The Mask of Atreus by A. J. Hartley

Author:A. J. Hartley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Detective, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Theft from museums, Museum curators, Fiction - Mystery, Antiquities, Fiction, Greece, Thrillers, General
ISBN: 9780425209134
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2010-01-14T23:00:00+00:00

INTERLUDE

France, 1997

Randolph Fitz-Stephens had turned eighty-seven two days before. His doctors said that the trip was inadvisable, possibly even dangerous, but he had waved them away. He had been waiting half his life for this, and he wasn't about to let his health stand in the way. Over half a century he had waited, searching files and registers, sponsoring dives, urging international inquiries: half a century with nothing to show for his labors except the derision of all those he confided in. All but his son. Marcus would want to be here when he saw it, but Marcus would have tried to prevent his making the journey in his current state, so Marcus would have to wait in ignorance to applaud his judgment.

In a matter of days they would bring Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, to England! Then, and only then, would they begin talks with the British Museum. If Randolph didn't live to see the hero of the Trojan War lying in state under the Parthenon frieze salvaged by Lord Elgin, he could at least trust Marcus to ensure it was done.

He had always known there had been some foul-up with the paperwork. The chaos of the war's last days and those which had immediately followed had been an administrative nightmare. It was not surprising that unscrupulous Americans had been able to slip away with cargo they were supposed to deliver elsewhere, nor was it entirely surprising that no adequate records could lead to where said cargo really had been moved. What had never occurred to him was that some nameless ship might have taken his precious treasure to the bottom of the sea, or that fifty years later a shifting sandbar 240

A. J. Hartley

would send the wreckage of that ship rolling and drifting onto rocks along the Brittany shore.

A boy, twelve years old, apparently, had been the first to raise interest in a particular box, now rotted to pieces by the seawater, a box from which he had recovered a few trinkets to sell in the local antique stores. Only when Marcus had stumbled on discussion of a particular amphora's antiquity did he realize that he was reading the salvage reports of priceless heirlooms his family had already paid for. Would the body of the man himself have survived the journey and--worse--the years underwater? It would depend on how the corpse had been preserved. But if only a fragment of bone had survived, it would be worth all the money, all the years.

The dealer claimed that the contents of the crate were all intact, though he had nothing to base that on beyond the sense that it seemed full. He had been coy about whether other bidders were involved, but Randolph was sure he was prepared to pay more than anyone else. He still carried the pictures, now badly faded and creased, which his first duplicitous contact had sent him all those decades ago. He had to be the one to claim possession. Morally, it was already his. He sat, ramrod straight at a metal table in the appointed cafe, waiting.

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