Page 63 of The Twilight Theft

Focus, Jayce.Remember your job.

The gold-and-carnelian scarab sat nestled in its custom-made display case. Under the spotlight, the orangey-red carved beetle on the front glowed almost unnaturally. The carpenter I’d spoken to yesterday had provided details on the security attachment that fed up through the base of the stand.

A small plaque glossed over its provenance, stating only that it was on loan from a private collection and that it had once belonged to Pharaoh Khufu’s chief surveyor.

Our lowest priority for the evening was getting someone close enough to Gideon’s phone, so Brie could try to lift some data about the scarab’s owner, their transport plans, or where it was being kept in Washington.

“To think, this thing saw the Giza plateau before the Great Pyramid was built.”

“And to think,” said Scarlett over my earpiece, “the owner would loan it for an event when it’s a stolen item.”

Malcolm added, “Maybe they don’t know it’s stolen.”

The display case was entirely glass, so I made a slow circuit around it. “The intermediaries are usually the ones who know. Brokers, gallerists, slick salesmen. But a lot of buyers take things at face value rather than digging as deep as they should into a piece’s history.”

“Can you take some photos?” asked Brie. “Will wanted close-ups from all angles in case we need to make a duplicate.”

“We could call the police or FBI and have them pick it up?” said Malcolm.

“We’ve tried that before,” said Scarlett. “Lots of posturing between local and federal authorities. This would probably bring in Interpol or reps from the Egyptian government. By the time they figure out what they’re doing, the owner’s lawyers will have stepped in and whisked it away.”

Then no one would ever see it again.

We wouldn’t recover the scarab tonight—the security was too tight. Instead, we’d use the opportunity for recon and construct a solid plan later.

“I may only get one.” I pulled my phone out, acting as though I were reading a text. “Which side is more important?”

“Backside,” said Brie. “There are lots of photos of the front, but he wanted a clear shot of the hieroglyphs in the gold. The museum will rely on that to verify the product.”

I paced toward Liana’s sculpture, hidden under its black fabric. No one seemed to pay undue attention to it. So long as it was under its cover, the chip should be safe.

The crowd in the banquet room had doubled since we’d arrived, which would help conceal any attempts to photograph the items. There was a strict no-selfie policy in place, and the second I pointed my camera at anything—person or item—someone would grab my phone.

We’d elected to keep Drew and me out of all meetings with the security team, so they wouldn’t turn a blind eye to what I was doing. I recognized every one of them, but they wouldn’t know me. The only exceptions were Rav’s two friends—they received a full briefing. “Brie, load up a text chat.”

“On it.” She had complete control of everything from our office in Halifax. “Done.”

I strolled back to the scarab display, opened my text app, and got into position. Facing the scarab, I began typing a reply to a convincing string of messages.

Brie also had full control of the camera in my phone, whether or not I was using it.

A large man in a black suit—not a tux, so not a guest, but not someone I recognized from the security detail—shot off the wall. His voice was quiet, in the same way a lion’s growl was quiet. Ominous. “No photos.”

“I was texting someone!” I fumbled with the phone, as though attempting to stuff it into my clutch. I wouldn’t put it inside, in case he thought he could dig around in the bag and learn more about my true intent than I wanted. “Not taking a—”

“Show me.”

“I’ve got the photo,” said Brie. “You’re good.”

“I—I’m—I wasn’t taking a photo,” I stuttered, acting as flustered as I could. Fortunately, I’d been accosted by enough security guys in my past, so I had plenty of experience to draw on. “Leave me alo—”

He snatched the phone from me, flashed it at my face to unlock it, and jabbed meaty fingers on it to open the photos. He swiped through a few food pictures before I could take it back—Brie wouldn’t have left any evidence. “Keep the phone in your bag, ma’am.”

I nodded vigorously and made a hasty retreat to the bird statue, blowing out a few deep breaths.

“Good performance,” said Brie. “You’ll be taking over for Scar before you know it.”

“No thank you.” I snorted, admiring the golden bird. “Tell me the photo came out well.”

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