The helicopter ride home felt unreal. Adrenaline gave way to a dull, tired ache. At the county station Tom was met by Captain Reynolds, a practical man with a close haircut and watchful eyes. On the table under the lamp was the torc, wrapped in a forensic cloth.
Dr. Anna Lawrence, conservator from the state museum, took it in gloved hands and examined it through a loupe. Her hands trembled with the same mix of professional excitement and the weight of history.
She told Tom it wasn’t just gold; it was a Scythian torc, likely from the fifth century B.C. A piece like that was nearly impossible to price — the kind of object museums fight over. The country would want it in a museum, she said, its cultural value far beyond a private payday.
Tom listened, trying to make sense of it. He had dragged an artifact through half a valley and outrun men with guns. Police paperwork took hours. Mark Donovan, sensing the end, started talking; once the cuffs were on and the evidence solid, he began naming contacts and routes to trade the artifact, hoping for leniency.
By dawn the arrests were made and investigators filed reports. Captain Reynolds told Tom straight: he’d done the right thing. If not for Tom’s stubbornness and knowledge of the country, the torc would have been smuggled out and the buyers would have disappeared forever.
