn’t laugh at me. And you’re not laughing anymore, either. What do you think of that?”
He shook his head as if he was beyond words. “I think I’m glad we brought you. And I think if he comes through, I may ask for a raise. Omega obviously has more money than I realized.”
“Maybe. Maybe he’s borrowing it.”
“Whatever he’s doing, it’s because you’re Wally’s daughter and he trusts you implicitly, the same way he trusted Wally.”
It was a sobering thought. Evan didn’t know her at all. He’d only known her father, and no matter how her father had felt about her, they hadn’t known each other since she’d been a child. That was a lot of trust to place in a genetic link she’d barely acknowledged in the past fifteen years.
For the first time she realized she might have a lot to live up to as her father’s daughter. She hoped she was up to the task.
She expected Evan to take a few hours to get back to them, but it had barely been an hour when the phone rang. Donovan pulled free of her arms with an apologetic look as he answered it, putting the call on speaker.
“The Bank of Alexandria in Luxor, eight a.m. Mr. Mohammed Azim will be expecting you, Jess.”
“Thank you.”
Donovan smiled and shook his head in amazement.
“Donovan?” Evan said.
“Right here.”
“This is a loan. I want that money back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get those hostages soon.”
“Will do.” He ended the call, then smiled at her. “Ask and ye shall receive. You’re pretty damn amazing, Jess.”
He didn’t look concerned. “You told Evan we’d get those students soon. Can we?”
“We don’t have any choice.”
She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at obstacles that way—I have to do it, therefore, I will. Maybe it was time to try.
“We have a couple hours until the bank opens,” he said, thumbing the phone. “I’m going to call the others and fill them in.” He looked up. “Then I’m taking you back to bed.”
There weren’t any obstacles to that, but she liked his determination all the same.
…
He also arranged for a rental car to be delivered to the hotel, and it was waiting for them when they left two hours later. They stopped on the way to the bank and bought a briefcase and two inexpensive backpacks, then walked in and asked for Mr. Azim. Donovan had decided that casual clothes and backpacks would blend in better than business suits and briefcases in the tourist atmosphere of Luxor, and Jess had to agree. Still, she was nervous when they walked out, each carrying 500,000 dollars in their backpack.
Mr. Atallah called conveniently as they left the bank. Jess sounded appropriately eager to complete her purchase, and promised to be there in half an hour, allowing them time to change back into the abaya for her and thobe for him.
They were two minutes late. The young man named Majid was waiting for them and ushered them back to Mr. Atallah’s sumptuous office where he was waiting for them.
He stood, gesturing expansively. “Mrs. Hassan, please join me in a cup of tea.”
All she wanted was to complete the exchange and get out of there, but there seemed to be no choice. Mr. Atallah was big on manners and propriety, and she assumed Suzanne Hassan would be, too. She smiled graciously as they sat, accepting his invitation.
“It is wonderful to see you again,” he said.
“And you.” She sipped her tea, wondering what she could do to move this along.
“Perhaps one day I will make the acquaintance of your husband so that we might share our love of Egyptian antiquities.”
She imagined he would prefer to share her fictitious husband’s money. “I have no doubt you will, Mr. Atallah. I think he will insist upon it after seeing his gift.”
“Ah yes, I hope so. I think we
have much in common.” He sipped his tea, too, apparently willing to pass an hour on pleasantries. Evan’s instructions to rescue the students quickly plucked at her patience. And as dignified as Mr. Atallah was, his gaze had strayed several times to the silver briefcase Donovan set close to his feet.
“I confess, I am anxious to see the vase,” she told him.
“Of course, forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
Once again they waited for Majid to do the honors, this time rolling in a tall wooden crate on a handcart. Mr. Atallah removed the front panel that had obviously already been pried loose, then stood back.
Jess had set aside her tea and risen to her feet without being conscious of it. Now she stepped toward the creamy-white vase that stood revealed inside the crate. Sinking to her knees, she stared in awe at the two-foot-tall stone amphora.
