“God, I’m sorry.”
“Just promise me that if she comes to see the exhibit you won’t show her the Queen Mother’s stool. She doesn’t deserve it,” I quip trying to make light of something that still hurts.
He doesn’t laugh. His expression loses all its humor and he looks away.
“What’s wrong?”
He motions for me to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He sits in the other and leans forward, hands resting on his knees. “This isn’t public knowledge.”
“What isn’t?” I press.
“This is off the record.”
My fifth sense, as I call it, starts vibrating. “Okay.”
His pins me with his eyes. “I’m trusting you Sin, but if you say you heard it from me, I’ll deny it.”
I stifle an impatient growl and nod. “You’ve got my word. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“On its way from Chicago, the truck that was transporting the artifacts for the exhibit was robbed. The Ohemaa’s Stool was taken along with most of the ivory and several carvings.”
Horrified, I gasp and press a hand to my chest. “When did this happen? And why didn’t you tell me?”
He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “We all signed NDAs. The museum doesn’t want anyone to know they’ve lost it.”
“I can imagine they don’t, but the Interpol database is publicly available. How can they avoid it getting out?”
“They didn’t report it.”
“Are they trying to find it?” I ask incredulously. “It’s scheduled to be returned next year.”
He grimaces. “I don’t know what is motivating their behavior. I’m new to this role and this team.”
I sit up. “Do they have any clue who it is?”
“I don’t know what they think, but I think it’s The Wizard. Same MO, all the thefts are of West African cultural relics. And they’re sophisticated, well-trained people carrying out these heists.”
I sigh and shake my head, my mind boggled. “How could they have known the stool was on that truck? It wasn’t announced publicly, was it?”
He shakes his head, his nostrils flare like he smells something bad. “They have someone on the inside. Maybe not at the NMAAHC but in the Smithsonian organization,” Leon says.
My stomach flutters. “That’s what I think, too.” It’s what I’ve always thought. “Have you considered making an anonymous report to Interpol?”
He shakes his head and leans away. “No. They’ll know it’s me. Only three people here know. I’m not trying to lose my job and be sued.”
Irritated, I scowl at him. “So why are you telling me?”
“Becauseyoudidn’t sign an NDA. And I think I have a lead on The Wizard. Someone I met told me she works for a man who runs auctions where they sell things that are illegal. She said his name is Oz.” He looks at me meaningfully.
My stomach drops as his implication comes clear. I shake my head on dismissal. “No way the criminal mastermind who has been harder to pin down than smoke would give himself such an obvious moniker.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but I asked her if she’d talk to you.”
“Why me?”
“I know your article was more focused on the artifacts return but you were also starting to look into the black market. Do you thinkThe Timeswould let you switch gears and work on it?” His eyes are so hopeful it kills to say no.
I close my eyes briefly and groan. “Oh Leon…I can’t.”
