Sam began his search in the front room. Finding nothing of interest, he moved down the hall to a small office, seeing a scarred mahogany desk covered with papers. Invoices, he realized as he shined his flashlight across them. Apparently, the Roman antiques they were selling out front were made in China.
As he looked them over, he heard a scrape coming from the floor above him. “Remi? Everything okay?”
“Fine. Looks like this is mostly inventory, still boxed up. Guess where all their antiquities come from?”
“China?”
“How’d you know?
“Psychic,” he said, finding a piece of paper tucked in the corner of the desk blotter. He slipped it out, saw what looked like a hand-drawn map of the archeological park with an arrow pointing at the far end.
LaBelle’s site.
He put the map into his pocket and opened the top desk drawer, finding several more invoices clipped together along with a note that said Envoi.
“Sam.” Remi’s soft voice in his earpiece held a note of tension. “There’s someone coming.”
He grabbed the stack, rolled it into a tube, and shoved it into his back pocket, then drew his gun. “On my way.” He moved into the hall, gun at the ready. “I don’t hear anything, Remi. You’re sure?”
“I’m at the balcony. They’re walking this way from the corner,” she said. “Hold on . . . Definitely coming this way.”
“How many?”
“Two. They’re at the door.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Don’t seek to hurt any man; but if any man seeks to hurt, you may break his neck.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Sam heard the sound of keys dropping, then someone fumbling with the lock.
Finally, the door opened.
Sam slipped behind an antique bureau and edged his way around it, keeping it between him and the two men as they entered. One of the men stumbled down the hallway, his words slurring as he said something about using the bathroom. The other stood a few feet away, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He dropped the pack, swore, and leaned down to pick it up. Sam couldn’t be positive, but he looked like the same man who tried to steal Renee’s purse at the ruins.
“Hamida? . . . That you?” the man said as his unfocused eyes landed on Sam’s shoes. Slowly, he straightened, reaching for his gun. “You’re not Ham—”
Sam, gripping his revolver like a set of iron knuckles, drove his weighted fist into the guy’s jaw. His head snapped back, slamming into the wall, his gun firing into the ceiling as he slumped to the ground.
“Tarek?” Hamida called out as Remi appeared in the stairwell. “What’s going on out there?”
Sam took her hand as Hamida stumbled from the hall.
“Sorry.” Sam guided Remi through the doorway. “Looks like your friend had a bit too much to drink.”
“You . . .” He tried to draw his gun from his holster.
Sam rushed out, pulling the door closed.
Crack!
Wood splintered behind him as he raced after Remi. A second shot rang out as they turned the corner, the sharp retort echoing between the buildings.
“That was close,” Sam said once they reached their car.
“You realize who they were? The two from the hotel.”
“Had I known earlier, I would’ve clocked the other guy, too.”
“Considering they tried to kidnap me,” she said, buckling her seat belt, “your restraint is exemplary.”
“Only because we were the ones breaking in. Not exactly the time or place to kill anyone.”
“I suppose you’re right. It would take a lot of explaining.” She sighed. “I just can’t see Amal being involved in this.”
“Well, she’s involved somehow. Which means we’re going to have to confront her about it. Especially after finding this.” He handed Remi the slip of paper. “A map to the house—and the dig site where Warren’s body was found.”
Remi turned on the cab light for a better look. “Oh no . . . There has to be a logical explanation.”
“I can’t wait to hear it. I also found a bunch of invoices for assorted antiquities that were possibly shipped out. It’ll give us a good place to start our search for the stolen fragment.”
He handed Remi the roll of papers. She looked at a few and put them in the glove box. “I hope you’re wrong about Amal. She was so good with the girls. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion when Makao and his thugs broke into the school.”
“You can question her tomorrow.”
But Amal wasn’t at the dig the following afternoon when Remi and Sam arrived, nor was she at Renee’s house when they checked there.
Renee, no longer using her crutches, invited them to the kitchen table for coffee. Hank was at the stove, stir-frying rice and vegetables, the scent of hot olive oil filling the room. José was at the sink washing his lunch dishes. He nodded in greeting as he set them wet in the rack. “Heading out,” he said when he’d finished.
“Sit,” Renee told Sam and Remi, bringing over a pot of coffee and two mugs. “It’s sort of a free-for-all at mealtime.”
“So I see,” Remi said. “Where’s Amal? Isn’t she usually out in the field in the afternoon?”
“Usually,” Renee said as she poured their coffee. “Did she say anything to you, Hank?”
He turned off the burner and looked back at them. “She took the day off to help her mother with the big dinner tonight. Anything wrong?”
“Probably not,” Remi said. “She had one of her episodes yesterday at the market.”
“But she usually recovers pretty fast,” Renee said.
Hank scraped the vegetables and fried rice into a large serving bowl and carried it to the table. “Have you eaten yet? We have plenty.”
Sam and Remi declined.
“LaBelle. Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Yes. Be right back.” She left the room, then returned a moment later, handing Sam the missing ledger. “I found it last night. Somehow, we looked right past it.”
Sam opened it, turning the pages, studying the entries while they ate.
“What is it?” Remi asked when she noticed him pausing and turning back to the previous page.
“A few pages are missing.”