Their flight from Santorini to Athens was short and sweet, no more than fifty minutes. If they had taken a ferry, it would have cost them five to six hours of traveling time.

Kolovos and Giannopoulos sat on both sides of Mom. Helen sat separately at the back of the plane, since she had to pay separately for her own ticket.

The only person missing aboard the flight was Reuben Costa, who had completed his role of accompanying Mom to the meeting place, when Mom had handed over three Petros eggs to her brokers.

The brokers were probably en route now to deliver the eggs to the buyers. Those buyers were on INTERPOL and FBI radar.

Every now and then, Helen was curious about who those buyers were. She wondered if they were anyone from Mom’s past. Mom had been tight-lipped about disclosing any more than the INTERPOL had asked her.

Then again, it wasn’t Helen’s problem.

She had only shown up in Santorini because Mom’s tracker had gone off.

The rest of today would be spent retaining the best defense attorney Helen could find for Mom. After that, Helen would have to go back to work pursuing fugitives. She might go to the Brussels office to catch up on what she had missed the day before, if anything.

At the airport, Helen picked up her carry-on at one of the luggage storage facilities on-site. She was glad it was still there because she didn’t have time to buy new clothes and toiletries.

The Hellenic Police van taking Mom away to downtown Athens didn’t wait for Helen. Mom was gone by the time Helen signed for her compact Fiat Punto rental car.

In fact, if Mom hadn’t approached the INTERPOL National Central Bureau in Athens—housed inside the Greek Police Headquarters—about the three Petros eggs in her possession, Mom’s life wouldn’t be in danger either.

At a red light on the way to the ancient city of Athens, Helen was on the phone with Camden La Salle. He was in Zurich. He didn’t say why.

“I can’t help you, Helen. I’m sorry. If I were on the outside…”

“I hear you. Thanks anyway.” Disappointed that Camden couldn’t disclose information that the FBI Art Crime Team had, Helen knew she couldn’t pester him and get him into trouble.

“On the other hand, if you find anything, be sure to let us know,” Camden said.

“Right. Will do, Cam.” Working with the FBI often meant it didn’t go both ways. The FBI Art Crime Team was inundated with old unsolved cases. Searching for the nine of twelve missing eggs wasn’t their top priority.

After all, these were not Fabergé eggs.

Then again, her mother’s life was more important than any of these things.

Helen reached for the coffee in the cupholder only to find it empty. She leaned back against the driver’s seat, willing herself not to fall asleep.

She prayed for God’s mercy upon her family. All the hard work Dad had poured into the company could come to an end if the Hu family had been complicit in a crime all those years ago.

As the bearer of the Hu name, Helen did not want to hear of any bad news.

As a private investigator, she wanted to know where the other nine Petros eggs were.

Did Mom have any more eggs stashed away somewhere?

Traffic slowed to a standstill due to some sort of commotion ahead. Helen turned on the radio to see if there was a traffic report, but it was all in Greek. She googled and found no information.

She tapped the steering wheel as the car inched forward a little at a time. She heard sirens in the distance, and prayed for whoever were involved in the apparent traffic accident ahead.

Gray smoke rose into the sky. Horns blared.

At the accident site, Helen saw firefighters dousing water over a smoking van. Partially charred sides told her that the van had caught fire—

The van looked familiar.

Unmarked, it looked like the same van that had taken Mom.

Helen pulled off to the side of the road, jumped out, and ran toward the van. A police officer stopped her from getting closer. On the road, a large piece of cloth covered a body. Nearby, someone groaning on the ground was being treated by emergency medical personnel.

She skirted the area to get closer to the man on the ground. When they lifted him onto the cot, she saw that it was INTERPOL agent Damiano Kolovos. Badly injured and bleeding from one leg.

“Mom?” As Helen stood behind the tape, her eyes searched for any sign of Mom. Nowhere in the crowd of police and paramedic uniforms.

Nowhere.

Helen swallowed.

They took Mom.