around the room. “Was anything stolen?”
“Maybe you can better answer that,” Gray said, hoping she could help. “I noticed that there seems to be a coin conspicuously missing from the table here.”
“What?” She hurried over, abandoning any hesitation. With one look at the table, her expression fell into a forlorn look. “Oh, no…we had the collection on loan from the Delphi museum.”
Delphi again.
She glanced to the carved dome of rock, the one that seemed to have attracted Polk’s attention. It may have been because Kowalski was leaning on it. “Please don’t touch that.”
Kowalski straightened. He looked at his palm, as if it were to blame. He had the decency to blush around the collar. “Sorry.”
“May I ask what that is?” Gray said casually, nodding to the stone.
Her hands wrung together with worry. “The prize of the collection. For the upcoming exhibit. Thank God, it wasn’t vandalized by the thieves.” She circled it to be sure. “It’s over sixteen hundred years old.”
“But what is it?” Gray pressed.
“It’s called an omphalos. Which roughly translates as “navel.” In ancient Greece, the omphalos was considered to be the point around which the universe turned. There are many mythologies and stories associated with the omphalos, great powers attributed to it.”
“And how did you acquire it?”
She nodded to the table. “It came from the same collection as the rest. On loan from the museum at Delphi.”
“Delphi? Where the Oracle of Delphi had her temple?”
She glanced toward Gray, her expression surprised. “That’s right. The omphalos graced the inner sanctum of the temple. Its most holy chamber.”
“And this is that stone.”
“No. Sadly it’s only a replica. Until just recently, everyone thought this was the original omphalos, as described in the ancient histories of Plutarch and Socrates. But the sisterhood of Delphic oracles goes back three millennia, and this stone has been dated to half that age.”
“What happened to the original?”
“Lost to history. No one knows.”
She straightened and strode over to a smock hung on a peg by the door. Donning it, she removed her museum identification tag from her shirt and fixed it to the smock.
It was only then that Gray noted the tag. It bore her picture and her name beneath it.
POLK, E.
“Polk…,” he read aloud.
“Dr. Elizabeth Polk,” she said.
A tingle of misgiving iced through Gray. He suddenly knew why the professor had come here. “By any chance do you know an Archibald Polk?”
She fixed him with a more solid stare. “My father? Why?”
3
September 5, 7:22 P.M.
Washington, D.C.
“Dead?”
Gray sat on the edge of the desk in the museum’s storage room. He knew the pain of what he had to tell her. Elizabeth Polk slumped in the chair, collapsed within her lab coat. There were no tears. Shock locked them away, but she took off her slim eyeglasses, as if readying herself.
“I heard about the shooting on the Mall,” she mumbled. “But I never thought…” She shook her head. “I’ve been in the cellars here all day.”
Where there was no cell phone reception, Gray noted silently. Painter had mentioned trying to reach Polk’s daughter. And she was right across the Mall the entire time.
“I’m sorry to press you on this, Elizabeth,” he said, “but when did you last see your father?”
She swallowed hard, starting to lose control. Her voice quavered. “I…I’m not sure. A year ago. We had a falling-out. Oh, God, what I said to him…” She placed a hand on her forehead.
Gray read the regret and pain in her eyes. “I’m sure he knew you loved him.”
Her eyes flashed to him, going harder. “Thank you for your words. But you didn’t know him, did you?”
Gray sensed the tough core hidden behind that mousy, bookish exterior. He faced her anger, knowing it was directed inward rather than at him.Kowalski had retreated to the far side of the room, plainly
“Maybe you can better answer that,” Gray said, hoping she could help. “I noticed that there seems to be a coin conspicuously missing from the table here.”
“What?” She hurried over, abandoning any hesitation. With one look at the table, her expression fell into a forlorn look. “Oh, no…we had the collection on loan from the Delphi museum.”
Delphi again.
She glanced to the carved dome of rock, the one that seemed to have attracted Polk’s attention. It may have been because Kowalski was leaning on it. “Please don’t touch that.”
Kowalski straightened. He looked at his palm, as if it were to blame. He had the decency to blush around the collar. “Sorry.”
“May I ask what that is?” Gray said casually, nodding to the stone.
Her hands wrung together with worry. “The prize of the collection. For the upcoming exhibit. Thank God, it wasn’t vandalized by the thieves.” She circled it to be sure. “It’s over sixteen hundred years old.”
“But what is it?” Gray pressed.
“It’s called an omphalos. Which roughly translates as “navel.” In ancient Greece, the omphalos was considered to be the point around which the universe turned. There are many mythologies and stories associated with the omphalos, great powers attributed to it.”
“And how did you acquire it?”
She nodded to the table. “It came from the same collection as the rest. On loan from the museum at Delphi.”
“Delphi? Where the Oracle of Delphi had her temple?”
She glanced toward Gray, her expression surprised. “That’s right. The omphalos graced the inner sanctum of the temple. Its most holy chamber.”
“And this is that stone.”
“No. Sadly it’s only a replica. Until just recently, everyone thought this was the original omphalos, as described in the ancient histories of Plutarch and Socrates. But the sisterhood of Delphic oracles goes back three millennia, and this stone has been dated to half that age.”
“What happened to the original?”
“Lost to history. No one knows.”
She straightened and strode over to a smock hung on a peg by the door. Donning it, she removed her museum identification tag from her shirt and fixed it to the smock.
It was only then that Gray noted the tag. It bore her picture and her name beneath it.
POLK, E.
“Polk…,” he read aloud.
“Dr. Elizabeth Polk,” she said.
A tingle of misgiving iced through Gray. He suddenly knew why the professor had come here. “By any chance do you know an Archibald Polk?”
She fixed him with a more solid stare. “My father? Why?”
3
September 5, 7:22 P.M.
Washington, D.C.
“Dead?”
Gray sat on the edge of the desk in the museum’s storage room. He knew the pain of what he had to tell her. Elizabeth Polk slumped in the chair, collapsed within her lab coat. There were no tears. Shock locked them away, but she took off her slim eyeglasses, as if readying herself.
“I heard about the shooting on the Mall,” she mumbled. “But I never thought…” She shook her head. “I’ve been in the cellars here all day.”
Where there was no cell phone reception, Gray noted silently. Painter had mentioned trying to reach Polk’s daughter. And she was right across the Mall the entire time.
“I’m sorry to press you on this, Elizabeth,” he said, “but when did you last see your father?”
She swallowed hard, starting to lose control. Her voice quavered. “I…I’m not sure. A year ago. We had a falling-out. Oh, God, what I said to him…” She placed a hand on her forehead.
Gray read the regret and pain in her eyes. “I’m sure he knew you loved him.”
Her eyes flashed to him, going harder. “Thank you for your words. But you didn’t know him, did you?”
Gray sensed the tough core hidden behind that mousy, bookish exterior. He faced her anger, knowing it was directed inward rather than at him.Kowalski had retreated to the far side of the room, plainly
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