Storm Front

me—especially if that smear turns out to be blood. Can you tell me if Jones was behaving differently on this trip? I know he’s sick . . .”
    “He’s dying,” Johnson said.
    “That’s what I’ve been told,” Virgil said. “Even given that, how was he behaving? Was there anything unusual about him, in the days before he found the stele?”
    “Listen, this dig is really rough work. It’s like excavating a basement using nothing but trowels, in a hundred-and-four-degree heat. People feel bad all the time. There’s always somebody who’s dehydrated, who can’t make it out in the morning. So it’s hard to tell when something unusual is going on,” Johnson said. “Elijah was sick, and sometimes he didn’t make it out. But he tried, every day. I was so happy when the stele came up—I was right in the next square, and when he found that first edge, it was like, ‘Okay, this could be amazing.’ But we’ll find something that could be amazing several times every dig, and they usually turn out to be disappointments. But this—this was even more amazing than anything we’d ever expected.”
    “Why would he run away with it?” Virgil asked. “He’d have to know that everybody would be on his trail. What could he accomplish?”
    Johnson said, “I think he saw what was on the stele and he freaked out. Something just broke. All the stress from the dig, from the heat, from the cancer, from worrying about his wife . . . and then this. I think he snapped.”
    Virgil: “The Israeli investigator here said it’d be quite a while before they knew
what
was on the stele. You mean . . . he already knew?”
    “Oh, God,” Johnson said. “We’re
really
not supposed to talk about that. Too many people already know. There are all kinds of photographs. Even some of the kids have photographs, although they’re supposed to have turned them over to the Israelis. It’s bound to get out.”
    “What is it?” Virgil said. “Is it really a big deal?”
    “Oh, yeah. About as big as it could get,” Johnson said.
    “What is it?”
    Johnson told him about it.

4
    W hen Yael walked out of the house, Virgil was in his truck, talking to Davenport.
    “. . . up my ass,” he said. “This thing is gonna turn into a screaming nightmare.”
    “I didn’t know. Nobody knew,” Davenport said.
    “I’ll tell you what, Lucas. We gotta find Jones in the next ten minutes, get that stone back, and get Yael out of here,” Virgil said. “If that’s blood in there . . . And with that runner this morning, there’s gotta be somebody else involved. Yael says she has no idea who it might be.”
    “I’m hearing you. When will we know if it’s blood?”
    “Pretty quick. The Mankato crime-scene guy will be over in a few minutes. I mean, I could probably get a paper towel and put a little spit on it . . .”
    “Maybe you ought to wait for the crime-scene guy,” Davenport said.
    “Yeah, yeah. Ah, poop. Here she comes. I’m gonna jump down her throat.”
    “Go ahead. Do it in a nice way. Remember, they’re our allies.”
    —
    H E HUNG UP THE PHONE as Yael popped the passenger-side door and asked, “Am I invited in?”
    Virgil said, “Yeah, climb in.”
    “I was talking to the police officers,” she said, as she got into the passenger seat and closed the door. “They think it’s blood. They’re almost sure it is.” Virgil eyed her for a moment, and she finally asked, “What is it?”
    “Yael, you’ve been lying like a mm . . .” He suppressed the “motherfucker.” “You’ve been lying, and you forgot that everybody has cell phones. I talked to some people at the dig, and they all know what the stele said. I can guarantee it’ll be in the
New York Times
in the next few days.”
    “That’d be terrible.”
    “Whatever. Now, what I think is, you’re going to tell me everything you know or I’m gonna kick your ass out of the truck and you can do your investigation from a taxicab,” Virgil said.
    “That’s not fair.”
    “Not fair? Gimme a break,” Virgil said. “You think it’s fair that I should go looking for somebody and not know who else is around, when there’s blood on the floor? Am I gonna get shot investigating this thing? Is somebody else going to get shot? Has somebody already been shot? Is this thing worth killing for?”
    She didn’t answer.
    He said, “Answer! Is it worth killing for?”
    She mumbled, “Who knows? Maybe. To some crazies.”
    “Israeli crazies?