The layout of the house was simple enough, three large rooms off the main foyer—formal living room, dining room, library. Portraits hung in gold beveled frames along the cranberry painted walls. Plush rugs covered glossed wood floors. It smelled like incense, some deep and heady fragrance that was heavy and potent, seeping into his nostrils as quickly as if the entire place were filled with smoke.
A few steps ahead of him, the woman gripped the doorknobs of double oak doors and pushed them open.
“Senator, Mr. Eze from the Legion Security Company is here,” she said.
A fire blazed in the marble fireplace against one dark wood paneled wall. Burgundy leather chairs were positioned around the fireplace and a man rose from one of them. He had a cigar between his lips, glossy black hair smoothed down to his scalp and hunter-green eyes.
“Thank you, Marona. Come in, Mr. Eze, come in,” the senator beckoned him.
Steele embraced the eerie feeling he’d felt upon entering this dour room and walked past Marona to accept the outstretched hand of Daron Robles.
His hand was chilly, the smile that ghosted his lips was insincere and his eyes assessed Steele in the same way the Drakon was assessing him.
“Good to meet you,” Robles said when they disconnected the handshake.
“Likewise,” Steele replied, immediately noting the sour taste the word left in his mouth.
“Let’s get right down to business, I’ve got another meeting in an hour.”
“That’s fine with me, sir.” Steele followed Robles when the man moved to sit back in the chair he’d been in before.
Robles extended one arm toward a brown leather chair across from him. Steele took his seat there, being sure not to lean back in the chair, but resting his elbows on his thighs instead.
“I understand you’d like to upgrade the security of your house. Can you tell me what type of system you have at the moment?”
Whatever it was, Steele was betting it was crap because he hadn’t seen a control panel on either wall when he stepped inside the front door. Of course, the system could be set up somewhere else in the house, but a panel near the door ensured less chance of false alarms because it could be quickly disengaged. Unless there was a remote, but that wasn’t a method he ever advised.
“We have an automated system that’s monitored by a global company. They came out a few years ago and ran wire on every window and around the doors. But I’ve made some, ah, upgrades to the place since then and I’ve just been reminded that I need to pay more attention to my security.”
That didn’t sound good. “How’ve you been reminded?”
“A week ago tomorrow someone broke into my house and stole a very valuable item and once I reported the crime to the enforcers, they suggested I upgrade my security with a new system and possibly armed guards. That, or buy a guard dog.”
The ends of the man’s lips lifted, an edge lacing his tone. But before Steele could pay more attention to either, he repeated the senator’s words.
“Someone broke into your house?” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen. He rarely needed to take notes during a meeting because he always activated the recording mechanism on his communicator before it started, but he’d also found that actually seeing him take notes made clients feel more assured their concerns were being taken seriously. He held the pen over the paper but already knew the date the man was going to reply with.
“Yes, last Friday evening. I’m not sure of the exact time because my personal assistant, whom you’ve just met, left for the evening at seven. I was away on a business trip and did not return until Saturday night. That’s when I realized I’d been robbed.” The man crossed one leg over the other and stared contemplatively out the window located behind the chair where Steele sat.
“What did they steal?” Visions of the Egyptian dagger immediately formed in his mind, along with a picture of one very attractive thief.
Robles looked at him. “A thirty-four-hundred-year-old dagger worth at least half a million dollars.”
“Did you keep it in a safe?” Steele asked without missing a beat. He knew he should act a little more surprised at the price or perhaps the age of the dagger, but he’d never been one to mince words.
Robles shook his head slowly. “No. No. I had a case made especially for the piece. It was shatterproof glass and it sat on top of an unmovable pillar. The glass was supposed to be sealed to the pillar.”
Steele watched the man carefully. “How did you plan to get it out when you wanted to?”
“I was told the case had a fingertip-sensitive latch and that my fingerprint was the only one that could open it. I know now that was a lie because the glass and latch were still in place, but the dagger was taken.”
“Was the piece insured? And why would you have something that valuable in your home? Are you a collector?”
Steele found no real interest in politicians. Over the years and living in many places, they’d all eventually yielded their beliefs to the lure of power. Weak, unimaginative and troublesome was how he viewed them.
“I hold a degree in archaeology. It’s my first love, but politics paid the bills. There’s a big archaeologists’ convention taking place in the city beginning tomorrow and lasting through next week. I had plans to invite
