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

had several essential capital works programs which have now been completed—” said Halbert.
    “Yet there’s still a blocked pipe in the staff bathroom, seven potholes you could bury a dog in in the driveway, and a toad infestation in the basement,” said Docker mildly, taking a seat. “However did you manage that one?”
    “The staff member responsible is no longer with us,” said Halbert coldly.
    Actually, they never knew what had happened to her after she’d declared one day that she would fix the problem, marched downstairs and, well… The museum had posted her last pay cheque to her family.
    “SinaCorp is a generous patron of the arts,” continued Docker. “And two million dollars could buy a lot of. whatever it is you use to get rid of toads.”
    “Golf clubs, mainly,” said Halbert faintly.
    Docker shrugged and held out a hand for the briefcase.
    “I could have the funds transferred to the museum’s account by close of business today.”
    Halbert watched as Docker punched a combination into the briefcase. Halbert didn’t see a keypad. The briefcase clicked open, and Docker removed a slender, frameless touchscreen, placing it on the desk. Docker paused.
    “I understand you have a Sumerian tablet in your collection, quite inexplicably old.”
    “The age of the artefact is unverified,” said Halbert, growing uncomfortable. “We’ve had difficulty obtaining a conclusive reading.”
    “I’d like to see it, the actual tablet.”
    Halbert looked from the touchscreen to Docker, to the other members of the SinaCorp team, back to the touchscreen, making mental calculations about how likely it was that there were other strings attached, possibly made of garrotte wire.
    “In my experience, it’s best to fix a problem before it gets out of hand,” said Docker. “You wouldn’t want the health department to get involved.”
    After a pause, Halbert picked up the telephone on his desk.
    “I’ll have someone bring it up immediately,” he said.
    Docker kept his eyes on Halbert.
    “Emir, Stace, prepare for departure,” said Docker. “Roman and Bale, with me.”
    * * *
    She wasn’t lurking.
    She wasn’t even really scoping. You could even call it appreciating, although it wouldn’t stand up in court. Chris meandered along the outside wall of the museum, appreciating the smooth white walls, which lacked handholds of any kind. Appreciating the tall, narrow windows made from projectile-proof glass. Appreciating the lack of loose grates and staff doors left conveniently ajar.
    Chris glanced nonchalantly over her shoulder. A gardener watched her with the casual interest of a spectator watching someone trying to climb into the panda enclosure at the zoo. It seemed unnatural that something so cuddly could also eviscerate you with its fluffy paws.
    Chris’s mobile phone suddenly beeped, and she scrabbled for her phone, terrified for a moment that it was bad news—that it was the kind of call you pray you never get.
    It was a message from a private number:
    Two blocks east. The piazza. Now .
    Chris looked around, but saw only a smattering of museum patrons wandering through the grounds. On principle, she had a strong dislike of cryptic, anonymous messages; however, it wasn’t as though she had anything better to do right now aside from lurk.
    Chris walked quickly through the city street, which bustled with lunchtime crowds spilling from sidewalk cafés. She soon reached a large, round plaza paved with honey-coloured cobblestones, marked by a large decorative fountain in the centre. It depicted a man on his knees, arms raised in the eternal gesture of “Why me?”
    Another message beeped on her phone.
    Eastern wall. Vicolo Selvatico .
    Chris swept her gaze across the crowded plaza, then up at the surrounding clock towers. She walked carefully around the edge of the plaza, staying close to the walls, the aromas of pancakes and pasta wafting through the warm air.
    A small marble plaque, Vicolo Selvatico , was