Perhaps it was inflated expectations, but she thought they’d have a reply within twenty-four hours. Maybe she should call. But if she did, she’d interrupt, and the last thing she wanted to do was interrupt Rebecca when she was focused on a search. She’d done it once before, and it threw her assistant off her stride, making the hunt even longer.
“Are you going to keep doing that, or are you going to work?” Simon asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Do what?”
“You’re drumming on the book. It’s starting to get irritating.”
She stilled her fingers. “Sorry. I was wondering what was taking Rebecca so long.”
He nodded in understanding. “I know. I’m getting antsy, as well.”
“You?” she asked in surprise.
“Me.”
She examined him. “Hmm. It doesn’t show.” She found his ability to control his emotions was a quality that, while annoying, she also admired and wished she could emulate to a degree. But it didn’t seem possible. Not on days like today when she was so bored with waiting she’d do anything but sit her butt in a chair.
He stared at her in surprise, as if he thought she’d figured it all out already. “Just because I don’t act fidgety or show every single emotion at every given moment doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.”
The comment caught her off guard. He was right. She’d experienced his more human side. Felt the heat of his touch.
And then there was the Vatican. His look of sheer joy when she handed him the codex. The satisfaction that turned his mouth from a grim line to a curve when he picked the lock to the sanctuary and they’d escaped.
Where did he learn that? The search for that truth would keep her occupied if nothing else. “Simon?”
“What?” He kept working.
“You want to tell me about more of your hobbies? The ones other than lock picking?”
He raised his right eyebrow in what she thought was confusion. “What brought that on?”
She leaned forward, pushing the research book out of the way, and used both hands to prop her chin. “Just wondering.” And curious as a cat.
He went back to translating the codex. “I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Funny, but I’m serious. Where—”
Ding. The tinny sound that signaled an incoming e-mail interrupted her.
She fought the urge to leap out her chair. “Probably an offer to increase my sex drive,” she muttered.
As if she needed help in that area.
She sat down.
It wasn’t spam. It was from Rebecca. “Simon. It’s here,” she almost shouted the news.
Quickly, she double-clicked and opened the e-mail.
Veronica,
Sorry I took so long. It was a tough one. You were right—the name was changed. It’s now called Golden Vision and all association to Artemis has been lost. Thanks for the picture—without it, I would never have gotten a positive ID on the piece.
The air shifted as Simon walked over and stood over her shoulder.
Anyway, it belongs to a Fakhir al-Ahmed in Turkey. His mansion is just outside Istanbul. I did some research on this guy, and he’s not a pushover. He’s involved in some questionable activities. I attached a doc that gives a brief bio plus details of his mansion: location, security system, etc. Getting in is going to suck. He’s not like Michael. This guy has guards that will shoot you on sight. So, for pity’s sake, be careful.
I enclosed a picture of what I found and a close-up so you could verify the identification.
Tell Simon I said hi. Take care and let me know if you need anything else.
Smooches, Becca
“Chatty, isn’t she?” Simon said.
Veronica downloaded the attachments. “A little, but she’s awesome. I’ve never seen her fail.”
“Never?”
“When she’s determined to find something, it gets found. Think of her as a cyberspace archaeologist.” She clicked on the first attachment. The plan detailing Fakhir’s security system opened up and filled the screen. It contained a blueprint with a legend, plus a detailed report about Fakhir, including his suspected ties with known weapons dealers, his family’s rise to wealth and his penchant for parties and beautiful women.
On the last page was a scanned, color newsprint photo of Fakhir at a fund-raiser he gave at his home. The women were dressed in evening gowns and the men in tuxedos. He stood in a large room that was converted to an art gallery of some kind. Columns. Marble floors. She whistled in appreciation. Even Michael didn’t have anything that impressive.
There was a red arrow pointing to a glass case in the background.
In the case was an object that looked like the Eye of Artemis.
Simon leaned over her shoulder. “Is that it?”
She clicked open the close-up that Rebecca had attached. It was grainy, but the markings were clear enough.
Rebecca had found the Eye of Artemis.
“It is.” Veronica relaxed back into the chair, smug in Rebecca’s success. She knew her assistant wouldn’t let her down. “I told you. She’s the best.”
“You weren’t kidding.”
His breath was warm against her bare neck. “Do you think anyone else knows about this?”
“No,” Veronica turned to face Simon. Her lips were level with his mouth. She lifted her eyes to his. “No one but you, me and Joseph know the Eye’s true purpose and it’s association with the Midas Stone. Fakhir doesn’t even know its real name.”
“And the Vatican?”
She shook her head. “Believing in Greek myths and Gods are too far removed from their beliefs for them to even entertain the idea that some of it might be true. Besides, they didn’t have the other half of the codex or the mouse. I can’t imagine that the Eye is even on their radar.”
He licked his lower lip, drawing her attention. She knew that mouth.
With a quick shake of her head, she swiveled back to the map and began formulating a plan of attack, scrolling back up to the blueprint.
The security cameras were marked with tiny triangles. There were so many. “This place is a fortress.”
