Thalia shrugged modestly.

The women sipped at their tea in silence, each caught by reluctant thoughts of an uncertain future that neither wanted to acknowledge.

“I’d still be a lot happier the sooner we can get to the Goddess figures,” Zoe said finally.

“Me too,” Thalia agreed. “Unfortunately, the geniuses in charge don’t care much for… what did they call them? ‘A bunch of fat broad pottery.’ ”

Zoe drank the last of her tea. “Figures,” she grumbled.

“We could do it tonight,” Zoe suggested.

“The fakes?”

“I was thinking Goddess.”

Thalia shook her head. “They’re adamant. All the recent stuff first. Then the Goddesses.”

“So, can we get the fakes out of the way tonight? Will they give us permission to work late?”

“I don’t see why not,” Thalia replied. “They’re anxious to get things wrapped up. They wanted to punt on the Goddess figures entirely. I got us an extra week by convincing them that the ‘fat broad pottery’ would bring them millions. They told me they might even have to move on less than a day’s notice and that they would have to be prepared to tie up all the loose ends in a matter of hours.”

Fear closed Zoe’s throat then. She was a loose end. Thalia had saved her life once, and for months now had protected her, shielded her from the extremes of confinement, had even been able to civilize things with a rose here, good tea there. But Zoe knew that Thalia was just as much a prisoner. She had no keys and no freedom to come and go. With her father held hostage there was now nothing more that Thalia could do to protect her.

Zoe struggled to chase away the dark unspoken presence that was nearly palpable now. Thalia’s face hung long with the thought.

Zoe rallied them both.

“Look, if we were out there working in a big Bahnhofstrasse gallery, we could get hit by a Mercedes or something crossing the street. Nobody really knows how much time they really have, so let’s just use all the time we have… whatever that is. Beats the shit out of sitting around feeling bad.”

SIX

The pale winter day had long since faded into Roman darkness by the time the American had finished briefing the Cardinal Assessor. Cardinal Neils Braun sat with his back to his visitor, staring at the window, seeing the images of both their faces more and more clearly as the darkness beyond deepened.

The American was thinner now, Braun thought. The man’s face was carved deeply in lines that had suddenly appeared over the past six months.

“I just don’t understand how they could still elude us,” the American said wearily. The man has not complained, has not made excuses, the cardinal thought. That was good. After all, the bags under the American’s eyes spoke far more eloquently about his unrelenting efforts than words possibly could.

“You are sure you have the resources you need?” Braun said as he turned away from the window to face the American.