duffel bag, spread it on the hardwood floor, and lay down on it while removing his right glove.
“So just touch it to the back of my hand and then remove it a bit later.”
Meier knelt beside him and smiled. “Five seconds later.”
“Five seconds? C’mon, that’s ridiculous! It takes longer than that just to enter the imprint.”
“Ten seconds,” Meier offered.
Matt rolled his eyes and rested his head back on the sheet, then gave the nod to proceed. Meier pressed the edge of the coin lightly against the back of Matt’s hand and looked at his watch. Ten seconds later, he lifted the coin, and Matt calmly opened his eyes and sat up.
“I want a private jet. I’m not riding a commercial plane all that way.”
“Already arranged by Peter Sharma. So what did you see?”
“None of your business. Just put my coin back in the safe and leave it there till I get back.”
“Very well, but it will have to be returned to me after a week—it isn’t ‘your’ coin. Tuni has all your instructions: where to go, whom to meet, et cetera. She’ll be accompanying you.”
Matt kept his poker face, though this really was quite a pleasant prospect.
Outside the door, Tuni stood waiting, arms crossed. She raised a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow. “So, are we traveling, Matthew?”
There was that “ Mattyew ” again—he loved it.
“We are. I hope you’re getting paid something extra for this. I mean, aren’t you just the admin or whatever?”
She gave him a frosty look. “I am the operations assistant. And my only added reward is to be the pleasure of your youthful company.” They began walking to the staff garage.
“Youthful? You can’t be much older than me!”
“I am six years your senior, young man,” she said over her shoulder.
“Wow. To see what you’ve seen in all that time…” He inhaled the light perfume trailing behind her. Subtle.
“Throw your bag in the boot,” she said as the trunk of a white BMW 328i popped open on their approach.
Her car was a few years old, but immaculate as if it had just come off the showroom floor. Even her suitcase, already stowed in the trunk, appeared brand-new. As they drove, he listened to the hypnotic beat music on the stereo and stared out the window at the passing buildings and people. It was nice. He felt as if he were in a bubble of safe and clean.
8
P ETER S HARMA HUNG UP THE PHONE and clapped his hands together. Maggie Gwynne, the director of paleontology, looked up from her desk with a start.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Meier has the expert on the jet. He’ll be in Nairobi tomorrow morning.”
“Well, that’s good news.” She made a little frown. “Now, remind me—why do we trust this expert’s opinion more than the potassium-argon results?”
“He has… um, special insights into this sort of investigation. Do you recall the Tarkhan papyrus? He was the one who pointed the field team to the adjacent tomb’s location, where the remaining sheets were found.”
“And how, pray tell, did he manage that?” she said after taking a noisier-than-intended slurp of tea.
“Can’t say. But he’s the only one who can confirm its age.”
Peter Sharma stood up and stretched his thin legs. Maggie, who was married, liked his lanky physique, though the butt was a bit flat. She also enjoyed the softness of his well-proportioned face and pale green eyes. Of course, the most attractive thing about him was his brain. He was the first Indian director, and the youngest by far, in the Museum Group’s history. There didn’t appear to be anything he didn’t know. If only he were twenty years older…
Peter picked up his phone again and dialed Garrett Rheese’s satellite number.
“Sharma?” came the abrupt answer.
“Dr. Rheese, I have good news. You’ll have the expert on-site tomorrow morning.”
“Smashing.” Rheese said drily. “And how long must I wait for this expert before we can pack it up here and move on to my next
“So just touch it to the back of my hand and then remove it a bit later.”
Meier knelt beside him and smiled. “Five seconds later.”
“Five seconds? C’mon, that’s ridiculous! It takes longer than that just to enter the imprint.”
“Ten seconds,” Meier offered.
Matt rolled his eyes and rested his head back on the sheet, then gave the nod to proceed. Meier pressed the edge of the coin lightly against the back of Matt’s hand and looked at his watch. Ten seconds later, he lifted the coin, and Matt calmly opened his eyes and sat up.
“I want a private jet. I’m not riding a commercial plane all that way.”
“Already arranged by Peter Sharma. So what did you see?”
“None of your business. Just put my coin back in the safe and leave it there till I get back.”
“Very well, but it will have to be returned to me after a week—it isn’t ‘your’ coin. Tuni has all your instructions: where to go, whom to meet, et cetera. She’ll be accompanying you.”
Matt kept his poker face, though this really was quite a pleasant prospect.
Outside the door, Tuni stood waiting, arms crossed. She raised a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow. “So, are we traveling, Matthew?”
There was that “ Mattyew ” again—he loved it.
“We are. I hope you’re getting paid something extra for this. I mean, aren’t you just the admin or whatever?”
She gave him a frosty look. “I am the operations assistant. And my only added reward is to be the pleasure of your youthful company.” They began walking to the staff garage.
“Youthful? You can’t be much older than me!”
“I am six years your senior, young man,” she said over her shoulder.
“Wow. To see what you’ve seen in all that time…” He inhaled the light perfume trailing behind her. Subtle.
“Throw your bag in the boot,” she said as the trunk of a white BMW 328i popped open on their approach.
Her car was a few years old, but immaculate as if it had just come off the showroom floor. Even her suitcase, already stowed in the trunk, appeared brand-new. As they drove, he listened to the hypnotic beat music on the stereo and stared out the window at the passing buildings and people. It was nice. He felt as if he were in a bubble of safe and clean.
8
P ETER S HARMA HUNG UP THE PHONE and clapped his hands together. Maggie Gwynne, the director of paleontology, looked up from her desk with a start.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Meier has the expert on the jet. He’ll be in Nairobi tomorrow morning.”
“Well, that’s good news.” She made a little frown. “Now, remind me—why do we trust this expert’s opinion more than the potassium-argon results?”
“He has… um, special insights into this sort of investigation. Do you recall the Tarkhan papyrus? He was the one who pointed the field team to the adjacent tomb’s location, where the remaining sheets were found.”
“And how, pray tell, did he manage that?” she said after taking a noisier-than-intended slurp of tea.
“Can’t say. But he’s the only one who can confirm its age.”
Peter Sharma stood up and stretched his thin legs. Maggie, who was married, liked his lanky physique, though the butt was a bit flat. She also enjoyed the softness of his well-proportioned face and pale green eyes. Of course, the most attractive thing about him was his brain. He was the first Indian director, and the youngest by far, in the Museum Group’s history. There didn’t appear to be anything he didn’t know. If only he were twenty years older…
Peter picked up his phone again and dialed Garrett Rheese’s satellite number.
“Sharma?” came the abrupt answer.
“Dr. Rheese, I have good news. You’ll have the expert on-site tomorrow morning.”
“Smashing.” Rheese said drily. “And how long must I wait for this expert before we can pack it up here and move on to my next
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