Chapter Twenty
Charlotte
“Look, Charlotte, I can’t just show up at the Met and offer to pitch in to help recover the Cerulean Queen. That’s not the way it works.”
Tenny Woods placed his coffee on his desk as he removed his coat, eyeing Charlotte warily.
She’d turned up at his office at eight thirty after a sleepless night. Once she and Mark had returned from the Met, he’d gone straight to bed while she’d retreated into the dining room to try to piece together the strange series of events from the evening, eventually crashing on the living room couch, her mind whirling. She knew Mark had wanted her to join him, but his need to protect and understand her, while comforting at first, was also suffocating. She didn’t have all the answers to his questions, and before she could help it, her natural evasiveness kicked in.
At the same time, she couldn’t figure this out alone. She hoped Tenny Woods might be able to help. Right now she needed to do something material. Take action.
“I would think the Met would want as much assistance as they can get,” she said. “The Cerulean Queen is a major piece in the collection.” Her explanation of last night’s events was disjointed and confusing, no doubt, but Tenny appeared to understand the basics: Charlotte had received a threatening note and one of her important files had gone missing, possibly taken to stop her from asking any more questions about the loan’s provenance. On top of that, a valuable statue had been stolen, possibly by using a diversionary tactic involving moths. A lot of “possiblys.” It all sounded as insane to her as it probably did to Tenny, who took multiple swigs of his coffee as she spoke.
“The Met has its own security team, they’ll reach out if they need me,” he said.
“What happens next? Do they go to the press?”
“What happens next is they’ll notify the New York Police Department and the NYPD’s Property and Recovery Squad. They may contact the FBI as well.”
“What would you do, if you were in charge?”
He considered the question. “If my priority was to recover the statue, I’d go to the press, as well as alert the National Antique and Art Dealers Association. But there’s no promise that will work. The rates of recovery for this kind of crime are less than ten percent.”
Less than ten percent. The more often the statue changed hands—as the thief pawned it off to an unscrupulous dealer, who then sold it to a discreet client, who sold it to some unsuspecting collector—the less the chance of tracking it down. The odds weren’t good.
Tenny looked through the notes he’d been taking. “This girl, Annie Jenkins, the one who set off the moths, do they suspect she’s part of the crime ring?”
“They do, but I disagree. She was terrified, and I don’t think she was pretending.”
“What makes you believe the missing file and the threat are related to the theft?”
Now that she was asked that question point-blank, Charlotte had a hard time coming up with an answer. “It’s just too strange that it all happened at the same time. I’m convinced that it has something to do with the events in Egypt in ’37. With Leon and Henry.”
He tapped a couple of fingers on the desk. “Huh.”
No doubt Tenny thought she was projecting her own tragedies onto what was happening today, and maybe he was right. But if Leon was still alive, anything was possible. Charlotte’s past was threatening to swallow her up whole and ruin everything she’d worked for and accomplished. There was one concrete clue that Charlotte had gleaned from the evening’s events, though. “Annie Jenkins said the man who attacked us wore a pendant with a cross with a small circle at the top.”
“An ankh?”
“Yes.”
Tenny straightened. “Interesting.” He shuffled the papers on his desk, looking for something. “The past few years I’ve been following the movements of an underground organization that’s focused on repatriating Egyptian art that it believes has been illegally acquired by other countries.”
“Right. I’ve read about them. They’re known as Ma’at, named after the Egyptian goddess of justice.”
“Exactly. No one knows who they are, but so far they’ve ‘repatriated’ two minor antiquities from a couple of smaller museums. If this latest job is one of theirs, it means they’ve learned from their past crimes and are upping their game.” He found what he was looking for. “These are some of the newspaper articles that were written about the crimes.” He handed her a small stack of clippings, stapled together.
“Do you mind if I take these with me, look through them?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Do you think Mr. Fantoni is familiar with Ma’at?”
“I would hope so.”
“What else is known about them?”
