Page 24 of Red Line

“That was on the news,” Sophia repeated. “They asked for anyone with information to please come forward.”

“When was this?”

“Dr. Wajeeb spoke to Dr. Klein yesterday around eighteen hours, Munich time. This video was on the late-night news inMunich. Dr. Wajeeb waited until he knew I would be back from taking my boys to daycare before he called me. So he waited four hours.”

Forty million euros.Forty million euros.What were the chances that these were thieves and not terrorists? Murderers who thought all was fair for a pirate on a treasure hunt?

With the names that Sophia was mentioning now? Those odds weren’t good. Black made quick notes about the time as he asked, “The woman took the Fire of the Desert. Correct?”

“That’s what Wajeeb understands.”

“Do any other authorities know this?” Black handed her phone back.

“Dr. Wajeeb is leaving this to our intelligence community to consider. He’s afraid if he says anything to anyone else, then well … I guess the closest American phrase would be ‘too many cooks in a kitchen.’”

Wasn’t it interesting that she’d used the phrase that Black had just been using to describe the Poole situation? Wajeeb was right about this. It was better to hand it to a single trusted resource.

“Dr. Wajeeb told me and me alone. And, of course, I am handing it off immediately. I mentioned a delay between the late-night news in Europe and my taking the call this morning.”

Black leaned forward. “You spoke over an encrypted channel?”

“Always. There’s a little more. During those hours, Dr. Wajeeb did what he knows to do when something of that value is in the hands of a criminal. He tried to figure out who had possession of the ring and what they might be funding with the sale. His concern was and remains that forty million euros could wreak enormous destruction.”

Black felt the blood draining from his face. This was what he was fearful of. He wouldn’t be here unless both Dr. Wajeeband Sophia concluded that this was about terrorism. Otherwise, why involve the United States government? “Who has it?” Black asked as evenly as possible, cutting to the chase.

“A woman. Dostoevskia Elena Yakovna She is Syrian born with a Russian father and a Syrian mother.” In Russian paperwork, a name is written with the surname, followed by the person’s first name, followed by the patronymic. “A” is often added to the surname, and the female patronymics end in either -ovna or -evna.

Yakov—as an American would write it—was a name familiar to Black. Yakov had been with the military for most of his career and was now retired. And yes, he had worked for the Russian government in Syria from around nineteen eighty on the Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation signed by Russia and Syria. Working between the two countries, Yakov mostly lived in Syria through the outbreak of the civil war, but that was twenty-eleven. Also, the Yakov Dostoevski that Black knew was married to a Russian woman, an oligarch's cousin. They had four children together, all of them grown, some with their own children.

So, Black was thinking of the wrong man. He’d figure out who Elena’s father was when he got back to Langley. He needed to work with his targeters to see if this had come within their research. “Keep going.”

“Elena is known within the circles who sell conflict relics. She speaks Arabic, Russian, and English fluently and enough Turkish to get by. She frequently flies to Western Europe to meet with people who would like special items, gathering wish lists from her clients and trying to match that up with available pieces found at archaeological sites.”

“As its own crime or to fund terror?” Black asked.

“ISIS maintains control of all the digs in Syria. In order for her to function, it is with the blessing of ISIS.”

“Red is familiar with Elena’s work?”

“Yes, as am I. Of her name, at least. But we didn’t know what she looked like. Now, we do. Dr. Wajeeb figured out that Elena used the last name Savas when she was in Europe. That was the piece missing. We know her as Elena Savas, not her Russian name. Once he connected those dots, he could make progress finding her image.”

Black was making quick notes in a shorthand that only he could read. “Savas is a Turkish name?”

“Yes, and somehow she has Turkish papers and a Turkish home near the Syrian border where things are porous, so it’s easy for her to cross back and forth.”

“How did they decide that was Elena of the video?”

“No one is sure that it is her in the video. It might not be. It could be someone who works with her.” Sophia filled her lungs and released a sigh, obviously trying to shed some stress. “Look, Dr. Wajeeb blames Elena for his friend’s death. He feels certain that had Dr. Klein not seen the murders, he wouldn’t have had the heart attack. Ever since Dr. Wajeeb heard the news, he has been working his considerable web of information. That’s how he discovered that Elena Savas had contacted Zayd Ali Kamal’s people and told them she had the sought-after ring and authentication papers. And he also discovered that Savas is an alias for Dostoevskia Elena Yakovna of Damascus.”

“I see.” Black paused, imagining the timeline. “And just so I’m clear about who possesses the ring, has Elena handed it over to Zayd Ali Kamal? Was Elena paid the money?”

“Not yet.” Sophia said, “Kamal is an interesting man. He doesn’t follow straight lines and seems to enjoy intrigue. Those are my observations. Kamal’s right-hand man—uhm, his name is Joel Brighton—said he—he being Joel—would be at a charity ball in Vienna this week. Saturday. Kamal said he’d provide Elena Savas with a ticket—which, by the way, were sold outat least a year in advance. It’s a centuries-old social event. It’s called—”

“Secret Order of the Raven’s Gate Gala?” Black asked.

“That. Yes. Joel will be there, and he asked Elena to come with the ring and the paperwork to prove this is on the up and up. And if that looks good, he’ll give her instructions for how the exchange will go down.”

“Interesting.” Black would agree that Kamal found life a bore. Money made everything come too easily for him. If there was any drama to be had, Kamal would try to make a meal of it. “Security?”

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