Page 1 of Hidden Dane
Chapter 1
Uriel Dalligatti, Harvard professor, checked the time on his pocket watch. It had a tiny triangular remnant of the hidden pyramid he’d helped uncover on his last dig in Cairo embedded at the twelve.
The gloomy winds of winter in Cambridge, Massachusetts blew past the glass windows where he taught archeology 101 to students looking to get out of a science credit. He would much prefer solving a historical mystery out in the field, but his tenure meant teaching and the squeak of his black soles against Harvard’s wooden floors echoed his resentment as he headed into class.
He ignored the students, who sometimes assumed he was one of them until he began his lecture, when his knowledge of the subject overcame his youth. He kept his watch open on the podium and waited for the minute hand to hit the eleven. Lecture over.
He closed the watch and said, “Class dismissed.” Now he could return to his research paper and fill out the forms for his next sabbatical in the spring: Newfoundland in Canada, to continue the search for remnants of Viking settlements.
However, as he made his way across the room toward the door, a young girl with black eyeliner jumped in his way. “Professor!”
Students. The worst part of being faculty wasn’t getting into the dirt, but grading. He nodded, dodged around her, and held the door. “The ten pages are due next class.”
“But I was hoping for an extension.” She stayed hot on his heels.
At the end of the corridor, he saw his coworker, Doctor Brady Booker, a colleague and friend, almost running in his direction. Uriel eyed the young girl. “Life doesn’t give us extensions.”
She put her lips out in a pout. “But professor-”
“See you next class.” He saluted and rushed down the hall, eager to get away from her emotional outburst.
As he met Brady, he ran his hand through his hair and wished he had already filed the papers for his sabbatical, or had a secretary who filled out forms for him so he could just pack and start on his next research project.
Anything would be better than being here. Brady, a young computer scientist who was also newly tenured faculty, turned and walked next to him. “I was waiting for your class to end. We have to talk.”
Uriel’s mind switched on and for the first time today. His coworker had never looked for him in the halls, so something exciting must have happened. They exited the building and stepped into the autumn air. Red leaves rustled on the trees from the cold wind that was ushering in the change of seasons. “I’m glad to see you, Brady—what a surprise.”
Brady stayed beside him as they crossed the barren lawn. The dark sky gave no hint of ending the bitter cold and soon the colors would all just fade away. “I didn’t expect to be here. You have some interesting visitors from the CIA.”
Strange. Uriel opened the door to the archeology department, taking the second interior door on the right. “The CIA?” He entered his cluttered domain. Two men in black rain coats stood and took off their felt hats. Uriel ignored the adrenaline that rushed through him and turned toward his friend. “Why… are they in my office?”
“Mr. Uriel Dalligatti?” The blue-eyed older man had skin so pale he’d bet it hadn’t seen the sun in years.
Uriel pushed his pocket watch in his side pocket of his tailored jeans. “That’s me.”
The second man, an African American fellow with a Georgian accent and a dark gray suit, asked, “Do you also know a Dane Pearce?”
Uriel’s entire body stilled. He’d done everything he could to not be Dane. He met his friend’s gaze with a casual shrug. “Brady, let me talk to the officers alone.”
The always amiable Brady smiled and held the door handle. “I’ll wait for you outside in the hall.”
As Brady shut the door, Uriel asked, “Can I see your badges?” His mind raced. No one needed to remember Dane.
Both men showed their badges, which seemed legitimate. Uriel didn’t move until he heard the handle click, and then he walked over and locked it. He’d spent years trying to forget his past and it wasn’t something he wanted his friends to know. Once he was sure no one could hear him, he turned toward the two officers and asked, “Why is the CIA interested in Dane?”
The older white man motioned for them to sit. Uriel took his seat behind his desk as the man sat in one of two chairs opposite the desk. “Dane Pearce inherited a safety deposit box that we think holds the Irish Crown Jewels.”
He realized that the CIA had tracked him down and dispensed with games. “I have?” He immediately assumed this had to do with his murderous father—technically, Edmond Pearce was his stepfather, but Uriel hadn’t known that until the day his mother had died at Edmond’s hand. His biological father had been sent to jail for a crime he hadn’t committed.
Could Edmond Pearce have knowingly kept stolen property that would have bought him a place in European nobility if he’d returned the crown jewels? It would be one more crime to add to the others. Greed. Surely his stepfather must be burning in an afterlife, if such a punishment even existed.
In a soft accent, the younger officer leaned on the desk and pounded it lightly. “You admit to being Dane Pearce.”
“I filed for my name change through the courts, which is, I assume, how you found me.” Uriel glanced at both men. Neither should think he’d had anything to do with a crime that had happened over a century ago. He adjusted his chair and pretended to be comfortable. “Changing my name isn’t a federal charge, officer, and myfatherisn’t someone I want to associate with.”
The younger man went to say something else, but the older agent put his hand up, nodded and then said, “We’re not here about your name, but we’d like your help in returning the Irish Crown Jewels to England as a good-will gesture.”
Uriel had always liked figuring out mysteries, and though not archeology, the Irish theft had been one of the most expensive heists in history. He folded his hands on the desk. “They were stolen in some homosexual scandal with the Vicar. How would Edmond Pearce have what was probably sold off in Amsterdam in 1907 and never recovered?”
