Sunken Pyramid (Rogue Angel) (14 page)

Chapter 22

He liked the feel of her skin against his, slightly sweaty and perfumed, soft and smooth as porcelain.

“I have to leave, Keiko.”

She sucked on his earlobe and draped an arm across his chest. “No, you don’t
have to leave.
This is my vacation, Gary, yours and mine, and we can stay between these sheets until noon tomorrow if we want to.”

He rose and checked the clock on the nightstand. “Sorry. I’ve an appointment,” he said and padded into the bathroom for a shower, the steaming water washing away all trace of her.

Like money, women came and went from his life, but he was finding himself attached to this one. Keiko wasn’t especially beautiful or smart, and he thought her overly skinny. But she had a charm, was good in bed, and he liked the way her eyes flashed with childlike wonder when she was excited over something...anything. Did she suspect that he would ditch her shortly? Not right after this conference, as he was going back to Chicago for a while and she would continue to provide a welcome distraction when he was not “working.” But soon thereafter.

He’d fly out of the Windy City for someplace exotic, and he’d leave her behind. He would never see her again. Garin knew that he’d regret it.... It would be the first time in many, many years that he would feel sad—would feel anything—over leaving a woman. But he would leave her nonetheless. Women did not live forever...and even if they did, he couldn’t imagine spending eternity with just one.

He toweled himself and changed into jeans and a tailored shirt, added a maroon silk tie Keiko had bought him this afternoon with his money. As an afterthought he put on a blazer, a very expensive linen-and-silk blend he’d paid seventeen hundred for. Fog-gray and adjusted to fit his wide shoulders, he fancied that it made him look professional, but not overly so, as the jeans kept his appearance casual.

“My handsome man,” Keiko pronounced. “I like to watch you dress.”

He came to the bed, leaned over and kissed her forehead. “And I like to watch you undress.”

She giggled playfully. “I ordered wine from room service. Can’t you wait until it gets here? Have a glass before you go to spend more time with those boring old anthropologists?”

“No, sweet. But I won’t be gone all that long. Save me a few sips, will you?”

“And then I can watch you undress,” she said. “I think I will like that even better.”

He met Rembert on the floor above, not wanting the photographer to know what room he was in. Together they went up to the penthouse floor.

“Your camera?”

“Two, actually. My tie tack,” Rembert said. He fiddled with his tie to show him. “Neat, huh? Like something out of James Bond. Won’t be the best for recording faces. So for that, I’m relying on this ear-piece in my glasses. They weren’t all that expensive, and I figure I can turn in a voucher for them. The quality? I don’t know, not up to what I can get with my good equipment, but they’re unobtrusive.”

“No shots of me, understand, Mr. Hayes...until I ask you for such.”

Rembert looked confused. “I thought you didn’t want any—”

“And be careful in here. You said you valued your family and your skin. These men are...” He watched Rembert pale and left the sentence unfinished. The photographer got his meaning.

Aeschelman greeted them with champagne, which Garin declined. He wanted to remain alert, and he was pleased Rembert followed his lead. He stayed slightly behind the photographer’s shoulder, ensuring that he wouldn’t end up in the video.

There were a dozen others present, and even though the suite was large, the guests made the room feel uncomfortably close. Perfumes and scented oils mingled and made Garin’s eyes water. A thin man was smoking, despite hotel regulations. The youngest was an archaeologist Garin had spotted yesterday trying to avoid the reporters in the lobby; he had the wide-pupil look of having just done a line of cocaine. There were two other men who’d been wearing badges earlier in the day. So Garin had accounted for the archaeologists in the circle who were attending the conference—two bidding and selling for themselves, one acting as a broker; he suspected the broker to be the cocaine boy.

All of the bidders were dressed similarly to Garin, the only woman in a long brown skirt that was not kind to her wide hips. He spotted Aeschelman’s muscle, two men with thick arms who were pretending to look interested in the items on display. When they turned, he could see bulges under their jackets that were handguns of some type.

Garin nudged Rembert forward, past a counter that held an array of wines. Garin noted a pricey Pinot Noir from Santa Barbara that he adored. The assortment should surely cover just about anyone’s palate and was far more than this gathering would drink, he mused. The appetizers represented everything he’d seen available from the dining-room menu: grilled flat bread, cheese and charcuterie, braised calamari, carpaccio of lamb, smoked-salmon rillettes, poached pears and tuna crudo.

Would the hotel be appalled if they knew what event they had catered here? He smiled at the thought and caught Rembert eyeing the food. He nudged him again, farther into the suite. It was the shield Garin wanted to see again, and out of curiosity the other items up for bid this night.

