The Other Tree by D. K. Mok Read Free Book Online Page A

dour-looking statue of Anubis.
    “Actually, we’re looking for the Sumerian tablet of the Persian Gulf,” said Chris.
    “We don’t display it,” said the guide.
    “Excuse me?” said Luke.
    “It’s kept in the vaults,” said the guide. “Sorry, I have to—hey!”
    The guide scrambled towards the tourists, who scattered, leaving Anubis wearing a beer-dispensing cap.
    Luke swivelled slowly to Chris, possibly stonier than Anubis.
    Chris suddenly gasped and dragged Luke behind a display case of antique shivs. She crouched beside him, her gaze fixed on a group of people entering the foyer.
    “You realise this display case is made of glass,” said Luke.
    “Shhh!” hissed Chris.
    The trolley man, the man from SinaCorp, the man who had made her an offer she’d quite easily refused, had sauntered into the polished foyer of St Basilissa’s Museum. Docker—according to the business card he’d left behind—was a Project Manager in the Expeditions Department. Chris suspected he wasn’t the kind of Project Manager who organised team lunches or office birthday cakes, and his idea of an exit interview probably involved a private plane and an open hatch.
    He was accompanied by a lean woman wearing dark sunglasses, two extremely fit men in their late twenties, and Emir, who carried a slim briefcase. They were all dressed as though they had strolled through Roman Holiday , and possibly Breakfast at Tiffany’s .
    Docker walked straight over to the reception desk and exchanged a few brief words with the impeccably dressed staffer. Docker gave a charming smile, and the receptionist made a nervous phone call, before indicating that the group should follow him. Docker swept his gaze briefly across the foyer before he and the group disappeared through a security door behind the front counter.
    Chris’s heart pounded. She knew Emir was on the SinaCorp team, but it was still disconcerting to see him with Docker. And though she knew very little about Docker, aside from his impressive upper body strength and lack of recruiting talent, she knew SinaCorp, and that was enough.
    Somehow, they were on the same trail.
    “If you turn out to be a sleeper agent, I’m going to be unbelievably pissed off,” said Chris.
    Luke stood up, dusting himself off.
    “I’m going to go for a walk,” he said. “And when I come back, I expect you to be coherent.”
    “Where are—?”
    “Coherent!” said Luke, holding up a deflective hand as he strode away.
    * * *
    The Head Curator’s office was remarkably devoid of ornamentation, featuring only elegant Italian furniture and varnished oak cabinets which slid seamlessly behind the wooden wall panelling.
    Halbert Vesina was a pragmatist who understood that Corinthian columns do not restore themselves. He felt it was the natural order of the world that passionate enthusiasts, who spent long loving hours restoring teaspoons of crushed pottery into life-sized terracotta elephants, needed to be gently but firmly guided by those who understood that bank cheques were not for scooping up pieces of pottery.
    Museums were becoming an indulgence, an outdated curiosity in an era when digital information was fast replacing the need for physical interaction. Some would argue that nothing could truly replicate the experience of seeing an original work, or being in the presence of an object that had existed in the hands of ancient forebears.
    Unfortunately, such people did not run museums, and probably didn’t visit them, either. Halbert understood the need for moving with the times, the importance of politics, of survival. Which brought him to today’s meeting.
    “To what do I owe this pleasure?” asked Halbert, smiling at the rugged group in his office.
    He noted with some unease that the woman had not removed her very stylish, very dark, sunglasses.
    “We understand St Basilissa’s Museum has experienced significant funding shortfalls in its budget for three years running,” said Docker.
    “We’ve