Jack backed up a step. He wasn’t necessarily afraid—Newhouse didn’t look especially fit—but Jack didn’t want to make a bad situation worse. What he wanted to do was get the hell out of there.

“Now that we see eye to eye, I think I’ll be going,” Jack said, reverting to sarcasm. “Don’t bother to see me to the door,” he added, holding up his hand as if waving Newhouse off. “I’ll see myself out.”

Jack made a beeline out of the inner office. Lydia and several patients had heard at least part of Jack and Newhouse’s shouting match. All were sitting tensely, ready to bolt for safety’s sake. Their mouths were slightly open, eyes unblinking, as they watched Jack transit reception. Jack’s last gesture was to wave ’bye at Lydia before ducking through the office’s outer door.

Outside Jack went straight to his bike, fumbling with the multiple locks while glancing nervously over his shoulder. He was astonished at his behavior, marveling at how out of control he’d become with Newhouse. Of course, now that he was thinking rationally, he recognized it all went back to JJ, emphasizing how important it was for him to get a grip on that situation. It also emphasized the importance of his crusade to help in that regard, but he needed to be thinking of the forest, not the trees. He had to focus on alternative medicine in general, not just chiropractic nor Newhouse because of an emotional response to Keara Abelard’s tragedy.

Once his bike was free, Jack jumped on and sped away, heading south. Reaching speed he began to worry about the potential repercussions of his ill-considered site visit. If Bingham or Calvin got word of his latest shenanigans, it could very well cause a premature end to his nascent crusade. It might even be serious enough to get him put on administrative leave. From Jack’s perspective either outcome would be a serious problem.

Chapter 10

10

12:53 P.M., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2008
ROME
(6:53 A.M., NEW YORK CITY)

Shawn looked out the window as the Egyptair Boeing 737-500 made its final approach into Rome’s Fiumicino airport. He could see nothing but the plane’s wing. It was as if they were in a San Francisco fog bank. They had been circling the airport for almost a half-hour.

Other than the current tension, the day’s travel had been enjoyable. They easily passed through Egyptian passport control and security. Shawn was a bit concerned because the codex was in his carry-on, wrapped in a towel in a Four Seasons pillowcase. If it had been found, Shawn would have been disappointed, although he didn’t worry about legal consequences. He was prepared to tell the truth—that he’d bought it as a souvenir—and then lie that he’d been sure it was a fake like most everything else sold in Khan el-Khalili antiquities shops.