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importantly, he recognized
the dragon-shaped head there on display.
    “The Effigy?”
    In
long, consuming strides he stepped up to the glass display case fashioned to an
elaborate pedestal in the center of the room. The magnificent luster of
polished jade and turquoise glinted like crown jewels within the thick glass
casing. Deep, dark obsidian pupils winked within mother-of-pearl eye inserts. The
dragon snarled at him with matched mother-of-pearl teeth.
    Peet
spun back to the curator. “Is this a replica?”
    Frederico
smiled and shook his head. “No. This is the real thing. It was returned to us
just yesterday.”
    “I
don’t understand.”
    “The
Archbishop of the Metropolitan Cathedral discovered it in one of the chapels,
just before Sunday’s Mass.”
    Peet
was dumbfounded. “This doesn’t make any sense. John wouldn’t leave a valuable
artifact in a cathedral. He’s not even Catholic.”
    “Whatever
the motives, we lucked out that the Effigy was returned to us unharmed.”
    “And John?”
    “He
remains missing. We have not heard a word from him, but we had not expected to
either.”
    “Why
do you say that?”
    “He
was taking a month off. He said he wanted to spend the holidays with his wife,
back home in Utah.”

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    Metropolitan Cathedral

 
    Peet
was at a total loss when he slipped into his rental car and pulled away from
the museum. Nothing made sense. John may have removed the effigy but how or why
it ended up in the cathedral was a mystery. No harm no foul, he guessed. That
probably explained the FBI’s lack of secrecy in their investigation.
    But
where was John? Peet quickly checked his cell phone. There were no missed
calls. Evidently, John hadn’t returned home yet. Martha swore on her death bed
that she’d call the minute he showed up. Peet was worried. If John wasn’t home
and if he wasn’t on some dig someplace, where could he be?
    He
knew of only one other place to check.
    * * * *
    Churches
had a way of intimidating Peet. He hadn’t stepped inside a sanctuary since the
day he married Cathy. He couldn’t quite place his finger on what exactly
repelled him from them. Perhaps it was the ritual of it all. After all, Peet
was as fluid in worship as a dancer with two left feet. Perhaps the very idea
of stepping inside a holy place held him back—he being a man who’d desecrated a
number of ancient holy places in the name of archaeology. Even he could sense
the hypocrisy in that.
    There
was also a touch of irony in his current situation. He’d always found his late
wife’s neighborhood church daunting and yet, now he was about to stroll right
through the opulent baroque doors of Mexico
City’s Metropolitan Cathedral. The difference was his
motive. Here he was at work, and work always made him more comfortable.
    The
cathedral was a Renaissance, Baroque and Neo-classic conglomerate, attesting to
the centuries it took to complete it. Its towering spires and severe bell
towers loomed over the Zócalo, creating an elegant profile intended to impress
the most jaded of sinners. Maybe that was the point, he thought. Such extreme
architecture could only serve to inspire, to lure, to offer a taste of heavenly
wonders.
    If
the exterior was a mere taste, the interior was a lavishing feast. Peet
followed a group of ogling tourists through the great portal of the main facade
where statues of saints and the Virgin Mary lifted the eyes toward the extravagant
clock tower, itself dominated by supreme bell towers from either side. Inside,
Peet was struck by the openness and the religious grandeur that assaulted his
vision.
    While
crowds of visitors stammered toward the lofty gilded altars of the central
nave, Peet couldn’t help but stop and appreciate the robust columns and
cascading chandeliers, all ornately decorated with detail upon detail that
spilled onto the walls and archways of the interior. The cathedral didn’t just
contain art, it was art itself.
    “