Page 24 of Afraid to Hope

“Pardon me. I was remiss in explaining. I was unable to be at yesterday’s meeting and believed Director Cantrell might have briefed you on this. They are connected to the case you are working on. I assume that’s why you are here. Can you tell me your roles in the repatriation?”

Natasha glanced at Bane, immediately wishing she had not. Looking at him flustered her. “Due to the nature of our work, we cannot divulge the details, but what I can tell you is that we, my husband and I, make an exceptional team. We are very, very good at what we do. I’ve contracted with INTERPOL’s Heritage Crime Division for a number of years, with great success in recovery, most recently in Guatemala. With the cooperation of the Kaibiles—the country’s special ops—and the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs, we were able to secure a substantial archaeological site from the American. In fact, we apprehended one of their top people. He remains in custody.”

“The American is who is suspected of this, this…” Ms. Guilford sputtered, turning red. “…this theft!” She leaned forward, her forearms on the scarred wood desk, hands clasped. “One of their top people? I was under the impression the American was an individual.”

Natasha shook her head. “No. The American is a vast global network. We suspect they are in cahoots with others.”

“This is disturbing.”

“It most certainly is. It’s probable the American has infiltrated archaeologists and the upper echelons of law enforcement as well as local residents, affluent businesspeople, and museums.”

Ms. Guilford glowered, and her eyes flickered when Natasha mentioned museums. She fixed her eyes on Bane. “And what is your role in all this, Mr. Rua? North African and Moroccan cultural heritage are being stolen.” The curator looked like a lovesick puppy as she addressed Bane.

Natasha wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she reached for his hand and squeezed it.

Bane’s hazel orbs were full of heat as they raked over Natasha in front of the curator. “My wife was remiss in failing to mention ‘dangerous’ when describing the American.” His tone became deadly serious with his next words even though he smiled at Ms. Guilford. “I’ll be assisting my wife as a professional freelance photographer, but I do whatever needs to be done. Like my wife, I’ve worked on numerous assignments with INTERPOL, and now with AFRIPOL here in Morocco. I’m retired special operations. My purview is intelligence, rescue, and recovery.”

Ms. Guilford swallowed audibly. “Returning to your earlier question, these are photos of three distinct rock engravings from sites peppered alongWadiDraa.”

“The photos leave something to be desired.” Bane’s voice rumbled softly. “But I can see that the sites are rougher than I expected, as if they were blasted.”

“Yes. As you can see, the looters do not care how they acquire artifacts or what condition they leave the excavations in.”

“And we’re looking at these why? We are after three-hundred-thousand-year-old remains that disappeared from Jebel Irhoud and an ancient codex.” Natasha tapped her finger on the photo closest to her.

“Yes. We, those of us working at the museum, have heard rumors that the codex you seek was found in a cave within a cave”—Ms. Guilford pointed to the last of the photos—“closest to this engraving.” She pulled another from under a sheaf of paper. “This is a photo of the one we think the codex was taken from. As you can see, the cave is dry. We have samples of soil and rock for comparison after you successfully recover the codex.”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence, Ms. Guilford,” Bane said approvingly.

Natasha asked, “The engravings?”

“Three prehistoric Tazina-style art engravings from the Sahara side of the Atlas Mountains in the region of the River Draa. They were recovered in Morocco several weeks ago.”

“From the fishing vessel seized by the Moroccan Navy?”

“Yes, Dr. Rua. Would you like to see them? They are in the early stage of being readied for exhibition.”

Natasha stood. “We would, very much.”

“Come with me.”

Natasha and Bane fell behind Ms. Guilford as she walked the labyrinth to a large, open, and well-lit room. A hush fell over them.

“Here they are. Astonishing really,” the curator said, her tone reverent.

“I didn’t realize they were so large. The photos did not represent how impressive these actually are, or how many. They’re in pieces,” Natasha lamented, horrified.

Bane stepped closer and grimaced. “Has Emmet seen these?”

“No. We’ve only discussed them.”

“Can I take a few?” he asked, indicating his camera.

“Of course. Please keep them among us.”

“This destruction is obscene.” Natasha’s blood pressure soared. She hugged herself, unconsciously bolstering her body against the sterile cold of the room and the disquiet seeking to invade her soul. There was nothing she could do about the devastation in front of her, but she and Bane could do something about future looting and destruction.

“We were told the looters took sledgehammers to the engravings, to help fit them into the crates,” the curator said, scowling.

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