That was Peet’s assessment of Agent Miles, a trim baby-faced rookie anxious for action. Nevertheless, he shrugged, granting Miles’ point. “John’s specialty is Mesamerican archaeoastronomy while my work focuses on Southwestern anthropology.”
“But you’ve both worked at the University of Utah.”
“John retired shortly after I reached tenure.”
Martha busied herself collecting the agents’ teacups, but Peet could tell she was keenly tuned into the conversation.
Agent Kamenski seized the conversation again. “But then you dug up this artifact.”
He handed over a copy of Modern Archaeology. Peet didn’t need to look at the magazine to know what artifact the agent was referring to. There, on the glossy front cover of the May edition was a picture of the brilliant jade and turquoise Effigy of Quetzalcoatl—the most magnificent replica of ancient Mexico’s famed feathered serpent to have ever been found. But if it wasn’t enough that discovery of the Effigy made national headlines, its theft and Peet’s involvement with its fortunate recovery six months ago went global.
“The gap between you two must have closed considerably thanks to that little piece of treasure,” Agent Miles prodded.
Peet hesitated, annoyed by Agent Miles’ choice of words. He didn’t consider the football-sized block of jade little by any means, and although one couldn’t quite put a price on the Effigy’s value, to call it a piece of treasure seemed to reduce Peet’s work to the activities of art and antiquities collectors.
“Are the two of you working together now?” Agent Kamenski pressed.
Feeling suddenly very warm around the collar, Peet eased out of his coat. “Why do you ask?”
“They think John stole the Effigy,” Martha said as she retrieved his coat and hung it beside two long coats already stored away in the closet. It seemed the two FBI agents had been there a while.
Peet lowered himself onto the arm of the nearby recliner. His feet were sweltering in his boots. “John didn’t steal the Effigy. In fact he was in Mexico helping us get it back after it was stolen. It was in all the papers.”
“We’re not here for the theft in June,” Agent Kamenski interrupted. “Your Effigy was stolen again. This time from the museum in Mexico City.”
Peet was stunned. Mexico’s National Museum of Anthropology displayed some of the rarest and most treasured collections from the new world. Something with such cultural significance as the Effigy demanded public attention but it also required tight, state-of-the-art security against unscrupulous black market collectors. That was why that particular museum was chosen to hold the Effigy. Another attempt to steal it would be virtually impossible.
Or so Peet thought.
“How could anyone possibly—”
“It was an inside job,” Agent Kamenski explained. “Quite frankly, Dr. Friedman tops the suspect list.”
Peet shook his head. John had returned to Mexico City to assist the museum with its grand opening of the Effigy’s display. The retired professor even offered to stay a while to educate local archaeologists with details of its discovery in Utah and he was all too eager to share his theory about Mesoamerican-Southwest trade relations.
John enjoyed all the attention.
“John couldn’t have taken it,” Peet said. “He’s a dedicated researcher. He loves his work.”
“Maybe he loves it a little too much,” offered Agent Kamenski. “Maybe this time he decided to keep a souvenir for himself.”
“Or maybe turn a buck off it,” Agent Miles added.
“No,” Peet insisted. “I know John. He spent a lifetime researching, promoting and educating archaeology. Stealing artifacts goes against everything he’s ever lived for.”
“Perhaps those years of separation have distorted your knowledge of your father-in-law,” Agent Kamenski suggested.
“That’s my husband you’re talking about, Agent...Whatever-ski,” Martha stammered nervously. “What evidence do you have to make these allegations?”
“It’s quite simple, Mrs. Friedman. They’ve caught your husband on tape.”
Martha slumped into the leather recliner behind her. “There must be some misunderstanding,” she said, devastated.
“We were contacted by the Agency of Federal Investigations in Mexico City,” the agent explained. “They’ve shared the surveillance tapes from the museum.”
“And the museum’s security records show Dr. Friedman’s access codes had been used at the time of the theft,” Agent Miles added. “Not to mention he hasn’t been back to the museum since.”
“Quite frankly, your husband is their only suspect. Nobody has been able to contact him and the AFI are looking for him.”
Peet straightened in his chair. “So they contacted you thinking he might bring the Effigy back to the states,” he guessed.
“Exactly.”
Martha began to rub her temples. Peet felt as much a stranger to her as the FBI agents, but there was an expectation in her eyes when she looked at him. John may have finally accepted their daughter’s unfortunate accident but Martha had yet to be so moved and for ten years, the only person she had to blame was Peet. He knew she wasn’t about to amend her feelings toward him now.
“There must be a conspiracy,” she said. “Someone must have set John up. There’s no other explanation.”
Agent Kamenski turned to her, his eyes neither harsh nor sympathetic to the situation. His voice held the tone of experience with little personality there to muddle his message. “We won’t know for sure until we find him. When did you last speak with him, Mrs. Friedman?”
Martha wrung her hands nervously. “He called me Saturday. He said he was going to assist a colleague with some field work this week.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“I didn’t ask. I assume it has something to do with the Effigy so I imagine he’s somewhere near Teotihuacan.”
“Where?”
