“If genuine, they’re priceless,” Ava said. Then she frowned. She knew Simon was an unscrupulous businessman. A high-tech mogul, he had a reputation for dubious ethics, antitrust violations, bribery, and seven-figure court settlements. Arrogant and outspoken, he’d notoriously lobbied the SEC and the IRS to investigate his competition, but Ava was shocked that he’d stoop to smuggling antiquities. If the jars were found here, they were rightfully Egyptian property.
“How much could he get for them?” Paul asked.
Ava’s brow furrowed. “Some collectors would pay millions in secret, but he’d have a lot of trouble selling the artifacts without getting caught. He’d risk becoming an international criminal.” Ava deliberated for a moment and then announced, “He doesn’t plan to sell.”
“Huh? I don’t understand.”
“DeMaj is a billionaire. He wouldn’t care about another few million. He has too much to lose. He wants the prestige. If he’s discovered the lost jars, his name will go down in the annals of archaeology. He’ll be mentioned in the same sentences as Howard Carter, Hiram Bingham, and Heinrich Schliemann.”
“Do you think?” From his tone, it was clear that Paul didn’t quite buy it, but he knew Ava well enough to recall that her deductions were almost never wrong. People in her world learned not to contradict her without an extremely good reason.
Ava’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t about money. That didn’t fit the profile. Simon was no stranger to controversy. He denied that global warming was a serious problem, he moved thousands of high-paying American jobs offshore, and he consorted with all manner of unsavory people, but DeMaj was indisputably shrewd. Surely he’d performed a cost-benefit analysis. The potential profit from selling on the black market couldn’t justify the risk of getting caught, losing his investment, and going to jail. “Do you disagree?” she asked, ready to dissect any counterargument.
“No, I… I’m sure you’re right. I just didn’t realize he was doing all this archaeology stuff to be famous. I mean, he’s already famous. He’s been on the cover of Wired and Forbes. He dates supermodels. He’s talking about buying an NBA team.”
“It’s a different kind of fame. This discovery would garner respect from academics, museums, and universities. All the ivory-tower intellectuals who complain about his politically incorrect outlook would be forced to bow and scrape, to acknowledge his colossal contribution to our knowledge of the ancient world.”
“You’re probably right, as usual. I’m just shocked he’d be willing to kill for that.”
She blanched. “You mean Simon killed those people? You got me mixed up with a murderer? Nice. I think you’d better tell me everything.”
“Okay,” said Paul. “But I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I didn’t realize—”
“Just tell the story. You can apologize later.”
“Fair enough. As I said, when we landed at the excavation site, Simon was thrilled. We went into the cave, and the diggers led us to where they’d found the jars. It looked like a natural cave, except the air was bone dry. We could see the tops of two jars poking out of the sand. Simon was going crazy, telling everyone to be super careful. He offered the workers triple wages not to damage the jars, and he took hundreds of pictures. He wanted them dug up just so and taken to a clean room. That’s when he told me to call you.”
“Wait,” said Ava, puzzled. “Simon DeMaj asked for me?”
“Well, no, not specifically. Simon told me to hire the smartest person available, someone who knows everything about everything, who understands history and reads ancient languages. Someone who can solve an impossible riddle.”
“And you called me?”
“Of course,” he said. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
Ava felt as though she would cry. She knew Paul wasn’t flattering her. In his direct way, he’d just stated his opinion, but his words constituted one of the nicest compliments she’d ever received. Embarrassment compelled her to change the subject.
“Speaking of phone calls, have you considered that DeMaj might track your GPS signal?”
“Yeah. That’s how you found me, isn’t it?”
She nodded, and Paul continued: “Yesterday, I gave my phone to some westbound Ababda nomads. I told them to call anyone they wanted. Why not? Simon gets the damn bill anyway.”
Ava chuckled. If they tried to find Paul that way, they’d end up tracking signals from all over the Aswan. She was ready to hear the rest of his narrative. “What happened after we talked?”
“I booked your ticket on my laptop and went back down into the cave. The workers and I spent the remainder of the evening digging with little brushes. We didn’t even stop for meals. That’s why I was so rushed when we spoke. Phones don’t work in the caves, and Simon insisted I supervise the excavation. He suspected some diggers were planning to steal the jars.”
“Were you using locals?”
“Hell, we didn’t know who we were using. More and more workers kept showing up, drawn by all the gineih Simon was doling out. He just hired everybody and told me to watch them. Eventually we finished digging. Once both jars were disinterred, Simon and I inspected them under a magnifying glass. He told me to look for words, letters, symbols, codes, numbers, anything written or etched.” Paul looked sharply at Ava. “What was he after?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “Just finish the story.”
“We scrutinized the jars but found only a few bumps and chips — no symbols, no codes. Obviously, Simon was dissatisfied. We hauled the jars into a private tent and he ordered all the workers to leave. Once we were alone, I helped him unseal the jars. We used surgical instruments to remove the thick clay lids. We were so careful that it took hours. Finally, we got them open—”
“What was inside?” Ava asked, her eyes flashing with excitement. “Were there scrolls? Copper codices? Was there a message?”
“Damn. That’s exactly what Simon asked. You sound just like him. ‘Where’s the codex? Where’s the message?’ He was going ape.”
“Why?” she asked. “Did you break something? Were the jars damaged?”
“He was furious because the jars were empty. They stank a little, like old vinegar, but both were a hundred percent empty. There was no hidden message. Not inside a jar, not written on a jar. I guess somebody else found it first.”
They shared a spartan dinner. Afterward, Paul told her the story of the murders. He could barely keep the rage out of his voice.
“Who do you think they were?” he asked Ava.
“I’m not sure. You said they were locals. The Beja? Bedouins maybe? It sounds like they objected to Simon removing priceless artifacts from their homeland. It’s not uncommon. During the 2011 revolution students formed a human chain, using their bodies to protect artifacts displayed in the Egyptian Museum.”
Paul nodded. He confessed that he was perplexed by the situation. He’d been hiding at the monastery, getting his head together and pondering his options. He still wasn’t sure what to do, but he promised to keep her safe. After listening awhile, Ava spoke.
“Look, it’s okay to be scared. You’ll lose your job, maybe even be charged as an accomplice,” she said, “but we must contact the authorities.”
“Job? Oh, I’m not worried about my job,” he said, smiling for the first time. “I’m pretty sure I communicated my resignation loud and clear.”
Ava gave him a warm look. “I’m proud of you.”
Working for DeMaj was a dream gig: six-figure salary, first-class travel to exotic lands, meetings with world leaders and scientists. Just how someone with Paul’s modest academic credentials landed such a deluxe position mystified her.