“It’s going to take an army to get in,” Simon replied. “We don’t have an army.”
She glanced upward. “You know, you’re a bit of a pessimist.”
He frowned at the offhand comment. “No. I’m a realist.”
She turned back to the screen, not bothering to reply. Pessimist.
His frown deepened. “Think we could get him to sell?”
Veronica shook her head. “Men like this don’t sell artifacts.” She touched the screen, tracing Fakhir al-Ahmed’s image. “I’m not even sure they buy them when taking them is easier. Besides, what if he says no? Then we’ll never be able to steal it.”
“It was a thought.”
Veronica closed the e-mail and turned off the computer. “Ever been to Turkey?”
“Not yet.” He stretched, his fingers brushing the ceiling. “I’ll make the reservations.”
Veronica breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. We should hurry.”
“Why?” He shot her a confused look. “There’s been nothing on the break-in to the Vatican. Why make mistakes by rushing around? Better to take our time and do this right.”
In theory, he was right. In theory. But the reality was that the people at the Vatican could discover they’d been robbed at any minute. Once they did, they’d start looking for suspects, and her name would be in the top ten if not number one. Unplugging the computer from the data port, she wound the cord up around her hand. “I need to tell you, when they escorted me from the Vatican, I was angry.”
“You? No,” he mocked.
He chose now to get a sarcastic sense of humor? “Anyway, I told them I’d be back, and when I was, the codex would be mine.”
“You can’t believe they took it seriously, can you?” Simon asked, dismissing the confrontation.
“I don�
��t know, but can we take the chance?” Removing the cord from her hand, she put it and the laptop back in the soft nylon case. At the time, her words were an empty threat. A shrill cry of disappointment more than anything else.
She had never intended to make it truth. And now that they had, she really wanted to get out of Rome as fast as possible. “Right now, we have all the time in the world because they don’t know what’s gone, but we did trigger an alarm. They’ll do some kind of inventory to find out what’s missing, and when they figure it out, it’ll be that much harder for us to leave.” She zipped the case shut with barely suppressed energy. “We can’t count on fake identities to keep us safe. This is the Vatican. They have contacts all over, and we’re on their home turf. I think we need to get out of here as soon as possible now that we have the information we need.”
Simon hesitated, and she knew his silence meant that he was evaluating her plan.
After a beat, he nodded in acceptance. “Agreed.”
She sighed with relief.
Simon retrieved a small carry-on suitcase from the closet. “I’ll start packing if you want to call and make the reservations.”
Retrieving Lily from the upper closet shelf, she laid her on the bed and began searching for the remains of the bubble wrap she’d been shipped in.
“Do you have to bring her?” Simon asked. “We’re going to Turkey—one of the last places on earth we want to get caught with a weapon.”
Veronica dropped to her knees to feel under the bed. It might be foolish, but Lily was more than protection. She was a good-luck charm. Any dig that Lily was on went well. Artifacts were found. No one was hurt.
No bubble wrap.
Any dig Lily was absent from tended to be less that fruitful. Besides, they might need her for more than luck. She rose. “She goes.”
Simon began tossing clothes in the empty suitcase. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“Have you worked in Turkey?” she asked, sitting on the bed. The wrap was gone and, for that matter, so was the box she was shipped in. The maids must have taken both.
“No.”
“I have, and more than once. We’re going to need protection of some kind. Trust me.”
“I do.” But he didn’t look like he did. “No box?”
“If there was, I’d have it,” she snapped.
“It was just a question,” he said, obviously taken aback at her anger.
She fell back onto the bed, her legs over the edge. “I know. Sorry.” And she was. It wasn’t him. It was the thought of the Vatican coming for her. It wigged her out more than she wanted to admit. She pushed herself up to her elbows. “Would you go get one?” She could use a few minutes to pull herself together.
He sighed. “Sure.”
Gratitude flickered through her. “Thanks.”
She’d take a hot shower while he was gone. It would work out the tension, and if they were going to be traveling all day, she wanted to get clean while she could.
He waved off the thanks as he headed for the door, appearing uncomfortable with the praise. “Just get ready.” He clicked the door shut behind him
She’d have to hurry. She placed the codex in the room’s small, private safe. It barely fit but was good enough for now. Stripping, she walked naked to the bathroom and turned on the water. The pipes groaned to life. She lathered her hair and soaped her skin, her mind racing with plans. There would be a lot to do once they got to Istanbul. She’d have to contact Nasim and ask him about Fakhir.
Her parents used Nasim as their lead field technician whenever they had a Turkish dig, and he was practically her godfather. If anyone could get them into the mansion to retrieve the Eye, he was the one.
She rinsed her hair and was done in record time, feeling more relaxed. Wrapping her hair turban-style, she stepped out of the oversize tub to dry herself off.
A small crash came from the outer room.
Simon? Damn. He was quick. She hadn’t made a single call.
Worse—she realized that hadn’t brought any clothes with her into the bathroom.
She cracked open the door. “Hey, I’m coming out. Can you close your eyes? I’m not dressed.”
Another noise and then the telltale squeak of the front door being opened.
