Brad Thor - Blowback

Davidson shook both of their hands and then shut the door behind them. “I have to apologize for the modest quarters. This was the best they could do for me on such short notice.”

Through the room’s closed windows, Harvath could still hear the rush of whining Vespas and noisy diesel delivery trucks from the busy street below. He also could hear the muted melody of a song he thought he recognized. It seemed to be coming from inside the room itself. It took him a couple seconds of intent listening before he could place it. It was the seventies funk classic “Love Rollercoaster” by the Ohio Players. If Dr. Davidson had a stereo hidden somewhere, Harvath had to hand it to her, she had good taste.

“I also have to apologize for that noise,” added Davidson. “The shop next door rented out their upstairs apartment to a young DJ who’s home all day and gone all night. Half the time, I end up having to take my work home with me just to get away from it. “Davidson walked down the length of the room, pounded on the far wall, and yelled in French for the music to be turned down. The command seemed to work, for seconds later it was barely audible.

Harvath, though, didn’t much care for Dr. Davidson referring to music of the Ohio Players as noise.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you much more over the phone,” continued Davidson as she crossed to a computer workstation and reached for a box that was inside one of the drawers. “But as I indicated, I was still waiting for a couple of key test results to come in this afternoon. We’ve only had the artifacts for a little over a week now.”

“That’s okay,” replied Jillian. “Have the test results come back then?”

“Yes. I just got them.”

“What can you tell us?” asked Harvath as he lifted an enormous battle hammer from the table and shifted it from hand to hand, gauging its weight.

“I can tell you,” snapped Davidson as she brought a box of white cotton gloves from her drawer over to the table and handed a pair to Harvath, “that I would rather you not handle any of the artifacts without my permission, and even then, only whilst wearing proper gloves. These items are quite old and need to be treated with extreme care.”

“Of course,” said Harvath, setting the battle hammer down and pulling on the gloves. “I’m sorry.”

Davidson looked slightly mollified. “I suppose there’s no harm done. Out of everything you could have picked up, you selected the sturdiest item. It’s quite an amazing piece. According to our testing, the hammer’s head was forged from metals mined in North Africa, and the handle itself, interestingly enough, is made from Indian teak-the hardest wood known to mankind.”

“Why is that interesting?” asked Harvath.

“It’s interesting because we’ve dated the piece to the third century

B.C., and it was believed that Greece was the only common point of contact for those two cultures. India and North Africa were not known to be direct trading partners.”

“Could the Greeks have traded in North African metals or Indian teak?” asked Jillian.

“I don’t profess to be an expert on either culture,” replied Davidson. “This is a bit out of my league. My expertise runs more along the lines of arms and armor of the Middle Ages and that sort of thing, but I suppose anything is possible. There’s just as much about the ancient world that has been lost to us as has survived.”

Jillian nodded her head in agreement as Harvath walked along the table and asked, “Are all of these items part of your investigation?”

“Yes. According to our client, all of the items were discovered together.”

“And where was that?”

“We don’t know,” replied Davidson.

“You don’t?” said Harvath, somewhat skeptical. “Why not?”

“Our client wouldn’t say.”

“That certainly can’t make your job very easy,” offered Jillian.

“No,” answered Davidson. “In fact, it makes it a lot more difficult for us. But for some of our clients, items have been in their families for generations and there’s the possibility that they are simply unaware of the actual origins.”

And there’s also the very likely possibility, thought Harvath, that more than a few of the artifacts that come your way are criminally tainted and their owners say as little as possible to help them remain under the radar. Harvath had done his homework on the prestigious British auction house at a public internet terminal at Newcastle Airport before arriving in Paris. Sotheby’s had been involved in numerous scandals over the years dealing with the sale of stolen artifacts, and they were anything but naïve when it came to the ways of the world. That said, they had built a reputation on protecting their clients’anonymity at all costs. He didn’t relish the prospect of having to sweat Molly Davidson, but if it came down to it, he’d do it. For the time being, though, he wanted to know more about her research and what she’d been able to uncover. “You mentioned in your e-mail to Dr. Whitcomb that you thought the breast-plates came from Carthage, around the third century B.C. Why is that?”

“I can trace the materials used in the breastplates to the region during that time,” replied Davidson, “but it’s the other artifacts discovered along with them that really push me in that direction.”

“How so?”

“Well, we have coins from the Iberian Peninsula, spearheads from ancient Egypt, arrowheads from Gaul, even the stirrup of a Numidian cavalry soldier. It’s a real hodgepodge. Based upon the weapons and armor, my hypothesis is that this collection belonged to either a military unit that was widely traveled throughout the ancient world, in and around the Mediterranean in particular, or-”

“It came from an army made up largely of mercenaries from in and around the Mediterranean,” said Harvath. “Just like Hannibal ’s.”

I didn’t know Hannibal ’s soldiers were mercenaries,” said Jillian.

“According to one of the articles Vanessa had in her office,” explained Harvath, “the Carthaginians were predominantly merchants. There was no need to maintain a large standing army when they could just hire out the best one money could buy whenever they needed it.”

“Which would explain the presence of a Numidian cavalry soldier,” said Davidson. “They were considered some of the best horsemen of their day.”

“Normally each family in Carthage,” continued Harvath, “committed at least one son to a life of military service, and like Hannibal, those men were extremely well trained. They were the ones who led Carthage ’s mercenary army.”

Dr. Davidson watched Harvath as he walked over to the breast-plates. “What can you tell us about these?” he asked.

“Not as much as I would like,” responded Davidson. “That’s what I was hoping you could help me with. Based on what my husband told me, your colleague at the University of Durham seems to believe that the snakes represent the Azemiops feae viper?”

“They do bear a great resemblance,” replied Harvath, “but like you, we’re feeling our way around this to a certain degree as well. What else can you tell us?”

Davidson pulled a pair of white cotton gloves from her pocket and put them on before handling the armor. “Each one of the plates shows exceptional workmanship, especially for the third century B.C. The Greeks were some of the best armorers of the period, but these surpass any of their work. Based on our metallurgical testing, we know the metal came from somewhere in North Africa.”

“Just like the war hammer,” said Harvath.

Davidson nodded her head.

“How about the purple stones used for the bodies of the snakes, “He said. “What are they?”