What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(15)
7
Kellen’s phone rang. She unbuttoned her pants pocket and pulled it out, hoping it was Max and Rae, calling to say the goodbye she had forgotten.
But no, it was a Washington, DC, number, and that meant only one person—Nils Brooks, head of the MFAA, dedicated to halting the flow of purloined artifacts into the US and always willing to put her life on the line to do it. She answered, “Adams here.”
Nils didn’t take the hint. “Kellen, it’s Nils. I have a text that you’ve been picked up and are on your way to the airport.”
“That’s right.”
“Did Max tell you anything about the job?”
“That me and Horst from Richart Movers are picking up a mummy’s head at the airport and transporting it to some guy who’s going to restore it, he’s somewhere in the Olympics, and there’s going to be a hike.”
Horst shot her an inquiring look.
She smiled at Horst and shrugged.
Nils said, “Sort of. This piece is rare, one of those artifacts that’s going settle fights among the experts and start fights among thieves.”
“Valuable.”
“Priceless.”
Priceless. She never liked to hear that word.
Nils continued, “My courier was supposed to take it on the plane with him, never let it out of his sight.”
She could almost hear the drumbeat of doom. “And?”
“He died. In the airport. The official report said he was knocked down as he was checking in at the machine. He hit his head. Current medical diagnosis is that it was a brain hemorrhage.”
Kellen closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Probably not, huh?”
“Probably not, since he went against orders and checked the bag through to Portland, knowing full well it couldn’t easily be retrieved from the hold of the plane.” Nils waited for a response.
She thought through all the possible scenarios. “So Horst and I could face some...challenges?”
“Possible challenges. Yes.”
“Nils.”
“Probable. I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“No kidding.” She ladled on the sarcasm. “What does this restorer guy have to say?”
“Not much. He’s only got a wireless up there—”
“What? Is he living in World War II?”
“And he didn’t respond when I called.”
She took a moment to let that soak in. She and Horst were taking a priceless antique head into the Olympic Mountains and hiking it up to a weird recluse expert...and the guy didn’t know they were coming? “Nils...”
“How well do you trust Horst?” Nils asked.
“Good question.”
“You don’t want to say too much.”
“Not now!” Not with Horst sitting next to her.
“I told the boss at Richart Movers we needed someone trustworthy, and he said he’d do the best he could on such short notice.”
“Oh, dear.” The short notice thing was not promising.
Horst glanced at her as if trying to follow the conversation, but he seemed uncertain.
That worked for her. “Why the late update?”
“If I’d told Max all this, he wouldn’t have passed the message on.”
“So you men fixed things up between the two of you, and this is the result?” She hadn’t packed everything she would need, like her body armor and her extra weapons. She rode in a van with firearms that looked good but which she had not tested, with some guy she hoped had had proper security training. She was acquiring a head that Nils Brooks called priceless. Great. Just great.
And...her adrenaline kicked up to enjoyable levels.
Yes, she had missed this.
“It’s not that bad,” Nils said. “I’ve dealt with Richart Movers before. They’re a young company, but the owner is reputable and—”
Kellen hung up on the pompous self-satisfied chauvinist asshole, smiled tightly at Horst and said, “Just getting the details of the operation.”
“Anything I should know?”
“Men are jerks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Smart guy, this Horst. He didn’t argue with her. He might be okay; just because Max and Nils were jerks, that was no use thinking Horst was going to grab the mummy’s head and run with it.
“What challenges are we going to face?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“You said, ‘So Horst and I could face some...challenges?’”
“How much do you know about this operation?” Kellen asked.
He shrugged. “We have to retrieve the head from the airport because it’s an important artifact that needs to be studied. Somebody dropped it off at the airport back east. We pick it up from baggage claim and head toward the mountains to deliver this thing to, um, this guy.”
“The Restorer? Is that his name? His title?”
“I dunno. I think he’s this eccentric guy who lives in the boonies and is the go-to for figuring out if an artifact is real. No one told me he had a name.”
“So he’s...the Restorer.”
“Whatever.”
“That’s all?”
“Pretty much. I’ve worked for Richart Movers for almost a year, and we’ve moved some pretty important expensive stuff for some pretty important expensive people. When I signed on, I was hoping for a little action, but so far, nothing’s happened. It’s been all driving and carrying and thanking people for the tips. Don’t worry.” He patted her knee.