Her skin broke out in goose bumps and she knew it wasn’t because of her lack of clothes in the air-conditioned room. Simon wouldn’t just leave. He’d simply tell her to hurry up.
Cracking the door, she peered out. Whoever was there was gone but might have left a friend. The room appeared empty. She opened the door farther and gave an inadvertent cry of dismay.
Lily was on the floor. The dresser drawers were yanked out.
Her laptop was gone.
Chapter 8
Veronica sat in one of four kitchen chairs and watched Simon pace, while across the table, Sylvia talked on the phone in rapid-fire Italian.
Sylvia sounded pissed.
Veronica knew how she felt. After the robbery, she wanted to break something. Or someone.
Simon’s reaction, or should she say, lack of reaction, made her feel worse.
He didn’t yell. Shout. Didn’t even accuse her of dropping her guard. But she knew he was angry. At himself? At her?
It didn’t matter. She knew pissed when it stood in front of her. She’d never seen anyone so tight. It was as if his entire body was one single, rigid muscle.
Still, he hadn’t uttered a word. He simply began searching to find what else was taken.
That’s when they noticed their passports and IDs were gone. The only bright spot was that while the wall safe was dented, it was unopened.
The codex was safe.
After that, they’d come to the one person in Rome that Veronica trusted, Sylvia.
Sylvia’s voice rose a notch, catching Veronica’s attention. She leaned forward, once again questioning the wisdom of putting her friend in the middle of this insanity. “Syl. If this is going to cause problems, we can—”
Sylvia silenced her with a raised hand.
Veronica raised her own hand in surrender and backed off. She never argued with Sylvia. She could try, but it always ended in shouts and lost time while they bickered.
And time was not a luxury they could afford.
Sylvia waved to get Veronica’s attention, then made a motion that imitated writing. Veronica grabbed the nearest items, a chartreuse crayon and a coloring book.
The fact that Sylvia had children boggled her mind. When they parted, Sylvia was a confirmed single with not one boyfriend, but three.
Now, instead of candles and silk, her flat overflowed with toys for her twin sons, toddler-size clothes and piles of laundry. She had an English husband who worked as a biochemist for a pharmaceutical company. Her long hair was loose, and instead of wearing dusty jeans and a skimpy halter top, she wore cotton shorts and an oversize pink T-shirt.
It all seemed so…normal. From the coordinated, overstuffed living room furniture to the pile of folded laundry sitting in the hallway waiting for Sylvia to put it away, everything about the apartment proclaimed Sylvia’s transition from a hottie archaeologist to a hottie mom.
Whoever was on the other end of the phone must have said something Sylvia didn’t like because she hesitated, her eyes narrowed, and she let loose a string of swear words in a combination of Italian and English.
Then she snapped her mouth shut. “Buon.” Flipping open the coloring book, she wrote on the back—one of the few places not covered with multicolored scribbling.
Names? Locations?
Veronica leaned forward again, trying to see what she wrote, but Sylvia batted her away.
“Did she get something?” Simon stopped pacing long enough to appear interested.
“I think so,” Veronica replied, distracted when he started walking again. “Could you stop that?”
“What?”
“Pacing. It’s right up there with me drumming my fingers.”
A brief smile flickered on hi
s lips.
“Merda!”
Sylvia’s exclamation interrupted them, and she wrote faster.
Simon came over to the table and stood behind Veronica, his hands resting on the back of her chair.
“Ciao.” Hanging up the phone, Sylvia leaned back with a sigh, her mouth pursed in displeasure.
“So, what’s the situation? Can you help us?” Veronica asked as Simon took the seat between her and Sylvia.
Sylvia fixed her gaze to Simon. “First things first. Do you know an Andrew Carson?”
Simon’s dark eyes narrowed. “He’s one of my graduate students.”
Sylvia pursed her full lips. “It seems that Mr. Carson cannot keep his mouth shut. He bragged about what was found at your excavation. The implications. The possibilities. Most archaeologists do not believe.” She turned to Veronica. “We both know, all too well, that they do not want to consider the notion that history can take odd turns and present ideas that run contrary to our education and what we perceive as reality.”
Veronica shifted in her seat. Would she ever get to the point where she didn’t want to cringe every time her lack of success was brought up?
Sylvia continued, oblivious to Veronica’s sudden unease. Ripping off the back page of the coloring book, she set it on the table so Veronica and Simon could read it. Sylvia’s writing was atrocious and made worse with the thick wax of the crayon. “But these archaeologists do believe your bragging student, and they are in pursuit.”
Veronica read the names to herself. David Conner. Paul Bowers. Morgan Caldwell.
Names she recognized, but nothing alarming.
Her eyes continued down the page, and for a moment, she thought she must have read wrong.
Michael Grey. Michael?
“You know him?” Simon asked.
“Yes,” she replied, knowing that her every emotion showed. She didn’t care. “You might say that. We grew up together.”
Her stomach constricted. Was Michael so greedy that he could go after the one artifact that could redeem her career, her reputation?
She knew the answer even as she asked it. Of course he would.
The Midas Trap Page 12