“I was curious, so I did some more digging, and your former colleague Leon Pitcairn has bragged about being associated with Ma’at. It can’t be confirmed, of course.”
Her theory that all the recent events were connected wasn’t inconceivable. Then again, she wouldn’t put it past Leon to brag about something that was completely untrue. That was the kind of man he was. “I see. Anything else I should know about Ma’at?”
“They’re based in Cairo. No one knows the size of the organization, or who exactly is involved. But there is one thing we do know.” Tenny paused. “They’re dedicated to their cause and very, very dangerous.”
Charlotte wasn’t even sure where to begin when she returned from her meeting with Tenny and sat down at her desk at work. There were budgets to be reviewed, memos and letters to be responded to. In the meantime, rumors about last night’s insect invasion and theft were making the rounds of the staff offices, and the murmurs and whispers threw off Charlotte’s focus.
Instead of tackling her inbox, she took Tenny’s newspaper clippings from her handbag and read through them. The international theft ring known as Ma’at had hit two European museums in the past couple of years: the Petrie in London and the Kunsthistorisches in Vienna. Neither was as famous as the Met, but both held an extensive array of objects from the time of the pharaohs, many of which could be considered the rightful property of Egypt, having been spirited away before any kind of governmental regulations were in place. The robbers had used diversionary tactics to lure the guards away from their posts before striking, and in one instance, a guard had been killed. As Tenny had warned her, this was a dangerous crew. A crew that Leon was possibly involved with.
Charlotte set down the clippings and stared at the empty space where her research file on Hathorkare would normally be. The loss was more than academic; it tore at her heart, and now she was off-balance. The article was supposed to have been the pinnacle of her life’s work in the field of Egyptology, but that wasn’t the only reason she had spent countless hours on the project. She’d wanted to give Hathorkare the acclaim she deserved, show the world what a woman could do when she was given a chance. How thousands of years ago a female had led an enormous, complicated country through an era of artistic creativity and economic prosperity, ordering ambitious building projects—including a sprawling memorial temple and a pair of ninety-seven-foot obelisks—and enriching its citizens with gold, incense, and ebony by expanding Egypt’s trade network.
If the file wasn’t returned, would Charlotte have the energy to spend another three years gathering up evidence to make her case? The threatening note implied that she would get her research back if she stood down. But why would they even bother? It was nothing to them but a pile of photographs, papers, and scribblings. Her precious file was probably in the back of some garbage truck by now, on the way to a landfill where it would decay in the sun next to oily pizza boxes and crumpled soda cans.
Hathorkare deserved to be celebrated, and Charlotte was the one to have led that celebration, to have their names linked together. Not anymore.
What if her uneasiness from last night—that this was all related to the Hathorkare curse—was true? While Charlotte hadn’t been directly responsible for taking the broad collar out of Egypt forty-one years ago, she had associated with those who had attempted to. Maybe instead of being killed like Henry, she was being toyed with, the one project she was most excited about—the one that might finally put her on the same level as, if not higher than, the other Egyptologists of her generation—vanishing before her eyes. Could an ancient pharaoh do such a thing? Charlotte rubbed her temples with her fingers, doubting her sanity.
Tenny had advised her to wait and see how the Met handled the case, but she didn’t have the patience.
Frederick was hanging up the phone when she entered his office.
“What’s the museum going to do?” she asked without any preamble.
“I just spoke with Mr. Lavigne, and for now we’re going to sit tight, see if a ransom note shows up.”
The worst possible decision, in her opinion. Charlotte dug her fingernails into her palms to keep her voice even. “Is this coming from Mr. Fantoni? He didn’t seem like the wait-and-see type.”
“It comes from the board. They had an emergency meeting earlier this morning, and I assure you, they’re connected with the best security and legal minds around.”
It was hard to tell if the board was following protocol, or if they preferred to keep the news mum for now. Especially as the theft had happened on the same night as they were throwing a massive party, the place bursting with drunken strangers—not a great look. The moth incident was all over the papers, which was bad enough, but so far the theft hadn’t hit the news.
