The photo on the screen showed several dirt-covered day workers standing at the edge of a pit, shovels in their hands. Nearby was the supervisor, a portly European wearing a pith helmet and un-soiled shorts and shirt. Protruding from the dirt at the bottom of the pit was a conical-shaped mound.
Austin went through the sequence of about two dozen photos. The series showed the head of the statue be
ing unearthed. Then its shoulders were cleared until the workers were able to get lines under the armpits and hoist it from the hole. The dirt had been cleaned off in later pictures. Benson had taken several close-ups of the face, with its smashed-in nose, along with front, back, and side shots.
“It certainly looks like our statue,” Carina said. “Unfortunately, this is all we have. A photograph. We’re at a dead end.”
Austin reached into his pocket and pulled out the figurine he had taken from Benson’s fireplace mantle. He set it on the table in front of Carina. “Maybe not.”
Carina took a deep breath. “It’s a miniature version of the Navigator. Where did you find it?”
“At Benson’s house.”
She picked up the figurine. “The fact that it exists at all suggests that it was made from the original.” She crinkled her brow. “From what we know, the statue was shipped from Syria to Baghdad and never saw the light of day. When could this copy have been made?”
Austin reached for his phone. “Let’s ask the man who knows.”
Using directory assistance, he found the name of the hospital nearest to Benson’s farm and punched in the number. The receptionist connected him to Benson’s room. Austin put the phone on speaker. The photographer answered with a furry hello, but he perked up when Austin identified himself. He said that he had suffered a concussion and contusions but no fractures.
“I’ll be out of here in a couple of days. Any word on those bastards?”
“Nothing solid. We wondered where you found the figurine on the mantle. The miniature of the statue you photographed at the Syrian dig. Did someone copy the statue at the excavation site?”
“Naw. That one was shipped off right away. Maybe someone copied it from the other statue.”
Austin and Carina exchanged blank looks. “What other statue?” she said. “We were under the impression that there was only one Navigator.”
“Sorry about that. I was going to mention it, but, as you know, I was under the weather when you came by the house. There was a second statue. The German guy who was running the Syrian dig said the statues might have guarded the entrance to an important building or tomb. I took some shots of the old boy, but that was before digital. The film got ruined in the blasted heat.”
“What happened to the second statue?” Austin said.
“Got me. I went on to another assignment. The Geographic wanted shots of native women with bare breasts, so they sent me to Samoa. A couple of years ago I was in Istanbul doing a feature on the Ottoman Empire. I found the little figure in a market. Guy who sold it to me was a bandit, but I bought it anyhow.”
“Do you remember where the market was?”
“Somewhere in the covered bazaar. Shop had a pile of the statues. Damn. Painkiller’s wearing off. Got to call the nurse. Let me know when you find the creeps who bopped me.”
“I will.” Austin thanked Benson, told him to stay well, and clicked off.
Carina looked as if she were sitting on bedsprings. “A second statue! We’ve got to find it.”
Austin pictured the sprawling city of Istanbul as he remembered it from an assignment in the Black Sea a couple of years earlier. The covered bazaar spread out over several acres in a bewildering labyrinth of shops. He remembered Zavala’s plans for the Subvette.
“We’ve got a contingent of NUMA people going to Istanbul to help survey an ancient port. Joe Zavala could check out the bazaar for us.”
“And then what?” Carina said. “What if he finds the dealer? We are here and he is there. What good will that do us?”
Carina had a point. “I’ll see if there’s a seat on the plane.”
“Make that two seats.” She raised her hand to cut short Austin’s reply. “I can be a great help. I know someone in Istanbul who’s close to the antiquities market.” She shrugged. “Well, he’s a smuggler, but only of minor artifacts. I’ve used him on several occasions to go after bigger fish. He knows every crooked dealer in Istanbul. He could save us time. He will only work through me.”
Austin gave her proposal a second’s thought. It would be pleasant to have the lovely Italian woman as company, but there were other reasons that had nothing to do with male libido. He was concerned about Carina’s safety if she were left alone. Trouble seemed to dog the young woman’s footsteps. He’d feel better if he could keep an eye on her. Her informant could save a lot of sweat. Carina had successfully tracked down the Navigator where others had failed.
She was putting on an unnecessary display of persistence, showering Austin with other reasons for her to go, stopping only after he put his finger to his lips. He called Zavala and asked if he had room for two passengers. After a short conversation, Austin hung up and turned to Carina, who had been hanging on every word.
“Pack your bags,” he said. “The plane is leaving at eight tonight. I’ll drive you to your hotel and pick you up at five o’clock.”
Carina leaned forward and gave Austin a long and lingering kiss that practically curled his toes. “It will be faster if I take a cab. I’ll be waiting for you.”