CHAPTER EIGHT

"Hiro? Pigsty? What do we have?" asked Luke, sitting across from the nerds.

"Whatever her father was looking for was considered ‘classified' by the Egyptian Department of Antiquities and the British Department of Antiquities."

"Wait, he was working for both?" frowned Eric.

"He was working with both. We're not sure how or why, but I can tell you that if this was about a sarcophagus, a tomb, a temple, a pyramid, anything remotely Egyptian, the British would not have been involved at all."

"What about the other archaeologist?" asked Eric.

"Goldmeir. She was well-known and well-respected in the archaeology community. But she did not specialize in Egyptian archaeology."

"Then what was her specialty, Hiro? I mean, what else would she be doing digging in the desert of Egypt?" asked Luke.

"She was a biblical archaeologist."

"Biblical? Like she dug up ruins or things mentioned in the bible?" frowned Eric.

"Exactly. She wasn't a spring chicken. She was in her early sixties at the time and had been doing this for years. By all accounts, she was the expert on biblical archaeology. Anyone who wanted to know anything about the subject went to her.

"According to May, she discovered several lost scrolls and a crucified hand. It's the only one ever found in the world to prove that the Romans did indeed crucify their victims." Pigsty looked at the two men, who seemed utterly confused.

"Why would they be there? Why would they be in Egypt?" asked Eric. "I admit that I'm not a biblical scholar, but what would they be looking for there?"

"I can't answer that," said Hiro, shaking his head. "May is on her way back from a conference in San Francisco. Once she's here, we can get better insight into what they might have been looking for."

"What about things like finances, books, anything that might have been suspicious about either one of them?" asked Luke.

"Both made modest incomes. It's not exactly a profession where they get rich. If you find true archaeological treasures, it usually belongs to the state or country in which it was found. You might get some sort of reward from the museum or government, but it's not a lot. Most of these men and women are paid by their respective universities, museums, governments, and sometimes private donors to conduct the digs. They occasionally write a book or participate in a documentary or something like that.

"Aasad Fayek had a life insurance policy of fifty thousand and a few hundred dollars in his bank account. That's all. Goldmeir had similar, except she had about two hundred thousand in a savings account from an inheritance given to her by her parents. I've looked this over. There's nothing suspicious financially for either one," said Pigsty.

"And still nothing on why they were digging there?" asked Eric.

"No. Not yet. We're hoping that they'll give more information once we have May and Elena speak with them," said Hiro.

"Hey, guys," said Sly, walking into the room. "I got some hits back on our Dr. Hijad. He was an Iranian-born surgeon specializing in female care. Graduated from Oxford, did his residency in London, and has been operating a private practice for fifteen years. Five years ago, he bought a rather large estate outside of London."

"Large. How large?" asked Eric.

"Massive. The home is thirty-one thousand square feet, a castle really. It's more than four hundred years old with three hundred acres of gardens, forests, ponds, all of it."

"Is he married?" asked Luke.

"Yes. His wife and son were both visiting her parents in Glasgow for the last two weeks. The press snapped this photo of them getting off the plane. She's wearing dark glasses, but I'm not able to tell if she's upset or not."

"I might be a little behind times, but do doctors make that kind of money?" asked Eric.

"No," said Hiro, shaking his head. "The price tag on that home was eighty-seven million."

"What the fuck?" muttered Luke and Eric together.

"How is he affording that home? I mean, he can't possibly be stealing enough money for it, so he's got to be doing something on the side. Does he have any connections to Iranian officials? The military or government?" asked Eric.

"Again, we're still looking. If you want my advice, send one of the boys guarding Daphne to the wife's home and interview her. They're in London now."

"It's a good idea," said Luke. "Ask Chris to head over to their home. Hopefully, she'll speak to him."

"I'll be back by nightfall," said Chris.

"Be careful, brother," said Carter. "I can get there quickly if I need to."

Chris nodded at his friends, jumping on the train and heading north to his destination. Just north of Soham sat the historic home. The massive gray stone structure looked like something straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. There were a few cars parked out front, but nothing that indicated mass chaos inside. He rang the doorbell and waited. When it opened, he was surprised to see a little boy of about nine.

"Hello," said the boy.

"Hello," smiled Chris. "Is your mother home?"

"Yes, sir." He left the door ajar and turned, running toward what Chris assumed was his mother. When a young woman walked back toward him, he was surprised to be greeted by a fair-skinned redhead.

"May I help you?" she said in a heavy Scottish accent.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Hijad," he said.