If it had once worn the dust of millennia, it had been cleaned off. The hieroglyphics she’d seen on Mr. Atallah’s computer were starkly black against the off-white stone and looked freshly painted, even though she was sure they were not. The stone itself was dull, as hand-crafted alabaster should be, rather than polished by machine cutting. Modern consumers preferred the gloss of machine-tooled stone, but machines didn’t cut alabaster as thinly as hand carving could.
“Light,” she said without taking her eyes off the vase.
Mr. Atallah was ready for her. As he carefully inched the vase forward, Majid placed a bare lightbulb behind it.
The vase glowed. She heard an appreciative, “Ah,” from Donovan and felt her own pulse quicken. With trembling fingers she reached out to stroke the lip of the vase. She touched it with a reverence that others reserved for religious artifacts, instinctively imitating the respect she’d learned from her father for such ancient treasures.
The stone felt surprisingly warm and smooth. The weight of history was a dull buzzing in her head. How many others had touched this? Even though it had been cleaned, it possibly still bore the fingerprints of priests or slaves who had placed it in a dead king’s tomb thousands of years ago. Now it bore her prints, too.
And those of tomb robbers who would sell it to a private collector where no one could appreciate it or learn from it. She would see them all rot in jail.
“Beautiful, is it not?”
She dragged her mind back to the present with an effort. “Yes, it is.” She didn’t have to try to put awe into her voice.
“I’m glad you are pleased.”
“I’m more than pleased.” She stood and faced him, all business now as she motioned to Donovan. “Pay him, please.”
Without a word he got the briefcase and handed it over.
Mr. Atallah laid it on the back of the love seat and opened it. Stacks of U.S. hundred dollar bills filled the inside. He lifted one out and riffled through it appreciatively, then closed the case with a satisfied smile. “Thank you. I do not need to count it.” He handed the case to Majid, who carried it out of the room. She would have bet another briefcase full of money that he was counting it.
“I have researched such vases since we last met,” she said. She hadn’t, but recalled pouring over them in books with her father. “Is there perhaps an alabaster stand that might go with this vase?”
“How odd that you would say that.” But he looked impressed rather than suspicious. “I believe there is.”
“I want it.”
He was silent a moment, surprise and greed lighting his face. He licked his lips, no doubt debating how much he could take her for. She decided to make the first move. “If you can deliver it tomorrow, I will give you five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Tomorrow is soon.”
“I have told you my schedule. Tomorrow morning, or I cannot buy it.”
“You ask the impossible,” he claimed.
“I ask only what you have already done.”
“But there are new difficulties involved.”
She offered a tight smile. “How much would it cost to overcome these difficulties?”
“One million dollars.”
“Seven hundred fifty thousand.”
He stroked his lower lip. “I might be able to do it for eight hundred fifty.”
“Eight hundred. Without the vase such a stand will never bring more, as you well know.” She had no idea if that was true, but added a slight disdain to her voice, implying a confidence she didn’t feel.
He gave it a moment’s consideration, then inclined his head in agreement. “Seeing that it is early in the day yet, I believe I may have time to have it delivered.”
She smiled, genuinely pleased. All he needed was a few hours of darkness for his contact to make the trip from the Valley of the Kings, and all they needed was to see where the man came from or, if he was as silent and slippery as Kyle claimed, where he went when he returned. This time there were five of them to track the courier, since she and Donovan had no intention of meeting with Mr. Atallah to receive the stand. The police could do that.
“I look forward to your call tomorrow morning, Mr. Atallah,” she said, bowing her head.
Mr. Atallah beamed happily, probably already counting tomorrow’s increase in his fortune. “Majid will add packing material to the crate and assist you in loading it.”
“Thank you.”
Majid was fast, for which she was grateful. The longer she stayed in the little back room of the Eye of the Gods, the more jittery her stomach got, until she was afraid she might lose both her composure and the tea. When they finally drove off with the crate squeezed into the backseat, she exhaled a long, shaky breath.
“Tyler, do you realize what this is?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror, frowning at the crate behind him. “Life in prison?”
