The Eden Prophecy

CHAPTER 24

An hour after dusk, Danielle stepped out of the silver Mercedes SUV and into the geographic center of Beirut. Ahead of her was a building that had been bombed, shot to pieces, flooded, and then had become a home of refugees and wildlife during the decades of sorrow. It was now reclaimed and fully restored. The National Museum.

Next to the museum a nascent hospital sprouted on one side, while the other side was home to the new government library, also freshly reconstructed. Its façade was a mix of old stone walls and modern tinted glass. All three buildings looked spectacular lit up for the night and fitted out for a ball.

Security was heavy. Cameras, bomb-sniffing dogs, and Lebanese soldiers with rifles seemed to be everywhere.

The valet drove the SUV away and Danielle stepped forward. Lights, music, and a red carpet beckoned. She climbed the stairs in a charcoal-colored gown of smooth, shimmering material. It flowed smoothly as she moved and accentuated her tan skin.

Najir and his bodyguards flanked her, each of them in a tuxedo.

It almost made her laugh. During her early years with the NRI, she and Moore had attended many functions, conferences, and charity balls. You went where the contacts were, and in the high-tech world of industrial espionage, that meant following the money, the investors, the inventors.

For years her closet had been filled with gowns like the one she now wore. And then a funny thing had happened. Beginning with the Brazil project, Danielle had traded in her cocktail dresses and makeup for boots and mosquito repellent.

The mission to Brazil took them deep into the heart of the Amazon. Later it was Mexico, from the Gulf Coast through the jungle to the mountains. The fanciest outfit she’d worn was a simple cotton dress, and that had been borrowed. Most of the time it was cargo pants, T-shirts, and backpacks. Despite the stares from the men around her, Danielle felt a little awkward dressed to kill once again. A square peg in a round hole somehow.

It made her wonder how Hawker was faring. If she felt out of place, she wondered how he could possibly hope to pull off an upscale event like the one in Dubai.

She hadn’t been told what his cover was. Perhaps he’d sneak in as part of the waitstaff, with caterers or the cleaning crew.

Listen to me, she thought. In truth, she guessed he’d clean up pretty good and felt a slight pang of jealousy at not being there to see it, especially while an old flame of his would apparently get the full treatment.

She put the thought aside and focused on the moment.

“You’re rebuilding quite well,” she said.

“We’re always rebuilding,” Najir said. “We must find a way to stop tearing down.”

She smiled and noticed the Phoenician Builder logo in half a dozen places where the reconstruction was ongoing. “It’s a good business to be in around here.”

“We make no money off this one,” Najir insisted. “We are rebuilding the hospital and the wealthy families here are paying thousands to have their names attached to it. This party is a celebration. While it goes on above, we will be met and taken to a separate area, where some of the patrons will be given a chance to bid on the artwork.”

“And that part’s not for charity,” she guessed.

“Not unless you consider Swiss bank accounts charity.”

“Do you know what we’re bidding on?”

“I have talked to some people,” he said. “Bashir has several items here for sale, early Mesopotamian art.”

“I’m not interested in what he was selling,” she said.

Najir nodded. “Except it’s believed he is selling them to raise funds for the one he wants to buy.”

“Which is?”

“The main item in the second lot. It’s labeled ‘Copper Scroll — Proto Elamite.’ Originally it was offered with a carving of Gilgamesh, the famous king of that period. But now they are separate.”

The names meant nothing to Danielle, and by the look on Najir’s face, they meant nothing to him. She suddenly wished she had an expert with her. Still, she was glad the one person who came to mind was somewhere else, safe and sound.

“And if I need to buy?”

He glanced over at her. “Ranga Milan is dead, you say?”

She nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. “You said you didn’t know him.”

“An oversight,” Najir said.

Danielle couldn’t tell if he was lying or speaking the truth.

“I did not remember him,” her host insisted. “I met him twice. Bashir introduced him to me a year ago and I introduced him to these people. As I told you, they know me. You cannot just arrive at an auction like this and bid. You have to be vetted first and prove your ability to pay. Mr. Milan needed an account they could access. I set one up for him.”

Something told her Najir had his hands in all kinds of business dealings.

“You’re some kind of middleman in this?”

“I am trusted,” he said, “by all sides. It has its rewards.”

“You take a cut,” she guessed.

“If you bring in a bidder, you take a percentage of what that person pays.”

“Incentive to find others and bring them to the table,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said. “For tonight, I have set up an account and indicated that you are here to bid on Ranga’s behalf.”

Anger flashed through her. It made sense, but she resented such a move being made on her behalf.

“That makes me a target,” she said.

“Aren’t you already?”

“Of course I am.” That’s why she carried a Kahr P380 pistol in her purse and a small carbon-fiber knife in the heel of her shoe.

“And you are also dangerous,” Najir added, smiling and playing to her ego.

“More than you know,” she promised.

“Then you will be fine.”

She nodded. She intended to be. “Ask next time,” she said.

“Of course,” he said, nodding in a slight bow. “You have my word.”

She and Najir spent a little over an hour at the reception before a tall, thin man tapped him on the shoulder. He whispered something and moved off. Najir offered his arm to Danielle.

“We are to follow,” he said.

They crossed the room, avoiding any obvious places to hold an auction and taking a rear stairwell that led to an old gated freight elevator.

Danielle eyed the mechanical cage suspiciously.

“In there?”

“The auction is down below,” Najir assured her.

Moore had said she’d be going underground, and Najir had indicated they would be bidding on items from somewhere beneath the ballroom, but considering the way they were dressed, Danielle had assumed it would be a lower level of the museum or library.

Half her instincts nagged at her to turn away, to beg off and ask if there was another way down, or decline completely. But the rest of her thoughts focused on what was still at stake, the fact that she had her own weapon, and the fact that she was very dangerous if she needed to be.

She pulled free from Najir’s arm and waved a hand toward the cage.

“After you.”

He stepped onto the elevator, Danielle followed, and the thin man climbed in last and pulled the gate shut. He pressed the button and the bulky mechanics of the elevator clanked to life.

The car released with a jolt and began dropping into the darkness.