Chapter Five
It was eleven o’clock, the sun was shining, and the temperature had inched up into the low seventies. Gabriela was in the Mayfair section of London, a couple blocks from Hyde Park. She stepped into a coffee shop, ordered a chai, and took it to a small outside table. She called Steven Kilchester.
“I’m trying to find Ahmed El Ghaly,” she said. “I’ve been to two consulates and the Egyptian embassy, and no one knows him. He’s not in the directory. Are you sure he exists?”
“He’s had past dealings with the museum.
He was part of a coalition petitioning to return the Rosetta Stone to Egypt.
Nothing came of it, but that’s probably why he was questioned by the police.
He might not be with the embassy anymore, or he might be with the embassy in a slightly clandestine capacity that would keep him out of the general directory. Have you tried Google?”
“Yes. I did a search and found over two hundred men in the UK named Ahmed El Ghaly. None fit the profile. There are probably two thousand in Egypt.”
“I’ll poke around a bit and get back to you,” Kilchester said.
Gabriela drank her chai and checked her email and text messages.
If Kilchester couldn’t help her, she’d go to the local police.
They questioned Ahmed. They would know where to find him.
Someone at the museum would also know where to find him.
Kilchester was the curator for clocks and watches.
He was the museum gossip and busybody, but he would have been left out of the political maneuvering over possession of the Rosetta Stone.
The head of the museum or the board of directors might have been involved in that discussion.
Kilchester called back. “I’m told that Ahmed is working as an affiliate of the embassy.
I don’t know what that even means. My friend said if you leave your card and a short note at the reception desk at the South Street embassy, it will get passed on to Ahmed and he might or might not get in touch with you. Make sure you give your note to Buzz.”
“Buzz?”
“I’m guessing it’s a nickname.”
“Good enough,” she said to Kilchester. “Thanks for the help. I don’t suppose you know what Ahmed looks like?”
“No. I’ve never met him. He’s never petitioned to have a clock returned to Egypt.”
Gabriela had been to the South Street embassy earlier.
Obviously, she hadn’t been lucky enough to talk to Buzz, she thought.
She wrote a short message on the back of her business card and retraced her steps to the embassy.
It was a five-minute walk down Curzon Street to South Audley, a left turn onto South Street, and the embassy was in the middle of the block.
Four floors of offices in a brown brick building sandwiched between other brick buildings that were equally boring.
The ground floor had a garage, a front door, and an arched window that matched the arch on the garage door.
The Egyptian flag hung over the front door.
Security cameras were strategically placed on the front of the building.
Gabriela entered the building and went to reception. Two men were at the desk. No one else was in the room.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for Buzz.”
“It is you again,” one of them said. “There is no Buzz. What is a Buzz?”
She put her card on the desktop in front of the men. “I was told to leave my card here for Buzz.”
One of the men picked the card up and read both sides. “I will give this card to Buzz,” he said.
Hard to tell who’s the bigger idiot, Gabriela thought. This jerk for taking the card, or me for giving it to him. She gave the two men a dazzling smile, said thank you, and left the embassy.
She stood on the sidewalk and contemplated her next move.
She could go in one direction and spend the afternoon grilling people at the British Museum and the local police station, or she could go in the opposite direction and take a pleasant walk through Hyde Park to Harrods.
She could do a little shopping, browse the ground-floor Food Halls, and maybe have dim sum on the fourth-floor terrace.
And if she was very lucky, Ahmed El Ghaly would call her.
Trust in your luck, she told herself, turning toward the park.
Go with Buzz. Besides, she could use the twenty-minute walk to review the facts.
Everything on Harley’s list of missing treasures had been stolen in a four-week time frame.
And in that time frame, no other treasures of any significance had been reported stolen.
As Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot would say, “This is curious, n’est-ce pas?
” The treasures were stolen from multiple locations around the world.
The most costly losses were in London, Cairo, and Paris.
Kilchester had mentioned Napoleon fanatics and Ahmed with his Egyptian connection, but they didn’t make sense when you looked at the complete list. Why would Ahmed and the Napoleon fanatics be interested in a Van Gogh?
