Tempting Josie

Part 1

Tempting Josie

by Anh Leod

Chapter One

 

“She’s Chicomecoatl,” said Ona Meyer as she tapped a button on her computer. A photo of a tiny golden statuette flashed onto the screen. “A fertility goddess. Stolen from the Museo Nacional de Athropologia in Mexico City in April.”

 “That was six months ago. What’s been happening since then?” Miguel Barrino’s pulse began to race, his usual reaction to the start of a new case, as he shut the door of the conference room. An undercover agent, one of three shadow members of the FBI’s Art Crime Team, he was rarely in the FBI’s Los Angeles field office. Ona, one of ACT’s twelve public members, was assigned here.

“That’s not unusual. We do have a backlog,” said Ona, an attractive redhead who looked a decade younger than her thirty-five years.

“Miguel’s got a plane to catch, so let’s be brief.” The assistant director in charge adjusted his wire-rim glasses.

“The statuette’s Aztec?” Miguel sat as the AD handed him a folder.

“Correct,” the AD said.

“I’m packing my bags for where?” Miguel asked.

Ona smirked. She hit another button and the face of a pockmarked Hispanic man in his late twenties flashed on screen. “You’re going to Spruce Park in southwestern Washington state to look for this man, who is a suspect in the theft. I took the liberty of writing your undercover dossier for you to save time.”

Miguel gritted his teeth. The little town wasn’t anywhere he would have gone back to by choice. “I lived there during my last two years of high school. I still have an adopted sister in town.”

“Exactly,” the AD said. “You’re going undercover as yourself, but as an unemployed mechanic looking for work. You should be able to track down this man easily enough if he’s there.”

Miguel nodded. “My sister thinks I’m a mechanic.”

“This was taken in Chapultepec Park near the museum,” Ona said, gesturing at the screen, where a grainy black and white image of the Hispanic man was frozen in the process of reaching out to someone or something off-screen.

Ona hit play. The Hispanic man moved jerkily, which told Miguel the film was most likely a snippet from a security camera.

“Look at the hand,” she instructed.

Miguel saw a shadowy hand come from off-screen and give the man a small burlap bag. As Miguel watched, the man opened it to check the contents. Something round and shiny was momentarily exposed before vanishing into the man’s pocket.

“You think that’s the statuette?” he asked, opening the folder he was given.

Ona smiled. “According to our analysis. What’s in that bag matches the dimensions of Chicomecoatl perfectly. The statuette is one point three seven pounds of pure gold. It has an interesting history.”

“Oh?”

“I said she was a fertility goddess. What I didn’t tell you is this particular statue was revered by the women of Tenochtitlán.”

Tenochtitlán, once the capital of the Mexica empire. “Why?”

“It is reputed to have certain sexual powers.” Ona pushed her hair back over her shoulders.

“Maybe she’ll help you find a girlfriend,” the AD quipped.

“Mike doesn’t need help in that department.” Ona smiled at Miguel.

Miguel suspected Ona had a crush on him, but since she was in the middle of a long, ugly divorce he’d kept his distance. Free and uncomplicated, that was the kind of woman he liked.

“We’ve got an apartment for you in Vancouver, Washington,” the AD said. “So you can keep your distance from the locals.”

“What’s the connection to Spruce Park?” Miguel asked.

“Have you heard of the webcomic Magic Man?” Ona asked.

“No.” If it wasn’t an art form that saw a lot of theft or forgery, he wasn’t that interested. “It’s a comic book online?”

“Right,” Ona said. “The recent storyline features what appears to be the missing statuette. The artist, who goes by Mei, lives in Spruce Park.”

“Why not contact this artist and find out where they saw the statuette?” He’d never had a case involving comics before.

“There’s a large undercover Drug Enforcement Administration investigation ongoing in the county,” the AD said. “We can’t make any waves. That’s why you’re perfect for this. A down-on-his-luck former local with family nearby. No one will suspect you’re looking for the statuette. It’s a huge loss to the people of Mexico, Miguel, not to mention priceless. The Mexican government is putting pressure on us.”

Miguel stood, having just noticed his flight for Portland, the largest city closest to Spruce Park, left in less than three hours. “I’d better get going. I can’t show up in a good suit.”

“Thanks, Miguel,” said the AD. “I knew you were the man for the job. Good luck.”

Miguel pulled at his tie. His unenthusiastic smile felt lopsided as he grabbed his folder. What was he getting himself into? Spruce Park, after all these years.