“I understand their rationale, but do you worry that they’re wasting valuable time?” asked Charlotte. “That piece is on its way back to Cairo right now, I’d bet on it. Whoever took it didn’t do so for money.”
“We can’t know that.”
“What about the threatening note I received? It was left by someone with access to our offices, someone who knew what would hit me the hardest, keep me quiet. That’s not a long list.”
Which included Frederick.
Frederick, whose renowned expertise on Saukemet II would have been repudiated by Charlotte’s revelations about Hathorkare.
Frederick held up his hand. “At the moment, the focus is on recovering the Cerulean Queen, so keep your composure and take a back seat for now. I know you don’t want to hear that, and I know how hard you worked on the Hathorkare project, but I beg you to let the experts do their job.”
“What experts? Did you know there’s a ring of thieves focused on repatriating Egyptian antiquities?”
“Ma’at? Yes, I know of them.”
“The Cerulean Queen would be the perfect target for one of their heists, and they used diversionary tactics in their first two thefts. Does the board know about that?”
“I have no doubt they do. But my hands are tied, Charlotte. I have to let this play out with the board and Mr. Lavigne, no matter how frustrating it is to the rest of us. There’s a methodical and thoughtful approach that we simply must follow. They may have information we don’t, and we have to respect that.”
Charlotte was being constrained, and she hated that feeling more than anything. She worried that everyone was stalling right when they ought to be taking action, doing something bold.
Deep down, though, she knew that the thefts of the Cerulean Queen and her file, while devastating, were not the true reasons for her edginess.
The truth was out there. The truth about how the broad collar necklace ended up in New York, and the truth about what really happened the night the steamship went down. Charlotte had survived. Leon had survived. She had to know for certain what happened to Henry and Layla. That came first.
Which meant, for now, Charlotte wanted out. Out of the politics of the Met. Out of the gutting loss of her research and the missing Cerulean Queen. Out of New York.
And there was only one place she needed to be right now. The country that had swallowed her innocence and spit her out, breaking her heart and her spirit. For so long she’d been trying to ignore the past, to move on from it. But the events of the past twenty-four hours changed all that.
It only took her a few seconds to make up her mind. “I’m going to Egypt,” she said. The words came out gravelly, like she had sand in her throat.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I have to go. To Egypt.”
Frederick gave a small half smile, like she must be joking. “Don’t be silly.”
“I’m sorry to leave you with so much going on, but it’s important to me for personal reasons.”
Frederick’s half smile turned to a panicked grimace. “Well, it’s important for me for personal and professional reasons that you stay right here and help me manage the Tut opening. This is no time to travel to the other side of the world; in fact, it couldn’t be a worse time. This is your job, Charlotte.”
She rose to go. “I’m sorry.”
Frederick’s face had gone bright red. As he became more irate, she grew more composed, more confident in what she’d decided.
“If you go now,” he said, “I can’t promise what will be here when you get back. Including your position.”
Charlotte would be jeopardizing everything. But there was no other choice.
It had to be now.
Charlotte walked out of the museum, still stewing over her conversation with Frederick.
No doubt part of the reason he was so upset was that he recognized how integral Charlotte was to getting anything accomplished in the Egyptian Art collection. Frederick tended to be more concerned with wining and dining possible donors than managing the staff, and her absence would only make that more obvious. But maybe it was time for him to learn the hard way how often she covered for him.
She decided to walk across the park instead of taking the bus, as she needed time to think before she shared her plans with Mark.
“Um, hi, Charlotte.”
She looked up to see Annie Jenkins in her red jacket. She had deep circles under her eyes, and her shoulders were hunched as if she might crumple to the ground at any moment. She stood awkwardly in front of Charlotte in the weak November sun, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“Hi, Annie. What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting for you. Since I’m not allowed inside.” She looked forlornly up at the building like it was a lover who’d jilted her.
“I’m heading west. You can walk with me if you like.”
