Chapter Four
Steven Kilchester was a balding fifty-three-year-old man with a passion for bow ties, fun socks, clocks, and watches. He smiled when Gabriela approached the small pub table and sat across from him.
“Nice to see you again,” he said. “Are you on holiday?”
Gabriela had chosen a pub that was a block from the museum. It had a small outdoor seating area that was quiet enough to have a conversation. Plus, the fish and chips were perfection.
Gabriela glanced at the menu. “Actually, I’m here on business.”
Kilchester leaned forward a little. “I suspected.”
“I know about the Rosetta Stone,” Gabriela said.
“Disaster,” Kilchester whispered. “Total disaster. Crushing disaster. Are you here to find it?”
“I’ve been hired by an individual who has a strong connection to the stone and wants to make sure it’s returned to the museum. This is very confidential. This person doesn’t want notoriety.”
“Of course,” Kilchester said. “I understand completely. And it’s been very hushed here. There are only a handful of us who know the real story. It’s confined to the board, the director, and the curators who are directly involved with the stone.”
“None of those people would be you,” Gabriela said.
“No, of course not,” Kilchester said. “I’m on an entirely different floor, but I hear things.”
This was why Gabriela had invited him to lunch. Steven Kilchester always knew everything. And he could be counted on to pass along anything that he heard whether it was true or not.
“I have the police reports, and I’m familiar with Room Four and the security protocols,” Gabriela said. “Is there something I’m missing? What’s your take on this?”
“I think it had to be an inside job. Offhand, I couldn’t point my finger at anyone right now. Honestly, there’s not a single soul at the museum who I could say would do such a thing. But people are always full of surprises and who knows what any of us would do if we were desperate enough.”
The waitress came over and Kilchester ordered fish and chips and a pint. Gabriela got fish and chips and tea.
“One of the curators, who shall be nameless, is suggesting a supernatural event,” Kilchester said.
“He’s certain the stone has been returned to Egypt by dark forces.
And it’s not such a ridiculous notion. It’s a known fact that the museum is filled with hauntings.
We’ve all seen things that are impossible to explain. ”
“Like this theft.”
“Exactly. Although mostly the unexplained events are doors opening and closing and ghosts marching about.”
“Ruling out the supernatural for a moment, do you have any ideas about how the theft was managed?”
“Yes, but they’re all stolen from movies on the telly. And they all are dependent upon a brazen hero who’s very handsome and a brilliant computer geek who’s very likable.”
Gabriela thought it was highly unlikely that anyone associated with the theft was handsome, likable, or heroic. But brilliant, yes.
“I’m having problems with the night security guards,” Gabriela said. “I don’t see anything about them in any of the reports. It’s hard to believe they didn’t hear or see anything. Were they injured? Were they incapacitated in some way?”
“Good point,” Kilchester said. “I don’t have an answer for you.
I know the central control room monitors the cameras and security sensors twenty-four/seven.
The guards that I’m friendly with are mostly concerned about keeping the museum safe during the day when visitors are flooding through it.
It’s possible that the night patrols are sketchy. ”
“You would be my hero if you could acquire more information. Such as, what happened to the state-of-the-art alarm system? And why didn’t the control room pick up anything on their monitors?”
“I’m all about being a hero,” Kilchester said. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
Drinks arrived and Kilchester downed a third of his pint.
“Who do you suppose would want the Rosetta Stone bad enough to risk stealing it?” Gabriela asked.
“It’s a pretty long list. It has a bloody history.
Bonaparte confiscated it as a spoil of war during his occupation of Egypt.
It was then confiscated from his armies by the British forces and found its way to the British Museum, where it’s resided since 1802.
As it stands now, both the Brits and the Egyptian government claim to be its rightful owner.
Plus, there’s a well-funded French faction with a fanatical belief in Bonapartism.
And then there are several billionaires who would love to have the stone in their secret collection. ”
“Okay, who’s at the top of the list?”
“I’d go with the billionaires,” Kilchester said. “They aren’t hamstrung by bureaucracy, they have the resources, and they’re ruthless.”
“Do you have names?”
“No. It’s all hearsay.” He drank more beer and held a finger up as an indicator of thought.
“Not true, actually. Now that I think about it, I do have one name. There is someone who was an immediate person of interest but was quickly cleared by the police. I thought he was too easily dismissed. He’s not a billionaire. He’s ex-military.”
“His name?”
“Ahmed El Ghaly,” Kilchester said. “He’s a former special forces colonel, living in London.
Supposedly he’s working at the Egyptian embassy as a cultural liaison for the protection of Egyptian national treasures, but there are some who suspect him of doing covert ‘recovery work’ for the Egyptian GDSSI. ”
“That’s Egypt’s national intelligence service?” Gabriela asked.
“Yes. And rumor has it that Ahmed has been known to moonlight for the right price.”
Gabriela was already seated when Rafer and Harley trooped into the Soho’s Refuel dining room.
The upholstered chairs were comfortable and colorful.
The wallpaper was extravagant. The art was unique and compelling.
Gabriela didn’t think she could live with so much pattern and color on a daily basis, but it filled her with positive energy short-term.
“How was your date?” Harley asked Gabriela.
“Interesting,” Gabriela said. “I’d hoped to learn more, but it seems everyone is as astonished as we are that someone was able to steal the stone.” She glanced at the menu. “Any wine preferences?” she asked.
“Anything is okay,” Rafer said. “I’m easy.”
Gabriela already knew this. Rafer was easy when it came to wine and making love. He was obstinate in almost all other matters.
“And I’m thirsty,” Harley said. “I’ll drink anything but chardonnay.”
Gabriela chose an Italian red from the wine list, and when the waiter left, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I have one name that might have potential. He’s an Egyptian national who has a military background and is currently working for the Egyptian embassy in London.”
“I like it,” Harley said. “Very Agatha Christie. I haven’t read any of her books, but I watched the whole Poirot series on BritBox. For weeks I was going into work with a British accent, sounding like Hastings. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Let me take a wild guess here,” Rafer said. “A woman was involved.”
“Mary Lou Springer,” Harley said. “She was winding up Bridgerton when we started dating and things were good all through Poirot. I bailed when she started binge-watching The Crown.”
“Why are you interested in this Egyptian?” Rafer asked Gabriela.
“My friend, Kilchester, said the police called this guy in as a person of interest.”
“And?”
“He was dismissed as a suspect.”
“And?”
“And it’s all I’ve got,” Gabriela said.