“There is no record of that,” Louise insisted.

“Then I’d have to say they were stolen.”

“Stolen!”

“I can’t think of any other explanation. As you pointed out, the crates were sealed and Alistair’s inventories show that every item was checked off by him-found, examined, then rewrapped and repacked in its shipping crate. But see here…”

Daria pointed to an entry and read aloud. “Two large solid-gold griffins clutching arrows, lapis lazuli eyes and rubies at the mouth.” She looked up at Louise and said, “There should be two. There are none. Not in this crate, not in any of the others.”

“Maybe we missed them somehow.”

“I’ve looked through every crate twice. When I asked you to give me a hand, it was to help verify my findings. I thought perhaps I was tired; maybe I’d overlooked a crate or two. Which is why I started marking the crates with an X on the corner after you and I went through the contents and checked off every item.”

“Maybe we should go through it all again. Maybe something was misplaced, returned to the wrong crate and you only think we missed it.”

“We’ve spent an entire day going through every single piece that’s here,” Daria said wearily. “I’m convinced.”

“Then convince me,” Louise told her. “We’ll take one more day.”

The two women worked until nine that night, then locked the room when they went for dinner. The dining hall had long since closed, so they cleaned themselves up as best they could and drove into Howeville for pizza, which did nothing to revive either of them. They agreed to leave guards posted overnight, and to resume working at eight the next morning.

By three the following afternoon, Louise had to accept what Daria had been telling her for the past twenty-four hours. None of the missing items had been found.

“I’ll call the police.” Louise patted her pockets for her cell phone.

“No, not for something like this.” Daria shook her head and starting searching her purse for her wallet. “You’re going to need the FBI, not the local police. I met someone who works for them. I have his card in here somewhere, and if it’s all right with you, I’d like to call him…”

4

C onnor dove into the pool and made barely a ripple. He emerged at the opposite end, then began a methodical series of laps. He’d been here at his home in Maryland, surrounded by woods and little else, for the past week. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since last Thursday-which was, for the most part, fine with him-but this morning he’d gone into the nearest town and spent nearly an hour in the supermarket. The variety of foods never failed to amaze him. He’d spent nearly thirty minutes in the produce section alone, marveling at all the offerings from all over the world. His last few trips to the Middle East had taken him to places where you had to buy your food every day, since there was no refrigeration where he stayed, and where the selection was limited to what the merchants had for sale that day.

He wandered through the store and was pleased to discover an entire aisle dedicated to organic food where he stocked up on cereals and other goods. At the meat counter, he picked up a few steaks, some chicken, ground beef, pork chops. What a luxury to have such choices, he was thinking as he went through the checkout line. Not to mention a refrigerator with a freezer.

He’d stopped on the way home at the local fish market and treated himself to some blue claws, then stopped again at a local produce stand for tomatoes, corn, zucchini, and hot peppers. When he got home, he put everything away, made himself some salsa, and put it in the refrigerator to chill. Then he stripped down, grabbed a towel from the laundry room, and headed out to the pool.

Unaccustomed to being in one place for any length of time, he’d grown restless. He ran every morning-eight to ten miles, regardless of the heat and humidity-and swam for at least thirty minutes after his run, and again later in the afternoon. Bored, he’d called his boss the previous morning and asked when he’d be getting a new assignment.

“I don’t have anything that’s quite right for you,” John Mancini had told him. “But it wouldn’t hurt for you to have a little down time.”

“I’ve had over a week of down time. I’m ready to go back to work. I’m bored.”

“So find a hobby. Take up knitting.”

Connor wasn’t looking for a hobby. He’d already caught up on his reading and taken care of things around the house that needed to be done. He’d had all the time off he felt he could take. Too much time off meant too much time to think about things he didn’t want to think about. Like his dead brother, Dylan, and how he got that way.

He swam his last lap, then drifted on his back to the side of the pool where he hoisted himself up. As he rose from the water, he realized he was not alone. He hesitated for less than a second, then held out a hand and asked, “Would you toss me that towel?”

“And me without my camera phone.”

“Very funny.”

Connor caught the towel in one hand and wrapped it around his waist as he walked toward the lounge where his boss sat. Connor asked, “So, to what do I owe the visit?”

“I was in the neighborhood and just thought I’d stop by.”

“Buddy, there’s no one in my neighborhood.” Connor dropped onto the chair next to John.

“True enough. Tough place to find.” John sat upright, one leg on either side of the lounge. “How did you find it?”

“Realtor. I told him I wanted something secluded and quiet. I think he had me pegged for a serial killer, but he found it for me anyway.”

“Well, secluded you got. I’ll have to stop back with Genna one of these days.”

“You and your wife are welcome any time.” Connor studied John’s face, looking for clues to the reason for his unannounced visit. Finally, he asked, “So what’s up, John?”

“You got a phone call last night at the office. Woman asked for you, wouldn’t speak with anyone but you. She finally left a message for you on my voice mail.”

“And?”

“And I called her back this morning.” John paused. “You know a woman named Daria McGowan?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah. She called?” He frowned. “And you couldn’t have just called me with her number because…?”

“Because she has a problem, one that doesn’t fall into your normal field of expertise. But she insisted that she only wanted to talk to you.”

“Something happen to her?” Connor sat upright, aware that John would not be oblivious to his interest. “Is she all right? Did she say where she was?”

“She’s fine, it’s nothing like that. But she’s in a place called Howeville, Pennsylvania, and she-”

“Shit. She’s in the States?”

“Where is she usually?”

“ Iran, Turkey, Syria…but go on. Why is she in Pennsylvania?”

“She was contacted by the president of Howe University, who asked her to take over a project at their museum. Short version-they want her to set up some displays, exhibits, whatever, in time for the hundredth anniversary of an archaeological expedition that her great-grandfather led sometime after the turn of the century. He apparently found some lost civilization in Turkey and brought back everything he could get his hands on.”

“Cool. Good for her.” Connor smiled. And good for me. She’s within driving distance. “So where’s the problem?”

“The problem is that when she opened the vault where her great-granddaddy’s stash has been kept for the past hundred years and started cataloging the artifacts, she discovered that some of the more important pieces were missing.”

“Stolen?”

“She thinks so.”

“So she called the FBI, that’s good. We have a whole department dedicated to-”

“I told her all that. But she didn’t call the Bureau, Connor. She called you. She doesn’t want anyone else. She doesn’t want the publicity-feels it will look really bad for the university at a time when things apparently aren’t going real well.”