The Librarians and the Lost Lamp by Greg Cox Read Free Book Online Page B

lady mentioned?”
    â€œPossibly,” Baird said. “But what were they looking for, and did they find it?”
    â€œThe only person who might know that is Dunphy,” Cassandra said. “Too bad we don’t know where he disappeared to.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Ezekiel asked. “You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes—or our old friend Moriarty—to figure that out. This is Vegas. Where else would a diehard gambler who has just come into money go?”
    â€œThe Strip,” the other Librarians realized in unison.
    â€œTook you long enough.” Ezekiel beamed in anticipation. “Viva Las Vegas.”

 
    5
    2006
    Six thousand miles, seven time zones, and more than twelve hours after departing the Library and New York City, Flynn arrived in Iraq. Dust, heat, and swaying palm trees greeted him, but there was nary a genie or flying carpet to be seen. The twenty-first century had been hard on Baghdad. Three years into the American occupation, the former home of the House of Wisdom was still effectively a war zone, torn apart by insurgency, strife, and a devastated infrastructure. An armored vehicle, along with an armed military escort, was required to travel safely from the airport to the fortified Green Zone in central Baghdad, which was pretty much the only secure part of the city. Peering out through the tinted, bulletproof windows of the airport shuttle, Flynn caught glimpses of a city under siege. Military helicopters buzzed overhead, while US troops and tanks patrolled the streets. Years of tanks and mortar shells had pitted the city streets, making for a bumpy ride through heavy traffic.
    It was a far cry from the Baghdad of the Golden Age, hundreds of years ago, when the city had been a center of science and learning known throughout the civilized world for the quantity and quality of its libraries, where scores of dedicated scholars and scribes had devoted themselves to preserving, translating, and building upon the accumulated wisdom of ancient Greece, Persia, China, and India. Under the reign of such legendary caliphs as the great Harun al-Rashid, Baghdad had shone brightly while Europe was still mired in the Dark Ages. Gazing soberly out the window, Flynn felt a pang in his heart, remembering the city’s glorious past and contributions to civilization. It was hard to imagine the likes of Sinbad or Aladdin swashbuckling through the war-ravaged Baghdad of today.
    But perhaps the Forty Thieves were still at work?
    Even gaining access to occupied Iraq was tricky these days, but Charlene had managed to pull the necessary strings to get Flynn a visa. In theory, his visit to Baghdad was part of the ongoing effort to recover precious antiquities and documents that had gone missing during the looting back in 2003, in the early days of the invasion. As cover stories went, it was a pretty good one; it made sense that an expert from the New York Metropolitan Library might be involved in the recovery effort. Flynn hadn’t even needed to fake his credentials.
    For once.
    Fortunately, the Baghdad Museum of Arts and Antiquities was located in the Green Zone, so Flynn didn’t have to worry about navigating the unsecured streets, where a lone American librarian might easily find himself in trouble. After passing through a series of gates and checkpoints, Flynn’s transport dropped him off outside the museum. Clutching his solitary suitcase, he abandoned the air-conditioned comfort of the shuttle to step out into the overpowering heat and sunlight. Blinded by the sudden glare, he stumbled onto the sidewalk before remembering the sunglasses tucked into the front pocket of his safari jacket. He fumbled blindly for them.
    â€œMr. Carsen?”
    An attractive woman, about Flynn’s age, was waiting for him at the curb. Curly brown hair framed her face. Conservative Western attire, of a professional nature, looked good on her.
    â€œThat’s me,” he