Storm Front

satisfied.”
    “So you’re not a buyer?” Yael asked.
    “No, I’m not. I don’t purchase what might be considered by the narrow-minded to be stolen goods,” Sewickey said. “In any case, Reverend Jones allowed me to make a number of photographs of the inscriptions on the stele. He is exceedingly anxious to make sure that the Israelis can’t cover up this momentous discovery.”
    “I think he is exceedingly anxious to advertise this object for sale,” Yael said.
    Virgil: “Have you made arrangements to meet again?”
    “I will have to refuse to answer that on grounds that it might possibly incriminate me,” he said. He frowned. “By the way, who did he shoot?”
    “Couple of Turks from downstairs,” Virgil said. “They weren’t hurt too bad—he was shooting snake shot.”
    “Perfectly appropriate, if it’s the two Turks I’m thinking of,” Sewickey said. And then, “Have you heard anything about Hezbollah becoming involved in this question?”
    “Why would you ask?” Virgil asked.
    “So you have,” Sewickey said. He rubbed his chin. “This matter is becoming complicated. We can’t allow either the Turks or the Hezbollah to gain control of this artifact. This thing has tremendous power. This might be the most powerful artifact since the discovery of the True Cross, which discovery I recount in my book,
Cross of Christ, Blood of Hope
.”
    “I hadn’t actually heard that the True Cross had been discovered,” Virgil said.
    “Oh, yes, yes, it has,” Sewickey said. “It’s currently being hidden by the Vatican. I had found it sealed in a lead capsule, probably by Constantine’s wife, Saint Helen, thirty feet underwater in the Golden Horn, and had taken it ashore. I was preparing to move it to a safe location when we were hit by a Jesuit commando team, who . . . Well, it’s all told in my book, which is available on Amazon. Suffice to say, I was lucky to escape with my life.”
    “I’ve found that usually does suffice,” Virgil said. “I will tell you, the Jesuits might have let you off easy, but if I find out that you’re hooking up with Jones, I will put your Texan butt in a Minnesota jail. If you see him, hear from him, find out somehow where he’s at—I want to know about it. I’m deathly afraid that somebody’s going to get killed in the hassle over this thing.”
    “Somebody probably will,” Sewickey said, his voice gone somber. “The Solomon stone—many people would think its power worth killing for. Beside this rock, an atomic bomb is nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Nothing.”
    They talked awhile longer, speculating about Jones’s location and motive; Sewickey’s anxiety increased as they talked, and he looked at his watch several times. Then there was a knock on the door and he got to his feet, stepped to the motel hanger bar, took down a suit coat, and slipped it on.
    “I’m afraid I’m going to have to call an end to the interview,” he said. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
    “That wouldn’t be Jones knocking on the door, would it?” Virgil asked.
    There was another knock, and Sewickey called, “One second, please.” And to Virgil, “No it wouldn’t.”
    “I told you, you should be carrying your gun, or let me have mine,” Yael said.
    “Hmm,” Virgil said. He pulled the door open.
    And found a man in jeans and a T-shirt, with a large video camera, and a chunky man in a suit with a hairdo that was, compared to most other men’s hairdos, as the Matterhorn is to Bunker Hill; with pink cheeks. He said, “Virgil. Hey man, what’re you doing here?”
    “Ah, boy,” Virgil said. To Yael: “It’s Channel Three.”
    —
    Y AEL WANTED to watch the interview but Virgil didn’t. He took her down the motel hallway until they were out of earshot of the TV crew, and said, “I’m going to get something to eat. Can you walk back to your hotel?”
    “Yes. We are done for the day?”
    “I have nothing more to do—I might try to find some of Jones’s hunting and fishing friends, and ask where he likes to camp out. If I find out anything that seems promising, I’ll call you.”
    She nodded and turned back to Sewickey’s room, where Sewickey was talking to the TV crew about the best place to set up the interview.
    —
    V IRGIL CALLED the duty officer at the BCA and told him he needed an address for a David Sugarman somewhere in the Mankato area, stopped at the Howlie Inn for a chicken sandwich, got a call back and was told that Sugarman