The African Quest

Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?

Can rage as fierce as this abide in the soul of heaven?

12

A LL NIGHT HASDRUBAL and the boy clung to a piece of wood, dashed by the sea, whipped by the winds.

"I believe this is part of the cedar box," Hasdrubal said. "The gods must have a sense of humor."

"Of a sort," the boy yelled over the roar of the storm.

"You remind me of my son, Carthalon," the captain said. "I trust I do not offend you in saying this."

"Indeed, I am honored," the boy said.

"I do not believe I will survive this night," Hasdrubal went on. "But I think you might. You are young and strong. Therefore I have another task for you, one for which, unfortunately, I am unable to reward you this time, as my money is gone."

"I will do it," the boy replied.

"You are a fine young man. I ask this favor only because I believe that our great city of Qart Hadasht is in grave danger, not just from Agathocles, as you might suspect, but from another."

"Tell me," the boy said.

"My ship was commissioned for a special voyage, a secret mission, by a very important person in Qart Hadasht. I was approached by the great man himself. I was told it was a matter of utmost urgency to the state. This person was, I believed, beyond reproach. Our task was to carry a special piece of cargo, which I'm sure you have guessed was the cedar box, along with money and goods, on a specified route along the Libyan coast bound for Tyre. Gisco, the man you call the stranger, was to accompany it. You caught a glimpse of that cargo, I believe."

"I did," the boy said, "and I have never seen anything so magnificent. Where did it come from?"

"Tartessus, of course, the lands beyond the pillars of Herakles, where gold and silver and jewels are to be found. But it is not so much what it is, as what its purpose was to be."

Hasdrubal gasped as another large wave hit them. The boy reached across their tiny makeshift raft to steady him.

"I was told that the statue--it is very old, Carthalon, older even than Qart Hadasht itself--was a gift to the city of Tyre to propitiate the god who has seemed to desert us in our hour of greatest need as the Greek tyrant tries to destroy us. Many have felt that miseries have been heaped upon us, because we have been lax in the worship of our own gods."

"I know that," the boy said. "I saw the sacred ceremonies in the sanctuary of Baal Hammon. But what of the silver and gold coins and the rest of the cargo? Were they for the city of Tyre as well?"

"No. The cargo was to be used to raise an army from amongst the Libyans to assist us in the forthcoming battles with Agathocles. I knew the voyage was dangerous, slipping out alone, without escort, and on such a bad night. But how could I refuse when I had seen the sacrifices made by our leaders--their first-born, sometimes their only children--sacrificed to save us all? And I confess there was profit in it. We citizens of Qart Hadasht are always on the lookout for gain."

"And so you are worried, now that the cargo has not reached its destination, the gods will still be angry with us--and the mercenary troops we hoped to muster, and even you, will not be paid?"

"No, much worse than that. I think the cargo was not really destined for Tyre. I fear that I am a dupe to treachery, an unwitting party to it. I believe the statue was stolen from a sanctuary in the lands near the pillars of Herakles--there is rumor of such a statue, more beautiful than anything we have ever seen, gold, with eyes of diamonds. I think the money was to go to mercenaries all right, but rather than being used to raise an army to support Qart Hadasht, it was to be used against us. The money was to convince the Libyans to support a traitor! And the statue, I believe, was to be used by that same traitor to convince the people to follow him."

The boy gasped. "How can this be? What makes you think this is so?"

"In part, it is just a feeling I have. In part, it is what you told me."

"What do you mean?" the boy said. "I told you nothing of this."

"Ah, but you did. You told me that the stranger conferred with Mago before he went down to the cargo hold, and that while you could not see who had returned the ingot, you did see Mago open an amphora of coins, hold the money for a few moments, but then return it and reseal the container. He did the same with the pithos of gold jewelry."

"So I told you. But . . ."

"Who would have noticed a few missing coins, a gold ring or two, under the circumstances?" Hasdrubal said. "Or for that matter, what could be done about one silver ingot, given our mission? But Mago didn't take them. That's because they were already promised to him. The cargo was never to arrive at its destination. Some of it was to be used to pay those crew members who were part of the conspiracy; the rest would go into the coffers of the traitor. We were to be overtaken by Mago and his friends, killed, no doubt, and the cargo would simply disappear. Why else would he leave the coins and jewelry there?"

"But you said the person who sent you on this mission was above reproach."

"I did, but I no longer believe it."

"What do you want me to do?" the boy cried.

"You must survive this night--the sea will take you to shore, I am certain. You must make your way back to Qart Hadasht, taking care not to be captured by Agathocles' men. And then you must get an audience with the Council of the Hundred and Four and tell them this story."

"This is not possible for someone like me," the boy gasped.

"It is," Hasdrubal replied. "Can you reach the pendant around my neck? Yes? Good. Take it to the home of Yadamalek in a place I will tell you. He will recognize the pendant as mine and believe you. He'll see to it that what needs to be done, is carried out quickly. Will you do it?"

"I will," the boy said. "And the name of the traitor?"

Hasdrubal pulled the boy closer and cried the name in his ear.

F OUR DAYS. WE were in the forum of the ancient Roman city called Sufetula. Three temples, the largest dedicated to Jupiter, flanked by smaller ones to either side, Juno on the right, Minerva on the left, towered above us. That the Romans built such a magnificent city out here in the Tell, and embellished it with sweeping avenues, soaring arches, and towering columns was a marvel indeed.

But I wasn't studying the temples. Instead I pulled back into the shade of the Antonine Gate that leads into this great space, to study our group. I realized that I had been so wrapped up in the details of the trip--whether the bus would arrive on time, if dinner could be postponed for half an hour to allow a longer visit at a site, if everyone's needs had been accounted for--that I had not really looked at them as individuals at all.

I knew there was an evil presence among them, but I didn't know who. I thought if I looked at them, really looked at them, the answer would be clear. I searched for the jarring note, the misplaced gesture, the momentary slip of the mask. But they all looked like ordinary people to me.

Over in front of Jupiter's temple, Susie and Cliff shared a laugh. Now that Catherine was gone, Susie had apparently set her sights on Cliff as her next husband, and he seemed to be enjoying her company. For a moment or two I wondered if perhaps Susie, desperate for a new mate, had tampered with Catherine's clothes, and even pushed her rival down the stairs to scare her off. Watching Susie, though, as she buzzed about the site, I couldn't believe she was guilty.

Chastity, whose shameless, but somehow innocent, flirtation with Emile had been rebuffed, had gone back to being a distressed, possibly disturbed, teenager. Over in one corner, by herself, she lit a match and watched it burn, dropping it into the sand at her feet only after it had seared the tips of her fingers. She had become very needy for my attention in the last day or two, asking for help buying souvenirs to take back to her friends, or asking me to check her overnight bag to see if she'd brought all the right things. Suddenly I couldn't stand watching her do this anymore. I crossed the forum, grabbed the book of matches, saying "Stop that, Chastity! You'll hurt yourself."

"She doesn't even notice I'm doing it," she said.

"Who?" I asked.

"My mother."

"She notices."

"Then she doesn't care."

"She cares, Chastity, believe me."

"She drove him away," she said.

"Who?" I asked her, wondering for a moment if she meant Emile.

"My dad."

This, then, was what it was all about, wasn't it? The matches, and the pathetic attempts to get Emile to notice her. She was competing with her mother for a man because her mother couldn't get, or keep, one. "Your mother and father don't get along. That's unfortunate. But it doesn't mean that either of them has stopped loving you," I said, trying to put my arm around her. She turned away from me, and looked toward her mother.

Marlene, also spurned by Emile, had now pinned forlorn hopes on Briars. As he spoke, with his expansive gestures, and very comfortable male presence, to which neither she nor I were immune, she stood, eyes riveted on him, with a look of what I can only call longing, crossing her face. "I hate her," Chastity said.

The other person paying grave attention to Briars was Nora, her head turning as he pointed to some feature or other, leaning forward to catch what he said. Behind her, Susie and Cliff laughed, but this time, Nora did not return to his side. It was as if the bonds that linked her to Cliff were loosening in the warmth of the North African sun. She looked over at Chastity for a moment or two, and then walked toward her. I watched her speak to the girl for a moment or two, then take her hand and pull her toward the group. Chastity resisted at first, but then came along. It was such a surprising gesture, so out of character for Nora, a woman who had kept so much to herself, clinging only to Cliff, that I could hardly believe my eyes. I could only admire the way she'd brought Chastity back into the group, something both her mother and I were incapable of doing.

Betty and Ed stood together, Betty giggling at Ed's jokes. They were a strange couple, the sixty-something matron and the young gay man half her age. Clearly, they enjoyed each other's company. Betty and Jimmy no longer sat together on the bus. Nor did Ben and Ed. Ben sat by himself, just as he now stood by himself, hands thrust into his jeans pockets, looking about him. Jimmy had chosen to go to a café across the road from the site, for a drink. "Not another pile of rocks," he said, when the bus pulled up to the ruins. He was becoming more and more isolated from the group and distant from his wife.

