That didn't exactly set off alarm bells. From the little he knew about the art world, Paris was a natural location—artists, galleries, and an international clientele for rare artwork.
“You said a lot of money.” James reminded him.
“That took a little more digging,” Innis replied. “There were three fire walls to get through, dragged my ass all over the globe.No financial institution has that many firewalls.” He shrugged. “Makes you feel real secure about your own money, doesn't it?”
“The money,” James reminded him.
“Right. Found something in one of the banks in the Caymans. We're talking lots of zeros—a half-million here, a million and a half there, all of it with the same transfer code encryption. That's the only way I found it. It adds up quick over the past twenty-four months.”
“How much?”
“Over twenty million U.S.”
James sat at the edge of the table. That was a lot of zeros.
“Legal?” he asked.
“Well that's the thing,” Innis said. “On the surface it all looks too perfect. Here's something Luna came across when she did some looking around before we left.”
James read the internet article on the screen about several pieces of art work, specifically pottery, that Callish handled for a private collector. There were pictures and a description of the rare, pre-Columbian pieces.
“The piece at the table in the background,” Innis explained. “It's not from the same period. It's not even from the same continent.”
James was running on less than a couple of hours sleep. He ran a hand over the stubble of beard on his chin.
“You'll need to explain that one.”
“Luna saw it right off—art history degree from the University of London.” Then at the look James gave him, “It's from the Persian empire, around 5th century—B.C.”
The background of the photo was grainy, the focus on the pottery displayed for the article. The piece in the background of the photo was a fluted metal bowl with an intricate embossed design.
“It's very rare, according to Luna,” he added. “And, since the wars in the Middle East, almost impossible to find. But someone bought it. Then, surprise, the money disappears, never makes it into Callish's business or personal accounts. Like it's been swallowed into a black hole.”
James knew well enough that it was illegal to bring any artifacts out of the region, and tightly controlled by local authorities, not to mention his own government. Not that it had stopped terrorist regimes that had systematically looted and destroyed numerous palaces that were also priceless artifacts—the other casualties of a war.
He'd met Callish. It was hard to imagine him involved in smuggling, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to money. But where had it gone?
Was that what Cate had stumbled onto? A smuggling operation?
The first gray light slipped past the edge of the heavy drapes at the arched windows in the salon. They had been at it for hours.
“He would need a connection, a source to purchase smuggled artifacts.”
Innis and Anthony exchanged a look.
“There are people who know these things,” Anthony replied.
James tossed down the last of the coffee. He needed to keep the caffeine buzz going.
“I need to talk to them.” He needed to know what had gotten Cate killed, and he needed to keep Kris out of it. The night before had been a game changer.
“They don't usually agree to meet with people like you,” Anthony replied. “These are not nice people.”
James Morgan thought of the places he'd been, the things he'd done.
“Neither am I.”
CHAPTER
