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Professor Andrew Whelan sat in his office at Laurel Mount University’s Ancient and Medieval Studies Department and sucked a mint. “Guy Lacross said to talk to me, you say?”

The office was less welcoming than Stella had expected.

She’d been looking forward to sitting in an oak-paneled room with a friendly old man in an ill-fitting bow tie keen to talk about his field of research, possibly over tea and little sandwiches.

The office, though, was mostly bare, and Professor Whelan wasn’t very friendly. And he didn’t even have a bow tie.

Professor Whelan did wear a regular tie, but there was a stain just below the knot, and the tie was hardly the focal point, considering his belly pushed open the gaps between his buttons on his shirt to reveal a thin, white undershirt gray from age.

And the bowl of mints on his desk looked like they’d been there since the fall of the Babylonian empire. If he offered Stella one, she’d have to refuse.

A framed poster on the wall advertised an exhibition of Sumerian art that had taken place in 1988. A single shelf held a row of books that didn’t look like they’d been opened since they’d been written, perhaps around 1888.

Stella draped one knee over the other and folded her fingers. “He teaches at the University of Chicago.”

“I know who he is. Sort of. This world isn’t large.”

“He recommended we speak to you. He said you’re an expert in this particular cuneiform.”

“I’m an expert in many cuneiform-based writing systems, young lady. But to be quite frank, there are so few initiates today that anyone who’s read a page of the Epic of Gilgamesh gets to call themselves an expert.” He harrumphed loudly.

Hagen removed a sheet of paper from his pocket. They’d asked Guy to draw the cuneiform for them, which he’d faxed over to the Nashville office, so that they wouldn’t have to show a picture of a dead man’s bloody body. Hagen pushed the page across the table.

Professor Whelan picked up the sheet and held it at arm’s length. His hands shook. The page rustled. He smacked his lips. A faint hint of mint drifted across the table.

“Now this takes me back.” He placed the paper on the desk.

“I’m retired, you know. Haven’t published for almost a decade.

And to be honest, I produced very little in my last years.

Translating these tablets is a long, slow process.

Half the time, I wondered whether it was worth the effort.

No one outside the field ever read them, and few people in the field did either. You know what I do now?”

Stella really hoped that at top of the list of the emeritus professor’s activities was helping the FBI with their investigations. But she shook her head and waited for him to continue.

“Guest lecture. Once a year. The rest of the time, I dig around in the library’s collection for something new to exhibit in the entrance and search for something interesting to translate and publish.” He leaned over the desk and whispered, “Haven’t found anything yet.”

Stella pointed at the sheet of paper under the professor’s trembling fingers. “Dr. Lacross thought that cuneiform was particularly unusual.”

“Yes, yes. Let me see.” He lifted the sheet again and held it up to the light.

A knock sounded on the door. Professor Whelan pushed his glasses higher up his nose and scowled at the page. The knock sounded again, louder this time. Hagen turned in his seat just as the door opened and a young woman walked in.

She had long dark hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, wide cheeks, and fingers that were just slightly too large for her hands as she gripped the edge of the door.

She flashed a friendly smile at Stella and Hagen before addressing Whelan. “Professor? Just wondering if you got that message from the dean. He’s still waiting for a response.”

“Hm?” Professor Whelan lowered the page. “Oh, Jodie.” He waved in the air between Jodi and the agents. “This is Jodie Laird. She’s my secretary.”

“Administrative assistant.” Jodie’s polite smile never wavered.

“And an adjunct. Couldn’t do a thing without her. The dean, you say? What does he want now? Let me guess. He wants to reallocate this office. Well, he can’t have it.”

Professor Whelan fumbled in the pocket of his jacket before retrieving a phone with a single lens on the back and a screen just large enough for the numbers to be legible.

The device looked as old as the professor.

He hammered at the phone with one shaking forefinger before giving up and passing it to Jodie.

“Here. You deal with it. These things will be the death of me. ”

She took the phone. Her cheeks reddened slightly. “He’s not very good with technology.”

Jodie sounded apologetic, but Professor Whelan didn’t seem embarrassed. “This new stuff isn’t interesting. Not worth spending my time on.” He lifted the sheet of paper again.

Jodie tapped at the screen. The professor hadn’t turned off the key sounds. As she wrote the professor’s reply to the dean, a series of loud clicks made the room sound like a typing pool.

Professor Whelan glared at his assistant. “Well? Aren’t you finished yet? I haven’t got all day. I have to leave in ten minutes.”

Jodie hunched her shoulders and typed faster.

Stella willed her on. The discomfort was acute.

At last, Jodie turned the screen to the professor. “Here. Is it okay?”

The professor read quickly and nodded. “Fine, fine. That should get him off my back for a while. Let him have it.”

Jodie took the phone back. She tapped the screen, tutted, tapped again, then tutted again before sighing deeply.

“Oh, this internet. The connection is really bad at this end of the building. Thick walls.” She lowered her voice and whispered to Stella, “That’s why they give these offices and intelligent admins,” she tossed her hair back and winked, “to the emeritus professors.” She handed back the phone. “It’ll go out when you leave.”

“Very good.” Professor Whelan examined the cuneiform again. “Here, Jodie. Before you go. Come and learn something. What do you make of this?”

He turned the page around. His hand still shook. The paper flapped.

Jodie frowned. “It looks like…is it gibil ?”

“Yes…and no. Yes, it looks like gibil , but no, it isn’t. I’m afraid this is more likely to be a bad copy of any number of common terms, Agents. A mistake here or here or here, and you have quite different words.”

Professor Whelan placed his finger over one line, then another. The changes made no difference at all to Stella. They seemed to matter to the professor, though. And to Jodie.

He handed the page back to Hagen. “I think your friend is probably confused. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

Hagen folded the page and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He rose. “Thank you. In a case like this, you never know what could turn out to be helpful.”

Stella stood and, with a nod of thanks to Jodie, followed Hagen toward the door. Hagen stopped and turned back, one hand on the handle.

“You know, we’ve investigated a number of cases that have centered on the contents of a clay tablet. But I’ve never actually seen one of those things. Do you have one here we can look at?”

Professor Whelan lifted his gray eyebrows. His sigh was shallow but still managed to pack plenty of irritation along a strong waft of mint.

“Jodie, why don’t you take these two to the university library? I’m sure you can help them find something suitably educational.”