Chapter Eight #2
“Something to tell your grandchildren,” Gabriela said.
“I don’t have grandchildren,” Rafer said. “I have a cat and a chicken.”
Gabriela approached Trafalgar Square, went halfway around the equestrian statue of Charles I, peeled off at the square, and turned right at St. Martin-in-the-Fields church.
The black SUV was still with her when she got onto the Strand.
She made a quick left onto a side street, cut through a parking lot, and lost the SUV.
It was a slow drive through Covent Garden, winding through neighborhoods, avoiding major roads.
She took Greek Street to Soho Square and pulled to the curb.
“I’m going to drop you and Harley here,” Gabriela said to Rafer. “It’s a short walk to the hotel.”
“I don’t like leaving you and the stone,” Rafer said. “I’d feel better if I could stick with you.”
“Harley is an accident waiting to happen. I’m afraid if he’s left alone, he’ll get lost or kidnapped or picked up for vagrancy.”
“Someone wants the Rosetta Stone, and they managed to find you twice. They can find you again. If they have any brains, they’ll realize you’re taking the stone back to the museum,” Rafer said.
“I’m aware,” Gabriela said. “I can deal with it.”
“Are you sure? You’re minus a knife.”
“I have another.”
He looked her up and down. “I don’t know where the first one came from, and I’m afraid to guess where you have the second one hidden.”
Gabriela waited at the square for a few minutes, watching Rafer and Harley walk away.
This wasn’t the first time she’d retrieved a valuable artifact, but this artifact was definitely the biggest. And she had to admit that she wasn’t entirely comfortable driving it around London in an ancient, stolen pickup truck.
Fortunately, the museum wasn’t far away.
She carefully entered the stream of traffic and left the square behind her.
This is not the time to get careless and risk getting into an accident, she thought. Pay attention. Focus.
She stopped for a light, crossed the A40, and drove two blocks. She put her signal on to make a right turn, and a car rammed the back of the truck. At the same time, another car stopped in front of her. She was blocked in, unable to move.
“This is not good,” Gabriela said. “This is very not good.”
The doors to the two cars opened and before the men were entirely out of them, Gabriela put her foot to the gas pedal and rammed the car in front of her.
She pushed it ahead several feet and was relieved that the truck’s airbags didn’t go off.
Probably it didn’t even have airbags! She put the truck in reverse and shoved the car behind her, creating enough space to escape.
She turned the wheel, jumped the curb, and drove on the sidewalk to the cross street.
She bounced back onto the road and took a shortcut to the museum, avoiding the gridlocked Great Russell Street.
She had a block to go when she saw one of the cars coming up fast behind her.
Too late, she thought. They couldn’t catch her in time.
She could see the gate and several museum security guards standing on the sidewalk.
She approached the gate, the gate opened, and she drove the truck into the British Museum’s secure delivery entrance. Gabriela parked in the designated spot, got out of the truck, and joined the director.
“Dear God,” he said, staring at the crumpled old truck and at the lump under the blankets. “Is that it? Is that the stone, wrapped in blankets?”
“Yes. The stone was being stored in this truck. I didn’t want to move it.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Brixton,” Gabriela said. “Have you notified authorities?”
“Not yet.” He peeked under the blankets. “I thought I should verify the authenticity first.”
“It looks real,” Gabriela said, “but I’m not an expert. I’m going to leave the truck with you. I’m sure whoever is in charge of this investigation will want to examine it. It belonged to John Mackey. He was employed by the museum until recently.”
“I thought it had to be some sort of an inside job,” the director said. “Too much reliance on technology and not enough manpower on patrol. We’ve taken steps to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Good to know,” Gabriela said. “I’d appreciate being kept apprised of the authenticity outcome.”
“Of course. One of the Searl and Junkett board members, Harry Bench, arrived yesterday to personally take charge of the insurance investigation, but I’m sure you already know this.”