"That's me. If you're here to sell me something, it's truly not the right time."

"No," he smiled. "I'm not here to sell you anything. My name is Chris Paul, and I work for a security agency that's investigating something that we believe your late husband was involved in." Her smile faded, and she nodded at him.

"Come in," she said quietly. He entered the foyer and stared at the beautiful, massive structure around him.

"Your home is truly beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"Thank you," she smiled. "My family owns several around the United Kingdom."

"Your family?" he frowned.

"Yes. My family owns a number of businesses. Whiskey distilleries, offshore oil rigs, that sort of thing."

"And you don't have security here?" he asked, surprised.

"We do. Everything is on camera, and my team is strategically hidden. That's how I knew it was safe to let you in. They must know you or have seen you before." Now, Chris was even more confused. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned slowly.

"How you doin', Paul?" smirked the man.

"I'll be damned. Giamarco."

"You know this man, Albert?"

"I do, Moira. We were both U.S. Navy SEALs but on different teams. Chris was on one of the best."

"You called him Paul," she said, confused.

"My name is Chris Paul," he said. "Sorry, it's confusing."

"What's up, man? What brings you out here to speak with Moira?" Chris noticed that for the second time he used the woman's first name.

"Let's sit," she said, waving them into the living room. "I am curious what would bring you to England to speak with me."

"Your husband was killed at the hospital, but we'd discovered that he was involved in an incident with a young woman. Our investigation told us that he was going to perform unnecessary surgery on the woman, abort a child she was carrying, and then turn her over to men that we believe wanted to harm her."

The woman said nothing, just stared down at her hands. Albert reached for them, giving them a squeeze like a father would. But Chris had the distinct feeling it wasn't fatherly affection at all. He looked at Albert, who said nothing at first.

"Moira and I have a special relationship," said the man. The woman looked up at him with admiration and love.

"I'm not here to judge, brother. I'm just trying to help keep a woman alive."

"I came here about eighteen months ago when Moira called asking for beefed-up security around the home. She'd asked her husband not to return, and he wasn't happy about that. He was living in a small flat near the hospital."

"I see," said Chris.

"I don't think you do," said Moira. "My husband was an egomaniac. He was a risk-taker in the operating room. Most of the time, it worked, but sometimes, he put the life of his patients in extraordinary danger."

"Was he reported?" asked Chris.

"He was. By me. I'm an anesthesiologist by training. I used to work with him but then refused. I was in the process of obtaining a divorce."

"I'm as old as you, Chris. Though you damn sure don't look a day over forty," grinned the man. Chris grinned back, nodding. "I couldn't help but fall in love with her. She's smart, beautiful, and a wonderful mother. You know what it's like. You're an old salty SEAL for so many years you forget to give yourself a life. I think I have one now."

"We have one," she said, squeezing his hand.

"I'm happy for you both, really, I am. I'm just trying to figure out why your husband would be willing to do something so terrible to someone he didn't even know. Money?"

"It could have been, although I was giving him alimony," said Moira.

"Did he still have ties to anyone in Iran?" he asked.

"Only his family that I'm aware of, and they're really nice people," she said. Chris looked at Albert.

"She's right. They're hard-working people who gave their son a chance to succeed. He's treated them like shit, but Moira bought them a home so they would always have a nice roof over their heads. As far as I know, he doesn't contact any of them."

"Then what he did, he must have done solely for money. Someone paid him to harm the woman."

"I wish I could tell you that I was surprised by it," said Moira, "but I'm not. He was obsessed with fame and fortune. I only wish I'd seen it sooner."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your day or anything," said Chris, standing. "I'll be on my way."

"Chris? I hope you're all doing well," said Albert. "Everything is kosher here; you have my word."

"Brother, I trust you," said Chris, shaking the man's hand. "I really do hope you find your happiness. Good luck to you, ma'am."

"Thank you," she smiled.

Chris stood to leave the room and noticed a stack of books on the huge mahogany desk. He pointed to them, and she nodded. Picking one up, he thumbed through it.

"They were my late husband's," she said. "I was going to box them up and send them to his flat in London. As far as I knew, he had no interest in such things, but he bought those anyway." Chris looked at them both, nodding.

"You've been very helpful."

"Albert Giamarco? Are you fucking kidding me?" smiled Travis. "I haven't seen that asshole in years."

"He looks good," said Chris. "Gray, weathered, but he's solid as a rock and definitely in love. Good news is, she's in love with him."

"That is good news, but what do you think?" asked Carter.

"I think our doctor was working with someone to find something very, very special."