The Smuggler's Seal

Destruction

Dust wafted into the air as Jacobi and Mattson stepped into the storage rooms past the concealed back entrance of the Iraqi museum.

The place was a shambles, like a bomb fell right inside the door. Plaster, glass and stone littered the floor and crunched underfoot as the two men made their way past upturned shelves. Artifacts lay scattered and broken along the floor. Mattson's heartbeat pounded through his head as a sinking feeling spread though him. It was worse than he feared.

They pushed through to the main gallery. Statues were overturned, blocking their progress and Mattson stopped, horrified, when he saw that looters had attempted to chisel the heads off of statues that were too heavy to move out whole. They gave up when they realized the task was beyond their meager tools. He gaped at a lamassu, a lion bodied king statue, damaged beyond repair, and ran trembling fingers over the fractured rock along the neck line.

"My god, who would do this? This piece was thousands of years old. A protector guardian of the first Assyrian Kings and their subjects. Who would do this Jacobi? And for what? A few dollars?"

Jacobi grunted. "That head would have been worth a small fortune. But the illiterate thugs who did this were more enraged goons than intelligent salesmen. They hated Hussein and his Ba'athist regime. They were taking out years' worth of fear and anger on something they associated with their tormentors."

"Now it's destroyed, worthless." Mattson sighed, holding back a building swell of anger and disgust at both the looters and Saddam Hussein's reign of terror before pushing past the defaced king.

"What are we looking for Mattson? We don't have much time."

"The Lioness Attacking a Nubian."

Jacobi whistled. "Ambitious. I like it. Where is it at?"

"I don't know. I heard rumors some pieces were moved to the restoration room before the bombs started falling, but they might not be reliable. We'll split up. You cover the Assyrian ivory galleries, I'll cover the restoration rooms and directors offices. Ten minutes and we meet back by the exit."

Jacobi pointed at Mattson with his gun. "Ten minutes, and nothing funny."

Mattson hurried toward the restoration office considering the famous piece on the way.

The Lioness Attacking the Nubian was truly priceless. One of a twin set of ivory plaques overlaid with gold leaf, carnelian and lapis lazuli. It depicted a young Nubian King in the death throes of the Lion Queen's deadly embrace. Mattson had spent hours studying the piece in the gallery, captivated by its exquisite detail and imagery.

But somewhere along the way, he turned his head sideways and began to see the piece differently. Contentment not fear marked the young man's face. Passion not animal brutality marked the lioness' stance. The piece wasn't a violent attack by a ferocious wild animal. It was something else entirely. It was-

Mattson grimaced as a new gallery of shattered and bare display cases drew his attention back to the museum. He noticed the empty cylinder seal cases were intact. The seals in them had been moved before the bombing and looting began. Jacobi's seals must have been stolen from the basement storage area and that meant Jacobi had inside help to get there. Despicable.

Another surge of anger pushed Mattson to a faster pace as he wondered what other priceless treasures were missing. He didn't understand how Jacobi could be a part of this destruction, turning his back on everything archaeology stood for, how he could value dead presidents over kings and gods.

He rounded the doorway of the restoration room and almost fell to his knees. The room looked like a cyclone had hit, papers and debris were strewn everywhere. He choked back a strangled cry at the carnage but mentally slapped himself. He had only minutes to spare.

Determined, he plowed through the rubble, sweeping debris to the floor with his arms, upturning drawers, and panting frantic breaths until he found what he was looking for.