4.
She began with “Look, I’m very sorry about lunch. I didn’t intend to ambush you, but there was no other way to start the conversation. What was I supposed to do? Grab you on the campus and spill my guts?”
Mercer closed her eyes and leaned on a kitchen counter. “It’s all right. I’m fine. It was just so unexpected, you know?”
“I know, I know, and I’m very sorry. Look, Mercer, I’m in town until tomorrow morning, when I fly back to Washington. I’d love to finish our conversation over dinner.”
“No thanks. You’ve got the wrong person for this.”
“Mercer, we have the perfect person, and, frankly, there is no one else. Please give me the time to explain everything. You didn’t hear it all, and as I said, we are in a very tough position right now. We’re trying to save the manuscripts before they’re either damaged or, worse, sold piecemeal to foreign collectors and lost for good. Please, one more chance.”
Mercer could not deny, to herself anyway, that the money was an issue. A really big issue. She wavered for a second and said, “So what’s the rest of the story?”
“It will take some time. I have a car and a driver and I’ll pick you up at seven. I don’t know the town but I’ve heard that the best restaurant is a place called The Lantern. Have you been there?”
Mercer knew the place but couldn’t afford it. “You know where I live?” she asked, and was immediately embarrassed by how innocent she sounded.
“Oh sure. I’ll see you at seven.”
5.
The car was, of course, a black sedan and looked thoroughly suspicious in her part of town. She met it at the drive and quickly hopped into the rear seat with Elaine. As it drove away, Mercer, sitting low, glanced around and saw no one looking. Why did she care? Her lease was up in three weeks and she would be leaving for good. Her shaky exit plan included a temporary stay in the garage apartment of an old girlfriend in Charleston.
Elaine, now dressed casually in jeans, a navy blazer, and expensive pumps, smothered her with a smile and said, “One of my colleagues went to school here and talks of nothing else, especially during basketball season.”
“They are indeed rabid, but it’s not my thing, not my school.”
“Did you enjoy your time here?”
They were on Franklin Street, moving slowly through the historic district, passing lovely homes with manicured lawns, then into Greek territory, where the homes had been converted to sprawling sorority and fraternity houses. The rain was gone and porches and yards were brimming with students drinking beer and listening to music.
“It was okay,” Mercer said without a hint of nostalgia. “But I’m not cut out for life in academia. The more I taught the more I wanted to write.”
“You said in an interview with the campus paper that you hoped to finish the novel while in Chapel Hill. Any progress?”
“How did you find that? It was three years ago, when I first arrived.”
Elaine smiled and looked out a window. “We haven’t missed much.” She was calm and relaxed, and she spoke in a deep voice that exuded confidence. She and her mysterious company were holding all the cards. Mercer wondered how many of these clandestine missions Elaine had put together and directed during her career. Surely she had faced foes far more complicated and dangerous than a small-town book dealer.
The Lantern was on Franklin, a few blocks past the hub of student activity. The driver dropped them off at the front door and they went inside, where the cozy dining room was almost empty. Their table was near the window, with the sidewalk and street just a few feet away. In the past three years, Mercer had read many rave reviews of the place in local magazines. The awards were piling up. Mercer had scanned the menu online and was starving again. A waitress greeted them warmly and poured tap water from a pitcher.
“Anything to drink?” she asked.
Elaine yielded to Mercer, who quickly said, “I need a martini. Up with gin, and dirty.”
“I’ll have a Manhattan,” Elaine said.
When the waitress was gone, Mercer said, “I suppose you travel a lot.”
“Yes, too much, I guess. I have two kids in college. My husband works for the Department of Energy and is on a plane five days a week. I got tired of sitting in an empty house.”
“And this is what you do? You track down stolen goods?”
“We do a lot of things, but, yes, this is my primary area. I’ve studied art my entire life and sort of stumbled into this line of work. Most of our cases deal with stolen and forged paintings. Occasionally some sculpture, though it’s more difficult to steal. There is a lot of theft these days in books, manuscripts, ancient maps. Nothing, though, like the Fitzgerald case. We’re throwing all we have at it, and for obvious reasons.”
“I have a lot of questions.”
Elaine shrugged and said, “I have a lot of time.”
“And they’re in no particular order. Why doesn’t the FBI take the lead in something like this?”
“It does have the lead. Its Rare Asset Recovery Unit is superb and hard at work. The FBI almost broke the case within the first twenty-four hours. One of the thieves, a Mr. Steengarden, left a drop of blood at the crime scene, just outside the vault. The FBI caught him and his partner, one Mark Driscoll, and locked them away. We suspect that the other thieves got spooked and disappeared, along with the manuscripts. Frankly, we think the FBI moved too fast. Had they kept the first two under intense surveillance for a few weeks, they might have led the FBI to the rest of the gang. That seems even more likely now, with the benefit of perfect hindsight.”
“Does the FBI know about your efforts to recruit me?”
“No.”
“Does the FBI suspect Bruce Cable?”
“No, or at least I don’t think so.”
“So there are parallel investigations. Yours and theirs.”
“To the extent that we don’t share all information, then, yes, we are often on two different tracks.”
“But why?”
The drinks arrived and the waitress asked if there were any questions. Since neither had touched a menu, they politely shooed her away. The place was filling up quickly, and Mercer glanced around to see if she recognized anyone. She did not.
Elaine took a sip, smiled, set her glass on the table, and thought about her answer. “If we suspect a thief has possession of a stolen painting or book or map, then we have ways of verifying this. We use the latest technology, the fanciest gadgets, the smartest people. Some of our technicians are former intelligence agents. If we verify the presence of the stolen object, either we notify the FBI, or we go in. Depends on the case and no two are remotely similar.”