“Okay.” They started off. “Is there any news about the thief?” Annie asked.
Charlotte shook her head. “Nothing new from last night.”
“Thanks for standing up for me. I really appreciate that.”
“Sure. It was a scary experience, and I didn’t like the way they were hounding you.”
“That meant a lot.” She matched her strides to Charlotte’s. “The man with the necklace, you think he’s Egyptian?” Annie asked.
“I really don’t know. There have been some thefts by an Egyptian organization called Ma’at, and that may be who’s behind this one as well.” Charlotte explained briefly what Tenny had told her about the group.
“What will they do with the things they stole?”
“That’s a good question. If their goal is to bring them back to their homeland, to Egyptian soil, they’ll have to keep them hidden for a long time before they can be displayed. That is, if they could ever be displayed at all, without the authorities being summoned and an international law tribunal ultimately deciding their fate.” It curdled Charlotte’s insides to imagine the Cerulean Queen, which had reigned gloriously in the Met galleries for over fifty years, locked away in some dark storeroom, hidden from the eyes of the public and the study of researchers. If that was the case, what did it matter whether it even existed or not?
A heartless question.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know,” said Annie. “I want to clear my name.”
“I’m leaving the country, actually. On my way to my travel agent now.”
Annie’s face fell. “Where are you going?”
“Egypt.”
Her mouth opened to a wide circle. It was extraordinary, the way her expression revealed exactly what she was thinking. The kid was an open book. “To track down the thief?”
“No, for personal reasons.”
Charlotte’s plan was to locate Leon and speak with him in person. That was the only way to get answers, by catching him off guard and forcing him to tell her how he was alive, how the broad collar ended up at the Met instead of at the bottom of the Nile, and what he knew about what happened to Henry and Layla.
“Is that safe?” asked Annie. “What if the thief is back in Egypt as well?”
Charlotte remembered Tenny’s remark about Leon, that he might be associated with Ma’at. It was a risk she was willing to take. “It’s a big country.”
“Are you going alone?”
“That’s my plan, yes.”
“Do you need an assistant? I can come. I have money saved, so I can pay my own airfare.” The girl was like a puppy that had been yelled at too many times, cowed and desperate for connection.
“I really don’t think that’s necessary. But thank you for offering.”
Annie was quiet for a moment. “When were you last there?”
“Ages ago.”
“When exactly?” Annie spoke in earnest; she actually wanted to know the answer.
“I was last there in 1937.”
Charlotte might as well have said it was the 1500s, from the shock on Annie’s face. “Wow. I’m sure it’s changed a lot. You might want someone like me on hand to be there for you, you know, because…” She trailed off.
“Because I’m old?” Charlotte laughed. “Sixty isn’t old. I’m just getting started, believe me. You’re what, twenty?”
“Nineteen.”
“When’s the last time you’ve been abroad?”
“Never.”
“Seems to me you’re the one who would need assistance, in that case. Cairo would eat you alive.”
“Then it’s settled, we’ll go together.”
Charlotte had to give Annie credit: She was an obstinate one. “No. That’s not what I said. Let me put it this way: Do you have any experience with antiquity theft? Any familiarity with Arabic?”
Annie stopped and faced her. She was a few inches taller than Charlotte, and her cheeks were pink from the cold. “The jobs I had before working for Mrs. Vreeland were waitressing and housecleaning. So no, on both counts. But I’m the only one who can identify the thief. What if you run into him?”
Charlotte was about to launch into an explanation when she remembered she didn’t owe Annie Jenkins anything. After all, Annie Jenkins was the one who’d convinced Diana Vreeland to use the broad collar. At least Frederick had had the sense to secure it in a locked vitrine in the Egyptian Art collection first thing this morning.
“Look, you’ve been through a lot,” said Charlotte. “We both have. But we’re not in this together. What happened last night was terrible, and I’m sorry you got caught up in it, but let’s let the police and the museum’s security team do their job.”
Annie began to speak, but Charlotte cut her off. “Thank you, but I think you should head home now.”