Aziza seemed to be enjoying herself, for the first time in many days. As she looked up at the graceful lines of the temple of Minerva, goddess of wisdom, glowing gold in the afternoon sun, she took a very deep breath, then exhaled as if releasing her problems along with her breath. Perhaps feeling my eyes on her, she looked over at me in the archway, and waved.

Curtis followed her about like a lovesick puppy, knowing that in some way, perhaps permanently, he had lost her, or at least, if she had any love left for him, it is tempered by a solid sense of what he was, her hero no more. I wondered briefly whether he would ever regain some stature with her, or if the marriage was doomed.

We were on our way to Tozeur, an oasis town not far from the Algerian border, and a setting-off point for trips to the Chott el-Jerid, a huge salt lake formed when the Mediterranean flooded the land, then retreated, thousands of years ago, and to the Grand Erg Oriental to the south. The Grand Erg is part of the band of desert that separates the North African coast from the subcontinent far to the south. To the west, the Grand Erg Oriental becomes the Grand Erg Occidental. To the east, it is called simply desert, Sahara.

Our route took us through town after town, white houses decorated with garlands of red peppers drying in the sun, and in between, roads lined with acacia and olive trees, through which the outline of distant mountains could be seen. We passed two-wheeled carts pulled by donkeys that looked as if they were three thousand years old, sheep herded by nomads, and dromedaries tethered to posts in the sand.

The group was particularly excited about this part of the trip. At Tozeur, they would transfer to four-wheel-drive vehicles to head out into the desert for two days. Once they'd seen Sufetula, they were impatient to be on their way.

But first there was the market in Tozeur to visit. I like Tozeur. It has something of the air of a frontier town to it, with its dusty streets and a kind of collective thumbing of the nose at authority. At one time it was more powerful in the region than the national government in Tunis, and it has retained the feel of the real North Africa, despite the influx of tourists. One can imagine still the sounds, sights, and smells of the great caravans that passed through here, attracted by both the vibrant marketplace, and the hundreds of springs that water the oasis.

It was harvest time for the dates, the delicate, almost translucent deglat en nour, finger of light. They hung in large branches from every stall. The place was a hive of activity. Donkey carts jostled for position with trucks, our group mingled with the locals: women, wrapped in the black sifsari common to the town, some with faces covered, shopping for their families, carpet weavers plying their trade right on the street, outside their little stalls packed with the brightly colored carpets whose patterns mimic the dramatic architecture for which Tozeur is famous. Buildings there are constructed of handmade yellow bricks, some pulled out slightly when they are laid to create intricate and three-dimensional geometric designs.

Over to one side, a blind man hawked roses de sable, sand roses, beautiful crystalline shapes created by moisture, dew perhaps, sifting through the sand dunes, and over time, hardening to create wonderful sculptural shapes. Farther along, a camel munched on its food. And everywhere there were red and white flags and huge pictures of Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali, President of the Republic of Tunisia, whose ascension to power on November 7, 1987 was being celebrated right across the country.

By now the group had adjusted to Tunisian-style commerce, and, getting into the swing of things, were bargaining for gifts and souvenirs with real aplomb.

Chastity stood off by herself, once again. This time she was staring at a newsstand. The proprietor became annoyed with her, and I went to her rescue. She pointed to a newspaper. "I want one of those," she said.

"You can't read it, Chastity," I said. "It's in Arabic."

"I want it," she said petulantly. "Hedi can tell me what it says. I've got some money."

"Okay," I said, helping her with the coins. An Arabic newspaper would make a souvenir of a different sort for her, but as I handed it over, I saw Rashid Houari's picture. It was just as well Chastity couldn't read Arabic, and that I couldn't either.

Then, at last, it was time for dinner, which we'd arranged to have served at two large tables beside the hotel pool. The evening was lovely, warm enough, and the moon glowed over the palm trees of the oasis in the distance.

It had been a trying day, in many respects, arranging for the luggage to be stored at the auberge for our return, and getting the smaller bags on and off the bus. Marlene insisted on bringing her large suitcase, and Chastity's. She wasn't for leaving anything behind. The hotel rooms had to be rearranged. We'd canceled Rick's and Kristi's rooms, of course, days earlier, and Catherine's the day before. However, the hotel was overbooked, and I had trouble finding space for Hedi and Briars, although eventually it worked out all right.

After dinner I was eager to get back to my research, reading through a lot of material I'd printed off the Web before we set off, but there were many little details to attend to first. The zipper on Jimmy's bag had broken, which would be a problem in the desert sands, and so I had to find someone to repair it for him overnight.

Susie needed to be soothed about the desert. "Could there be snakes in the tents?" she asked.

"I hope not," Ed declared.

"Of course not," I replied.

Cliff needed reassurance that the gift for his daughter was taken care of. I told him I'd keep looking for the puppet. He didn't know I'd already found three, and I left him none the wiser, because I couldn't bear the thought of calling Rashid's brother and asking if I could still purchase them. Instead I showed Cliff some spectacular bracelets I'd found in the market, telling him we wouldn't give up on the puppet yet, but with the bracelets, we'd be sure of having something for his daughter, no matter what. He appeared satisfied by that, and said he might take them both.

"I should get something for Nora, too," he said. "A memento of the trip. She hasn't bought anything for herself."

I thought the bracelets too restrained for Nora, who that evening was wearing very tight white pants, a cherry-colored low-neck blouse with pink and white ruffles, and very high-heeled slip-on sandals festooned with yellow and green plastic flowers. I suggested some more elaborate filigree earrings for her.

"Oh, the bracelets are for my daughter," he said. "If you find the puppet, I'll give her both. I think Nora would like the earrings, though."

As I watched Nora teeter about on the sandals, I made a mental note to tell her to wear her jogging shoes for the trip into the dunes. She was not looking well at all. When I really looked at her, I could see she was quite pretty, but she didn't know how to make the most of what she had. Colors that were rather charming on Susie did not suit Nora. It was as if she had never really looked at herself in a mirror to see what colors would flatter her. Her bottle-blond hair had not fared well in the North African sun, turning very brassy. I thought of Kristi's mean-spirited comments about her, and wished I could treat Nora to a day at my friend Moira's spa. But it was more than that: There seemed to be some profound sadness at the core of Nora's being, something that had twisted a good nature into something else, a woman who had to dominate Cliff in a way that corrupted her generous impulse to care for him. I didn't think I would ever understand Nora, but I hoped the gesture she had made toward Chastity was a new beginning for her.

"What kind of thing do you invest in, Cliff?" I asked, turning my attention back to him.

He looked startled at the abrupt change of subject, but answered right away. One thing you'd have to say about Cliff is that he was polite to a fault. Perhaps that was why Nora got to boss him around so much. He was too courteous to object. "Right now, Internet stocks, digital media, that kind of thing," he said. "Along with the usual safe blue-chip companies. I try to keep some of my money in secure investments, and have a little fun with the rest."

"Would having a little fun extend to say, a marine salvage company looking for treasure under the sea?"

"Absolutely not," he replied. "I'm not that adventurous. Funny you should mention it, though. That fellow Rick Reynolds suggested I might be interested in putting money into just that kind of thing. I told him he was crazy. If you're suggesting it, I'm afraid I'd have to tell you the same thing."

"I'm not for a minute suggesting it," I assured him. "It's just that I keep hearing that Rick did talk to a few people about it, and I was a bit worried some might take him up on it. I'm not sure Rick was quite what he said he was, as far as being an investment counselor."

"I got rather the same impression," Cliff said. "I hope no one was taken in."

Next, I asked Jimmy the same question. "Not you, too," he said. "Pushing such an stupid idea. What would make you think I was such an idiot?"

"I didn't think you were, Jimmy," I said. "Far from it. I was just concerned that Rick Reynolds was bothering people about it. I gather from your comment that he did bring the subject up."

"He did. I told him he was offensive. People make fun of chicken parts, you know, but they're a damn good business."

"Calm down, Jimmy," Betty said. "Lara just said she was worried about Rick bothering people."

I'd been with these people for about two weeks, and now they were all clicking into place for me. My confidence in my ability to judge people, shattered temporarily by my total failure to recognize the real Kristi, was reasserting itself. Somehow I knew that Jimmy called everyone an idiot because he thought everyone believed he was an idiot for getting into chicken parts. He must have been making excuses for his business, thinking people were making fun of him, all through his adult life. Sad, really.