Certainly not to reclaim something for geopolitical purposes.
Gabriela took the path that cut through the end of the park.
It skirted the Serpentine lake and crossed Carriage Drive, taking her out of the park and into Knightsbridge.
She bypassed Harvey Nichols and went straight to Harrods.
She entered the Food Hall on the ground floor, and her phone buzzed. Unknown caller.
“I believe you would like to speak to me,” the man said. “I was given your card. I am Ahmed El Ghaly.”
“I’ve been hired to find the Rosetta Stone,” Gabriela said. “I was told you might be helpful.”
“I’ve told the museum authorities what little I know.”
“Perhaps you would share the small amount of knowledge you possess with me,” Gabriela said.
“Indeed,” Ahmed said. “Where are you?”
“Harrods.”
“So, you are not all business. Women love to shop, do they not?”
“About your limited knowledge…,” Gabriela said.
“I’m in the area. I have a tight schedule, but I could see you for a few minutes. By the benches in front of the Hans Crescent entrance to Harrods. Be there in twenty minutes.”
Ahmed El Ghaly stood in the shadow of a lattice partition that sectioned off a dining area on Hans Crescent.
He was a risk taker by nature, but his military training had taught him the value of patience and of being prepared.
He’d done an internet search before making his phone call, and he’d learned that Gabriela Rose had a reputation for finding things no one else could find.
This could be a problem for him. Potentially a big problem.
He pulled her picture up on his cell phone.
She was beautiful. Even more of a problem.
He liked beautiful women. He always regretted it when he had to eliminate them.
Gabriela stepped out of Harrods one minute ahead of the designated time. The wide pedestrian street was crowded with shoppers and people having lunch at outdoor cafés. She looked up and down Hans Crescent and locked eyes with a man striding toward her. He nodded and she nodded back.
Ahmed El Ghaly, she thought. She guessed he was six feet tall and in his early forties.
Slim. Fit. Relaxed military posture. Walked with purpose.
Wavy black hair shot with gray. Close-cropped beard.
He was wearing jeans, a white linen shirt that was open at the neck, and a lightweight black blazer.
Her first thought was that he was the Egyptian equivalent to Harley.
A man who got by on his good looks and charm.
He came closer and she adjusted her impression of him when she saw the eyes.
Dark brown. Intense. Focused on her. The eyes were unsettling, as was the scar that ran down the side of his face.
“Gabriela Rose,” he said. Statement, not a question. He looked down at her shopping bag. “You’ve been to the Food Halls. I’m curious. What did you buy?”
“Smoked salmon mousse, a baguette, a green salad, and some pastries,” she said.
“No chocolate?”
“A small box of dark.”
Ahmed smiled. “I would be disappointed in you if there was no chocolate in your bag.”
Yep, Gabriela thought. He’s got some Harley in him. And his smile is world-class. Perfect white teeth against his black beard and Mediterranean coloring. Worthwhile remembering that, unlike Harley, Ahmed’s smile didn’t extend to his eyes.
“What is it that you would like to know from me?” Ahmed asked.
“Did you take the Rosetta Stone?”
He gave a bark of laughter. “No. I did not take the Rosetta Stone.”
“Do you know who did take it?”
“Unfortunately, I do not.”
“Would you tell me if you knew?”
“No,” Ahmed said. “I would find it for myself.”
“And then what?”
“I would ransom it.”
“Fair enough,” Gabriela said. “You have my card in case you get information you would like to share.”
“Are you going to eat your chocolates all by yourself?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gabriela said. “Every last one. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
“Not a problem,” Ahmed said. “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
Ah, but you’ve been very helpful, Gabriela thought.
Now I know what you look like, including an approximate age.
It will help me pick you out of the two hundred other Ahmed El Ghalys, so I can do a more extensive search.
I also know you can be reached through the Egyptian embassy and that your relationship to the embassy is a secret.
You can think on your feet, you aren’t easily rattled, and you probably shouldn’t be trusted… ever.