Then she turned and walked away. She had enough to deal with, and taking care of Annie Jenkins was not part of her plan.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Mark paced along the length of the dining table as Charlotte collected a notebook and pens, as well as her camera, and stuffed them into her carry-on bag. On the way home, she’d stopped by the travel agency and booked a ticket on a flight to Luxor connecting in Cairo that left the next evening, knowing if she waited too long her resolve might falter.
“I’m dead serious,” she replied. “I have to find out for myself what happened, how Leon survived, and how the broad collar was recovered.”
“Thanksgiving is in two days. What about our Thanksgiving plans?”
They usually hosted Thanksgiving for any of Mark’s students who couldn’t go home. It was always a merry crew; she wouldn’t be missed. “I’m sorry about Thanksgiving, I really am, but you’ll have Lori here to help out.”
“What about the art theft expert you’ve been talking to? Why can’t you send him?”
“Tenny? Because this isn’t about the theft. It’s about what happened to me back then. Leon could lie and Tenny wouldn’t know it. I know how to confront Leon, what to say and how to say it.”
“I’m coming with you, then. We’ll cancel Thanksgiving.”
Charlotte shook her head. This was something she needed to do alone. “You have to stay here with Lori. How did her audition go, by the way?”
Mark’s tone brightened slightly. “She got a callback.”
“That’s great. When’s the next audition?”
“Don’t try to change the subject. What if you wait until Christmas break and we both go then?”
“I can’t wait that long.”
He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “You’re not telling me everything, are you? I thought we’d had a breakthrough last night, on the steps of the Met. But you’re already putting up walls. Your evasiveness is going to be the end of us.”
“Please, Mark.” She hated leaving him like this, but he’d never understand her reasoning. He’d never lost a child. “I promise I’ll be careful, and I’m sorry I can’t explain it to your satisfaction. I need you to trust me on this, that I know what I’m doing and that I’ll be back and it’ll be just like it was before.”
“Where you keep secrets and I’m wondering what you’re thinking half the time?”
She was disappointing him. Again. Maybe it was better for her to be alone than to be with a generous, kind, smart man who wanted nothing more than to connect with her in a way that she couldn’t reciprocate. It was doing neither of them any good, and he deserved better. The thought made her heartsick.
“What does Frederick say about this?” he asked.
“He’s not happy.”
“So you’re putting your job at risk by heading to Egypt on a whim? Look, you’ve just been through a traumatic experience. Now’s not the time to be making rash decisions.”
She zipped up her bag. “Now’s exactly the time. For too long I’ve been pretending the past never happened. I have to face it or I’ll go mad, and I have to do it now.”
Lori appeared at the doorway, looking concerned. “Is everything all right?”
“Hey there,” said Charlotte. “I’m going abroad for a while, so you’ll have to be second-in-command over Thanksgiving. I understand you got a callback, is that right?”
Lori’s face brightened into a smile, perhaps one of the first smiles Charlotte had seen her make since she’d arrived. “I did. It’s right after Thanksgiving.”
“I’m sure you’ll do well,” said Charlotte. “Break a leg, kid.”
Thanksgiving Eve, Charlotte settled herself into her window seat on the flight to Cairo, hoping she’d be able to get some sleep. As the last of the other passengers filed onto the plane, she leafed through the articles Tenny had given her as a way to calm herself down.
She couldn’t believe she was on a plane to Egypt, that she’d made it this far without the trip being thwarted by a loved one dying or some terrible aviation tragedy. It was very possible she was putting herself in harm’s way by flirting with the curse so brazenly, testing whether or not it existed. Helen might think it was superstitious nonsense, but Charlotte knew better. Anything could go wrong, she had to be prepared for the worst.
“Um, hi.”
Charlotte looked up and froze.
A young woman smiled nervously down at Charlotte, hitching the strap of a backpack over one shoulder as a flight attendant slammed shut the last of the overhead bins.
Annie Jenkins was coming to Egypt after all.