"I think your chicken parts business idea was inspired," I said. "Not only that, it is ecologically responsible. You found a market for the parts of the bird we didn't want, rather than just throwing them out." He looked absolutely nonplused by my comment, but then he gave me something akin to a smile.

At last, everyone seemed to have settled down. A few were still sitting out by the pool, but nobody seemed to have any problems. I decided to take advantage of the peace and quiet to go to my room.

"Oh, just a minute, Lara," Marlene called to me. "Where's Briars staying? I have something I'd like to show him. His name isn't on the room list you gave us."

Assuming she was off to proposition him, I debated for a moment whether I should plead ignorance or not, but in the end I decided that it was his problem and not mine. "There weren't enough rooms right in the hotel because of all the changes we made," I told her. "He and Hedi are staying in a guest cabin on the edge of the grounds. It doesn't have a number, but you can't miss it. Take the steps on the other side of the pool, and then just follow the path until you see the cabin."

"Hedi's there, too, is he?" she said, with more than a hint of disappointment.

"Did I hear my name?" Hedi said. He was looking very smart, dark pants and white shirt, hair slicked back.

"Going dancing, are you?" I asked.

"Yes." Hedi grinned. "I have friends here. There are many parties to celebrate the holiday. Dancing tonight, and then long speeches from the politicians tomorrow. We'll be on our way by then," he added.

"Too bad we'll have to miss those speeches," I said, smiling back.

"It is, indeed," he said, laughing.

I noticed that Nora was listening to this conversation with some interest, and I wondered if Marlene was once again going to find herself in competition for a man. What do I care? I thought. I had made my decision about Briars and me, hadn't I? I went to my room.

The conclusion I was coming to, as I read through all I'd found, was that by and large the people on the trip were a law-abiding lot, and were indeed what they said they were. Dull, some might say. Star Salvage, however, was a different matter entirely. My conclusion, reached after searching several newspaper-chain online archives, was that Star Salvage was very good at finding shipwrecks, and valuable ones at that. Groves had been all over the place--the Caribbean, the Great Lakes, up the Eastern seaboard of the U.S.--and he managed to find a shipwreck almost every place he went. But while he could find them, he didn't seem to be able to profit from them.

Star Salvage was being challenged every step of the way. For example, Groves found a mid-1880's wreck off Michigan. Michigan was claiming ownership and the court case had been dragging on for a few years. In the Caribbean, there was a diver who claimed he found the wreck off Puerto Rico--it was Spanish, so everyone was expecting lots of gold--before Star did and he had sued to establish his claim. In another case, the U.S. government was asserting its right to the wreck of a warship from the War of 1812, in Lake Erie: the Navy wanted it. Star was challenging them in court. Star Salvage must have been paying a fortune in legal fees to have lawyers working for them all over the place, either suing for them, or defending them.

The only case I could find that had actually been settled was a suit by the parents of Mark Henderson, the young man Briars had told me about who died while working for the company. The parents sued Star, Peter Groves, and Briars Hatley, a fact Briars had failed to mention, claiming negligence on the part of the company and the two individuals. There were all kinds of jurisdictional wrangling, but the case was eventually heard in California. There had been a police investigation of the death in Tunisia, and the U.S. authorities looked into it, too. There were no criminal charges brought, but the couple sued in civil court. The death was ruled accidental, and neither the company nor the two individuals were held responsible. The parents, George and Nora Henderson, had had to pay the court costs. The name Nora had given me a jolt, but I'd been able to find a photo of the parents leaving the courtroom. George Henderson had blocked the view of his wife slightly, but it was possible to see that Nora Henderson was a large woman, overweight, with long dark hair. She was wearing sunglasses, and a very conservative dark suit.

If the Henderson lawsuit hadn't cost Star any money, the others would, however. Furthermore there didn't seem to be much in the way of income while the ownership claims sorted themselves out. On top of that, while I had no idea what it would take to keep a ship like the Susannah operating, I had no doubt it was a considerable sum of money. No wonder Star was looking for new investors. Curtis Clark put $500,000 of his wife's money into Star. There could easily be several others just as stupid, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Star Salvage was pretty close to broke.

The last information I had was a lot of material about coins I'd pulled off the ESL Web site. I wasn't sure whether I'd done this as research on the cases in question, or just for my own edification, but I read the data, anyway. There was a bit of history at the start: Carthaginians, it seems, came rather late to the idea of coinage. While coins have been in commercial use since the seventh century B.C., Carthaginian coins only appeared around 400 B.C. Their early coins were minted, if that term can be used back then, in a couple of cities that Carthage controlled in Sicily. Why Carthage got into coins so late, given the Carthaginians were the premier merchants of the Mediterranean, wasn't explained, but maybe they stayed with the barter system longer than others, or they just used other people's coins. In any event, given that Carthage fell to the Romans in 146 B.C., the history of Carthaginian coins was a relatively short one, making them relatively rare.

Most of the Punic/Carthaginian coins that I saw had a lion and/or a palm tree on one side, and the head of a god or goddess--according to the listings, usually Melqart, Herakles, Persephone, or Tanit--on the other. Melqart, I knew, was the city god of ancient Tyre, which was the parent city of Carthage. Melqart was also worshipped in Carthage itself. Tanit was the consort of Baal Hammon, and the couple were jointly the city gods of Carthage. Herakles and Persephone were Greek deities. The coins were made in silver, electrum--silver mixed with some other base metal--bronze, and gold. Nothing unusual there. I found Carthaginian coins listed as low as $750 and as high as $45,000. I could see their appeal from a merchant's point of view: no storage problems, no huge shipping costs. Maybe Clive and I could start with just a few to test the market. Then I found something that made me think I'd made the right career choice after all.

What did strike me, looking through these catalogues, was how volatile the market could be. I followed one type of coin through three years of auctions at ESL. The particular coin I chose for this exercise was said to be special: The head on it was Dido or Elissa, rather than Tanit, and she was wearing a particular head-covering that apparently set this coin apart from others, an Oriental tiara, the data said. There were also some other markings on it that were supposed to be special, too. It caught my eye because it had the highest price I saw, $45,000, due to the fact it was in remarkable condition, but also because it was extremely rare. There were only about ten of them in existence at the start of the three-year period. While my initial instinct had been that I wouldn't mind having one or two of those tucked away somewhere for a rainy day, I wasn't so sure by the time I'd worked my way through all the material. A year after that first listing, there was a similar coin, but it was listed at $25,000. At the end of the three-year period, the coin was down to $12,000. Still a lot of money, but if you'd had a couple of those squirreled away in a drawer somewhere, you might suddenly find they were worth less than you'd paid for them. This might be a temporary situation, as ESL's catalogue argued, or it might not.

I decided there would be only two variables, condition and supply. According to the listings, all these coins got the same very-fine ranking, so that eliminated condition as the reason for the difference in price. That left supply as the explanation; that is to say, a few more of them had been put on the market in the intervening time. So, had I been holding on to a couple of these, I wouldn't want large numbers of them to appear overnight.

I wondered under what circumstances a bunch of these would suddenly turn up. A hoard was one possibility. Historically, people buried objects they valued, including coins, particularly in bad times. From time to time someone found one of these hoards that the owner never got back to, for whatever reason. Maybe he died, or just forgot where he buried them. If they ended up in a museum, fine, but if they got onto the open market, and there were a lot of them, some people might lose.

I sprawled on the bed and tried to sort through in my head all that I'd learned. The material about coins was interesting. Emile was in coins, and given what I'd read, a new supply of coins would certainly have a major impact on his business. If I was looking for a reason someone wouldn't want either expedition to be successful, then this just might be it. But how would he know Star Salvage and Briars were looking for an ancient shipwreck to start with? And even if he did, it didn't necessarily follow there'd be lots of coins to be found. Coins, particularly silver and bronze, wouldn't hold up very well underwater for any significant period of time. Still it did bear some thinking about. Everything did: Star Salvage, which might or might not be in financial hot water. Curtis: Who knew what other mistakes he had made? Somewhere in the group lay the anguis in herba, as Ben would no doubt say: the snake in the grass. The anguis could even be Ben. Heaven knows he was the only one who'd been in the neighborhood when every single one of the victims had turned up dead.

I found myself getting very sleepy, too sleepy in fact to get myself up to undress and crawl into bed. The pages were blurring before my eyes and I struggled to stay awake. I was afraid if I dozed off I'd be back in the tophet with that horrible snake, with Jimmy making his snide remarks, Ben spouting Latin, and Susie going on and on about jogging, and how much weight you could lose. Forty-five pounds in a year. I'd heard her say it often enough.

I sat up, gasping. I grabbed the telephone, but remembered that there wasn't one in the cabin. I pulled on my shoes and dashed out the door, stumbling on the steps leading down to the path from the pool.

I knocked. There was no response. I tried the door, which was unlocked, and went straight in.