“Teotihuacan,” Peet interjected. “It’s an archaeological site just north of Mexico City. John believes the Effigy originated there. I’m guessing that if John did in fact take the Effigy, he must have needed it for some sort of research. Maybe he needed it for this field work they’re doing.”
Peet thought he heard Martha sigh with relief. Her glare had lost its edge. It was as though she’d expected him to find a reasonable explanation. Perhaps that was all she needed to stabilize her blood pressure.
After a moment of pensive silence, it seemed to have satisfied the FBI agents as well.
“Did your husband mention when he was coming home?” Agent Kamenski asked as he ambled toward the coat closet.
Watching him retrieve the long coats, Martha was all too eager to respond. “He promised to be home by Christmas. I expect him a few days before.”
The agent handed his partner his coat and as they shrugged into them he said, “Very well. Then I’ll expect a call from him when he returns.” He retrieved a card from his pocket and handed it to Martha. “We don’t want to come knocking on your door come Christmas morning.”
Martha took the agent’s card and shut the door behind them as they left. When she turned around, the reassurance Peet thought he’d given her had been replaced by a fearful sheen in her eyes. “You have to go down there, Anthony.”
Peet was taken by her abruptness. “To Mexico? John could be at any number of sites around Mexico City, and I’m just talking about the ones that are publically known. There might be thousands of small, out of the way digs that he could be working in.”
“If there’s anyone who can find them all, it’s you.”
Peet shook his head. “You overestimate me, Martha.”
“Do I? As I recall, my daughter thought pretty highly of your abilities.”
“There’s a vast difference between searching for artifacts and searching for a person.”
“Unless you’re looking for a person searching for artifacts. You have to go. John could be in serious trouble. What if he took the E
ffigy under duress?”
“All the more reason to let the authorities find him.”
“Anthony, please. That was the FBI looking for him. The FBI!”
“Martha, you’re overreacting. I’m sure there’s a perfectly sound explanation to all of this. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it tonight when he calls.”
“That’s just it,” Martha pressed, tears welling in her eyes. “He hasn’t called. And he hasn’t returned my messages. He always returns my messages.”
Peet sighed, running a hand through his hair. “All right. Let me make a few phone calls first. I’ll contact the INAH. If John’s working on a dig somewhere, they would know about it.”
Martha bristled, her tears hardening to her face. “And if that doesn’t work, Anthony, you will go down there. You will find John and clear up this whole mess. I already lost my daughter to your exploits. I’m not about to lose my husband over your Effigy.”
Mexico City
Peet made no arrangements for his return flight when he left KC and her plane at Mexico City’s non-commercial airstrip. He couldn’t exactly make plans until he knew more about John’s situation, and who knew how long that would take.
“That’s fine,” KC said, inspecting an oil drip beneath the left engine of her plane. “I’ll be here when you need me. You have my cell?”
Peet indicated that he did and twenty minutes later he was driving away in a rented car. As he maneuvered into Mexico City, he began to regret his decision to avoid a taxi. Salt Lake City had its traffic, but nothing like this. Fortunately, the car had a built-in GPS. His first destination—the Museo Nacional de Antropología.
As he left the car in the parking lot, he couldn’t help but recall the day he left the museum six months ago. He never thought he’d be back so soon. In fact, he hadn’t been gone long enough for Frederico de Gala Espanoza to forget his face. The curator recognized him the moment Peet stepped through his office door, fairly leaping across his gleaming desk to grip Peet’s hand. Frederico grinned from ear to ear, with just a hint of some expensive cologne defining his nearness.
“Please excuse my surprise, Dr. Peet,” he said in his best English. “I imagined you to be in the States.”
“I was,” Peet admitted, releasing the curator’s smooth, manicured hand. “Until the FBI started asking questions about John.”
Peet struggled to withhold the concern from his voice. Turbulence hadn’t been the only thing that troubled him on KC’s flight. Mexico’s Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, or INAH, had turned up nothing. There was no record of John requesting to work at any site around Mexico City or the surrounding states. Peet contacted a few of John’s closest colleagues, none of whom had been in contact with him since he left to help with the museum’s Effigy display.
That’s when Peet really began to worry.
The visit from the FBI agents lingered in the back of his mind, and they were still with him there in Espanoza’s office. Admittedly, Peet didn’t know much about criminal investigations, but something about the FBI’s visit to Martha’s home didn’t add up. If they truly had evidence against John wouldn’t they stake out the places he’d most likely turn up? Wouldn’t they keep a low profile until they could make the bust? Surely they wouldn’t approach his closest contacts for fear of tipping off their investigation. After all, what’s to stop Peet or Martha from warning John that they were looking for him?
Or is that exactly what they wanted them to do? Peet couldn’t help but wonder if the FBI knew something they weren’t sharing.
“This situation is most unfortunate,” Frederico said. “My plans, too, are interrupted. I am to spend Christmas in Acapulco. I was on my way there when my assistant called to tell me the Effigy of Quetzalcoatl had been stolen.” The curator reached around Peet to close his office door and then lifted a cordial hand to a plush leather chair in the corner. “Please, sit down.”