“I didn’t know,” Gabriela said. “I’m not directly involved with the bank. I’m working for a concerned investor.”
“Well, I have high hopes that this will end everyone’s anxiety.”
It will be a step in the right direction, Gabriela thought, but it’s not going to end everyone’s anxiety. This is just the beginning of a long retrieval process.
She walked out of the museum onto the sidewalk and turned right. She put an earbud in her ear and called Rafer. “It’s back on museum grounds. The director was relieved. Me too. I’ll meet you at the hotel. Order room service for lunch. Get me a Soho Club and tea.”
And just to make sure she wasn’t being followed, she would stop at a shop on the way and exit out a back door.
Chances were slim that she was in any danger.
Whoever was chasing her would report back that the stone was returned to the museum.
Still, it didn’t hurt to be careful. Paranoia wasn’t always such a bad thing.
For instance, wasn’t it odd that someone found her at the garage in Westminster and in Soho?
It was as if she was being tracked. She looked down at her messenger bag.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She shoved her hand into the outside pocket and found the AirTag.
It could have been placed there by anyone, but the most likely suspect was Ahmed.
He’d asked about the shopping bag from Harrods, and she’d been distracted.
She dropped the AirTag into a trash receptacle.
Gabriela took the long way back to the hotel and arrived at her room a few minutes after lunch had been delivered.
“Did you get a hero’s welcome?” Rafer asked, adding ketchup to his burger and fries, ignoring the mayo.
“A quiet one,” Gabriela said, taking her sandwich and tea to the small writing table.
“The director was grateful. They’ll do some immediate testing, and if it’s the genuine stone it’ll be returned to its place of honor in Room Four.
” She poured herself a cup of tea. “You were right about another attempt to capture the stone. Two cars, working together, tried to box me in. Fortunately, the truck was old enough to actually be made of metal as opposed to fiberglass and I was able to muscle my way out.”
“Did you have to use the knife?”
“No. I had to use the gas pedal and the front and back bumpers. When we’re done with lunch, I want to return to Brixton to do some snooping around.”
“Looking for information on Mackey’s friend Leon Blake?” Rafer asked.
“Yes,” Gabriela said. “I have a couple players in the game, but I don’t know where they fit into the overall picture. And we need to get my rental car.”
Marcella called. “A man named Harry Bench just phoned. He said he was a board member for Searl and Junkett, and that he was in London on bank business. He’s returning to New York tomorrow, but he said he would like to meet with you in the morning before his flight.
He’s staying in Piccadilly and suggested you join him for breakfast at nine o’clock. Café Dillywaingarten.”
“Tell him that I’d be happy to meet him for breakfast.”
Gabriela hung up and checked her watch. It was one o’clock. That meant it was eight o’clock in the morning in New York and Marcella was on the job. Gabriela ordered a gift basket from Citarella to be sent to Marcella.
Rafer looked at Gabriela with slightly raised eyebrows.
“Breakfast meeting with Harry Bench at nine tomorrow,” Gabriela said. “Just Bench and me. He’s a Searl and Junkett board member sent to take charge of the Rosetta Stone investigation, but now that it’s been returned to the museum, he’s leaving town.”
“When Merv Wessler retired from the board, the bank gave him a Bentley,” Harley said. “You should at least get a Bentley from Bench.”
“I’d rather get a free pass for you,” Gabriela said. “Then we could all go home and live our normal lives.”
“That’s a long shot,” Harley said. “Even with the Rosetta Stone recovery, the bank would still fold. We need to get the Egyptian Museum’s sarcophagus.”
“Where are you meeting Bench?” Rafer asked.
“Café Dillywaingarten in Piccadilly.”
“That’s a bank hangout,” Harley said. “Fantastic scones. Bench is probably staying in the flat the bank keeps just around the corner from the café.”
“We need to retrieve the rental car, and I want to take another shot at talking to Leon Blake’s landlord,” Gabriela said.
“I’m in,” Rafer said.
“Me too,” Harley said.