“It’s a priceless piece of history. It’s art and science and history all together. It’s…amazing.”
Tension left his face for a moment as he grinned at her. “You sound like your dad.”
Her dad. It had been a long time since she’d thought of him that way, with that name that implied love and belonging. For too long he’d been her father, a more impersonal, distant name for the man she’d thought had turned his back on her. Regret for what she’d lost stung her soul with a sudden, deep hurt. “I wish he could have been here for this.”
“So do I.” He reached across the seat to squeeze her hand. “Wally would have been proud of you today. He always was, but you went above and beyond the last few days, manipulating a black-market criminal as well as any undercover operative.”
She blinked, surprised by the emotion that tightened her throat. “Thank you.” The thought of making her father proud warmed a place inside her that had been cold for too long.
They drove for another minute before she realized they weren’t headed toward the Winter Palace Hotel. “Where are we going?”
“I can only think of one place where this thing will be truly appreciated and where it will be safe until we turn it over to the authorities.”
One obvious answer jumped to her mind. “Hakim?”
“He’s an expert on ancient Egypt, and the one man Wally trusted above all others. Wally would haunt me forever if I took it anyplace else.”
“But we were attacked outside his shop. Someone followed us there.”
“I’m pretty sure our attacker is still licking his wounds and won’t be a problem. I broke his arm and probably gave him some colorful bruises.” A grim smile of satisfaction told her what an understatement that was. “As far as they know, we’ve moved on, looking for the two students. They have no reason to think this ‘sale’ has anything to do with that. Even if they suspected, they don’t know where we are.”
A nervous ripple somersaulted through her stomach. She hoped he was right.
Hakim and his grandson Saja were sitting among the baskets and pottery outside their shop, along with another man. They looked up in surprise when Donovan and Jess pulled up in the little Fiat. Donovan opened the car door and motioned them over as he called out, “Hakim
, I’ve got that new shipment of pots you wanted.”
Hakim waited until he was helping pull the crate out and was close enough to speak without being overheard. “What is this?”
“Something I think Wally would want you to see. But privately. Let’s take it upstairs.”
Hakim raised his eyebrows but said nothing more, merely asking his friend to watch the shop for a moment. Saja opened the curtain that covered the stairway, then followed them up to the living quarters along with Jess.
The men laid the crate lengthwise on the floor. “Do you have something to pry this open with?” Donovan asked.
Saja dashed off to fetch a claw hammer, which he handed to Donovan. Hakim helped pull as Donovan pried, finally setting the lid aside to reveal a pile of wood shavings. “Jess, would you do the honors?”
She knelt beside the crate and lifted out handfuls of packing, setting it on the lid. When she felt the cool alabaster beneath her fingers, she pushed the curls of wood shavings aside. Two of the long, tubular handles were exposed along with part of the body of the vase.
Hakim’s mouth opened with surprise, and then he dropped to his knees beside Jess, digging like a squirrel, shoving wood shavings aside until most of the vase was exposed. He sat back, staring at each of them. “What have you done? Did you rob the Cairo Museum? This is from the Tutankhamun exhibit.”
“Look again,” Jess said. Slipping a hand beneath the vase, she lifted it slightly so he could see the cartouche.
He leaned closer. “Yes, yes, the cartouche of the pharaoh, Tutankh…” He stopped abruptly, then jerked his startled gaze toward her. “This is not Tutankhamun. This is Ramesses VIII.” He examined the vase again, as if expecting to see Made in China stamped on the alabaster. “Where did you get this?”
“From a black-market dealer,” she told him. “It’s the real thing, isn’t it?”
She expected an immediate confirmation, but apparently Hakim was cautious about authenticating something so valuable. Carefully, he lifted it out and stood it on the linoleum floor of the apartment. He ran his hands over it, both outside and inside, and looked at it from every angle, even asking Saja to bring a flashlight so he could shine it on various parts of the stone. Finally, he sat back on his heels with an amazed look. “It appears to be authentic. Do you know what you have here?”
No Rules Page 23