The Navigator

handed one to Carina. “Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

Nasir watched Saxon weave his way through the crowd. “Not many people outside of Iraq know I exist,” he said, obviously impressed. “How long have you known Mr. Saxon?”

“About five minutes. He ambushed me at the door. More important, how long has it been since you and I last met? Three years at least?”

“How could I forget? It was in Baghdad at the museum. A terrible time.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you as often as I should have.”

“We’ve cleaned the place up, and, thanks to people like you, the recovering effort continues. Money has been coming in, but our expenses are phenomenal. And with the continuing instability in our country, it will be a long time before busloads of tourists pull up at our front door.”

“All the more reason why this reception must be so encouraging.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, brightening. “I was thrilled when you called and said you had recovered a major cache of artifacts. The idea for the tour is sheer genius. I never imagined that I would be here with so many of my respected colleagues. There is one of them now. You remember Dr. Shalawa?”

The heavyset woman taking the podium was a leading expert on Assyrian archaeology. Dr. Shalawa was dressed in the traditional Muslim dress down to her ankles. A scarf covered her hair. She cleared her throat to get attention, and, when the audience had settled down, she introduced herself.

“I would like to thank the embassy for hosting this reception and our guests for their financial and moral support. Our first speaker exemplifies the spirit of generosity that will be instrumental in making our museum again one of the world’s great cultural institutions. I am honored to give you Viktor Baltazar, president of the Baghdad Museum Foundation.”

As Dr. Shalawa led the applause a man rose from the front row and climbed onto the dais to shake her hand.

Carina had no idea what Baltazar looked like; he had a talent for keeping his pictures out of public circulation. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t the powerfully built man in the custom-tailored tuxedo who took his place behind the podium. The massive head reminded her of a mastiff’s. As she watched, Baltazar underwent a transformation. The fierce grin became a warm smile and the pale eyes seemed to reach out to every person in the room.

When the applause finally died, he said in a deep, melodious voice, “It is I who am honored for being invited to speak before this august gathering. You were all part of the international effort to recover the antiquities stolen from the IraqiNationalMuseum in Baghdad.”

He acknowledged the second round of applause, and went on.

“My foundation was only a single link in the chain. Thanks to you, many artifacts continue to be recovered. The museum is reestablishing its conservation labs, training its staff, and establishing a database. Additional funding will come from the tour, sponsored by the Baltazar Foundation. I regret that I must leave the reception before I get a chance to thank you all individually, but I look forward to working with all of you in this noble cause.”

He blew the audience a kiss, stepped down off the stage, and made his way to the door. Carina hurried from the room and caught her quarry in the lobby.

“Excuse me, Mr. Baltazar. I know you’re in a rush, but I wondered whether I could have a minute of your time.”

Baltazar’s lips widened in an engaging smile. “I would be impolite, and foolish as well, to refuse a simple request from such a lovely woman, Miss—”

“That’s very kind of you. My name is Carina Mechadi.”

A thoughtful expression came to Baltazar’s face. “Miss Mechadi! What an extraordinary surprise. From what I have heard about your bulldog persistence, I had envisioned you as a short, stout woman of middle age, with a mustache perhaps.” He drew his forefinger across his upper lip.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Carina said.

“No disappointment, except for the fact that I must be on my way. How can I help you?”

“I simply wanted to add my thanks to you and your foundation for aiding my efforts.”

“You’re welcome. I regret now that I had not met you before and that we were able to communicate only through intermediaries. My business and charitable interests are very demanding.”

“I understand completely.”

“Then I am relieved. You are apparently quite the detective. Were you trained by the police?”

“I was a journalist originally. I reported on some important Italian art thefts that wound up in European and American museums. I became angrier the more I learned how the academic institutions and museums have become part of the illegal trade. Before long, I was trying to find stolen objects instead of writing about them.”

“I understand your work is not without its dangers. I heard through Benoir about the hijacking and attempted theft of an artifact. Absolutely outrageous! It’s a wonder you weren’t hurt.”

She nodded. “I would not be here talking to you if not for Kurt Austin.”

“I’m not familiar with the name.”

“Mr. Austin is with the National Underwater and Marine Agency. He prefers to stay out of the limelight, but he is responsible for saving my life, the ship, and the long-lost Iraqi artifacts. One of the hijackers shot him. He was only wounded, thank goodness.”

“Austin sounds like a remarkable gentleman,” Baltazar said. “How did he come to be on board the vessel?”

“Pure accident. He was on another ship that happened to be nearby when he heard an SOS.”

“Remarkable. I would like to meet him some time so I can thank him.”

“I would be glad to arrange it.”

“I am amazed that you were able to recover so many of the Iraqi antiquities. How did you do it?”

Carina thought about the countless informants she had cultivated, the bribes she had given freely, and the reluctant government officials she had wheedled without mercy until they gave in to her demands simply to be rid of her.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a shrug. “Much of my success is simply an accident of birth. I have roots in Europe and Africa, which eased my ability to make contacts on both continents.”

“African, you say? Your father was Italian, I take it?”

She nodded. “My grandfather too. He was with Mussolini’s army when it invaded Ethiopia, which was where he met my grandmother. My mother never knew his name, only that her father was Italian. When she moved to Italy, where I was born, she gave her maiden name, Mekada, an Italian twist.”

“Mekada? That’s a lovely name.”

“Thank you. I understand it’s not uncommon in Ethiopia.”

Baltazar paused in thought for a moment before speaking again. “Tell me, Miss Mechadi, what are your immediate plans?”

“I’m going to be busy organizing the tour. The artifacts are at the Smithsonian under guard. I’ll be providing provenance data and background information that can be used with the exhibits. I’ve lined up meetings with people who have offered their help. Tomorrow, I’m going to Virginia to see Jon Benson, a National Geographic photographer who was present at the excavation of a statue known as the Navigator. Perhaps you can drop by and see the statue and the other pieces in the collection.”

“That sounds like a fine idea. I’m a bit of a novice about archaeology, I’ll admit, but I own a few pieces. All legal, I might add. I’d be happy to show them to you over lunch or dinner.”

“I’d like that, Mr. Baltazar.”

“Splendid. Call the foundation when you have some free time. They will have my schedule.”

They shook hands, and Baltazar stopped to say his good-nights to the ambassador and several other embassy officials. Carina turned to go back into the reception room and encountered Saxon. He had a bemused smile on his face.

“I saw you chatting with Mr. Baltazar,” he said.

“Mr. Baltazar is the main reason I came to the reception. He’s quite charming.”