Chapter Five #2
Gabriela walked to Brompton Road and flagged down a cab.
She gave the driver her hotel’s address, then got in and turned to see if Ahmed had followed her.
There was no sign of him on the sidewalk, and he wasn’t visible in any of the cars that surrounded the taxi.
She settled back into her seat, opened the box of chocolates, and ate one.
Things were looking up. She thought this disaster of a project might turn out to be fun.
And if it wasn’t fun, then it was at least going to be interesting.
Gabriela met Rafer and Harley at her favorite London steak house. She took her place at the table and glanced at the dinner menu, and both men leaned forward.
“And?” Rafer asked.
“I’m feeling like a carnivore tonight,” Gabriela said. “I think I’ll have the sirloin.”
“Always a good sign,” he said. “And what about the day?”
“I met up with Ahmed El Ghaly. It was a short conversation, but I learned enough to give me a jump start on further research. Nice-looking guy. Single. Forty-two years old. Six foot. Former black ops colonel in the Egyptian army. I was able to reach him through the embassy, but his position at the embassy isn’t clear.
Speaks excellent English. Drives a new Porsche 911 Sport Classic Limited Edition.
I suspect he’s done some lucrative moonlighting.
It’s a megabucks car. He also has a flat in a very tony section of London, and a residence in Cairo.
I wasn’t able to get the exact address in Cairo.
No debts. No litigation. No arrest record.
I think he wanted to share my chocolates. ”
“You have chocolates?” Rafer asked.
“I made a quick stop at Harrods’ Food Halls.”
Rafer grinned. “And you ate them all yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And now she wants steak,” Harley said. “You know what that means.”
“Insatiable animal sex tonight,” Rafer said. “She’s always had big appetites. She’s going to want me bad.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Harley said, raising his water glass.
“Dilly dilly,” Rafer said, clinking Harley’s glass with his.
“In your dreams,” Gabriela said to Rafer.
“Yeah,” Rafer said. “It’s like a reoccurring nightmare.”
The waiter stopped by, took their drink orders, and left.
Gabriela pulled three folders out of her messenger bag.
“I’m in the process of getting further information on Ahmed.
And Marcella is tapping into her sources for rumors of any stolen pieces getting shopped around.
While that’s happening, I thought we should take a look at museum employees who might have helped with the Rosetta Stone theft.
” She handed folders to Rafer and Harley, and she kept one for herself.
“The first two pages are detailed maps of the museum. If you look beyond them, at the pages labeled ‘Employees,’ you’ll see that at present there are nine hundred eighty-seven people working at the museum.
I had Marcella pull out all the people who were new hires.
The cutoff was six months ago. Then I had her pull out any new hires who worked for operations.
That brought it down to three people. Biographies for the three are at the end of the employee packet.
Eugene Fairly, Gordon Zelinsky, and Leon Blake. ”
“You’re thinking someone got planted inside ahead of the theft,” Rafer said.
“It’s one possibility,” Gabriela said. “A longtime employee could also have been corrupted, but that person would be more difficult to locate.”
“Why are you only looking at new hires from operations?” Harley asked.
“I was primarily interested in the Visitor and Security Services division,” Gabriela said. “They’re walking the floors. They know the routines and the security protocols. And it would be easier to place someone there.”
Rafer read the biography of each man. “Leon Blake,” he said.
Gabriela nodded. “Why did you single him out?”
“He quit the job two days after the theft.”
“I did some additional research on him,” Gabriela said. “He was renting a room in Brixton for the duration of his employment. Prior to that he was working as security for an LLC registered in London. His position and the LLC’s location weren’t clearly defined.”
“Where is he now?” Rafer asked.
“No one knows. He was last seen the day he quit his job at the museum.” Gabriela gave Rafer and Harley a single-page biography with a photo of Blake.
“I have someone else who’s interesting. John Mackey.
He missed my cutoff date, but he lived in Brixton, and he worked security.
Two days after the theft he was shot dead on his way home from a pub.
His wallet and watch and cell phone were all missing.
Motive for the crime was listed as robbery. ”
“Bummer,” Harley said. “He was out with his friends and then he got shot. What are the chances?”
“In this case, they might be pretty good,” Gabriela said. “No one else on the list caught my attention.”
“According to this bio, Mackey was sixty-four years old,” Rafer said. “He was married and had two adult children. He was at the museum for thirteen years. Previous to that he was night watchman for a warehouse.”
“I thought I would visit his wife tomorrow morning,” Gabriela said.
“I’ll pass on that,” Harley said. “I’m not good with condolences. Empathy isn’t my strong suit.”
“Gabs is full of empathy,” Rafer said. “In fact, I should probably go along so she doesn’t go hormonal and get out of control.”
“Hormonal?” Gabriela said. “Excuse me?”
“Female stuff,” Rafer said. “You know, sobbing with the dead guy’s wife.”
“You cried for two weeks when your turtle died,” Gabriela said.
“Hazel was special,” Rafer said.
Gabriela turned her attention to the menu. “I can manage without you,” she said to Rafer.
“Yeah, but you could manage better with me,” Rafer said.
“No.”
“Fine. Go without me. What time are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Good to know,” Rafer said.