“Let me tell you what I know, and then you can tell me more about why you’re asking. I started in Kabul in 2001. I went to get a firsthand look at the Taliban. Had a friend who hated them from the moment they blew up the Bamiyan Buddhas, though he didn’t seem to care about much else they did. By then, everyone in America knew how they treated women. They weren’t all that great to men either, but that’s another story.”

Clay shakes his head.

“People didn’t really know what the Taliban looked like, though. I knew I could cut my teeth in Afghanistan, so I found myself a fixer and went out to the front line.”

Clay is one of those creatures in this world who run toward the fire, who feel pulled in by crisis. Mom nods, his words resonate with her. She would have done the same had it not been for me. She would have spent all her days stationed in places where cardboard governments ruled in name and warlords ruled in truth had I not fallen into her life.

“So we went north. I’d grown out a decent beard. We managed to slip by unnoticed until eventually we got to this spot along the Amu Darya, river water running cold and fast. I was standing on a sandy bank looking at the western advance line. There was a decrepit Soviet tank tipped over. Not much evidence of conflict on that side. There was just nothing there to shoot at.”

Clay runs his fingers through his hair.

“I’d eaten something that hadn’t agreed with me that morning, and I thought I was going to be sick. I told my fixer I needed to make some notes and took off for a little walk. So I walked away, looking for privacy, and came upon this Corinthian column lying on the ground in a shallow trench. I started looking down at my feet, and there were pieces of pottery scattered on the ground. I picked up a couple of pieces and felt them in my hand, and I just knew I was standing on history, real archaeological history.”

“Had you heard of Ai-Khanoum before then?”

Clay shakes his head.

“Nope. And I didn’t have much time to poke around there either. I heard some pops in the distance, and my fixer came running to find me. He pointed out some black clouds in the sky and said he’d taken me close enough. I started reading up when I got back to Kabul.”

“Many of the relics from Ai-Khanoum had already been excavated, though,” I say. “Any chance you heard about their whereabouts?”

Clay nods, while his eyes look carefully into mine, as if he’s looking to untangle something.

“I’d heard people from the national museum hid stuff in the basement of the palace in Kabul. That’s in the book too.”