"Come in," Nora said. "You're just in time to witness an execution. Close the door and move away from it." I did as I was told. Briars sat in a chair, his hands on his thighs, a knife held under his chin, a rope wound round and round him, pinning his arms to his sides and his body to the chair. A trickle of blood streamed from a cut on his left cheek. "If you run for help, he's dead."

"What is this about?" Briars gasped.

"You don't even know who I am, do you?" Nora demanded. "You sat in that courtroom day after day, and you didn't even look the mother of the boy you murdered, full in the face. Not once. You and Peter Groves."

"You're Mark's mother," Briars gasped. "You're so thin. Your hair . . ."

"So you admit you killed him," she said.

"No," he whispered. "I just didn't recognize you. You've changed."

"He was my only child," she said.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Shut up," she said. "Do you have any idea what it is to lose a child? Do you?"

"No," he whispered.

"I lost everything. My son, my husband. You would think losing your only child would bring you closer together. It doesn't. He told me we had to move on, when he left me. Said I was lost in the past. Maybe so. I like the past. My boy is alive in it, handsome, intelligent, and so charming.

"And it was all over in a minute, wasn't it? The life gone from him. And for what? A shipwreck? Some ridiculous story about a graveyard of some kind guarded by the golden god of the sea. There's no such shipwreck, just the obsession of two middle-aged men. Are you surprised I know about this? He wrote me every week, long letters, about everything he was doing. He liked you. He trusted you. Does that bother you at all? Does it?" she said. The knife looked perilously close to slicing into his neck.

"Yes," he whispered. "It has bothered me ever since."

"He got a university scholarship, did you know that?"

"Yes," Briars said. "Mark was a gifted young man."

"Are you going to say that I was lucky to have him for as long as I did? That's what the priest told me. I hated him for it. But you and Peter Groves, that went way beyond hatred. I knew I'd track you down one day. How I laughed when I got the brochure for the tour. Briars Hatley, professor of archaeology and noted expert on the Phoenician period, will show us Carthage as tourists rarely see it: Byrsa Hill, the place of its legendary founding in 814 B.C., Roman Carthage in all its grandeur, and the tophet, where it is said thousands of little children were sacrificed to save the city from its greatest threat. I love ad copy, don't you? Did you write that?" she said to me.

"No. My business partner did."

"Your partner was right. Particularly about the sacrificed children. We know all about that, don't we? A child sacrificed for someone's lust for gold. I couldn't even bury him, you know. I dream of his body being eaten by fish, or washed up on shore and devoured by birds." She stopped for a moment and choked back tears.

I found my voice at last. "You think killing Briars will make up for it," I said, barely recognizing the sound coming out of my mouth. There was no fear in it, just fury. "And I suppose some might say you're right. But what about the other people you killed? Ron was someone's son, too, you know. He was handsome and charming and intelligent. Did you think about his mother? And what about that beautiful young woman who was terribly disfigured by the fire on Peter's boat? Her name is Maggie. I met her, and she was cheerful and friendly, and she loved the work she was doing, just the way Mark did. She has a mother, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nora hissed. "I didn't do anything to her. I wanted to kill the other girl, Peter Groves' daughter. Then Groves, too, would know what it was like to lose a child. Just shut up," she barked again. But she hesitated for a moment. I pressed on.

"And Rick Reynolds? Was he just another casualty, too? Boring, I know. But he had a mother. And Kristi. Oh, I know she'd have liked us all to think she'd arrived fully formed as the internationally renowned travel writer, but I'll bet even she had a mother."

"What are you talking about?" Nora shrieked. "Be quiet!" For a moment, she seemed off balance.

"Briars," Ben said, bursting into the room. "I have great--"

I lunged for Nora as Briars ducked away, and he and the chair crashed to the floor. She was so strong, I knew within seconds I couldn't wrestle the knife out of her grasp. She started slashing in all directions, harsh, rasping, wordless sounds coming from her, Ben and I dodging her thrusts, both of us trying to get the knife from her. I heard a thud, a cracking sound, and Ben groaned and fell back. Blood streamed from a wound in his upper chest. I grabbed Nora from behind and just held on. I could feel her dragging me across the floor toward Briars, and I couldn't stop her.

I saw Ben try to get up, but he couldn't. On his hands and knees, he pulled himself over to Briars, and with one hand, the other pressed to the wound in his chest, he loosened the ropes. Free now, Briars scrambled to his feet and grabbed at Nora, too. In the struggle, the knife flew out of her hand, and slid across the floor. The three of us scrambled for it, Nora kicking and punching and howling with rage.

It took all the strength both of us could muster to pin her face down on the ground. "I've got her," Briars said. "Go and get help."

13

"I AWOKE THE NEXT morning as my feet touched a sandy beach," Carthalon said. "The captain had slipped away in the night. I cursed the day I was born, that I should have survived rather than the good captain, but I remembered my pledge to him. I did not know where I was, or how I would reach Qart Hadasht, but I knew I must. I saw far away to the south of me a town, Hadramaut, I believe, but was afraid to go there, for fear it had fallen into Agathocles' hands. For many days I hid, getting scraps of food from the refuse of small towns, seeking directions from the citizens of the countryside, who, rightly enough, regarded me with suspicion, and essentially following the coast northward. If it was not our allies I was dodging, it was Agathocles' troops. In time I made my way to Qart Hadasht and the house of Yadamalek, under whose auspices I am here today."

"So now that you are here, what have you come to tell us?" one of the men of the Council said. "That the cargo was lost?"

"We authorized this cargo and mission," another said. "This lad tells us a lie."

"The mission itself may have been sanctioned by you," Carthalon said. "But there were others with plans you knew nothing about. The poisoned air of treachery is all about us, and seeps much closer than you think. The greatest danger to our city, to our political institutions and our way of life, lies not with Agathocles, but well within these walls. Indeed it lies within this chamber. Someone here plots to take advantage of the insecurity of our citizens as we battle the Greek, to play upon our fears of defeat."

"This is nonsense," several Council members roared. "If you suspect someone, then name him. But you do so at your peril."

"This fellow is a traitor," one of the members said, rising to his feet. "He should be executed."

"I see I am not the only one to survive the shipwreck," Carthalon continued. "The honorable member who speaks, one Gisco, was also on that ship."

"You lie!" the man roared.

"You challenge a member of this Council?" another man called out.

"I do," Carthalon said.

"Then it is your word against his," another said, and many nodded.

"You do not have to take my word for it. As we all know, actions speak louder than words," Carthalon said. "And I will speak to you of treacherous activities being undertaken right now. The man who commissioned Hasdrubal's ship, and I think you will agree that Hasdrubal is an honorable man, loyal to the city . . ."

"That's the only reason we're listening to you at all," someone shouted.

"You will see soon enough that what I tell you is true," Carthalon continued, undeterred. "That person is someone whom you have entrusted as one of only two generals who will lead us into battle against Agathocles. Even now he is assembling his troops near the old city, not to take on the Greek, but instead to take Qart Hadasht.

"Even I could hardly fathom it, when Hasdrubal told me his suspicions. The name, the traitor, gentlemen, is Bomilcar. If you have a plan ready to deal with such treachery, may I suggest you put it into action now."

"This is outrageous," some of them called. Several others, however, rushed from the chamber.

"See for yourselves," Carthalon said. "As I have seen with my own eyes. And do it soon."

"W HAT I WAS coming to tell you," Ben, propped up by pillows on his hotel bed, said, "when, as you've just pointed out, I so rudely interrupted your execution, was that I have something to show you." He patted a manila envelope beside him. "But first, you've got to tell me everything that's happened. The last thing I remember hearing was Jimmy asking if I was dead. I was certain there would be some cutting comment to follow, something about the world being a better place if there was one less homosexual. You did realize Ed is not my nephew, I assume. We're no longer a couple, though. He's moved out already, and in with a younger, more energetic man. We'd planned this trip for months, though, so we decided to come anyway. A last hurrah, I suppose. Since this is true confessions time, are you two an item, by the way?"

"No," I said.

"I've tried, Ben," Briars said. "She won't have me."

I ignored that. "You may be right about what Jimmy would have said given the chance, Ben, but you'll be delighted, perhaps, to hear that Betty interrupted him in midsentence. She told him she'd been a librarian when she met him, that she'd been what he'd rather condescendingly referred to as his bride for more than thirty years, and that now she thought she'd like to be a librarian again."

"Does this mean I've broken up a heterosexual relationship?"

"I don't believe it was just you, although she's awfully fond of both you and Ed. I remember thinking way back in the Frankfurt airport that I wouldn't be surprised if the marriage didn't last the trip, and for what may be the only time since we left, I was right about somebody."

"And Nora?"

