Austin flashed on the oversized footprint in the riverbank near his house. “Go on.”

“I heard a hiss. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in this place.” A thought occurred to her. “They took the statue. I have to tell the police.” She stood and leaned against the bed. “Still a little dizzy.”

Austin kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll talk to the police officer while you rest.”

COLBY WAS FINISHING a phone call when Austin approached and said, “Did she tell you about the truck and a missing statue?”

“Yeah. I thought she was delirious. Just checked into the station. A truck matching the description she gave went off the highway and caught fire. They found four bodies burned beyond recognition.”

“Any sign of a bronze statue?”

“No. The fire was pretty hot. Probably would have melted your statue.”

Austin thanked Colby and went back to fill Carina in. He didn’t tell her about the bodies in the burned-out truck. She glanced at the wall clock. “I’ve got to get out of this place. I’m going to miss my appointment with Jon Benson, the National Geographic photographer I told you about.”

“When are you supposed to see him?”

“About an hour.” She gave Austin an address. “Can we make it?”

“If we leave now. Depends on how you feel.”

“I feel fine.” She stood and managed a couple of steps before she wobbled. “I wouldn’t mind a helping hand, though.”

They hooked arms and shuffled down the hall. Colby had left a note at the nurses’ station to call him when Carina was ready for an interview. By the time she had signed the papers checking her out, Carina seemed much stronger. The nurse insisted that she ride down to the lobby in a wheelchair. When Carina walked out the front door, she was weaving only slightly.

ON THE DRIVE to Virginia, Carina tried calling the photographer. No one answered the telephone. She assumed Benson had simply stepped out and would be home at the appointed time.

Carina recovered rapidly thanks to the fresh country air blowing through the car window. She put in a call to Baltazar to tell him about the theft. She got an automated reply and left a message.

“You don’t suppose Saxon had anything to do with it, do you?” she said after a moment’s reflection.

“Saxon doesn’t seem the type. Maybe he can help. We could use the photos he took of the Navigator to publicize its loss.”

Carina dug into her pocketbook and found the card Saxon had given her at the Iraqi embassy reception. She called the number written on the back of the card and got the WillardHotel. The desk clerk said Mr. Saxon had checked out. Carina relayed the information to Austin with a self-satisfied smile.