Two-hundred-year-old paintings, part of the Society’s Hudson River School collection, hung crooked on the walls. Antique pieces of furniture, drowning under a sea of papers and books, were strewn haphazardly across the floor.
On the far end of the room sat a large oak desk and a fancy office chair. A man sat in the chair, facing the other direction. His legs angled upward and his feet rested on the fifth shelf of a large bookcase. His right hand glimmered and I caught a glimpse of a magnifying glass clenched in his fingers.
I cleared my throat. “Here’s to us and those like us.”
The man whirled around in his chair. A wicked grin spread across his face. “Damn few of us left,” he replied in a harsh, gritty tone.
“You’re looking good, Dutch.”
“I look like hell and you know it.”
Slowly, Dutch Graham rose from his seat and hobbled around his desk. He was from an earlier generation of explorers, more adventurer than scientist. Ever since we’d met, he’d viewed me as a kindred spirit, a sentiment I shared.
A lifetime of adventure had taken its toll on his body and he carried a myriad of battle scars, including a patch over his right eye and a mechanical left leg. Yet, I sensed that his ageless soul remained full of deviousness, exemplified by his timeless love for women, wine, and poker. It was little wonder that the other members used to call him El Diablo behind his back.
I grabbed Graham and bear-hugged him. “How are you?”
He returned the hug with surprising strength. “Same as always. Thanks for drying off before you barged in here.”
“It’s not my fault. It’s raining outside.”
“Ever heard of an umbrella?”
“Is this how you greet all your old friends?”
“Old friend, my ass. You haven’t visited in years. And if you really were my friend, you wouldn’t have left me alone with these pompous windbags.”
“Someone has to keep them in their places.”
“I’ll say. So, when do I get to meet the wife?”
“I’m not married.”
“Why not? It’s not like you’re getting any younger.”
“I guess I just haven’t found the right girl yet.”
He nodded. “So, how long has it been since I last saw you? Two years?”
“More like three.”
“Where do you live?”
“A bunch of places,” I replied. “I haven’t really settled down.”
He studied me closely. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to see you. But what are you doing here?”
“I’m back in town for a week or so. A guy by the name of Jack Chase hired me to do something for him.”
“That jerk? Why are you working for him?”
“You know him?”
“Not personally. But he runs an outfit called ShadowFire. Let’s just say they’re no stranger to controversy.”
“He told me it was a security consulting company.”
Graham snorted. “That’s just corporate speak for a PMC. You know, a private military corporation. They’re in the news every other week, fighting in one place, buying weapons in another. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them.”
“I don’t read much news these days.”
“Well, watch your back. Chase is a snake, plain and simple.”
“I see you’re still judging people you haven’t met.”
He grinned and clapped me on the back. “Some things never change.”
I returned the grin. “I was hoping to treat you to a couple of slices, give us a chance to catch up for a bit. If you want, I can come back later, after the lecture.”
“Are you kidding? I hate those things. The other board members tell me I’m supposed to go but they don’t really care. Frankly, I think I’m an embarrassment to them. No big deal. They share a shot glass worth of brains between the whole lot of them. No, I’m up for some food. Let’s blow this joint.”
Graham limped through the door and started walking down the hallway. I followed him out and then fell into step with him.
As we passed by the lecture hall, I happened to glance inside. My eyes were immediately drawn to a young woman with long blonde hair. She stood behind the podium, surrounded by fawning sycophants. An overhead fixture cast a soft glow upon her, lighting her up like an angel. A black dress and black boots covered her slim, curvy body. Her facial features were attractive and well proportioned, highlighted by a cute nose and big blue eyes.
It was Diane Blair, the girl from the painting.
She looked so different, yet so similar. I felt emotions stirring inside of me, emotions I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I glanced at Graham. “Change of plans. Let’s go to the lecture.”
“I thought you wanted to skip the lecture.”
“I do. But the lecturer, well, that’s another matter altogether.”
Chapter 7
“Not only do treasure hunters steal artifacts,” Diane announced. “They steal history as well.”
She spoke in a cool, clear tone. I hadn’t heard her voice in three years. Yet, it sounded so familiar to my ears.
She stood behind a podium at the front of the Lindbergh Auditorium. Although it was a bit on the small side, the Auditorium put more than a few Broadway theatres to shame. Once upon a time, I’d found it magical and awe-inspiring. But now, I viewed it with a measure of distaste instead.
The walls and ceiling that surrounded the stage were painted gold and inlaid with dizzying designs and flamboyant stones. The stage itself, framed by rows of billowing burgundy curtains, practically screamed for attention.
Glass and wood cases, similar to those in the Great Hall, sat at various positions around the stage. The exhibits themselves — a pipe, a tattered book, and dull rocks — seemed innocuous enough until one realized that they came from Christopher Columbus’s voyage to the Americas, the Pancho Villa expedition, and the Apollo 11 moon landing, respectively.
I wondered how those famous explorers would feel about their personal belongings being showcased in such a pompous manner. Somehow, I doubted they’d approve.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. A couple dozen rows of soft velvet stadium seats stretched between Diane and me. Most of them were filled with haughty, hobnobbing scientists.
It was an impressive turnout, especially considering the traffic issues. I wasn’t terribly surprised though. As 2010 Explorer of the Year, Diane was apparently quite the hot ticket.
And the fact that she’s beautiful doesn’t hurt either.
I looked at Diane. The rows of seats were like a gulf between us, a gulf that grew with every word she said to the audience. She stood on the respectable side of exploration, shoulder-to-shoulder with archaeologists, scientists and other academics. I used to stand with her. But these days, I increasingly found myself on the other side, in solidarity with the treasure hunters, the smugglers, and the black market dealers.
Still, I wanted to talk to her. I wasn’t sure if she’d feel the same, not after the way I’d left her all those years ago. But I needed to try anyway. I checked the clock and decided to keep a low profile until the break. Then I’d find a way to get some alone time with her.
Of course, it was one thing to plan a conversation, another thing to actually follow through with it.
“We face an uphill battle,” Diane said. “Interpol estimates that the black market antiquities trade is a four billion dollar business on an annual basis. Advances in ground-penetrating radar and other forms of technology have made it easier for treasure hunters to operate. Also, on-line auction sites now provide dealers with a safe and secure method of distribution. The authorities are stretched to the limit and fight an increasingly sophisticated enemy, driven solely by unfettered greed.”