Turned to Stone Read online

  Jaime’s own unease was less about the mission than about the loose ends he’d left behind in Spain. When he left home Paloma wasn’t answering his calls, and neither was the Petrarca Gallery. He had left them both messages via their answering machines, e-mail, and even social media accounts, but nobody seemed to want to hear from him.

  During the last part of the trip, he managed to grab a power nap. His final thoughts before he closed his eyes were of Paloma and of the gorgon Medusa, and—for no particular reason—he found himself wondering whether both history and mythology were doomed to repeat themselves.

  At a quarter past twelve, the five team members walked out of the airport toward the patrol car with tinted windows that was waiting for them. A man in a suit approached and greeted Amatriaín. “This is Inspector Juliun Kraniotis, the EHU’s associate and head of the operation in Athens,” Amatriaín said to the others, indicating the man with the red hair and beard.

  Kraniotis didn’t speak a word of Spanish, so he greeted them in English, showing each person an equal amount of attention. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience this trip may have caused you,” he said, “but, as I’m sure Mr. Amatriaín has mentioned, it is only through close cooperation between our countries that this investigation can produce results. My team is already waiting at the port, but if you wish, I will take you to your hotel first. You must be tired, and the Artemis hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Once they were all settled into their seats, the van set off toward the center of the ancient city. They left behind a highway flanked by olive groves and entered into a confusion of stores, kiosks, orthodox churches, and sidewalks packed with pedestrians. After the driver took a few side streets, they arrived at the grand hotel where rooms had been reserved for them.

  The EHU had spared no expense. The Theoxenia was the only five-star hotel in Piraeus, and with its four nine-story buildings it resembled an architectural experiment more than an apartment block. While Kraniotis checked them in, the rest of the team admired the sleek, expansive lobby, which looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. They dropped off their luggage and refueled on coffee, and within an hour they were back in the police car following a report that the Artemis had just docked at port.

  Jaime sat in the back with Lucas Andrade, who seemed equally miffed not to be sitting next to Sonia Durán. He breathed the salty air of one of the world’s most important ports and peered out of the window. There it was: Piraeus. The legendary departure point for voyages of exploration, trade, and war.

  Jaime had once studied the plans, designed by Hippodamus of Miletus, in a university class on urban planning. He dug back into his memory and recalled that it was Themistocles who, five centuries before Christ, had ordered the port city built so that Athens could become a true maritime power. Years later, in 1834, after the War of Independence, Piraeus became Greece’s third largest city, with over two hundred thousand inhabitants—thereby recovering the status that for centuries had been lost.

  The van turned down a road that ran parallel with the wharf; before a glass-fronted building, sailboats bobbed gently on the water. Buried in thought, Jaime barely noticed that they’d turned into the Kentrico Limani, one of three harbors that made up the port complex of Piraeus, and had stopped at the red-and-white barrier of a checkpoint. A guard approached the window of the police car and, after exchanging a few words with their driver, went back to his guard station and raised the barrier.

  They passed a series of ships bearing the names Delphos, Delphos II, and Delphos III. Beyond the Delphic trilogy were other vessels whose names, painted on their hulls or bridges, said a little more about their owners’ interests: Ulysses, Zenobia, Theseus, Veronica . . .

  Finally they stopped at a small brick building. Kraniotis got out of the car first, and he pointed toward a massive ship several meters out. “There you have it: the Artemis.”

  The ship was moored alongside a gigantic crane, parallel to the old jetty and separated from it by half a meter. Its bow rose ungracefully, revealing a layer of rust that covered most of the black hull. Containers and crates of all sizes were stacked on the deck, chained to crane masts at both bow and stern.

  Kraniotis led the group into the small building, which turned out to be a port police station. Its one spacious room contained a filthy, threadbare sofa and a large table in the center. In a corner were a computer and a printer. Standing near these was the team of historians from the University of Athens assembled by Kraniotis: three specialists in ancient artifacts whose names Jaime forgot the minute he was told them.

  “What do we do now?” Professor San Román asked Amatriaín. She looked around for a place to put her bag and decided not to deposit it on the disgusting couch.

  “A soon as I inform the EHU’s head office of our arrival, we’ll go on board and get to work.”

  While Amatriaín made the call, Jaime slipped out of the station and set off at a fast walk out of the port. As he breathed in the pleasant smell of sea and petroleum, he passed a charming restaurant filled with couples and families sampling some tasty-looking meze under a natural canopy of vine leaves. Giving them a look of envy, he slipped his cell phone from his pocket and called Roberto. After seven rings he was about to hang up, then he heard a breathless voice. “Yes?”

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, no. I love answering the phone while I’m soaking wet and shivering, with just a towel around my waist. I get off on it, in fact.”

  “Too much information. I can call back later.”

  “No, wait a second.” Jaime heard Roberto switch on his heater. “Okay. Where are you?”

  “At the Port of Piraeus. We just got here.”

  “Lucky you. And? Found something already?”