"She's confessed to killing Rick, and tampering with the tanks on Briars' boat. That's all. She's adamant that she had nothing to do with Kristi, didn't set the fire on the Susannah, and claims never to have heard of Rashid Houari. Kristi may well have done herself in, and Rashid, too, although I still think that unlikely. But his might be an isolated crime, totally unrelated to the others. I talked to Ben Osman. He's on his way down here. He says to give him a little time with her, and he thinks she might confess to more. Oh, and you know what else she confessed to? Knocking Catherine down the stairs and rearranging her clothes. She was trying to keep Catherine away from Cliff. She seemed surprised that Catherine took so long to get the message to keep away."

"She wanted Cliff all to herself, did she?"

"Probably not in the way you're thinking. She moved in with Cliff and took over his life, but I don't think she ever wanted to marry him, or even have an intimate relationship. What she wanted was security. She got him to sign a legal agreement whereby he agreed to cover all her living expenses as long as she was with him. I think he felt it was the least he could do, given her apparent selflessness in looking after his wife and him. She claimed she'd had to give up her job and her own place, and I'm sure he felt responsible for her. I'm not sure either the job or the apartment was a great loss, however. I'd say it was opportunism rather than self-sacrifice that motivated her, even early on. She was broke and alone, and the loss of her son was like a wound that wouldn't heal. I have a sense of her spending her every waking hour formulating plans to avenge her son's death, but not having the wherewithal to do anything about it. Her husband had left her. They'd lost all their money in legal fees and court costs when they sued Star Salvage and Briars; they'd mortgaged their house to keep the proceedings going. Then she happened to meet the Fieldings.

"According to what she told the police, if Cliff had married again, he would have to pay her a whopping sum of money to break their agreement. I don't know if it would really stand up in court, but she would be almost certain to get something under those circumstances. I just don't think that mattered as much as having the security of everything being paid for and looked after for her."

"This relationship between her and Cliff sounds a little . . . What's the word I'm groping for here?" Briars said.

"Sick?" Ben said. "I'd say so. I'm sorry I can't be more sympathetic, but she really hurt me. Winslow is her maiden name, I take it?"

I nodded. "She went back to it after the divorce."

"I know why she was after me," Briars said. "What did she kill Rick for?"

"Rick stumbled upon her, in a manner of speaking, out on the Elissa Dido. He'd gone out to trash the place to try to keep you from finding the shipwreck. The idiot actually swam out to the boat, by the way. Nora, who is infinitely more resourceful, borrowed, without the owner's permission, a little rowboat. She was probably going to fix the tanks right then and there, but he showed up, so the two of them trashed the boat, she rowed him back to shore, and they made a pact not to tell anybody.

"The trouble was, you know what Rick was like: The man could not stop talking. He droned on all the way back, and by the time they got to the hotel, she decided there was no way he'd be able to keep his trap shut about what they did, nor about the fact she was out there. He even asked her if he could borrow some money. So she hit him with the first thing she could find that would do the job, the croquet mallet, and then tossed him into the pool. She had to get his shirt and shorts off, but he had his bathing suit on already. That's what gave her the idea, apparently. Then she just came in: It was before dawn, and there was no one at the desk. She went upstairs, changed into her jogging outfit, picked up Susie, and off they went for a run. There was no time for her to go back to the boat to finish what she'd started, so she just waited for another opportunity.

"I don't think she realized that Briars was actually a scuba diver. Like me, she thought he was just--I know, I'm not supposed to say just--that he was an archaeologist. She would have been very disappointed if he'd died that day, I think. She desperately wanted both Briars and Groves--that's the owner of the Susannah and a competitor of Briars', Ben--to know she was the one wreaking vengeance and why. What she hoped would happen is that Sandy Groves would die, so Peter would know what it meant to have a child killed. Then she planned to go after both Peter and Briars."

"Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?" Ben said. Briars nodded. I expect I looked baffled.

"Latin," Briars explained. "From Virgil's Aeneid. Maybe you know the opening line: Arma virumque cano, of war and a man I sing. The phrase Ben used means "˜Can rage as fierce as this abide in the mind, or soul, of heaven?' or something to that effect. Appropriate, don't you think, given the circumstances, to use a line directed at Juno, mother of the gods, who took such a dislike to Aeneas that she plagued him for many years, among other things changing the winds--multum ille et terris iactatus, much buffeted by land and sea--to send him to the North African shores, and the city of Carthage and a love tryst with Queen Dido, rather than where he was fated to go, that is to Italy to found Rome."

"I love it when I get the perfect Latin phrase for a situation," Ben said.

"I feel bad about Nora," Briars said. "Even if she did try to kill me. The last few hours have felt like an emotional roller coaster. I guess she'll be tried here. I don't know anything about the law regarding murderers. I don't even want to think about it. What happened to her son was such a terrible thing. Her only son. I guess her life fell apart. God knows, mine did, after Mark died, and I wasn't his father. What's really bothering me is that I didn't recognize her, just as she said. I didn't look at her, ever, in court, not directly anyway. I couldn't face either of Mark's parents. I only saw the surface, you know--she was just a shape to me. All she had to do was lose a lot of weight, cut and dye her hair, and change the way she dressed, and I didn't know her. I think somewhere, though, I did have some sense of it. I kept dreaming about Mark. I'd start out dreaming about Ron, but then I'd be back in the water looking for Mark again. I suppose it was my subconscious working away. I should have paid more attention to it."

"I dreamed about it, too," I said. "I was in the tophet, and a child was sacrificed. Unlike in ancient times, if we believe the stories, the mother cried. I guess my subconscious was trying to tell me it was the mother. I just had to figure out who that was."

"We still don't know who set the fire on the Susannah, do we? Any theories on that one?" Ben asked.

"I swear it wasn't me," Briars said.

"I do have a theory," I said. "At first, I thought that it must be someone who didn't want the shipwreck found at all: in other words, one individual who had something to gain by having the wreck stay down there was trying to stop both Briars and Peter. But Nora has confessed to one of these things, and unless Briars here has a secret admirer who is doing his dirty work for him, I can say goodbye to that theory.

"But I have another. I checked out a number of individuals on this tour . . ."

"Including us?" Ben asked.

"Including both of you," I said. "And Star Salvage. I noticed that Star is really good at finding wrecks, and not so good at making any money at it."

"That's true," Briars agreed. "More and more jurisdictions are claiming offshore wrecks as their own, and there are a number of competing interests that are often in conflict."

"Exactly. At some point, and my theory is that it has already begun to happen, investors are going to stay away, in droves, unless they're compulsive gamblers like Curtis Clark."

"Did he invest in Star?" Briars asked indignantly.

I nodded. "A half million dollars of Aziza's money. If it makes you feel any better, Briars, he didn't know the other guy was you. He's not all that bright. He should have stuck to golf."

"Was that a sexist comment?" Ben said. "I think it was."

"Do you two want to hear my theory or not? I've suggested to Ben Osman that he take Groves in for questioning again, not for the tanks but for arson. I think Groves took advantage of a golden opportunity, Briars, one that you and your temper provided. You went down to Sousse, created a big scene that several people witnessed, threatened Groves with who knows what, and then stomped off. Groves needed the insurance money, and I'll bet he set the fire himself. He did it at a time that he thought no one would be on board, but Maggie went back for some reason, and got badly hurt. I think that really rocked him. He'd been drinking heavily when I saw him later at the police station. I thought he was shattered at the loss of his boat and the girl's injuries and because he was a suspect in Ron's murder. I now think it went much further than that: He was feeling guilty about causing Maggie's injuries."

"Interesting idea," Briars said. "I guess we'll have to wait and see about that one."

"But didn't you just say that Curtis gave him a half a million bucks? Why would you think he'd be hurting for money?" Ben asked.

"You saw that boat, Ben? They don't come cheap."

"Lara's right," Briars said. "It could cost as much as twenty-five thousand or more per day to run an operation like that. Aziza's money wouldn't last very long."

"I see. And Kristi?" Ben said. "Do you have a theory on her, too?"

"No," I said. "It's possible she could actually have done herself in. I suppose I can tell you now that Kristi was a blackmailer. She used her reporting skills and the entrée they bought her to find out things about people they wouldn't want anyone else to know, and then tried to extort money from them. I figured she was a sure candidate for murder. I guess I was wrong."

We all sat digesting that for a minute. "So what have you got to show us, Ben?" Briars said. "I hope it's a little more upbeat than what we've been talking about so far."

"Prepare to be cheered up. You have to promise, though, we'll work together. We could co-publish. I've already completed most of what I need. It was to be one of the stories in Past Imperfect. But that doesn't change the fact that with what we know now, and what you can do, it'll be an even bigger story."

"Do you think it's the drugs they've given him, or am I still in shock?" Briars said, turning to me. "I can't understand a word he's saying."

