Page 62 of The Stolen Queen

“An ankh?”

“Yes.”

Tenny straightened. “Interesting.” He shuffled the papers on his desk, looking for something. “The past few years I’ve been following the movements of an underground organization that’s focused on repatriating Egyptian art that it believes has been illegally acquired by other countries.”

“Right. I’ve read about them. They’re known as Ma’at, named after the Egyptian goddess of justice.”

“Exactly. No one knows who they are, but so far they’ve ‘repatriated’ two minor antiquities from a couple of smaller museums. If this latest job is one of theirs, it means they’ve learned from their past crimes and are upping their game.” He found what he was looking for. “These are some of the newspaper articles that were written about the crimes.” He handed her a small stack of clippings, stapled together.

“Do you mind if I take these with me, look through them?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Do you think Mr. Fantoni is familiar with Ma’at?”

“I would hope so.”

“What else is known about them?”

“I was curious, so I did some more digging, and your former colleague Leon Pitcairn has bragged about being associated with Ma’at. It can’t be confirmed, of course.”

Her theory that all the recent events were connected wasn’t inconceivable. Then again, she wouldn’t put it past Leon to brag about something that was completely untrue. That was the kind of man he was. “I see. Anything else I should know about Ma’at?”

“They’re based in Cairo. No one knows the size of the organization, or who exactly is involved. But there is one thing we do know.” Tenny paused. “They’re dedicated to their cause and very, very dangerous.”

Charlotte wasn’t even sure where to begin when she returned from her meeting with Tenny and sat down at her desk at work. There were budgets to be reviewed, memos and letters to be responded to. In the meantime, rumors about last night’s insect invasion and theft were making the rounds of the staff offices, and the murmurs and whispers threw off Charlotte’s focus.

Instead of tackling her inbox, she took Tenny’s newspaper clippings from her handbag and read through them. The international theft ring known as Ma’at had hit two European museums in the past couple of years: the Petrie in London and the Kunsthistorisches in Vienna. Neither was as famous as the Met, but both held an extensive array of objects from the time of the pharaohs, many of which could be considered the rightful property of Egypt, having been spirited away before any kind of governmental regulations were in place. The robbers had used diversionary tactics to lure the guards away from their posts before striking, and in one instance, a guard had beenkilled. As Tenny had warned her, this was a dangerous crew. A crew that Leon was possibly involved with.

Charlotte set down the clippings and stared at the empty space where her research file on Hathorkare would normally be. The loss was more than academic; it tore at her heart, and now she was off-balance. The article was supposed to have been the pinnacle of her life’s work in the field of Egyptology, but that wasn’t the only reason she had spent countless hours on the project. She’d wanted to give Hathorkare the acclaim she deserved, show the world what a woman could do when she was given a chance. How thousands of years ago a female had led an enormous, complicated country through an era of artistic creativity and economic prosperity, ordering ambitious building projects—including a sprawling memorial temple and a pair of ninety-seven-foot obelisks—and enriching its citizens with gold, incense, and ebony by expanding Egypt’s trade network.

If the file wasn’t returned, would Charlotte have the energy to spend another three years gathering up evidence to make her case? The threatening note implied that she would get her research back if she stood down. But why would they even bother? It was nothing to them but a pile of photographs, papers, and scribblings. Her precious file was probably in the back of some garbage truck by now, on the way to a landfill where it would decay in the sun next to oily pizza boxes and crumpled soda cans.

Hathorkare deserved to be celebrated, and Charlotte was the one to have led that celebration, to have their names linked together. Not anymore.

What if her uneasiness from last night—that this was all related to the Hathorkare curse—was true? While Charlotte hadn’t been directly responsible for taking the broad collar out of Egypt forty-one years ago, she had associated with those who had attempted to. Maybe instead of being killed like Henry, she was being toyed with,the one project she was most excited about—the one that might finally put her on the same level as, if not higher than, the other Egyptologists of her generation—vanishing before her eyes. Could an ancient pharaoh do such a thing? Charlotte rubbed her temples with her fingers, doubting her sanity.

Tenny had advised her to wait and see how the Met handled the case, but she didn’t have the patience.

Frederick was hanging up the phone when she entered his office.

“What’s the museum going to do?” she asked without any preamble.

“I just spoke with Mr. Lavigne, and for now we’re going to sit tight, see if a ransom note shows up.”

The worst possible decision, in her opinion. Charlotte dug her fingernails into her palms to keep her voice even. “Is this coming from Mr. Fantoni? He didn’t seem like the wait-and-see type.”

“It comes from the board. They had an emergency meeting earlier this morning, and I assure you, they’re connected with the best security and legal minds around.”

It was hard to tell if the board was following protocol, or if they preferred to keep the news mum for now. Especially as the theft had happened on the same night as they were throwing a massive party, the place bursting with drunken strangers—not a great look. The moth incident was all over the papers, which was bad enough, but so far the theft hadn’t hit the news.

“I understand their rationale, but do you worry that they’re wasting valuable time?” asked Charlotte. “That piece is on its way back to Cairo right now, I’d bet on it. Whoever took it didn’t do so for money.”

“We can’t know that.”

“What about the threatening note I received? It was left by someone with access to our offices, someone who knew what would hit me the hardest, keep me quiet. That’s not a long list.”

Which included Frederick.

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