Page 82 of Afraid to Hope

He glanced at the image. “It was inside the back cover of the ledger. There was one in each of them.”

“It’s an ink stamp,à l’Américain.Signed and dated. There’s a series of numbers and letters on the line above the American, maybe how the network kept track of their transactions,” she said, bringing her chair next to his. “Oh my god! Look at the handwriting. It’s Pépé’s, and his initials. HLA. A different date and another series of numbers and letters.”

“I’m betting this same stamp is on your grandfather’s ledger. We didn’t look through the entire ledger, just the first pages.”

“It was him, Bane. Pépé was the facilitator. He wore a signet ring. Gold with a large ruby. It was missing when he was found,” she stammered. “Why would Pépé risk these, of being incriminated?” she asked, aghast.

“I noticed your reaction in the shop.” Bane covered her hand with his and rubbed the back of it with his other. “If your grandfather was the man you say he was, and I believe he was, sweetheart, he may have been coerced. Had something incredibly important held over his head to force him to do what the American wished.”

Natasha rounded eyes locked with his. She whispered, “His family.”

“Yes,” he answered, stroking her cheek softly.

Thirty minutes later they observed Zach and Connor from the small balcony they had all to themselves. Zach pulled a large rolling cart with old rugs. Connor walked beside him and they proceeded at an unhurried pace as they came closer.

Bane looked through the viewfinder of the camera and adjusted the lens.Snick, snick. Snick, snick.“I’ll be damned. Their frat boy act worked,” he said admiringly and reached into the camera bag at his feet for a different lens.

Natasha slid off her chair and squatted, taking pictures through the balcony’s latticework with her phone. She sent them off to Emmet immediately.

Bane took a few more pictures after he changed out the lenses, then laid the camera back on the table in front of him, waiting. “Call Emmet.”

Zach parked the cart to the side of the shop’s entrance and went inside. Connor kept watch, but he never bothered looked up or he might have seen Natasha and Bane. Satisfied, he entered the shop.

“I discounted them too,” she said, pushing her tagine away, hoping for another piece of the baklava she had had earlier. She rubbed Bane’s broad back while he continued to watch the shop front and called Emmet to explain the current situation and the photos as well as what Zach and Connor had told them at the guesthouse in Bhalil and during their brief visit the night before in the restaurant. Emmet assured Natasha that the analysts would be on it immediately, then disconnected the call.

Bane’s phone rang not ten minutes later. “Emmet.”

“The photos Natasha sent were helpful. We have positive identification.”

“That was quick.”

“Our analysts are among the best. The young men are mules for the American, recruited by their university professors who have ties to the American. Zachary Cokinos was recruited by Joseph Gates, a dean of African studies, and his cousin Connor Ritman was recruited by Miles Seager, the dean of the economics department. The professors came to the attention of INTERPOL two years ago. Also, and this is interesting, there are familial connections. Gates is Cokinos’s maternal uncle and Segar is Ritman’s. Natasha kept an eye on both of them until she was pulled off late last fall to watch Dr. Eric Schaus at another university. At the time, it was thought that he was the bigger fish.”

“She’s going to flip.”

Natasha looked at Bane with concern, who held up a finger at her.

“Pardon? Sometimes I can’t follow you.”

“It’s American slang for becoming upset.”

Natasha mouthedspeaker.Bane shook his head and hit the Mute button instead. “I’ll fill you in ASAP. Keep watching,” he said, then unmuted and continued listening to Emmet.

“INTERPOL’s decision paid off. Regarding the cousins, what they told you and Natasha about their backgrounds checks out. Except for their itinerary and future plans in Cape Town. For some reason, they recently missed a scheduled flight to Cairo. Their travel destinations and dates coincide with the suspected American activity, most specifically the disappearance of the codex and theHomo sapiens.” Bane heard a rustle of paper. “Either Cokinos and Ritman are not good at covering their tracks or they are supposed to deceive you, possibly to lure you and Natasha into a trap. They have been in Morocco since mid-May, just after they graduated, squeaking by, I might add, moving about in-country except for a recent trip to Italy aboard a private yacht. It looks as though they delivered the Ouarzazate Codex to a middleman in Italy who then sells the stolen artifacts. We’re working on those details. Your focus now is solely on repatriating theHomo sapiens.That’s all I have. We’ll talk soon.”

“Dessert?”

Natasha topped off their mint tea and smiled. “Of course.”

Bane finished Natasha’s meal and told the waitress who appeared that he and his wife would like baklava and the check.

Within minutes Amastan, Zach, and Connor came out of the shop with the unwieldy paper-wrapped cave art and carefully nested it within the blankets, then situated the box on top, securing all of it with rope and talking some more. They pointed toward the direction they had come from. Amastan shook his head and extended his hand, gesturing in the opposite direction.

“Directions?”

“Looks like it,” she said, standing, pulling money from her pocket to cover the meal. “Let’s go.”

They met the waitress on the way down the stairs, exchanged money and baklava, and followed Zach and Connor at a safe distance back the way they had come.

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