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Adam focused his full attention on Dawson, who looked startled to find himself on the receiving end of it.

“At our destination—what would you be looking for from me?” he demanded bluntly.

Dawson perked up.

“Ah! Well—I’m afraid I can’t tell youtoomuch about it at this point in our venture,” he noted coyly. “Suffice to say that our interests in the ruins of Tulan are more…focusedthan a simple survey or excavation.”

Adam sighed. He had a pretty good idea of what ‘focused interests’ in an archaeological site meant.

“Right,” he replied. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as his frustration and dismay rose. “So you’re collectors.”

“My, my!” Dawson returned. “You are more clever than you let on, Mr. Bates.”

Adam dropped his hand and treated Dawson to a flatly bewildered stare. Did the man have any idea how condescending he was?

“We are indeed collectors,” Dawson continued, and then raised an abrupt hand. “I will say no more. The nature of our collection is… rather unique in a manner that I am not at liberty to share. But there is a particular artifact that we believe may reside at Tulan, which you might aid me in securing—and that would be aid for which both I and my organization would be very grateful.”

Adam wondered if Dawson’s gratitude meant a good goddamn to Mr. Jacobs—who was obviously the boss here, whatever pretensions of authority Dawson might have. The professor made it sound like he was part of something elite and desperately important… but desperately important people didn’t get bossed around by murderous street thugs.

More likely, Dawson was a minion, Adam thought as the professor slapped angrily at another buzzing mosquito. The professor wasn’t overly enamored with his current assignment, and he thought maybe Adam could get him out of it a bit faster.

Adam knew the type. They were usually a type that he threw his drink at. He didn’t have a drink at the moment, which was probably for the best.

He crossed his arms and pinned Dawson with a look.

“How am I supposed to help you find your special thing if you won’t tell me what it is?” he demanded.

Dawson gaped at him, and then snapped his mouth shut. The professor was clearly weighing his commitment to secrecy against his very real desire to get the hell out of the back country as quickly as possible.

The latter apparently won out—at least enough to shift the balance a bit.

“It is something which is almost certainly secured in the ritual heart of the ruins,” Dawson carefully offered. “Or in a location that would not have been accessible to the general populace, but only to the religious and political elites. And it will be… black,” he added awkwardly. “Black and flat.”

Adam frowned. He’d been expecting more of the usual stuff collectors lusted for—like pornographic vases or things made of shiny important metals.

Adam didn’t know any shiny important metals that were black.

“How big is it?” he asked.

Dawson was starting to look nervous.

“I… Well, I’m not sure I can say precisely.”

“Like—a little teeny something?” Adam held apart his fingers to demonstrate. “Or hand sized? Maybe a dinner platter?”

“Mirror sized,” Dawson blurted. The professor was starting to sweat more than he routinely did. He glanced around the camp as though looking to see who might be able to hear them. “It would be—ah—mirror sized.”

“What the hell is mirror sized?” Adam retorted.

“Shhh!” Dawson urged, slightly panicky. “Please! I… Just… That’s all I can say about the matter. Really, I should think it would be quite sufficient.”

And abruptly… it was. A connection zipped to life in Adam’s brain as he recalled a phrase that he had seen scrawled in Dawson’s notebook on the night he and Ellie had been captured.

The Smoking Mirror.

Ellie had rattled on about the Smoking Mirror. It was the meaning behind the disk icon on her medallion—the one that Jacobs had stolen off her when they arrived at the camp. She’d described it as some magical artifact through which people had supposedly been able to see the past and the future. She’d mentioned it being associated with the legendary city of Tulan.

Apparently, Dawson had read the same books.