"Me neither," I said.

"Sorry. I'm quite excited about this. It's given me a whole new lease on life, really. As you can probably tell, I'm a little manic at the moment. Even getting stabbed can't spoil my mood. I was depressed about Ed and me. If you knew me, you'd have realized that. I eat when I'm down; the worse the situation, the more I eat. You must have had quite a time keeping enough food within my grasp, Lara." I smiled. "But then, I realized something. And it was so wonderful, it pulled me right out of the funk I've been in."

"I still don't get this," Briars said. "But whatever the doctors have given you, I want some."

"Okay, okay. Without further ado," Ben said, opening the envelope. "Have a look." He pulled out a black-and-white photograph.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a tablet. Black limestone. Beautiful stuff, although it's difficult, I'll grant you, to see that in this picture."

"And these lines? It looks like writing of some kind."

"It is," Ben said. "It's a Punic text, as I'm sure Briars knows. Now you need to understand, Lara, that examples of Punic script are rare. The Phoenicians are credited by some with devising a predecessor alphabet to the Roman alphabet and therefore ours. The Carthaginians would have brought that with them. But there are relatively few examples of their writing still in existence, even in the later Punic period, other than rather stilted ceremonial inscriptions, for example, on the votive stones from the tophet. I found this when I was doing some research in the Louvre many years ago, took a picture of it and then took the photo home. I spent a lot of time trying to translate the tablet, and it didn't make much sense."

"I see Qart Hadasht here," Briars said, pointing to one corner of the picture.

"Yes, you do. But don't try translating it, because, as I finally figured out, it's only half the tablet. It doesn't make sense in and of itself. But then, fast forward twenty years, and in one of those serendipitous occurrences, while I was researching my book, I found the other half in Greece. So, here it is," he said, producing a second photograph. "See, if you put the two photos together--you have to overlap them a little--presto, they fit."

"This is fantastic," Briars said. "Shall I have a go at translating it?"

"Spare yourself the effort," Ben said, handing Briars a sheet of paper. "Here's my translation. You can see it in a minute, Lara."

Briars took the piece of paper and studied it for a moment. "I can do this!" he exclaimed. "Ben, I can find it from this. I can calculate wind speeds about that time of year. We have a fairly good idea how fast those ships could travel. Maybe I could even calculate drift time, and work back from Sousse, and forward from Carthage. Oh, yes, I can find it. And we will co-publish."

"I knew you'd get it right away," Ben said. "I went and looked on your boat, Briars, one evening, without asking your permission. I told Lara I'd apologize to you, and I do. I just wasn't sure, until I saw some of your records, and that lovely sketch you have, that we were running in parallel tracks here."

"Briars may have gotten it right away, but I haven't," I said. "You're going to tell me this is a map to sunken treasure? X marks the spot?"

"It's not a map," Briars said. "It's a plaque, isn't it, Ben? This is a plaque put up by the citizens of Qart Hadasht and the Council of the Hundred and Four, which was probably the magistrature or court in Carthage, to commemorate a good deed done by someone by the name of Carthalon at a time when Qart Hadasht was threatened by Agathocles, the Greek tyrant from Syracuse.

"This Carthalon fellow left Qart Hadasht on a ship which was on some special mission. But the ship was taken over by the forces of evil. The cargo which was to be used to raise an army to support Qart Hadasht, was actually destined for a traitor. I'd guess Bomilcar, wouldn't you, Ben?"

Ben nodded. "That was my assumption, too."

"Something tells me you're going to announce that this is Zoubeeir's ship," I said.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Hedi poked his head in. "Sorry to interrupt. How are you feeling, Ben?"

"Not bad," he said. "The doctors tell me Nora didn't hit anything important, just a surface wound. I guess there are certain advantages to being somewhat rotound. I'm going to miss the desert trip, though."

"I know and I'm sorry. Speaking of that, though, we're almost ready to go, Lara. Everybody is back from the museum and the tour of the old town, the bags are outside, and the four-wheel-drive Land Cruisers are also here. We'll need to get going to make sure we get to the desert in time for the sunset."

"Okay, give us just a few more minutes. I have to hear the end of this story. Okay, you two, is it Zoubeeir's ship?"

"It could be," Briars exulted. "It absolutely could be. Look," he said pointing to the translation. "The ship was carrying a cargo of wine, oil, coins--these might all be in amphorae, or possible pitoi, another kind of terra-cotta container--and, believe it or not, a gold statue of Baal Hammon. Not only that, but this ship went down somewhere north of a place called Hadramaut, probably present-day Sousse. We know Sousse was called Hadrumetum during Roman times, and that's what the Romans regularly did. They took the old place name and Latinized it. So Hadramaut, Hadrumetum, and eventually, Sousse. You know, Ben, if I can find this ship, and the cargo matches the description of the cargo on Carthalon's ship, and if we can date some of the cargo and they come close, we will have dated an ancient shipwreck to within a year or two, probably 308 B.C.E. It's almost impossible to do, but we might just do it. Sorry, Lara, we should explain. Agathocles was threatening Carthage between 310 and 307 B.C.E., and Bomilcar, one of the generals who was supposed to be mounting Carthage's defense, launched a coup d'etat, trying to take over Carthage while it was in this rather delicate position. He was unsuccessful. Got himself executed. But the fact that both Agathocles and a traitor are mentioned in the plaque really narrows the time frame. And if we find the ship mentioned, or something that closely matches the cargo, then we've essentially done the impossible."

"You know your assignment," Ben said. "I'm the desk guy. You find the ship."

"I'm going to do that," Briars said.

"I'd give you a high five, but I hurt too much," Ben said. "Let's just shake hands very carefully."

I was really happy for the two of them, but I couldn't get as excited about it as I probably should have. There were too many loose ends. And there was something bothering me about this discussion, a not quite fully formed thought hovering around the edges of my consciousness.

"So of this cargo, the stuff that's listed here on the plaque, what would you expect to still find, given that over two thousand years have passed, Briars?" Ben asked.

"The silver and copper ingots would probably not be in good shape, unless they got completely buried in a great deal of silt. Anything gold would be fine. Gold is essentially inert. The statue should be okay, although it probably isn't solid gold, so it depends what's under it and how well protected that might be. If the coins were gold, they'd be fine, although if they're small, they might easily have been washed away by currents. Silver and bronze coins would survive only if they were well sealed in the terra cotta. In fact, anything in the terra cotta might do just fine, if well sealed. You never know, we might even be able to drink the dregs of the wine."

The terra-cotta wine jug in Rashid's warehouse! "I hope this doesn't throw a damper on this conversation," I said. "But you remember, Briars, you told me that you thought someone else might have found the ship; that there were artifacts coming on the market that made you suspicious?"

"I do. I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"I saw four large amphorae, and a wine jug that matched the one in the photo you showed me, Briars--the jug Zoubeeir took from the wreck--in Rashid Houari's warehouse the night he died. I'd completely forgotten to tell you about it. I don't know what happened to me."

"Seeing Rashid hanging up there with his puppets might have something to do with it," Ben said.

"Now I'm wondering if Rashid was very carefully placing these things for sale one at a time, so that no one would get really suspicious, or if they did, there wasn't enough of it, to raise a hue and cry."

"What kinds of objects did you see? Just the wine jug and amphorae?"

"No. Gold jewelry, quite a bit of it, an old bronze sword, and a handful of coins."

"This isn't good, Ben," Briars said. "I had a feeling this stuff was leaking onto the market. If a lot of it's gone, then we'll have trouble reconciling the plaque and the wreck." He looked at his watch, and stood up. "We've got to go, Lara. Take care of yourself, Ben. We'll be back in a couple of days to get you and we'll talk about this some more. I'm going to go pick up my bag, and I'll meet you out front, Lara."

"I've got to get going, too, Ben," I said, a few minutes later.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked.

"Sort of," I replied. "You know that feeling when a thought is lurking at the back of your mind, and you keep trying to pull it up and you can't and . . . Coins," I said, rising from my chair. "It's coins. It's Emile. He's been looking for the source of some Carthaginian coins that are destroying his business. Chastity's been following him everywhere. She's in danger."

I raced toward the lobby. Out on the street I could see four Toyota Land Cruisers lined up, engines running, luggage already loaded, the members of our group milling about, and the drivers having a last-minute smoke nearby. I couldn't see either Chastity or Emile. "Hedi," I said, grabbing his arm. "Where's Chastity?"

"She's just on the other side of the driveway, talking to Emile," he said, looking surprised at my tone.

They didn't see me at first. Chastity was crying. "But I love you, Emile," she sobbed. "I won't tell anybody you were there."

Seeing me, Emile grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the first Land Cruiser. "Don't, Emile," I shouted. "Leave her alone."