  “Nothing but a freighter that’s falling to pieces. I doubt the artifacts inside it are much older than the ship itself.” Jaime said. “Listen, I’m going to need your help.”

  “Sorry, but you’re dreaming if you think I’m going to show up with my revolver to get you out of trouble again. It’s one thing expecting me to drive to El Burgo de Osma, but it’s another—”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. Do you remember the gallery I mentioned? The Petrarca?”

  “Where the Medusa used to be, yes. Unlike some people, I actually listen when someone talks to me.”

  “I can’t get hold of them and things are going to be crazy here for a while. Could you do me a favor, since you like to stay up late anyway?”

  “There you go again, trying to drag me into your crazy plans.”

  “Actually, what I need is really very simple. But if you want, I can let you get back to more important things, like scrubbing your belly.”

  “You’re an asshole. Fine, what do you want me to do, exactly?”

  “Do you have a pen and paper?”

  “Are you kidding? I never shower without them.”

  Jaime gave Roberto a series of instructions and passed on the contact information for the Petrarca Gallery. After he’d written it all down, Roberto asked, “Anything else?”

  “Not for now. I’ll call tonight so you can tell me how it went.”

  “Not tonight. I’m playing in a match.” Roberto took his online gaming very seriously.

  “That’s how you keep watch on the building?”

  “You have no idea how mind-numbing it gets at night.”

  “Fine. Tomorrow then.”

  “Not too early,” Roberto pleaded.

  “Hey, we’re professionals and there’s work to do. You don’t want the EHU to think we’re as incompetent as they are, do you?”

  “Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. You’re the secret super agent, not me.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  Jaime whistled his way back to the port. After waving to the now-fami
liar guard, he walked back into the station, where an enraged Amatriaín asked where he’d been. Jaime shrugged.

  “Nature called. Can we get started now?”

  17

  Madrid

  Paloma had just ordered a decaf from the waiter when Amanda approached, looking stricken. “Amanda, what’s the matter?”

  “Can I sit down?” She could barely get the words out.

  Her concern growing, Paloma gestured toward the empty chair at her corner table in the museum café. “Of course. Are you all right? You look like you’re about to cry.”

  Amanda wiped her nose as she sat down. “They’ve kidnapped Hugo.”

  She spoke in such a low, weak voice, Paloma thought maybe she hadn’t heard right. “What did you say?”

  “When I got home last night, the neighbor who watches him wouldn’t answer the door. I called but she didn’t answer, so I got her spare keys and let myself in.” Amanda’s voice was strained. “I found her tied up in the closet, with tape over her mouth. She said a man had taken Hugo.”

  “Oh my God. What man?”

  “I don’t know. He told her he was from maintenance or something. Señora Julia never lets anyone in, but this time she opened the door and . . .” Amanda started to moan.

  “Okay. Deep breaths.” Paloma pulled a pack of tissues out of her handbag and handed one to her. “What do the police say?”

  “I haven’t called them.”

  “You haven’t called the police? Amanda, why?”

  “I was told not to. The people who have Hugo . . . they want something from you.”

  Paloma straightened, as if her spine had suddenly turned to iron. “From me?”

  “Right after it happened, Oscar Preston called. He told me someone had taken my son and said they won’t let him go until I give them something in exchange.”

  “Preston?” Paloma exclaimed. “That son of a bitch?”

  “He was very clear. They want you to hand over your document.”

  Paloma was not the kind of person who could easily hide her thoughts or feelings. Her face reddened and her eyes grew damp. She felt her breathing and her heartbeat speed up. “My document? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do. For a week you’ve done nothing but go back and forth between your place and the museum. I’m assuming this is about that project that Ricardo Bosch assigned you.”

  “Yes, I’ve picked up some old work again as part of the application process. What’s so unusual about that? If you want to get anywhere in life you have to work for it. I don’t understand what—”

  “Don’t you see?” Amanda was crying now. “If I don’t hand over whatever it is you’re working on by Wednesday, I’ll never see my son again.”

  “That’s what you think.” Paloma stood in a rage and grabbed Amanda’s hand. “Let’s go and see him now. We’ll call the police, get Hugo back, and that son of a bitch will go to jail.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Amanda pulled her hand away. “He doesn’t have anything to do with it. They’re blackmailing him to get me to do the same to you.”

  “How can you believe that?” Paloma reluctantly sat back down. “Preston wants that job and there’s nothing he won’t do to get it. He even searched my apartment.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “The day of my meeting with Ricardo. When I got home I noticed that someone had opened the door and rummaged through my things.”

  “Did they take anything?”

  “Some computer CDs, but most of those were empty. I asked Preston about it the next day, but he claimed he didn’t know anything about it. That bastard’s a professional liar.”

  “Paloma, please. You’re my friend. Why won’t you tell me what they’re looking for? Maybe we can find a solution together.”

  “The only solution is to call the police.” This argument was beginning to remind Paloma of the one she’d had with Jaime a few days earlier. What would Jaime do in this situation? she wondered.

