CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nick and I parted ways with mutual promises to stay in touch. The thought of having an unofficial partner or mentor was unfamiliar. I hadn’t had to work alongside anyone since my time with the FET. Surely, working with me in the United States couldn’t be as potentially deadly as doing that in a war zone.
Before I left Laurel, I called Peter Amelin. He answered on the third ring with a heavily accented “Hello.”
I introduced myself and explained the problem, leaving out most of the worrisome details. “Would you be able to determine anything about an object’s authenticity from a cellphone photo?”
“Hmmm.” It was the lowest C possible on a pipe organ. “In the strictest sense, I can’t really authenticate objects from a photo. I would need to use spectroscopic analysis for that. But I could look at the photos and judge whether they have the outward appearance of Svaneti artifacts. It won’t tell you much, but I can do that.”
“That would be great,” I said. “Could we meet today?”
He gave me his address and invited me to come by in an hour or so.
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