He had a gun. He opened the back door and pushed her inside. "Get in," he said to me, gesturing toward the front seat, and climbing in the back beside Chastity. "Drive!"

I drove. I gunned it up the hill to the street, looking in the rearview mirror for any sign of Briars. At the main road, I expected Emile to tell me to turn right and head for the airport or possibly the Algerian border, but he ordered me to go left.

We passed a policeman on the outskirts of town, but I was going the speed limit, and he just waved us through. We looped down an old road, and then hit a causeway that stretched straight as an arrow ahead of us.

"Keep going," Emile said. "Drive as fast as you can, but watch out for police. If you get stopped, she's dead." Chastity whimpered.

We were on the Chott el-Jerid, I was reasonably certain, a landlocked and dry salt lake. To either side of us was an arid landscape with shimmering sands but very little water. Small pyramids of salt were piled on either side of the raised roadway which, if memory served me correctly, stretched almost sixty miles across the Chott. In places the salty crust had broken through to reveal a little water beneath the surface, sometimes green, sometimes pink, a mirage of sorts. The landscape was painfully bright as the sun caught the salt crystals in the soil. I reached across the front seat for my bag.

"What are you doing?" Emile barked from the back seat.

"I need my sunglasses," I said.

"Get them from her bag," Emile said to Chastity, who fumbled nervously with the clasp before finding them for me.

I checked the rearview mirror. Way back, there was a plume of dust. Other than that, there was nothing. From time to time, a tent or two would break the otherwise uniform vistas, and to the north and east the thin brown line of the Jebel El Asker, the El Asker mountains, could be seen through the haze.

We stopped at a Berber tent at the roadside to get water. "Don't even think about calling for help," Emile said. We didn't get out of the car. In a minute or two we were on our way again. The plume of dust stayed with us, a little closer, I thought, or perhaps I was only willing it to be so. Let it be Briars, the police, help, I prayed. I tried letting up on the gas pedal just slightly, hoping Emile wouldn't notice.

"Step on it," he snarled.

At the far end of the causeway, we swept through Kebili, stopping just once to get gas. Emile kept the gun out of sight, but there was no way for me to signal the attendant at the gas station. I just hoped, by some miracle, that someone was following us, would find this gas station, and the man would remember the woman driver with the nattily attired European and the girl in the back. A long shot, I knew, but hope was all there was.

I had no idea where we were going. Logically, if I remembered the map I'd studied the day before, we would head northeast from here, up to Gafsa, and then on to much better roads, which would take us to international airports in Monastir or even Tunis. But it looked to me as if we were angling south to Douz. Why he would do this, I didn't know. It seemed to me that south of Douz there was nothing but sand.

The road out of Douz got progressively worse, broken pavement, really, with dunes to either side. From time to time I had to weave my way through sand that had blown across the road. I could taste sand in my mouth, and my skin had a grittiness to it that seemed to mirror the grating of my nerves. The road, with its curves and rises, made it impossible to see if anyone was behind us. Occasionally I thought I saw an oasis, but I wasn't certain. The light was playing tricks on me.

Soon even scattered houses and reed huts were few and far between. It was like being at the edge of the world. The dying sun touched the dunes, turning them first golden, then pink, then the most extraordinary shade of red, shot through with yellow. It was almost as if the desert were in flames, or had been changed to molten lava that undulated like the sea. It seemed a cruel quirk of fate that such a dangerous, no desperate, situation could play out against a landscape so impossibly beautiful.

How do people survive out here, how do they find their way, I wondered, in a place that looks the same everywhere, yet is always changing, the dunes shaping and reshaping themselves with the wind and the shadows, and where the eyes play tricks on the brain? Were there markers that those with eyes like mine, formed by a different climate, couldn't see? I knew in this desolate place we could not survive on our own. Even if I wanted to leave the Toyota, there was no way I could. Chastity and I were as good as dead on our own.

"Where are we going, Emile?" I said.

"Just drive," he said.

Night was falling, and I switched on the headlights. "Turn those off," he ordered.

"I can't drive in the dark," I said. "The road is terrible. Where are we going?"

"Libya," he said. Chastity started to cry. "Quiet!" he ordered. She gave one last snuffle and was silent.

"Isn't there a highway to the Libyan border?" I asked.

"There is, but they'll be looking for me there by now," he said. "Just drive."

At the top of a hill, I thought I caught a glimpse of headlights behind me in the dusk. Emile looked back over his shoulder, and I think he saw them, too. The fading light was playing tricks, but I hoped the headlights were real, because it would have to be help. Nobody would be out driving in this just for fun.

We crested another small hill, and the road just vanished. I hit the sand so hard that if we hadn't been wearing seat belts, we'd all have been hurt. I wrestled with the wheel, but I had no experience with this kind of terrain, and the truck slid into the sand and came to a halt. Ahead was a mountain of sand.

"I hate this godforsaken country," Emile shouted. The man was coming unhinged. "Get out," he said. "Start digging."

Two men materialized over the sandy slopes, and came to our aid. "Careful," Emile warned as they approached. In a few minutes, the Toyota was back on the road, and one of the men pointed out the best way around the sand.

"Storm coming," he said to us. "Take shelter."

I looked around. Storm? The sky was clear, and the first stars were coming out. But these men were nomads, Mrazig, and they should know. Did it rain in the desert?

We drove on a little farther, but it became evident that we would have to stop for a few hours at least. There was no more sign of the headlights. We hunkered down in the car to wait out the night. Despite her fear, Chastity dozed off reasonably quickly. I couldn't sleep. I looked through the windshield at the stars. There were millions of them, more than I'd ever seen, and they were close: You could delude yourself that with a very tall ladder you would be able to touch them. They stretched to the horizon in every direction. I watched them for a long time, trying to think how to get Chastity and me away from Emile, but the stars didn't say.

At some point in the night, I realized that to one side of us the stars were gone. Clouds, maybe, I didn't know. Just before dawn, I drifted into troubled sleep.

It started with just a hissing sound, millions of tiny needles blasting the outside of the car. In a minute, sand began seeping in through every crack. "What's happening?" Chastity said, wrenched awake by the sound. "Where am I?"

"Sandstorm," Emile replied. "Shut the vents and windows!" The hissing became more insistent, and the Toyota rocked gently. I had never heard sounds like this before, and I felt almost lost, a tiny molecule cut off from any contact with the outside world.

"God, I hate this place," Emile said.

"Then why did you come here?" I snapped. Heaven knows, we could have done with one less murderer on the tour.

"This place ruined my life!" he said. "My father was a good man. He didn't deserve what happened to him. Tunisia could have been independent without destroying him and my family."

"I expect essentially good people do get caught up in these waves of history, Emile. But your family, whether you like it or not, was part of an imperialist force. Your country took the land from its owners in the first place, part of the spoils of war and empire. I understand how you feel about what happened to your family. I'm not sure I can say the same about what you're doing now."

"No," he said very quietly. "Once you start, you just keep getting in deeper and deeper."

"I don't think I want to know this, Emile," I said. The less he thought Chastity and I knew, the better, although Chastity obviously had seen something he wouldn't want her talking about.

"Gold coins. Roman, Greek, even Carthaginian. You name it. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. I don't know where they found them. I tried to make him tell me.

"Rashid Houari," he said. "He was an imbecile. Anybody who knows anything about the market would know what to do with a hoard of coins. All I needed was a little time, you know. If I could have found the source, I could have done something about it, controlled their release, just hung on to them for a little while until I'd sold the business."

He paused for a moment. "That bitch figured it out though, didn't she? She tried to blackmail me. Told me what I was planning was fraud. She knew I was about to go bankrupt again, and she'd keep quiet for a price to give me time to try to recover. I don't know how she knew."

"She probably did the same thing I did. Traced the plummeting prices of coins on your own Web site. So you went to see her, slipped some barbituates into her gin, waited until she dozed off, doused the bed with lighter fluid, and then lit a match. Did I get that about right?"

"Pretty much," he said.

"So what are you going to do when we get to the border?" I said.

"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe I'll shoot you both. Maybe I'll just leave you there to fend for yourselves. I'll think about it."

Either way we'd be dead.

I realized there was now no sound, save our breathing. "Is the storm over?" I said.

"I guess so," he said. "Let's get out and see." I tried the door. It wouldn't budge. We were buried, entombed, in sand.

Chastity started to scream. "Let me out, let me out!" She tried sliding the back door open.

"Stop!" Emile said. "We'll suffocate in sand if you open that."

Chastity sobbed uncontrollably. "For God's sake, Emile, let her climb into the front seat with me." He signaled her to move. I put my arm around her, and put my mouth to her ear. "Help's coming," I whispered to her.

"I know," she said. Oh, the self-delusion of which we are capable.

