Storm Front

outback hat. Yael did not approve, but conceded that Virgil may have owed something to Sewickey.
    Sewickey followed Virgil back to his truck, Virgil carrying the stone, Sewickey towing Yael’s suitcase, while she checked out. As they waited for her, Virgil asked, “Where was this Atlantis parchment found?”
    “Santorini. Also known as Thera. It’s in the Cyclades, off Greece. The island is the remains of a volcanic caldera. The volcano blew about three thousand six hundred years ago, and is possibly the origin of the Atlantis myth. If this parchment can be nailed down, that’d certainly support the theory that Santorini was Atlantis.”
    Virgil nodded and said, “Pretty nice time of year in the Greek Islands. I took a leave there, when I was in the army.”
    “Pleasant,” Sewickey said. “Very pleasant, in fact.”
    “Lots of northern Europeans on vacation. Swedes, Norwegians, Finns, Germans, Danes . . .”
    “All blond, all the time,” Sewickey said, rubbing his hands together. “Of course, I’ll be there for scholarly reasons and would have no reason to visit the beaches.”
    —
    O N THE WAY north to the Cities, Virgil filled Yael in on the aftermath of the confrontation the night before, and told her that he’d be leaving the stone with the BCA. The negotiations for its return would be carried out between her, his bosses, the Israeli embassy, and somebody from the State Department. “You’ll probably have to stay here for few more days, but it’s a done deal. You can spend a little more time shopping. Go out to the Mall of America.”
    “What about Tal Zahavi?”
    “Diplomatic immunity,” Virgil said.
    Yael shook her head: “This is one person I do not need to meet when I get back home.”
    “I doubt she’ll want to have anything to do with the stone,” Virgil said.
    “I was thinking more along the lines of revenge,” Yael said. “I’ll be the only one she can reach.”
    —
    V IRGIL DROPPED HER at the St. Paul Hotel, and continued on to the BCA, where he placed the stele on Davenport’s desk. Davenport peered at it for a moment and said, “That’d look good on my mantel.”
    Tal Zahavi, he said, was still in the Ramsey County lockup, and would be for a few more days. According to reports from the jailers, she was in an around-the-clock rage, not that they gave a rat’s ass.
    The FBI had called. They’d send somebody down to consult with Raj Awad, Davenport said, but Awad was in the clear.
    “I think Awad might be suddenly affluent,” Virgil said.
    “Who cares?” Davenport said. “None of this shit has anything to do with us. I just wish they’d keep it over there, wherever that is.”
    “I wash my hands of it,” Virgil said. “I’ll go talk to Ellen, see what she has to say, and then I’m gone.”
    “Got a date?”
    “Hope so,” Virgil said.
    —
    V IRGIL WENT over to Regions Hospital, a sprawling brick medical palace down the hill from the state capitol. The hospital had a locked ward for the criminal kind, and after going through some rigmarole, Virgil was taken in by a guard. Jones was flat on his back, more tubes going in and out, just as they had been in Mankato. His eyes were closed, and he looked shrunken, as though he’d lost five pounds since the night before.
    Ellen was sitting next to him, reading a book. She saw Virgil and he raised his eyebrows, and she looked at her father and shook her head. “We’re arranging for a hospice.”
    “I heard from the docs, this morning,” Virgil said.
    “I just . . . I just . . .”
    “I’m sorry.”
    She said, “When he was waiting for you at that restaurant, he called me—he called Danny, too, he’s on his way—and told me that he really didn’t want anyone hurt, but he had obligations that he couldn’t escape.”
    “I appreciate that, Ellen. I can’t lie to you—he’s still pretty much of an asshole in my book. Ma could have been killed last night, trying to help him out. Part of it was her own fault, but part of it was your father’s, too. Ma felt an obligation to him, and he exploited that.”
    “He wasn’t a bad man,” she insisted.
    “That’s what Ma says, too.”
    —
    “I NEED A FAVOR FROM YOU , ” Ellen said. “A big one.”
    Virgil shrugged: “I’ll listen. I’ll do what I can.”
    “When I was talking to Dad last night, he said he’d made a will, specifying that his body be cremated, and the ashes taken to a grave he’s already arranged, in Israel. It’ll be the