“Well, let’s think about who they must be. They appear to be a group that isn’t usually involved in stealing ancient artifacts. They didn’t notice the shield with the inscription and they left extremely valuable Roman artifacts in the chamber just because they weren’t made of gold.”

“You’re right,” said Remi. “So who are they?”

“Friends and allies of Arpad Bako—almost certainly business connections. So what business is Bako in?”

“According to Tibor, the main one seems to be diverting prescription drugs he manufactures to illegal channels.”

“I’m guessing these men are local drug dealers.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“So let’s call Tibor.” He took out his cell phone and hit Tibor’s preprogrammed number.

“Yes?” a groggy voice answered.

“Tibor, it’s Sam.”

“I was asleep. What time is it? Where are you?”

“We’re still in France. Bako seems to have called in some French crooks to do the searching, just as we feared, and they’ve beaten us to the treasure, but we found the inscription still in the chamber.”

“Some bad, some good. Is there any way to get the treasure before they move it?”

“We managed to lose the French shooters who came after us. We think they’re related somehow to Bako’s illegal activities, so they’re probably in the drug trade. I’m wondering if we can find the addresses in France where Bako ships his legal pharmaceuticals.”

“I’ve been working on this since we suspected someone else was in France. I called a cousin who works for the shipping company Bako uses. I haven’t found a place in France where he ships medicine. We think any legitimate sales are shipped into France by a Belgian company. But he has a supplier for chemicals called Compagnie Le Clerc. They send him chemical compounds in special containers and when he’s unloaded them he ships them back. There are people who believe that when he ships the containers to France, they’re not empty.”

“Do you have the address of Compagnie Le Clerc?”

“Yes.”

Sam took out a pen and a five-euro bill and wrote down the address. “6107 Voie de la liberté, Troyes.”

They returned to the rental agency, parked the car, and took their truck again. “I was hoping I’d seen the last of this thing,” Remi said. “How much do we owe them for the bullet holes?”

“They’re still adding it up.”

“And don’t forget the broken window.”

“I’ll drive,” Sam said. They drove out of town, and Remi used the map on her cell phone to find the route and distance. The two cities were just about seventy-nine miles apart, so the drive took them a bit over an hour and a half on the E17.