Peet obliged as Frederico lounged on a small leather sofa nearby, leaving an airy expanse settling between them. He rocked onto one hip, crossed his legs and draped an arm across the back of the sofa. The warm glint of his smile had not yet faded.
“How is it possible the Effigy was stolen?” Peet asked. “I thought the museum had all the latest security systems.”
Frederico nodded glumly. Peet could read lines of embarrassment etching the otherwise flawless features of the curator’s face. “We have all the state of the art technology at our disposal,” he said heavily. “The museum is impenetrable without the codes to bypass those systems.”
“John has access to your security codes?”
“Not all of them. When we agreed to let him stay as director of the Toltec exhibit, I assigned him key codes to the employee entrance, an access card to the archives and the security code for the Aztec Room.”
“Why would you give him the security code?”
“John was conducting his own independent research on the Effigy, exploring alternative explanations for its deposit in Utah.”
That sounded suspicious. For months immediately following the excavation of the Effigy, John had had ample opportunity to study it. In fact, he was the first to publish his own conclusions on the subject—satisfied that the Effigy had been traded out of Mexico to the Anasazi culture of the Southwest. And even if he had abandoned his own trade theory to explore other explanations, it wasn’t like John to overstep his research privileges.
“Did he mention taking his research back to the field?” Peet asked.
As much as it had comforted Martha, Peet doubted his own justification for John’s removal of the Effigy. John wouldn’t have taken it into the field. That made as much sense as taking the golden mask of King Tut back to the tomb. It just wouldn’t be done, and Frederico confirmed his doubts.
“No, senor,” the curator said with a chuckle. “He claims to be too old for the field. However, he requested free access to the artifact and I had no reason to deny him so long as he removed the Effigy from its exhibit after hours. Furthermore, it was agreed upon that the Effigy should never leave the premises.”
“How often did he inspect the Effigy?”
“Never. Not once did he require a physical inspection, but I gave him access should he desire it.”
“Then why now?”
“This I cannot say.”
Peet shook his head. “I just can’t believe John would take the Effigy without clearing it with you first.”
“I could not believe this either, but it cannot be disputed that John’s key codes were entered into the security system during the time of the theft.”
Peet leaned forward, propping his elbows upon his knees and shaking his head in disbelief. “This just doesn’t sound like John. The very idea of stealing an artifact goes against every moral fiber of his being. Is it possible someone else could have used his security pass to get to the Effigy?”
Frederico didn’t bother to shrug. His eyes never even shifted in thought. By his steady pose there on the couch Peet could tell the man had already examined that possibility. “Someone could have used his security pass, maybe,” Frederico began. “But they would also need his entrance key, not to mention the pass codes to the Aztec Room and the Effigy’s display case, all of which require different passwords. Yet, all were breached by someone who knew every code. Someone could have come across one of his codes, but not all of them.”
“John wouldn’t be that careless,” Peet agreed.
“There’s something else.”
Peet straightened, waiting for the curator to continue.
“Two of our security cameras caught John in the act.”
Peet’s stomach sank like a lead weight. Regrettably, he asked, “May I see the tapes?”
“Of course.”
Without so much as uncrossing his legs, the curator removed a remote from a slot in the wall cubby above his head. He did this without disturbing the assorted terra cotta figurines displayed there. It was a well rehearsed motion and Peet suddenly pictu
red Frederico spending hours on that couch, remote in hand, watching who-knows-what on the forty-two inch TV hidden within the decorative cabinet behind his desk. With a push of a button, the front panel opened and the TV glowed to life. Another button, and the digital machine spun images from a security camera onto the screen.
“Camera twelve is the closest to the Effigy display,” Frederico narrated. “You can see John bypassing the code here and then…here you can plainly see him removing the artifact.”
Peet watched the thief at work, recognizing immediately that the image was visually hindered by the exhibit room’s dim after-hours lighting. But even if the security lighting had been alerted by the intruder, the thief never gave the camera a clear view of his face. Nevertheless, the thief’s body frame and movements were all too familiar. Peet could recognize that shadowy figure anywhere.
It had to be John.
As Peet watched John leave the Aztec Room, the screen cut away from camera twelve and smoothly transitioned to another camera that had picked him up.
“This is camera three,” Frederico explained. “It sits just above the reception desk at the main entrance. Granted, the view is more distant than the last camera, but you can clearly see John leaving the museum with something bulky beneath his arm. No doubt it has to be the Effigy.”
The video ended and Frederico turned off the TV. Peet was stumped. Surely there must be some reasonable explanation.
“What about guards?” he asked. “Weren’t there any guards?”
Frederico nodded. “We have two night guards. One posted at the main entrance and the other patrols the exhibits.”
“Did either of them see anything?”
“John timed his theft well, which raises my suspicions about his motives. He acted when the front guard stepped away to use the restroom. The second guard was patrolling the Maya Room at the time. But there is more.”
Frederico rose from the sofa and with a flick of his finger, motioned Peet to follow him. Together, they stepped out of the office and swept around the main hall, avoiding the visitors as they strolled from one display to another. Frederico led the way through a glass door that opened to a tranquil outdoor patio complete with bronze statues and decorative flowers centered around a gazing pool shaded by a large concrete canopy.
Deity Page 3