The air got worse and worse. Chastity's head fell on my shoulder.

"I should kill both of you," Emile said. "There'd be more air for me."

"To prolong the agony?" I gasped. He said nothing, but he didn't pull the trigger.

I came to at the sound of smashing glass and the rush of fresh air.

Hedi stood outside the car, a jack in his hand, Marlene and Briars behind him. About fifty yards back was another Land Cruiser. "Get out," he said. "Fast." The three of us tumbled from the car.

"He has a gun," I said, quite unnecessarily. Emile had recovered quickly and was pointing it at Chastity.

"Don't come near me," Emile said. "I'll shoot. I mean it."

"Mummy!" Chastity sobbed.

"Take me instead," Marlene cried. "Don't hurt my baby. I'll go with you, Emile. Please let her go."

"What are you going to do, Emile?" Briars said. "Kill all five of us? It's over."

"The Libyan border is just a few miles over there," Hedi said pointing. "We take Chastity and Lara back with us, and you go wherever you like. We won't be in Douz for several hours. By then you can be across the border."

Myriad emotions played themselves out across Emile's face. "You have a cell phone," he said.

Hedi took it out of his pocket and threw it on the ground. "Take it," he said.

Emile stared at it for a moment, then back at us. "Look at this," he said, waving his free arm about him. "Nothing. Sand. Scrub. A thin line of green along the coast. Yet, it has betrayed me, time and time again, wiped out years of hard work just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "I'm taking your car," he said at last. "All of you, stay back."

He walked backward, watching us, until he reached the Land Cruiser, put it in gear, and pulled away. We never took our eyes off the car, hardly even breathed, until it disappeared.

"I knew you'd come," Chastity said, hugging her mother.

"Me, too," I said. "What do we do now? Start digging?"

It took us about an hour to get the stranded Toyota completely uncovered. Hedi got in and turned the key. We all cheered when it started.

"Hedi," I said as he drove, somehow finding traces of a road I couldn't see. "I must have gotten turned around out here in all this sand. I thought the Libyan border would be over there." I pointed at right angles to where Hedi had directed Emile.

"It is," he said in a voice so low I could barely hear him. "The desert has a way of taking care of matters like this."

14

"W E ARE GATHERED here today to honor Carthalon, citizen of Qart Hadasht," the old statesman said. "For his services to our great city. Were it not for his warning, our city might have fallen into the hands of Bomilcar, a man who held our trust, and who abused it for personal gain. He will pay with his life for what he did, death by crucifixion in the public square.

"But that is not why we are here today. Today, the Council of the Hundred and Four dedicates our magnificent new sea gate to our wise young friend, Carthalon. A plaque which is being prepared by our best artisans will be placed here, to remind us daily of what we owe him. Carthalon has asked that the tablet also contain the name of Hasdrubal, a most honorable man, who gave his life in the service of Qart Hadasht."

"Here, here," several people cried.

"We honor your request, Carthalon," the statesman said. "Hasdrubal's name, too, shall be on this plaque, along with the story of what you both accomplished.

"There still remains one question, does there not?" the statesman said to Carthalon after the crowd had dispersed.

"There are many," Carthalon said. "But I assume you are wondering who killed Abdelmelqart and Baalhanno."

"I am. Did they meet their deaths as pawns or participants in this tawdry plot to take over the city?"

"Ah," Carthalon replied. "That we may never know for certain, although I can tell you what I believe to have happened. Hasdrubal taught me that on balance there are really only two motives for the taking of another life: greed and love. I've thought a lot about that, and have tried to understand the meaning behind what I saw take place on that ship. As tempting as it is to attribute all that happened to the work of one man, or at least that both deaths were as a result of the plot against Qart Hadasht, I believe that the victims lost their lives at the hands of different people, and for different reasons. Baalhanno died because of greed, both his own, and that of the others. He was the man who watched everything, and then tried to gain advantage from it. He accosted Gisco and told him all that he had seen, and asked to be a part of it, threatening to expose him if he did not agree. Gisco saw to it that Baalhanno would never reveal the plot, nor share in the wealth. Mago, I would guess, was the one who shoved Baalhanno over the side, at Gisco's behest. Gisco will meet his fate along with Bomilcar."

"And Abdelmelqart?"

"Hasdrubal found evidence that the cedar box containing the statue of the ancient baal had been tampered with; that is, an attempt had been made to pry it open, either by Abdelmelqart himself, who was on watch that night, or by someone else whom Abdelmelqart caught in the act. Both Hasdrubal and I thought this meant his death was linked to the plot. However, now I am not certain of this. It was early in the voyage, the crew was well aware the cargo was a rich one, and they were being exceedingly well paid to undertake the trip. Did it matter if Abdelmelqart saw the statue? Probably not. He was generally respected by the rest of the crew, and while I am uncertain of the intentions of Gisco and the others for the end of the voyage, with bad weather coming, all hands were needed on the ship. I concluded that in that matter, at least, Mago was a thief, but not the killer.

"This way of thinking made me look for another motive: love, or perhaps the death of love. Hasdrubal knew Malchus to be Abdelmelqart's rival for the hand of Bodastart. I believe Malchus was the kind of person in whom this rejection and loss would fester. Hasdrubal told me that Abdelmelqart had objected to Malchus's presence on the journey, that he felt the man had never reconciled himself to what had happened. Malchus, in my estimation, rather than getting on with his life, instead preferred to plot his revenge. He simply saw an opportunity, finally, signed up for the same voyage as his rival, and took advantage of a moment when Abdelmelqart was alone."

"And that is the end of it?"

"Mago and Malchus were both swept overboard. That much I know. Neither has been seen in Qart Hadasht since. Perhaps it is safe to assume that the sea has prevailed in this matter."

I NEVER SAW Emile again. I have no idea whether he got his bearings and made his way into Libya or not. He had bank accounts in several places. All were seized. There wasn't much money in them. Either he was broke, or he had already made plans to get away and is living the good life, somewhere far from home. Sometimes in my dreams I see his bleached bones, stark against the desert landscape. At other times he's in a tropical paradise surrounded by women who dote on him.

Nora languishes in what I am sure is a dreadful prison, awaiting her sentence. Peter Groves, convicted of arson, is luckier. He is serving out his sentence in a U.S. jail.

On a more positive note, Susie and Cliff, I'm told, are conducting their romance via long distance, and Cliff is giving Aziza advice on her money. She and Curtis are still together, which I can only assume means he got help.

More important, perhaps, Aziza has told all about her problems as a young model. She's started a program for young people in that profession to help them avoid what happened to her. The company she thought would throw her out on her fanny so fast we wouldn't see her go by--to use her expression--is a sponsor. I admire her courage greatly.

I got the puppets, eventually, and Clive and I were the hit of the housewarming party in Rosedale.

And while the trip to the desert for the McClintoch Swain tour was inevitably cut short by unforeseen events, they all did see the sun go down over the dunes, something I believe everyone should have the opportunity to do at least once in their lives. Some of them even said they'd sign on for the next MS trip wherever it was going, which just goes to prove something. I have no idea what.

It was a great relief to put my charges onto their various flights back home, and to have a couple of days and the flight over the Atlantic to sort out my thoughts. One of the things I was going to have to decide, unless it had already been decided for me, was what I was going to do about any future relationship with Rob. Briars, stunned by all that had happened, called his wife, Emily, when we got back to Taberda. She told him she'd be on the next plane. She's a very nice woman, and I think they'll be okay. What struck me was that the relationship wasn't perfect, but they were better together than apart.

Rob and I bicker a lot, and we disagree about many things, which I suppose makes us pretty much like every other couple on the planet. I think he sees the world in black and white, he thinks I worry too much about all the shades of gray. On the fundamentals, though, I think we concur right down the line. Maybe that's as good as it gets. I decided that when I got home, I was going to send his new woman, whoever she was, packing.

Rob, Clive, and Moira met me at the airport. Rob was holding the biggest bunch of flowers I'd ever seen. I took that as a sign he'd reached the same conclusion about our relationship as I had.

"I guess you're kind of annoyed with me," Clive said.

"Maybe a little," I conceded.

"We put everything in the store back just the way it was when you left," he said. Moira nodded.

"That's good," I said.

"Still mad?" he asked. I said nothing. "I guess that was a yes," he said. "Okay, go ahead. Get if off your chest. Say it. If I ever have another one of these brilliant ideas, I can do it myself. I know. But I'd like to say something in my defense. It's not as bad as you think. First Class has asked Aziza to write up the tour. She called the minute she got home and found their message. She said you're to let her know if it's okay with you, and if it is, she says you can rest assured her article will be very positive. We're going to be okay here, Lara."

Some days, despite all efforts to tell myself I shouldn't feel this way, I'm convinced I'm dancing on Kristi Ellingham's grave.