Prologue PROLOGUE Phil ONE YEAR EARLIER THE EMBANKMENT, LONDON Arthur Crockleford sat on a bench overlooking the murky waters of the Thames as it swept under the Hungerford Bridge and lapped against the Embankment. Heavy gray clouds darkened the sky above him, and the damp wind picked up an old candy wrapper and bounced it down the pavement. His arm was stretched over the back of the bench in a casual pose, but his jaw was clenched. Phil had been studying Arthur from a distance, searching for clues as to why he had demanded a meeting out of the blue. With Arthur everything was methodical and precise; nothing was a coincidence. "Everything all right?" Phil asked as he approached. His friend had bags under his eyes and was thinner than the last time they'd met. Arthur pulled his arm back and tugged nervously at his cuff while he scanned a group of tourists who had stopped to take a photo overlooking the river. "I've heard there is to be a succession.... The Collector is stepping down and a new one will be chosen." The Collector? Phil froze. The last time he had heard the name was at a meeting with Interpol five months before; a Shakespearean First Folio printed in 1623--one of only two hundred and thirty-five known in existence--had been stolen from a private collector in New York. One of the younger agents, Sloane, stated that she'd heard the Folio had been trafficked to the United Kingdom on the same day. The theft was meticulously planned, and the only lead they had was a CCTV recording of a white van leaving the scene. When the van was found days later, it had been torched. All that they discovered, a few paces from the wreck, was a broken key chain of a serpent eating its own tail. "I'm sorry, I..." Phil ran a hand over his face trying to clear his thoughts and slumped on the bench next to Arthur. "Let me get this straight. You're implying you believe The Collector is real? Like, one man is responsible for all those million-dollar thefts spanning hundreds of years!" He shook his head and searched Arthur's face for answers. "Most believe that he's a myth... a legend of the black market..." "Most do, but you don't." Arthur gave Phil a knowing look. Phil ignored the statement--he wasn't going to discuss his old partner, Ed, the folder tucked away at the bottom of Ed's desk drawer, or his decades-old theories. Theories that had always been laughed off. "Keep talking." "Straight to the point, as always." When Phil glared at him, Arthur sighed. "Very well. Remember the Ming Dynasty vase stolen from a Greek museum back in 2001? The one I was employed to track down?" Phil blinked slowly. How could he have forgotten? Arthur continued, "I ended up in Jordan, where I believed a sale was to take place at sea. The vase was so rare I still wonder what sum they had placed on it. Definitely in the millions. Throughout my investigation The Collector's name came up repeatedly until it was hard to dismiss the idea that there might be some truth to the stories of the legendary antique thief. "My main contact back then was Chris Prince--I saw him as a low-level thug-for-hire with no real interest in antiques or antiquities. Although with all the information he provided I suspected that he worked for The Collector--or people associated with him--and was on the boat transporting the vase. When it was destroyed in a fire, I believed he was one of the four men who perished." Phil wove his fingers together and tried to shut down the memories--but decades couldn't take away the overpowering smell of gas and burning wood. Or the nauseating panic as he tried to get his small fishing boat close enough to search for survivors and smoke hit the back of his throat. "Phil?" Arthur reached out and patted his hand, bringing his attention back to the Embankment. "I know Ed..." He shook his head at Arthur, not willing to discuss Ed. "Chris Prince..." "Right, of course. A few days later, I found Chris, miraculously alive, waiting in my hotel room. He was skittish and pale, gripping a box to his chest and begging me to hide it. I believed him when he said that he would be killed if he was found with it. Chris and the vase had not been on the boat that morning. He said I was the only one who knew." "Chris was alive and had the vase all along?" Phil locked down the rage, but his next question was laced with venom. "Why did you keep this from me? I could have tracked him... gotten answers." He would have had retribution by now. "In hindsight, dear sir, I should have. I should've handed the vase over to the authorities immediately--but please understand that I wasn't willing to put a man's life at risk for an object." Arthur sighed. "You were raw with grief... livid... I didn't trust..." "That I wouldn't have gone in and torn everything down to get..." revenge --it was what Phil would've done back then, perhaps even now, even after all this time. "That you wouldn't have done the wise thing." Arthur's gaze rested on Phil's clenched fists, which were now the only crack in his calm, professional mask. "But Chris didn't stop there. He also played on my desire to bring down the black market and convinced me that we could use the vase to bait The Collector out into the open. He said The Collector coveted the vase more than anything else, as if they were emotionally connected to it. We struck a deal and then Chris disappeared. I began to believe he'd told me a pack of lies and that he had come to a bad end. "Until he sauntered up to me bold as day at a party last winter and demanded to know where the vase was. He was a different person to the one I'd known. He'd always been confident, but there was more to him now--he was troubled. His light had darkened. I wanted to know why the vase was now so important to him decades later. We struck another deal." Phil flexed his fingers then raked a hand through his hair. "The FBI... We... I won't like this, will I?" "I told Chris the vase was in a museum and that someone I trusted could retrieve it. But the clue to where it's hidden will only mean something to the right person." "You went too far with your secrets this time, old man. Too far." "I'm here to make it right." "Tell me where this vase is, and we'll set the trap. Tell me how to find Chris." Arthur shook his head, and Phil's impulses took over--he reached out and grabbed Arthur's forearm. "Arthur! You've made me wait decades ." "Not now." Arthur pulled back and straightened his jacket. "I'm told there's to be a special antiques cruise next autumn--where a new Collector will take up the position. There will be one meeting when the outgoing and incoming Collectors will be together. Get on that cruise and identify them once and for all. It's the only way to stop it. To stop all the death that goes hand in hand with their operation." A pigeon pecked around their feet and Arthur adjusted his trilby hat as he rose from the bench. "I understand how deeply you want this." He looked down at Phil with a furrowed brow. "All those years ago, at the funeral, I promised you that I'd help you get justice for Ed's death, and I meant it. I'm asking you to wait a little longer. I need to make sure everything is in order." He reached out and placed a hand on Phil's shoulder and squeezed. "You will have one chance, my friend." Arthur started walking away. "What about you?" Phil called after him. "You'll be there too, won't you?" But Arthur didn't reply. Excerpted from The Antique Hunter's Death on the Red Sea: A Novel by C. L. Miller All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
