17
“That is the question I’m here to answer.” Nils hitched forward. “The ultimate end of all looted antiquities is in the home of a wealthy collector or a private museum. The wealthy don’t deal with terrorists. They fear, and rightly, that they could end up on the auction block being held for ransom. The wealthy want to deal with reputable smugglers.”
“An oxymoron.”
“Not at all. The terrorists aren’t the most terrifying part of the chain. Worldwide smuggling is controlled by one man—or woman—a ruthless bastard who brooks no opposition.” Nils looked taut, determined and darned cute when he said, “He is, or she is, called the Librarian.”
“The Librarian? That doesn’t sound too tough.”
“Neither did the Godfather.”
She would give him that.
“The Librarian controls a huge network of smugglers on both US coasts. He has a reputation of loving books. Collects all kinds of literature. Antique books. Scrolls. First editions. Hieroglyphics.”
“Not to be sexist, but the Librarian seems female.”
“The Librarian killed Priscilla Carter.”
“And you know that because…the Librarian leaves a calling card.” She looked down at her own fingers curled protectively over her palms. “He cuts off his victims’ hands. One assumes that’s not easy and pretty gross. Which means we’re probably dealing with a male serial killer?”
“The profile would indicate a male, yes, but not a serial killer in the traditional sense. These are retribution killings, according to the leaks of information from the smuggling world.”
“Retribution for…?”
“A person who works for the Librarian decides to set up business for himself and steal a shipment. Maybe she picks up a souvenir for her own shelf. Or someone stumbles into a drop and becomes a witness and a liability.” Nils was angry. So angry.
Kellen regulated her breathing, in and out, in and out, slow and calm. It wouldn’t do to show alarm. She didn’t want to show weakness. Because even now, she didn’t quite trust him. “Did Jessica Diaz become a witness?”
“Two weeks ago I was in Pakistan, following a lead. Jessie called to tell me she had a break in the case. She had found an informant. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Jessie was weak or stupid. She followed me from art school to the CIA. She was a dangerous woman. Intelligent, a punishing fighter. When I got back, she hadn’t been to work. I went looking. I found her at her desk in her home in Maryland with her neck broken.”
Kellen had half expected to hear of Jessica’s death in some faraway land. But at her desk? In Maryland? Caused by a broken neck? Everything about yesterday and this night had chilled her, but this information brought home all the dangers that stalked the resort.
“Whoever got her was good. Experienced. No sign of forced entry, so she knew her attacker.” He pressed his flat palms hard onto his knees. “Her place was swept clean. All technology had been lifted. All online information had been wiped. And her hands…”
Kellen had suspected. Even so, his flat pronouncement gave this whole surreal scene a framework. She watched Nils’s face and listened to his voice, dark, deep, menacing, and felt a sick sense of horror.
“The Librarian did this. Or someone who does the Librarian’s bidding. Jessica was a friend as well as a colleague and I promise you—I will make whoever did this very sorry.”
Kellen checked to make sure her Glock was close at hand, then sought clues, sought truth. “You found her. Maybe you were looking for a promotion.”
She expected him to get angrier.
Instead, she caught him taking a sip of broth. He laughed, choked, and when he caught his breath, he said, “Art and antiquities get no respect, and art majors even less. The MFAA is on trial, with just enough funding for two people. Jessica won the flip for the title of director. My promotion did not give me a raise, and frankly, getting a replacement for a second person is going to be a bitch. Who’s going to work for no money, the pleasure of rescuing lost antiquities and the chance of ending up dead of a broken neck…and minus their hands?”
“Removing their hands sounds like something the Egyptians would have done to thieves so they would suffer in the afterlife.”
“Interesting theory.” His eyes narrowed. “Possible in a weird way. The Librarian does, after all, deal with antiquities and to all intents and purposes knows their purpose and worth. He most probably has a formidable grasp of history and perhaps is willing to use its lessons.”
Kellen’s watch vibrated. She looked at it in horror and leaped to her feet. “It’s five thirty a.m. I’ve got to go!”
He looked at his watch, too. “You…have an appointment?”
“Worse than that.” Kellen stashed her firearm in its holster. “I’m supposed to meet Mara for our run to the resort.”
Now he looked out the window, where he could see nothing. “Are you crazy? It’s dark. The weather stinks. It hasn’t stopped raining since I got here.”
“I know. I won’t have time for kickboxing class this morning. Too much to do.” Kellen pulled on her rain gear. “Mara will conniption when I tell her.”
“Does she conniption often?”
“Only when I have too much work to keep up with her fitness demands. I’m her best sparring partner.”
“She wants you to keep her in fighting shape?”
“She’s been accepted by the International Ninja Challenge. She’s getting in shape to compete.”
“So she’s a really good fighter?” Nils Brooks pulled himself to his feet.
“Fabulous fighter.”
“But she wants to be on TV. Glare of publicity, all that?”
Kellen opened the door. The wind roared into the room, rustling the spreadsheets. “All the publicity. She intends to win the competition.”
“I don’t know if that makes her more of a suspect or less.”
“I don’t know, either.” She stopped. Turned to face him. “I have a question for you. I’m smart enough. What if it’s me?”
“It’s damned hard to run a smuggling ring from a war zone with the Army directing your every move and a certain general and his aide keeping you under observation with the intention of using you for code breaking.”
He’d heard about that, had he? Nils Brooks knew too much, and she didn’t know enough. So she went fishing. “I have another question. If you’re trying to crack a smuggling ring, what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be out in the dark and the storm spying on the smugglers, seeing who they are, what they’re doing?”
“I didn’t come to disable the smuggling. It’s not as simple as that.”
“That would interrupt the flow of cash.”
“Only temporarily, and only at this site. No. My ultimate goal is, must be, to identify and capture the Librarian. He—or she—isn’t going to be the one out there collecting the goods or doing a drop-off. That’s what flunkies are for.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his black-rimmed glasses and slipped them on with the seeming confidence of Superman disappearing behind Clark Kent’s disguise. “I’m the author with writer’s block who wanders the resort looking for inspiration in all the wrong places and observing everyone with a profiler’s eye.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She’d managed to surprise him.
“That’s what I figured. I wanted to hear you say it. I have to go. At this moment, I’m way more afraid of Mara than I am of the Librarian. Later!” Kellen jumped off his porch.
He called, “Think about suspects!”
She lifted her hand. Rain splattered her in the face. Somewhere behind the roiling storm clouds, dawn was breaking. She started down the path to her cottage, thinking, Race to the resort, shower and change, call and check on Annie. And Leo. But mostly Annie. Then—
“Kellen!” Mara stood under the light on Kellen’s porch, clothed in her close-fitting, water-shedding running gear. “What were you doing out at this hour?”
“Nils Brooks got lost on the way to his cottage.” Which was the truth.