Free The Angel of Eden by D. J. McIntosh

hands, so we sat down as he’d directed. The room housed a collection of goods, some of which I’d seen on his website: books, enameled medallions embossed withvarious esoteric designs, silver bowls and collection plates, wall hangings, small triptych screens, sculptures of the famous Persian insignia featuring outspread wings superimposed on a male figure.
    I handed him my business card, introduced Bennet and myself, and thanked him for agreeing to see us. “Like you, I have a professional interest in Near East artifacts. I’m trying to trace the origin of certain Mesopotamian cylinder seals, one with figures referred to as the Sumerian Adam and Eve, and also a terra-cotta statue depicting an elongated skull. I believe you questioned Professor Ross about these items?”
    His expression hardened. “Are you colleagues of hers?”
    â€œMy brother was … at one time.”
    â€œAnd what’s your interest in the matter now?”
    â€œAs my card indicates, I’m an antiquities dealer, like you. I’ve been hired to help trace the objects’ source.”
    He clasped his hands together. “Well, you have a simple task then. They were stolen from my family. These items have great cultural value. My family has searched for them for decades.”
    â€œDid you file a police report? There’s no record of theft. Professor Ross confirmed that and I checked it myself.”
    Yersan gritted his teeth. “My parents are simple people. They kept no accounts, so I lack any official proof of ownership.”
    â€œAre your parents here, in America?” Bennet put in.
    He shook his head. “In Iran. As you can imagine, I am quite anxious to recover the articles. If you know of their whereabouts, or who is in possession of them, I would be grateful.” His attempt at a smile didn’t reach his dark eyes.
    â€œYour parents are from the town of Kandovan, or nearby—is that right?” I asked nonchalantly. That got a reaction. His chair almost toppled when he leapt up and marched toward me. I didn’t like the thought of him looming over us, so I stood too. I washeavier set than he was and taller by a good couple of inches. Bennet moved out of our way.
    â€œHow did you know that?”
    â€œI’d be glad to tell you if you give me some information,” I continued. “Where did the objects come from originally? Who found them and when?”
    He searched my face, trying to determine whether to trust me. “Very well. The story is well known in my community. My father was a sheep herder. He often stayed out overnight with the animals, sometimes for a week if he traveled far enough away. He herded his flock onto higher ground one spring, a series of rocky hills and cliffs. A lamb became separated from the other sheep and my father went in search of it. He spied the animal near a crevasse high up on a cliff and realized that it was an entrance to a cave. Curious about what might be in the cave, he picked up a rock and threw it in. He was surprised to hear it shatter something. When he crept inside he found large clay pots. Most held nothing, but in one of them he found the artifacts.” Yersan glared at me. “Now tell me how you knew about Kandovan.”
    The story he’d just told was a carbon copy of the famous Dead Sea scrolls discovery. I pretended to believe him. “A very interesting find. Material embedded in the statue and seals point to their having been found in the Kandovan area. The objects were sent to North America by a man named Helmstetter—does that name mean anything to you?”
    â€œYou know perfectly well it does. He stole the objects from my father in the first place.”
    â€œHe just showed up thirty-five years ago in your hometown and managed to walk out with those valuables? Hard to believe. How long did he stay in Kandovan? When your family realized he’d stolen them, didn’t they try to trace him