No Rules(87)

“Light,” she said without taking her eyes off the vase.

Mr. Atallah was ready for her. As he carefully inched the vase forward, Majid placed a bare lightbulb behind it.

The vase glowed. She heard an appreciative, “Ah,” from Donovan and felt her own pulse quicken. With trembling fingers she reached out to stroke the lip of the vase. She touched it with a reverence that others reserved for religious artifacts, instinctively imitating the respect she’d learned from her father for such ancient treasures.

The stone felt surprisingly warm and smooth. The weight of history was a dull buzzing in her head. How many others had touched this? Even though it had been cleaned, it possibly still bore the fingerprints of priests or slaves who had placed it in a dead king’s tomb thousands of years ago. Now it bore her prints, too.

And those of tomb robbers who would sell it to a private collector where no one could appreciate it or learn from it. She would see them all rot in jail.

“Beautiful, is it not?”

She dragged her mind back to the present with an effort. “Yes, it is.” She didn’t have to try to put awe into her voice.

“I’m glad you are pleased.”

“I’m more than pleased.” She stood and faced him, all business now as she motioned to Donovan. “Pay him, please.”

Without a word he got the briefcase and handed it over.

Mr. Atallah laid it on the back of the love seat and opened it. Stacks of U.S. hundred dollar bills filled the inside. He lifted one out and riffled through it appreciatively, then closed the case with a satisfied smile. “Thank you. I do not need to count it.” He handed the case to Majid, who carried it out of the room. She would have bet another briefcase full of money that he was counting it.

“I have researched such vases since we last met,” she said. She hadn’t, but recalled pouring over them in books with her father. “Is there perhaps an alabaster stand that might go with this vase?”

“How odd that you would say that.” But he looked impressed rather than suspicious. “I believe there is.”

“I want it.”

He was silent a moment, surprise and greed lighting his face. He licked his lips, no doubt debating how much he could take her for. She decided to make the first move. “If you can deliver it tomorrow, I will give you five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Tomorrow is soon.”

“I have told you my schedule. Tomorrow morning, or I cannot buy it.”

“You ask the impossible,” he claimed.

“I ask only what you have already done.”

“But there are new difficulties involved.”

She offered a tight smile. “How much would it cost to overcome these difficulties?”

“One million dollars.”

“Seven hundred fifty thousand.”

He stroked his lower lip. “I might be able to do it for eight hundred fifty.”

“Eight hundred. Without the vase such a stand will never bring more, as you well know.” She had no idea if that was true, but added a slight disdain to her voice, implying a confidence she didn’t feel.

He gave it a moment’s consideration, then inclined his head in agreement. “Seeing that it is early in the day yet, I believe I may have time to have it delivered.”

She smiled, genuinely pleased. All he needed was a few hours of darkness for his contact to make the trip from the Valley of the Kings, and all they needed was to see where the man came from or, if he was as silent and slippery as Kyle claimed, where he went when he returned. This time there were five of them to track the courier, since she and Donovan had no intention of meeting with Mr. Atallah to receive the stand. The police could do that.

“I look forward to your call tomorrow morning, Mr. Atallah,” she said, bowing her head.

Mr. Atallah beamed happily, probably already counting tomorrow’s increase in his fortune. “Majid will add packing material to the crate and assist you in loading it.”

“Thank you.”

Majid was fast, for which she was grateful. The longer she stayed in the little back room of the Eye of the Gods, the more jittery her stomach got, until she was afraid she might lose both her composure and the tea. When they finally drove off with the crate squeezed into the backseat, she exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“Tyler, do you realize what this is?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror, frowning at the crate behind him. “Life in prison?”

“It’s a priceless piece of history. It’s art and science and history all together. It’s…amazing.”

Tension left his face for a moment as he grinned at her. “You sound like your dad.”

Her dad. It had been a long time since she’d thought of him that way, with that name that implied love and belonging. For too long he’d been her father, a more impersonal, distant name for the man she’d thought had turned his back on her. Regret for what she’d lost stung her soul with a sudden, deep hurt. “I wish he could have been here for this.”