under threat. Otherwise, Samuel would have returned it. Through a process of elimination, I thought I could narrow down the possibilities, but at least fifteen major objects and close to ten thousand small ones—cylinder seals, jewelry, and figurines—were still missing. The precious Lion of Nimrud, an 850 B.C. ivory relief, was gone, along with an exquisite copper head of the Roman goddess of Victory found in the Parthian ruins at the Hatra site. Had he rescued either of those?
In one of our last phone calls before he came home, Samuel told me about the devastation at the museum. “It could have been worse,” he’d said. “Mercifully, the museum staff had the foresight to empty several galleries and conceal hundreds of objects beforehand. The American investigation team that went in afterward was brilliant. They devised a ‘no questions asked’ return policy and spent a lot of time publicizing it in the markets and mosques. This got really good results, but they paled in comparison to the scope of the loss.”
So if the staff had hidden many of the important objects, why did Samuel feel the need to take one of them? Until I had more information, I couldn’t sort out my brother’s motive. When we’d talked about the museum looting he’d broken down and cried on the phone. Sacrificing his values to keep a stolen object must have torn him apart.
The phone rang. My landline. Few people had that number, and fewer people used it.
“John Madison here.”
“John, it’s Andy Stein. How’re you doing?”
“Well, things have certainly been piling up. I appreciate your calling me on a Sunday, Andy.”
“No problem. Listen, you know I’m commercial; I can’t help you with your … matter, but I’ve been in touch with a criminal attorney. Joseph Reznick. He’s one of the best. I briefed him about your situation. You should talk to him—soon.”
“Sure. How can I reach him?” I scribbled down the guy’s number and email address while Andy spoke.
“Oh, and one more thing. He’s not cheap.”
“What are we talking about here?”
“I couldn’t guess. It’s not a straightforward situation, is it? He’ll want a retainer for a start.”
“So what do you think that would run?”
“A couple of thou at least.”
I had five credit cards. Only one had any space left, and not much at that. Where the money would come from was anyone’s guess. My job was feast or famine, and right now I was on the brink of starvation. In the past Samuel had always been good to tide me over, but that option was lost to me until his estate was settled.
“Do you have any idea how long it will take to get Samuel’s estate cleared up?”
“Under these circumstances? If there’s culpability over the accident, it’s unclear. I don’t do estates, but you could be waiting for a long time.”
The intercom buzzed as I hung up. Amir, calling to say that an envelope had just been couriered to me and he’d bring it up.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” I said when I opened the door.
Amir looked wiped out. “The day man came really late so I had no choice. I wanted to get this to you before I left.” He handed me a plain white business envelope with my name and address typed on it.
“Who brought this?”
“A bike courier. I’m really sorry, but he took off so fast I couldn’t ask him to sign for it.”
I thanked Amir and he left. Inside the envelope I found a USB flash drive enclosed in bubble wrap. No indication of who’d sent it. I got my laptop booted up and inserted the device. A page opened up on the screen.
I gaped at the screen. Score one for Diane Chen. Here was the secret message.
Hal’s deceit had run much deeper than I’d thought. This wasn’t about Samuel at all. Hal had targeted me. Believing himself in danger, he’d purposely sent his enemies after me, actually getting off on the prospect. I hated being manipulated like this.
The faint hope crossed my mind that he’d fallen victim to a hoax. But he’d been killed for it so his foes must have believed the object was genuine. How pathetic, wasting the last few days of his life to set such an evil trap for me.
People always think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. Hal had envied me. He’d never known how lonely I felt when Samuel was away at work for such long stretches of time. A cerebral, self-effacing boy, he’d been no match for his father. Peter had wanted an alpha male and got instead a shy, introverted boy. After one particular cringe-inducing put-down by his father, Hal had turned on me. “He said he wished you were his son instead of a pathetic kid like me.” His resentment had simmered all these years.
Hal was exacting a heavy price for that now.
When I looked at the screen again, the letter had faded away and a new page came up displaying the first step in Hal’s game.
I liked games, but my natural impatience didn’t allow for good strategy, and I hated losing. It was Hal who’d loved the intrigue, the battle of wits. So he’d know that right off the bat he had me at a disadvantage. I grew more annoyed and angry the longer I studied it.
This was another throwback to our childhood. We couldn’t just play hide-and-seek like ordinary kids. Hal would insist on devising intricate games—games where he knew he’d have the upper hand. He’d once worked all morning setting up a scavenger hunt. The trail led up to his attic, where he promised a twenty-dollar bill was waiting if I could read the clues. There was no money in the end, only the desiccated body of a dead mouse. Hal had laughed uproariously when I found it.
After studying the puzzle for a few moments, I realized I wouldn’t be able to solve it easily and turned my attention to the actual artifact. Hal’s description gave me next to nothing to go on, but it was worth doing a search to see if I could find any references online. Interpol’s database of stolen art, the Art Loss Register, and the FBI’s Art Theft Program were all tools of the art trade. I knew one dealer with a bad rep who regularly checked these sources to gauge how hot an object was before he’d touch it. If it was listed, he’d triple his commission.
Nothing on Interpol remotely described a missing Neo-Assyrian engraving. This came as no great surprise because with the Baghdad Museum records burned, it would take some time, even for the top police agencies, to document all the missing objects. The FBI listed some of the most prominent stolen pieces. As I expected, the ivory plaque of a lion killing a nubian, a stunning work of art, was listed among the top ten missing works, but I found no reference to the engraving here either. I had higher hopes for the Art Loss Register because I knew it documented at least 200,000 objects, antiquities, and collectibles. But combing the site again brought up nothing
