Chapter 10 — The Journey of the Missing Bronze Drum

The video call was arranged at nine o'clock in the evening, Vietnam time, which corresponds to three o'clock in the afternoon in Rome. Diem sat in the small meeting room of the Department, alone, laptop open, headphones plugged in, while Hai sat next to him, preparing to take notes.

Before the call began, Hai reminded Diem what he had learned about the unit they were about to contact: Comando Carabinieri Tutela Patrimonio Culturale, established in one thousand nine hundred and sixty-nine, is considered the world's oldest and most experienced force specialized in protecting cultural heritage, owns the largest database of stolen artifacts in Europe, and regularly coordinates with Interpol in cross-border raids. "If there's anyone capable of helping us understand how the international black market works," he said, "it's them."

At the appointed time, the screen appeared on the face of a middle-aged woman, neatly cut black hair, wearing a dark blue uniform with the Carabinieri insignia, behind her was a bookshelf full of documents and a world map covered with colored pins.

"Hello Ms. Diem, I'm Elena Marchetti, Comando Carabinieri Tutela Patrimonio Culturale," she said in fluent English, her voice with a distinct Italian accent. "The Interpol Art Crime unit forwarded your request for assistance to me this morning. I took a look at the preliminary file on the bronze drum, the nine-winged peanut bird pattern is very special — I must say, even with many years of experience in the profession, this is the first time I have seen such a pattern."

"Thank you for your time," Diem said. "We need to know whether there is any indication that this artifact is being offered for sale on the international market."

Elena tapped a few keys, sharing the screen. "We have a joint database with ICOM, called Cultural Objects in Danger — Object ID and Red List for Southeast Asia. As soon as I received your information, I posted an emergency alert on the system, sending it to the entire member network, including major auction houses registered to comply with the code of professional ethics." She paused, her expression becoming more serious. "But I also have to tell you frankly: official warnings only work for public auction houses that follow the rules of the game. With the underground market, where transactions take place discreetly between predetermined buyers and sellers, our warnings are almost meaningless."

"Object ID describes the artifact according to what criteria?" Diem asked, her professional curiosity overwhelming the tension in her heart.

"Nine required fields of information: type of artifact, material, size, pattern or distinctive markings, name if any, last recorded owner, and a set of photos taken from multiple angles. I filled it out based on the field report you submitted, with special emphasis on the detail of the nine wings of a stray bird — it's a unique identification mark, almost impossible to fake if someone intentionally recasts a different version to mislead the investigation."

"Do you have any doubts about a particular channel?" Hai asked, interjecting into the conversation.

Elena nodded, pulling up another document. "For the past three years, we have been monitoring a private auction house in Singapore, named Meridian, which specializes in organizing auctions 'by private invitation' — no public catalogs, no public advertising, only sending invitations to a carefully screened list of customers. We do not have enough evidence to prosecute them, because legally, they always have full origin documents for every item, even though we believe most of those documents are elaborately fabricated."

Diem felt her heart beat faster. "Do you have information about their upcoming auction?"

"Have." Elena shared another document on screen, a copy of the invitation provided by her confidential source. "The private auction is scheduled to take place in fourteen days, at an unannounced location in Singapore, with the listing vaguely described as 'Southeast Asian Bronze Age metal artifacts, of longstanding private collection'. There are no specific photographs in the invitation, just a general description — which is what they usually do to avoid matching the description with any items that have been reported missing internationally."

"Fourteen days," Diem repeated, exchanging worried looks with Hai.

"Enough time for a container to move from Vietnam to Singapore via regular sea routes, there may be more than enough time if they choose the direct route," Hai quickly calculated. "But it's short enough that we have to act urgently."

Elena leaned toward the screen, her voice becoming more friendly. "I've been doing this job for eighteen years, Ms. Diem. I understand the feeling of racing against time while your competitors always seem to be one step ahead. But I've also learned that sophisticated chains like this often have a common weakness: they always need a trustworthy domestic intermediary to legalize documents before the goods leave the border. If you find and destroy that intermediary, the entire supply chain will break down, no matter how sophisticated the overseas output is. to where?"

"We have a question about that intermediary stage," Diem said, choosing her words carefully because she did not want to mention specific names through a communication channel whose security had not been completely verified. "But more evidence is still needed before acting."

"I understand. I won't ask for more details through this channel." Elena smiled, an understanding smile among people of the same profession. "When you're ready, I can coordinate with Singapore customs to keep a closer eye on any shipments matching your bronze drum description, especially within the next fourteen days. But I need one thing: if you spot a specific container, please notify me immediately, as soon as possible, so that I have enough time to mobilize coordination on this side before the goods arrive at the port."

"We will," Diem promised.

Before ending the call, Elena paused for a moment, looking straight at the camera. "One last thing, Ms. Diem. In the file you sent, I saw mention of an old case, twelve years ago, involving the death of a researcher. I don't know the details, but I want to say that, in our profession, there is no such thing as a coincidence when a smuggling ring lasts long enough to see many generations of investigators pursuing it. Be careful. Any network that lasts twelve years without being broken has certainly learned how to defend itself. Protect yourself very well."

"You said 'many generations of investigators'," Diem asked further, unable to hold back. "Have you ever encountered a similar situation elsewhere?"

Elena sighed, a heavy breath of someone who had witnessed too many similar stories in different countries. "I once followed a case in Cambodia, a Khmer statue was carved from an ancient temple, the network behind it existed for nearly twenty years, changing three generations of operation, each generation learning how to avoid the mistakes of the previous generation. What makes these networks difficult to destroy is not because they are cruel or aggressive, but because they are patient, know how to wait, know when to be completely silent for many years if they feel there is a risk of being exposed. I hope the network you are following has not been learned that lesson of patience to the absolute extent, because the proof is that they are still operating, still preparing a new auction."

The call ended, the laptop screen went dark, reflecting Diem's face in a short quiet moment before she turned off the phone completely.

“Fourteen days,” she said, almost to herself. "We have fourteen days to find a way to stop it, while our superiors only gave us seven days to report the results."

Hai closed his notebook, stood up, his eyes determined. "So we have no choice but to do both at once: fast enough to report to our superiors in seven days, and precise enough not to miss our only opportunity in fourteen days. There's no time for cautious steps anymore, Diem. It's time for us to get straight to the heart of this line."

Diem pulled the worn leather notebook out of her pocket and opened it to the last page Mr. Trac wrote, where the words "the line does not disappear, only the name of the goods on paper" was still there, the ink had faded but the meaning was clearer than ever. She closed the notebook, put it in her pocket, stood up and followed Hai.

"The center of the line," she repeated, "is not in Singapore, nor in Huaico Tang. It is in the Gulfport port, which every shipment must pass through before going anywhere else. If we want to stop this shipment, and perhaps future ones, too, we have to go back there, not to watch from afar through binoculars anymore, but to find out exactly which container is waiting to take the drum away."

Hai nodded, opened the meeting room door, the hallway light shone in, casting long shadows of the two people on the tile floor. "So tomorrow, we go down to Vinh Sa again. This time, I think we need the help of someone who knows that area better than anyone — even better than Mr. Dang at customs."