Unknown Enemy. Michelle Karl

      Ginny smiled to herself, used to these kinds of questions. “Actually, those tablets—”

      “Professor Anderson?” A voice from the hallway was followed by a face peering around the corner of her office door. Colin stepped aside to allow Sam, a teaching assistant for her Introduction to Near Eastern Studies class, inside. The student was covering the front reception desk for Mrs. McCall, the departmental secretary, who’d stayed home this morning to nurse her sick toddler.

      He waved a large, flat yellow mailing envelope in his hand. “I meant to catch you when you came back, but this arrived for you a half hour or so ago. Right before you got back from the museum.”

      “Thanks, Sam.” She took it and frowned at the front. The envelope was nondescript, completely unremarkable, with no stamp or return address. Only her name had been affixed to the envelope with a printed label, neglecting to mention her box number or even the name of her department. It had obviously not been through the mail system but simply left here for her. “Who dropped this off?”

      Sam shrugged. “A phone call came in from an alumnus and I had to check the filing cabinet for some old records. When I turned around it was there on the desk, no one around. I’m sure it wasn’t there before. Weird, huh?”

      “Probably another interdepartmental memo or something.” She glanced at Colin, who also shrugged. She slipped a finger underneath the envelope flap and ripped it open. Inside rested several sheets of paper, which she slipped out with care. A letter? Who wrote a letter these days when they could write an email? It looked as though it had been composed on an old-fashioned typewriter, the inked letters leaving a slight indentation on the paper’s surface.

      She began reading. Her stomach dropped.

      Dear Professor Anderson,

      Greetings. I do hope this letter finds you well, and I must ask you to please excuse the nature by which I have delivered this correspondence. Circumstances beget such a necessity and besides, I abhor technology in all its forms, avoiding it at all costs—insofar as it is reasonable to do so. First, however, I must apologize for the rude actions of my compatriots earlier this morning. Please be assured that they acted out of turn in assaulting your personage, and it will not happen again so long as our interactions warrant it thusly.

      Ginny waved a hand at Colin, her eyes glued to the page. In an instant, he was by her side, reading the letter over her shoulder.

      I am truly grateful that a gentleman was present to thwart those characters who I assure you misunderstood the nature of my instructions. They were in no way directed to approach you in such an invasive manner. It is not...diplomatic, shall we say.

      But now we come to the real issue, yes? The tablets you have in your possession. I am aware of their presence and I am aware of their importance. However, it may behoove you to know that the work you do is not so innocent as the academic world would have you believe. Allow me to make you an offer, Professor. Fifty thousand dollars in exchange for your assurance that you will abandon this research project.

      You will place all of your existing notes and theorems inside this envelope. Drop it in the waste bin outside the public area commonly referred to as the “quad” at four o’clock this afternoon. Destroy any remaining files that contain your work and return the tablets to the museum. Explain that you have discovered your theories are no longer feasible with the available evidence and that you will be publishing a retraction of your preliminary reports. Yes, Professor Anderson, I have read your preliminary reports on the summer palace location. A little far-fetched, hmm?

      Once you have completed these tasks, you will discover yourself fifty thousand dollars richer. I imagine this will go a long way on a part-time professor’s salary.

      Remember, four o’clock today. I advise against tardiness in this matter.

      The letter ended there. No signature and nothing on the other side of the page.

      Ginny’s hand shook, blurring the words. She had so many questions, she couldn’t keep track of them all. Was this some kind of a joke? A student thinking it would be funny to mess with her head after what had happened this morning?

      Surely no one would be so dense as to believe that she’d give up her research—her potentially career-changing research—for a bribe.

      Colin reached across and plucked the paper from her trembling hands, and a sense of relief that he was there rushed through her. He’d know what to do, wouldn’t he?

      “Well, that’s odd. Looks like this was typed up manually.”

      Or maybe not. She plunked her elbows on the desk, covering her face with her hands. “What’s going on? I teach ancient history. I don’t have secrets or hidden knowledge. It’s like I’m stuck in a bad made-for-TV movie.”

      Colin glanced out into the department common area, then took two steps to cross her tiny office and look out its small window. He pulled across the gauzy curtain so that it hid them from view. “I wish I knew. It’s strange that whoever sent this would target you without an explanation. Sounds like someone wants you to stop your research, but based on what you’ve told me, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. There’s no financial gain, unless someone’s reputation is at stake. Is that a possibility?”

      Ginny laughed bitterly. “Only my own professional reputation. If I publish a retraction of my earlier work, I’ll have set my career back by several years. I won’t be eligible for the tenure-track position and my next assertions will be met with severe scrutiny.”

      “Sounds like you care a lot about what other people think.”

      “When it comes to my professional reputation and the future of my career? Absolutely.”

      “Careers aren’t the be-all and end-all of life.”

      “Of course they are—oh.” Her face fell when she realized what she’d said. “Sorry. You said you didn’t leave the Secret Service by choice?”

      “No, and it’s fine. I don’t talk about it a lot and I’d prefer not to.” Ginny started to apologize, to explain that she’d only been curious, but he held up a hand to stop her and tapped on the envelope instead. “I’m going to take this down to the police station. I can’t guarantee they’ll be able to do a lot since there’s no specific threat here, but I’m hoping the admission of responsibility for the events of the past twenty-four hours will be enough to tie it all together.”

      “What about fingerprints? Tracing the paper or office supplies or ink? I’ve seen that on television.”

      “Yours, mine and Sam’s. Maybe the sender touched it, but who sends a threatening letter and leaves a fingerprint? For that matter, who sends a physical letter instead of, say, calling?”

      Ginny clutched a tablet in one hand and brushed the outside edge before tracing the shapes on the inside. “Someone who doesn’t like new things. New technology. If someone is trying to terrorize me into stopping my research, they must have an interest in old things.”

      “That’s one possibility. But the label with your name looks printed off a computer, not a typewriter.”

      “The sender mentioned associates. Maybe someone did it for him or her?”

      As Colin’s mouth set into a firm, hard line, Ginny’s confidence faltered. If he couldn’t figure it out, what chance did she have against this mysterious adversary?

      * * *

      Colin stole a glance at Ginny, not at all surprised by the weariness on her face. He’d seen that look plenty of times on the faces of those he’d protected. Presidents, diplomats, persons of national importance, didn’t matter whom. No one had an easy time when it came to threats on his or her life. This wasn’t the first threatening letter he’d seen, but it was one of the most carefully put together. Generic envelope, generic paper and an assumption that Ginny would follow through. And the writer had the gall to drop it off in person.

      “Are there security