The desk could have been measured in square inches, unlike the standard acre-sized centerpiece of most Washington offices. On the wall were photos of Austin with a rugged-looking older man who could have been his twin but was undoubtedly his father and pictures of various NUMA research vessels. Despite its unprepossessing dimensions, the office had an impressive of view of the Potomac River and Washington.

“My interior decorator is on vacation,” Austin said in apology. He got two bottles of springwater from a small refrigerator, gave one to Carina, and invited her to sit in a chair. He sat at his desk and lifted his water. “Cheers.”

“Santé,” she said, looking around. “This is not ridiculous at all. It’s quite functional and homey.”

“Thank you. I share a secretary who takes messages for me. I’m away a lot and don’t spend much time here except for special tasks, like this one.”

He took the photographic disk from his pocket and slid it into the computer on his desk. A National Geographic logo came up on the screen, followed by a story headline: “Digging Into the Past of a Forgotten Civilization.” The headline accompanied an article on the excavation into the Hittite settlement. Austin called up all the photos on the disk. The screen immediately filled with small rectangles arranged in neat rows.

Benson had taken hundreds of photos. Austin pushed the ALBUM command for three-second internals and swiveled the screen so Carina could see the photographs.

After a few minutes, Carina pointed to the screen. “That’s it!”

The photo on the screen showed several dirt-covered day workers standing at the edge of a pit, shovels in their hands. Nearby was the supervisor, a portly European wearing a pith helmet and un-soiled shorts and shirt. Protruding from the dirt at the bottom of the pit was a conical-shaped mound.

Austin went through the sequence of about two dozen photos. The series showed the head of the statue being unearthed. Then its shoulders were cleared until the workers were able to get lines under the armpits and hoist it from the hole. The dirt had been cleaned off in later pictures. Benson had taken several close-ups of the face, with its smashed-in nose, along with front, back, and side shots.

“It certainly looks like our statue,” Carina said. “Unfortunately, this is all we have. A photograph. We’re at a dead end.”

Austin reached into his pocket and pulled out the figurine he had taken from Benson’s fireplace mantle. He set it on the table in front of Carina. “Maybe not.”

Carina took a deep breath. “It’s a miniature version of the Navigator. Where did you find it?”

“At Benson’s house.”