‘It was something of a party-unity ticket, I suppose. I’m still worried, though.’
‘If he had any problems with us, the Secret Service wouldn’t let us within a mile of him.’
‘You’ve got a point. But I’ll be glad when it’s all over.’
Eddie rounded the desk, leaning over the back of her chair to give her a shoulder massage. ‘You just need to chill out, that’s all. Think of it as getting a free trip to San Francisco. How bad can it be?’
Nina tipped her head back to look up at him. ‘Isn’t that normally what one of us says just before something explodes?’
Eddie laughed. ‘Come on. What are the odds of that?’
3
San Francisco
The Halliwell Exhibition Hall in the city’s Civic Center district was wreathed in fog, streetlights beyond the glass façade reduced to indistinct UFO-like glows. San Francisco’s notoriously changeable weather had gone from clear, if cold, to completely smothered in barely an hour.
In some ways, Nina wished the fog had descended earlier. That way, Air Force One’s landing might have been delayed, forcing President Leo Cole to change his itinerary. The official opening of the Treasures of Atlantis exhibition was, she was sure, the least important of his three engagements of the night before he embarked on a tour of the Far East prior to the upcoming G20 summit in India. But he was here, accompanied by his family, his political entourage, the press corps and what seemed like several hundred Secret Service agents, impassive eyes constantly sweeping the room.
The speeches had been made - first by Nina, then the mayor of San Francisco, and finally the President himself - and now Cole and his family were being given a personal tour of the exhibits by Rowan Sharpe and Nina. ‘And here,’ she said, indicating one of the display cases, ‘we have an artefact recovered from the Temple of Poseidon: a golden trident.’
Cole nodded appreciatively. ‘A solid gold weapon. I guess Atlantean defence contractors weren’t that different from ours!’ Sycophantic laughter came from his retinue.
Even though she knew he was joking, Nina felt compelled to correct him. ‘It’s not actually solid gold - it wouldn’t be much use as a weapon if it were. It has an iron core for extra rigidity. Although it’s purely ceremonial, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Cole politely. ‘And what about this?’ He indicated the neighbouring case, which held a large book, some eighteen inches tall and almost a foot wide. It was open, revealing its most unusual feature - the pages were not paper, but sheets of reddish-gold metal, scribed with dense text in the ancient language of the Atlanteans.
‘We call it the Talonor Codex,’ said Nina. ‘It’s not the most valuable artefact the IHA’s recovered from Atlantis in purely monetary terms - although it’s made from orichalcum, a gold alloy, so it’s worth a lot in its own right. But its contents are what make it really valuable.’
‘Talonor was one of Atlantis’s greatest explorers,’ Rowan went on. ‘On one of his expeditions he visited South America, and on another he rounded Africa, crossed the Arabian peninsula, and even reached India. The Codex is his journal, an account of all the places he visited and peoples he encountered.’
‘Our researchers at the IHA are working to translate the entire text,’ Nina added.
‘Impressive,’ said Cole. The book was supported by a stand; he rounded the case to look at the cover, noting a circular indentation about six inches across in the metal, then moved on. ‘Now, this looks valuable.’
Rowan nodded. ‘It is - it’s our crown jewels, literally.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said the First Lady. ‘How much is it worth?’
‘It’s hard to say,’ Nina replied as everyone gazed at the object behind the toughened glass. It was an ornate crown, made from gold and orichalcum with silver trim. The metalwork was adorned with precious stones, which glinted enticingly under the lights. ‘In purely material terms, maybe three million dollars. But as a cultural artefact, the crown of the ruler of a lost civilisation . . . who can say? It’s literally priceless.’
‘Then I hope your security’s up to scratch,’ the President joked. More laughter. ‘This is an incredible exhibition, Dr Wilde.’
‘Thank you, Mr President.’ She felt relieved. Maybe her concerns about the big, jowly former lawyer had been unfounded . . .
‘It’s good to see that all the funding the US government has put into the IHA is finally producing some visible returns,’ he continued, squashing Nina’s optimism like a bug. ‘After all, these are turbulent economic times. The American taxpayer needs to know the money is being spent wisely.’
‘Well, I’m not American, but I pay taxes here,’ said Eddie, moving closer to Nina, ‘and I think the IHA’s pretty good value. Especially as it does all kinds of useful stuff that most people don’t hear about. Mr President,’ he added.
Cold looks came from the presidential entourage, but Cole gave him a smile; one that didn’t quite reach to his eyes. ‘Of course it does, Mr Chase. By the way, it’s interesting to meet you and Dr Wilde at last. My predecessor was very well acquainted with you both.’
‘Hopefully we, ah, lived up to your expectations,’ said Nina, feeling a nervous knot form in her stomach. That Cole’s reply was just another empty campaign smile only made it tighter.
Instead, he turned to his followers. ‘A great exhibition, wouldn’t you agree? Let’s hear it for Dr Wilde and the IHA.’ There was a ripple of polite applause. ‘Now, unfortunately I have to move on to my next engagement - keeping a roomful of lawyers waiting for their five-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner is a surefire way to get sued!’
The group’s laughter as he led it away seemed genuine this time, lawyer jokes always universally appreciated. The Secret Service followed, moving towards the main entrance in unison as if someone had tilted a tray of ball bearings. Someone loudly announced that the President was departing, and the other guests broke off from their conversations to applaud him as he left. Nina joined in, though Eddie’s response was more of a slow handclap.
‘I didn’t like what he was implying about the IHA,’ said Nina to her husband, concerned. ‘You think he’s going to cut our budget?’
‘Who knows what any politician’s thinking? Except for “I want more power”, obviously.’
‘I assure you, we’re not all like that,’ said a voice behind them. Nina winced a little when she realised to whom it belonged: Roger Boyce, the mayor of San Francisco.
‘I’m sure you’re not, Mr Mayor,’ she said. She had been introduced to Boyce before the President’s arrival, and knew a little about him by reputation: the latest in a long line of Democratic incumbents, and by all accounts a fresh-faced poster boy for political correctness. He was accompanied by a group of people who, Nina guessed from the number of outfits that cost more than her monthly salary, were the VIPs whose invitations had caused her so much hassle the previous day. ‘Eddie was only joking. Weren’t you?’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Eddie, without conviction.
‘Oh, no offence taken,’ said Boyce breezily. ‘It’s all part of the job. You won’t last long as mayor if you’re thin-skinned! But hey, I wanted to thank you and Dr Sharpe for doing such a terrific job with the exhibition. I’m sure it’ll be a huge hit when it opens to the public tomorrow. Just a shame it can’t stay here for longer.’
‘Fifteen other cities might get mad if it did,’ Rowan said. ‘But I think it’ll get the tour off to a great start.’
‘Well, what better place to start anything than San Francisco?’ asked Boyce, gesturing at the fog-shrouded street beyond the windows. Nina almost replied ‘New York’, but suppressed the urge. ‘Have you had a chance to check out our city?’