Nahum’s passion had somehow given life and spirit to the rock. I felt a moment of sadness for the prophet whose grand plan had come to nothing. After thousands of years, the riches he’d intended for the Kingdom of Judah would remain in Assyrian hands. “When you sell it, I suppose Tomas gets a cut?”
“Of course. The proceeds from Samuel’s estate would never have been enough to finance all the restoration work on the temple and its objects.” Phillip pressed the remote again to move the TV screen back into place.
“Well, for my end of things, I’ll take the Vermeer.”
Phillip let out a cynical laugh and held up the bottle of Rabelais, raising his eyebrows. I shook my head. Neither he nor Laurel had touched their drinks.
“I’m a bit surprised at your willingness to forgo the treasure cache. The engraving’s worth twenty million, but the value of Midas’s hoard is incalculable.”
“Bird in hand, my friend, bird in hand,” Phillip said.
“I’m not your friend.”
I’d obviously succeeded in stirring Phillip up because he snapped back at me. “I thought we were having a civilized conversation. Let me finish. Ward deluded himself about how easy the hoard would be to move. Realistically, how could he get control of the temple treasures and transport them back here, even if he’d won his battle with Tomas?”
“He had a lot of muscle, private contractors.”
“Not enough under the circumstances. The museum looting turned out to be too great an embarrassment. After the FBI sent out alerts, getting caught even with a small item would land you in serious trouble. Not to mention local citizens. You don’t think they’d know what was going on? You could hire a whole battalion of thieves without a prayer of getting past them. And the temple is on the property of the Chaldean Church. They’d just look the other way while Ward loaded up the trucks? Catholics don’t part easily with their valuables. I predict the find will never be made public. Laurel and I are content with our paltry share.”
“The Chaldean Church is doing its best to protect antiquities in the middle of a war. They’re facing threats daily and still trying to restore Nahum’s tomb and the synagogue. You don’t have a decent bone in your body, Phillip.”
He smiled and let my insult float away. “You’ll be getting no cut, John, least of all that Vermeer. Good Lord, it’s worth as much as Nahum’s engraving.”
“The engraving’s stolen. You can’t peddle it safely.”
“There’s no evidence to suggest that. No museum records, no identifying marks.”
I supposed now was as good a time as any to turn the tables. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it up. “I made a call on this before I walked in here. The line has been open the entire time. On the other end, a friend has taped every single word.”
This didn’t produce the desired effect. Laurel let out a little grunt of amusement, and Phillip laughed outright. “That old trick. Did you really think I’d fall for it? I’m not brain dead. My office is for private conversations. I have clients for whom discretion is a necessity; you never know who may be trying to listen in. There are a lot of useful technologies these days, and I like to employ them. Wireless won’t work in here.”
When I checked my phone I saw the message that the network could not be found. “I’ll go to the police then.”
“They didn’t even believe you about Hal. They’d need a warrant to search my gallery, and that has to be based on evidence. The engraving will be long gone before that eventuality.”
Laurel lifted her shoulders slightly as if to say there was nothing she could do, the matter was out of her hands.
I could feel the dam cracking, my anger breaking out again. “Do Ari and Samuel mean nothing to you?”
“Don’t start preaching, John. You just wanted it for yourself. You went to that cemetery the first time without anyone knowing. The caretaker described you.” There was no malice in her tone, if anything, only a slight air of amusement that she’d put one over on me. It seemed schizophrenic, a kind of moral blankness, her ability to treat all this as a game, utterly oblivious to the consequences.
Phillip let me out. I walked a half block east to an electrician’s van, checked to make sure neither Laurel nor Phillip were watching, and called out. The side door of the van cranked open. Gentile looked worried. “We got nothing but static,” he said.
“Phillip Anthony blocked his office for wireless.” I undid my shirt, pulled at the wires and tape, and handed him the tape recorder.
I didn’t know the man well, but I’d have thought smiling was a foreign expression for him. He proved me wrong when a broad grin lit up his face. “I’ll take the old-fashioned stuff any day. Smart of you to think about doing both; otherwise, he might have suspected something. Did you get it all?”
“Everything. They’re hung, drawn, and quartered.”
While he and an agent from the FBI’s Art Theft Program listened to the recording, I watched the screen inside the van broadcasting views of the gallery’s front door. Light filtered through the window grate, and I thought I could detect shadows of the two of them moving around inside. There was no back exit. Neither Laurel nor Phillip ventured out. With any luck this would turn out to be a triple win if the Vermeer and Michelangelo drawing shared equally dubious origins.
“Okay, that sounds great,” Gentile said. The FBI agent signaled his agreement and made a call. Within minutes a couple of unmarked cars pulled up at the curb in front of the gallery. I stayed for the pleasure of seeing Phillip and Laurel hauled out in restraints.
Before meeting Gentile at his office the next day for a full report, I decided I needed to cool down and trudged the eight or so blocks to Kenny’s.
Diane was tending bar when I sauntered through the front door. She could manage only a weak smile after I sat down, which told me her feelings were still tender about the incident with the police.
“I came to make up,” I said.
She acknowledged me with a curt nod, got a cloth from under the bar, and began zealously wiping down the counter. I noticed, though, that she hadn’t moved very far away.
“Hey,” I said. “Is this the end of a great relationship?”
“Lying. That’s not my definition of a great relationship.”
“There were extenuating circumstances.”
“That’s what they always say.”
“Your fortune was dead on. Sadly for me.”
This sparked her interest. “Why?” Then she noticed my face.
“What happened to you?”
“I was hunted by five masked assassins, one of whom fried himself trying to make gold. I was shot at, Tasered, nearly bitten by a giant spider, kidnapped, and whisked away to a foreign land.”
She had trouble suppressing a grin and tried to hide it by shaking her head. “John, you’re too much. Dare I ask why you were singled out for such punishment?”
“They believed I held the secret to King Midas’s treasure.”
Diane couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.
“Well, that’s so off the wall it doesn’t qualify as a lie. I’ve missed you despite everything, but we have to make a pact.”
“I don’t have any razors on me. We’d need that for the exchange of blood.”
“Verbal is just fine. In all seriousness, I want your promise you won’t lie to me again.”
I held out my hand; she reached for it and closed her own over mine.
“And we’ll have to agree on no more fortunes.”
“Done,” she said.
We chatted for a while longer before a flock of new customers took up her attention. I recalled her last prophecy:
From Iraq, I’d brought one memento home. I took it out and held it in the palm of my hand. A golden apple, every pucker in the skin, the creases, veins, and finely serrated edge of its one leaf so perfectly formed you would