  “I’m not going to call them! Preston told me not to, or—”

  “Or what?”

  “He says he isn’t the one who has Hugo, and I believe him, Paloma. If we report him, whoever really has Hugo will find out, and I can’t bear to think what they might do to him. It’s been hard enough convincing Señora Julia to keep quiet about this. They went into her home, attacked her, locked her in the wardrobe . . . Do you realize what she’s been through? These people are dangerous and I can’t afford to piss them off.”

  The waiter arrived just then with the coffee Paloma had ordered. “One decaf?”

  Paloma pressed her hand against her mouth and stood. As the waiter and Amanda looked on, she sprinted toward the restroom, bumping into a waitress who almost dropped her tray. In the bathroom, Paloma bent over the toilet and emptied her stomach. As she stared into the bowl, all she could picture was Oscar Preston’s face.

  Jaime, she found herself thinking again. What would you do if you were here?

  18

  Piraeus

  As he took stock of the huge number of crates in Vittorio Rosselli’s container, Jaime realized that the task ahead was not going to be easy. There must have been fifty crates, and all of them had to be opened, inspected, and reassembled with the utmost care.

  Kraniotis and Amatriaín coordinated their efforts while the crates were removed from the container and placed on an enormous wooden table set up in the center of the hold. They were then unpacked by the Greek team, which also was responsible for photographing and measuring the artifacts, while Professors San Román and Andrade worked with Sonia Durán to compare them against the catalogue of stolen items. Jaime’s role consisted of taking notes and photos of the procedure in order to prepare a report, though he helped out with the physical tasks when his colleague needed him to.

  As Amatriaín had foretold, the EHU had managed to detain the Artemis in port due to some problem with the engine. One of the ship’s engineers had facilitated the ruse after Inspector Kraniotis had claimed it was a “matter of national security”—and offered a substantial cash reward. The team now had time to inspect the goods away from the prying eyes of the freighter’s captain and crew, for whom both the intrusion and the delay were a genuine nuisance. To make up for the inconvenient holdup, the authorities had provided them with luxurious hotel accommodations, making it unnecessary for them to wait out the repairs in the ship’s uncomfortable cabins.

  Jaime liked all of his coworkers, with the exception of Andrade, who wouldn’t take his eyes off Sonia Durán and was constantly approaching her and whispering some nonsense into her ear. Fortunately for Jaime, she largely ignored it. The expert in heritage management made Jaime’s blood pump a little faster, even though she spoke little and was focused more on her work than in building relationships of any kind with her coworkers. Mercedes San Román, for her part, possessed an energy and a readiness to help that Jaime found admirable. And he couldn’t help but feel impressed by Juliun Kraniotis, a strong man committed to his work, who also displayed both extraordinary professionalism and impeccable manners. Amatriaín, meanwhile, was about as friendly to the group as a rabbit is to a boa constrictor, but Jaime had grown accustomed to his dry and anxious personality.

  Their work involved a great deal of effort and little satisfaction. After several hours’ toil, they hadn’t found a single match. The famous crucifix that had raised the suspicions of the EHU officers turned out to be nothing more than a near-perfect replica of the original stolen in Ravenna. The rest of the shipment included sculptures, paintings, and gold and silverwork, all with the necessary export papers. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary stored in the hold, and as the hours went by the team grew increasingly frustrated.

  “This one’s clear, too,” said Professor San Román, confirming that the last piece in the twenty-third crate matched none of the items in the c
atalogue.

  At eight in the evening just five crates were left to inspect. The team members were sweating and breathing heavily; many of them were stopping frequently to rub their eyes. Amatriaín wiped his brow with his sleeve, walked over to Kraniotis, and whispered something in his ear. The Athenian inspector gave him a quiet answer and Amatriaín turned to the team. “I think we should take a break.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” Professor San Román threw her notebook onto one of the crates and sat on the floor.

  “We’re stopping?” Jaime asked in surprise. “But we’ve almost finished.”

  Amatriaín shook his head. “We still have three hours of work and the ship doesn’t leave till tomorrow. I’ve just suggested to Juliun that we have dinner in the port to help us get our energy back.”

  Kraniotis nodded. “You’ve been working yourselves to death. The least we can do is feed you.”

  Professor San Román smiled. “I take it back. Now, that’s the best idea I’ve heard.”

  Jaime would have preferred to get the job done as soon as possible, but it was true that everyone was tired and hungry. He shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  “Good. Let’s finish this crate and then get some dinner.”

  After examining the final object, an eleventh-century ivory crucifix that Rosselli had obtained in a Paris auction, and verifying that it, too, did not appear in the catalogue of stolen artifacts, they washed their hands and headed to the port. The police car was waiting for them at the port’s exit and it delivered them to their hotel, where each of them enjoyed a well-deserved and badly needed shower. After freshening up, they strolled to a simple but nicely decorated harbor restaurant where the delicious wine, octopus, and fish drove the thankless work still ahead from their minds.