“Actually, I had a specific reason,” Shawn admitted.

“Oh?” Rahul replied questioningly.

“I have a confession to make. When I was last here in your shop, I bought a predynastic terra-cotta pot.”

“I remember. It was one of my very best.”

“We had a rather lengthy argument about its authenticity.”

“You were reluctant to be convinced.”

“Actually, I was never convinced. I bought it as a souvenir of our most interesting conversation, but when I got back to New York, I had it looked at by a knowledgeable colleague. She agreed with you. Not only was it real, but the pot is now on prominent display in the museum. It is truly a handsome piece.”

“You are so kind to admit your error.”

“Well, it has bothered me all these years.”

“That is easy to remedy,” Rahul responded. “If you would like to appease your conscience, all you need to do is pay me additional money.”

Taken aback by the unexpected suggestion, Shawn stared at Rahul. For a moment he thought the man was serious. Then Rahul smiled, exposing his yellow, poorly maintained teeth. “I am joking, of course. I made a handsome profit with the pot from the children who found it, and I am satisfied.”

Shawn smiled himself with obvious relief. He found Arabic humor as unexpected as Arabic hospitality.

“Your confession has brought to mind a most amazing piece I got only yesterday from a fellahin friend who is a farmer in Upper Egypt. It’s something you might find of particular interest, given your biblical scholarship. With this particular object you will know more than I, so I trust you will not cheat me if you decide to buy it. Would you like to see it?”

Shawn shrugged. “Why not,” he said. He didn’t know what to expect, and he wasn’t about to get his hopes up.

After rummaging in one of the cardboard boxes pushed against the wall, Rahul pulled out what looked to be a soiled cotton pillowcase. It wasn’t until he’d sat back down that he removed the contents and placed them in Shawn’s hands.

For several beats Shawn did not move while Rahul sat back and made himself comfortable against his large pillows. He wore an expectant, self-satisfied expression. He knew the archaeologist would soon guess what he was holding. The question was whether he’d be willing to buy it. The illegal cache needed the right person, one with relatively deep pockets.

Shawn quickly surmised what it was. Like most biblical scholars worth their salt, particularly those interested in New Testament studies or early Christian Church history, he’d seen and even handled the originals. The question was: Was what he was holding genuine, or was it a fake, like the scarabs and most of the other imitation antiquities that Rahul sold? Shawn had no idea, but given the unexpected authenticity of the predynastic bowl, he was willing to gamble and buy what he had in his lap. If by some chance it was real, it could be the biggest discovery of his life, and even if he eventually returned it to the Egyptian authorities, it was the kind of object whose story alone would set him apart from his contemporaries. Shawn didn’t want one of Rahul’s major museum contacts to get it—a distinct possibility, given his Internet contacts.