“Well done. Conclusion.”

“I think this was a very old port,” she said.

“Of course it’s old,” he replied with mock annoyance. “I knew that when I saw the aerial photos of your little pond from an oil company survey. Every bloody thing within a hundred meters of where we’re sitting is old. But how old?”

“Remember the hungry dogs of skepticism,” she reminded him

Knox rubbed his hands together, enjoying the game. “Let’s assume the dogcatcher has captured the annoying creatures and for the time being they languish happily in a pound. What, dear lady, is your educated guess?”

‘As long as you put it that way, my guess is that it’s a Phoenician military and trading post.” She handed over her sketch pad and pieces of the pottery she’d found.

Knox studied the potsherds, lovingly running his fingers along the ragged edges. He put them aside and looked at the sketches, puckering his mouth so that the mustache did a little dance on his lip. “I think,” he said with obvious and melodramatic relish, “that we should run your story by the esteemed Dr. Fisel.”

Gamiel Fisel sat under a large umbrella. His round body practically hid the chair it was perched on, and with his tan slacks, shirt, and matching complexion, he resembled a large caramel apple. On the table in front of him was a scattering of potsherds from the dig. He was peering through a Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass at one fragment. At his side was his assistant, Kassim, a pleasant young man, supposedly a university student, who served primarily as Fisel’s tea boy.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Fisel. Dr. Kirov made some interesting observations today” Knox said with undisguised pride.

Fisel looked up as if an annoying mosquito had just landed on the tip of his nose. He was not unused to women in the workplace. Many Moroccan women worked as professionals. He simply had trouble dealing with a female who was his equal in academic rank, his superior in the number of degrees held, and at least a foot taller. As a nondiver, Fisel was at Nina’s mercy on the underwater site, and he didn’t like not being totally in control.

Nina cut right to the chase. “I think there was a small but important port here, and that it was Phoenician.”

Fisel said, “More tea, Kassim.” The young man hurried over to the camp’s cooking area. Fisel turned to Knox as if Nina were not there. “Your assistant has a vivid imagination. You’ve told her, of course, that our excavations at the primary site have produced Greek and Roman artifacts.” He had a quick, nervous way of speaking, firing off sentences like bursts from a machine gun.

Nina had deferred to Fisel, but she could ignore his rudeness no longer. “First of all, I’m not Dr. Knox’s assistant,” she said coolly. “I’m his colleague. And second, while I have no doubt of GrecoRoman influence, the main center of activity was in the water, not on dry land. And it was Phoenician.”