The Elizabethan Secret (Lang Reilly Series Book 9) by Gregg Loomis Page B
Authors: Gregg Loomis
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left with you, it’s gone?”
Wildstein stood up from going through a blizzard of papers on the floor. “How did . . .?”
“Good guess.”
The professor pointed. “I had it locked in my desk. There was no way to know someone would want to steal it.”
Lang said nothing, mentally kicking himself for not telling Wildstein he should put the object in a secure place. With students’ constant coming and going, anyone could have observed Lang’s visit. For that matter, given the resources, it would have been simple enough to monitor the phone call making the initial appointment. Whoever had stolen the thing had taken substantial risk and had clearly planned the theft carefully to avoid alarms as well as the school’s highly visible security force. Not your average random smash and grab.
“Campus police have already called the Atlanta Police,” the professor announced with resignation.
If experience was any guide, they may as well have called the San Francisco police for all the help Atlanta’s finest was going to be.
Lang made his way to the office’s sole visitor chair and sat. “Did you reach any conclusion as to what the thing might be?”
Clearly relieved there were no recriminations forthcoming, Wildstein sat across the desk from Lang. He lifted a battered briefcase from the floor and opened the flap. “I had this with me.”
He pushed a series of photographs toward Lang. “As you can see, I placed a needle on the brass pin. Then I made hourly observations. You’ll note from the series of snapshots the needle moved although in relation to what, I can’t say.”
“Which means?”
A shake of the professorial head. “Other than the fact it is the pin, not the needle itself, that moves, or, rather, turns. In other words, it’s not a compass. What’s really strange is no movement at all was noted between the hours of 7:55 p.m. and 7:00 the next morning.”
“What do you make of that?”
A shrug. “I’m stumped.”
Perhaps the first such admission Lang had heard from an academic.
“So, where do we go from here?” Lang asked.
Another shrug. “Without the, er, object itself, it’s going to be difficult if not impossible to figure out its purpose.”
“Could you duplicate those photos?”
Obviously glad to receive a request he could fulfill, the Professor scooped up the pictures. “There’s a high-resolution copier just down the hall.”
A fifteen-minute drive and Lang was turning into his monthly parking spot, a multi-story building just behind the towers that constituted Peachtree Center. He centered the car in the numbered reserved space. Like most Porsche owners, he visually measured the distance from the car on the right, the one with its driver’s side next to his space. Satisfied that a careless neighbor’s door was too far away to nick the Porsche’s, he got out and beeped the lock signal on his key.
Only then he became aware he had been too intent on preserving his car’s paint job to notice the two men converging from opposite directions. The one approaching from his left could have just exited the elevator. The one on his right had either chosen to walk down multiple floors of parking deck or had an agenda. Although there wasn’t enough light to be sure at this distance, Lang thought he recognized the two Russians from London.
19.
Off Saint Augustine
Spanish Florida
Aboard the Carrack Bonaventure
May 29,
Wildstein stood up from going through a blizzard of papers on the floor. “How did . . .?”
“Good guess.”
The professor pointed. “I had it locked in my desk. There was no way to know someone would want to steal it.”
Lang said nothing, mentally kicking himself for not telling Wildstein he should put the object in a secure place. With students’ constant coming and going, anyone could have observed Lang’s visit. For that matter, given the resources, it would have been simple enough to monitor the phone call making the initial appointment. Whoever had stolen the thing had taken substantial risk and had clearly planned the theft carefully to avoid alarms as well as the school’s highly visible security force. Not your average random smash and grab.
“Campus police have already called the Atlanta Police,” the professor announced with resignation.
If experience was any guide, they may as well have called the San Francisco police for all the help Atlanta’s finest was going to be.
Lang made his way to the office’s sole visitor chair and sat. “Did you reach any conclusion as to what the thing might be?”
Clearly relieved there were no recriminations forthcoming, Wildstein sat across the desk from Lang. He lifted a battered briefcase from the floor and opened the flap. “I had this with me.”
He pushed a series of photographs toward Lang. “As you can see, I placed a needle on the brass pin. Then I made hourly observations. You’ll note from the series of snapshots the needle moved although in relation to what, I can’t say.”
“Which means?”
A shake of the professorial head. “Other than the fact it is the pin, not the needle itself, that moves, or, rather, turns. In other words, it’s not a compass. What’s really strange is no movement at all was noted between the hours of 7:55 p.m. and 7:00 the next morning.”
“What do you make of that?”
A shrug. “I’m stumped.”
Perhaps the first such admission Lang had heard from an academic.
“So, where do we go from here?” Lang asked.
Another shrug. “Without the, er, object itself, it’s going to be difficult if not impossible to figure out its purpose.”
“Could you duplicate those photos?”
Obviously glad to receive a request he could fulfill, the Professor scooped up the pictures. “There’s a high-resolution copier just down the hall.”
A fifteen-minute drive and Lang was turning into his monthly parking spot, a multi-story building just behind the towers that constituted Peachtree Center. He centered the car in the numbered reserved space. Like most Porsche owners, he visually measured the distance from the car on the right, the one with its driver’s side next to his space. Satisfied that a careless neighbor’s door was too far away to nick the Porsche’s, he got out and beeped the lock signal on his key.
Only then he became aware he had been too intent on preserving his car’s paint job to notice the two men converging from opposite directions. The one approaching from his left could have just exited the elevator. The one on his right had either chosen to walk down multiple floors of parking deck or had an agenda. Although there wasn’t enough light to be sure at this distance, Lang thought he recognized the two Russians from London.
19.
Off Saint Augustine
Spanish Florida
Aboard the Carrack Bonaventure
May 29,
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