Chapter 4

The limousine pulled up in front of the main library at UCLA. "Thanks, Fred," said Laura. "I don't know how long I'll be, but it will be at least a couple of hours. I'll phone you when I'm done, okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am," replied Fred.

Laura jumped out of the limo, entered the library and made her way to the reception desk. After consulting one of the staff members, she was led to a work desk, and then shown a computer terminal which contained the library's electronic catalog.

Over the next several hours, Laura consulted history books and academic journals, carefully taking notes in her flowing, left-handed script on a yellow legal pad. This kind of work – detailed, in-depth research – was something that she excelled at, with her methodical, orderly mind. The hours flew by with her hardly noticing. Finally, she closed the books she had been consulting, returned them to the stack for re-shelving, and exited the library. Laura found a payphone and called for the car, then dialed the office.

"Mildred? Oh good, you're still there. Yes, it's just past six...I'm heading back to the office now…You'll wait? Great – thanks, Mildred. Yes. Yes, we'll compare notes…and thanks for working late."

Upon returning to the office, Laura walked straight into Remington's room. Remington and Mildred were sitting in the casual seating area, Remington looking over some computer printouts while Mildred sipped coffee. "Hello," said Laura.

"Oh, hi, Mrs Steele," said Mildred, looking up. "How did it go at UCLA?"

"Fine. Listen, Mildred, thanks for working late."

"No problem. If I'd gone home, I only planned to watch a rerun of the Cosby Show," replied the secretary.

"So, what are the results of your endeavors, eh?" asked Remington, emerging from behind the material he had been reading.

"Very fruitful," replied Laura, kicking off her black pumps before sitting down on the couch and tucking her legs under her. She pulled out her notes. "According to my research, the story about the Aleppo Codex that Mr Fouad told us this afternoon was more or less accurate." Laura consulted her legal pad. "The Codex did reach Israel in 1958 partially destroyed, with about half of it believed lost in the fire at the Aleppo synagogue. Oh, I have a couple of photostat pictures of the Codex there, you might want to take a look at them to familiarize yourself with it. Anyway, there have been constant rumors that some or all of the missing sections survived, and these rumors have been fueled – excuse the pun – by the fact that the extant sections show no sign of charring, which has made a lot of people believe that the Codex was never in a fire at all. And so…"

"And so," jumped in Remington, "if there was no fire, then the missing sections could not have been consumed in the flames – correct?"

"Exactly. How was your afternoon?"

"Well, after some rabbit food for lunch…" Laura was puzzled by the allusion, but let it go. "I spent a long afternoon on the telephone to various contacts, putting out feelers about the Codex. If any of the main players out here on the West Coast hear anything, they've promised to establish contact with us."

"Okay," said Laura. "And what about you, Mildred?"

"Mrs Steele, it looks like Fouad's story is kosher. I found quite a few pieces in South American newspapers about the family, which Mr Steele helped me translate, and one or two articles in US business magazines as well. It's pretty much like our client said – the Fouad conglomerate has interests in Brazilian agriculture and manufacturing, but it also has operations in Bolivia, Ecuador and even in Mexico. The company is very much family run, with Fouad's brothers or nephews in charge of the different operations. It's profitable, and the family is certainly very rich."

"So," said Laura, "it seems we have a legitimate client with a legitimate artifact he's after. The question is, if Remington's approaches to the art world don't result in anything, how do we go about locating any of the missing Codex? We need another approach as backup."

"What do you suggest?"

"My idea is to gain entry into the Syrian Jewish community here in LA, if we can."

"I don't know, Laura," said Remington. "I would guess that the Sephardic Jews, who might well have fled persecution wherever they came from, aren't going to be very welcoming. It could be just like Witness."

"Huh?" interjected Mildred.

"Witness – Harrison Ford, Kelly McGillis, Paramount, 1985," elaborated Remington. "A policeman tries to locate a witness to a crime within the extremely insular Amish community, which proves initially rather difficult."

"You might be right," said Laura, "but we can but try. Mildred – tomorrow, I want you to research if there are any Syrian Jewish synagogues in LA, or whether there is a Syrian Jewish community here at all – a charity, or maybe a community center. I think that might be a place to start. But otherwise, I think there's nothing more we can do tonight."

"Okay, Mrs Steele. The Boss has got all my research, so if there's nothing else, I guess I'll head on home." Mildred got up and left the office, leaving her employers alone.

"Well…" said Remington, "if there's nothing else we can do, shall we return to the marital abode as well?"

"Yes. I sent Fred home, so we'll have to take the Rabbit. Make sure you bring that research, will you, I want to look it over tonight."

"Righty-ho, Mrs Steele. To the garage, we descend!"