The shield was the centerpiece, in the middle of the marble-topped credenza.

One of Aeschelman’s nattily-dressed goons started passing out white cotton gloves and telling the guests they could only touch what they were bidding on, and then only if they were serious.

“You don’t like wine, Mr. Knight?” Aeschelman had moved up to Garin and gestured toward the display of drinks and food.

“Afterward,” Garin said. “I find that alcohol clouds my judgment.”

Aeschelman smiled, and in that moment Garin pictured the man as a crocodile in a previous life. “I understand, Mr. Knight. You don’t want the alcohol to make you bid more than you’ve planned on, eh? And interesting that you desire the shield.”

“Why?” This from Rembert.

“Shield, knight—the unintended humor is not lost on me.” Aeschelman glided away to talk to the woman in the brown skirt.

“I never asked,” Rembert said, keeping his voice to just above a whisper. “Why are you interested in the shield?”

“I am interested in a lot of things, Mr. Hayes.”

Garin had a look at the other selections, careful to remain slightly behind the photographer. He noticed the way Rembert moved from one object to the next; the photographer was getting video of each piece. He’d already recorded the faces of the evening’s participants.

The antiquities seemed to be Greek, Luristan, Chinese, Egyptian, Roman and French. Garin recognized an Old Kingdom limestone relief, an Illyrian Greek bronze helmet that must have dated to 500 BC, a Laconian dog, a Canosan pottery horse and an assortment of Ghandaran Schist pieces. On another table were two small vases; overhearing the young man, Garin learned they were from the Tang and Ming dynasties.

On the bureau where the TV had been were an Egyptian bronze Apis bull and the statuette head of an ibis.

“That, my good sir, is from the twenty-sixth dynasty.” This came from one of the archaeologists Garin had spotted at the conference. He was pointing to the ibis. “I can tell you precisely from what dig I culled that. Everything in that tomb came from the twenty-sixth dynasty. It had better go for twelve thousand. The jewelry there, I brought those pieces out of an accidental find, following a tunnel under a neighborhood outside of Cairo. Most of it had already been looted, but we managed to knock down a wall and find an intact chamber. But that ibis, that’s choice.”

“I’m not bidding on that one,” Garin said. “Egypt holds no interest for me.”

The archaeologist huffed and turned to chat with one of the other guests.

There were several ushabtis, none taller than a foot. Rembert pointed to them.

“Funerary figurines,” Garin said as explanation.

Near them rested Egyptian faience amulets of Isis festooned with carnelian beads. One featured the triad of Nephthys, Isis and Horus. Garin had said he wasn’t interested in any of the Egyptian pieces, but the large amulet...if it did not go for too much, he would buy that for Keiko, a parting gift for her to remember him by.

Rembert shuffled closer, and Garin heard a faint click; not only did the photographer have cameras, he’d brought a separate recording device with him and likely had been turning it on and off to catch conversations. The admission of the archaeologist explaining that he’d taken relics out of Egypt should add value to Rembert’s video.

There were pre-Columbian pieces on the desk, including three coin-shaped medallions similar to but smaller than the one hanging hidden from Aeschelman’s neck. Two of them were placed together and had matching half-man, half-creature designs on them, probably earrings. The other was a stylized depiction of the sun. Garin turned it over to find a half man/half badger on it.

“Funny-looking,” Rembert observed.

Garin could tell he’d reached into his pocket and clicked the recorder off, not wanting to pick up his own voice.

“Those little pieces, they look like deer or elk, don’t they? And that one, a badger with a man’s face. It’s sort of like the mascot for the city’s university.”

Garin peered closer. “Indeed.” Perhaps he would bid on those, as well.

The silver-and-gold bracelet, too, looked interesting. Dotted with jade and etched with more of the half-man, half-badger creatures. He doubted they were truly pre-Columbian, and in some cases he doubted the authenticity of several of the things for sale. Some craftsmen were so skilled that they could create objects that appeared to be centuries old, going so far as to find materials dating to those time periods; museums had paid thousands for pieces later proved forgeries.

Garin recalled reading an article in a current archaeology magazine before coming to this conference; he’d been trying to acquire conversational tidbits in the event he found himself trapped. It covered the controversial sale at a Paris auction house of a pre-Columbian stucco goddess. Nearly life-size, it had been dated to roughly 700 AD and went for more than four million. Mexican authorities contended that the artifact was merely a clever forgery and had been recently produced and artificially made to look ancient. However, the auction house stood by its experts. The article went on to quote European museum curators who said the Mexican government was merely trying to eliminate the trade of pre-Columbian artifacts from European markets. Garin wondered what the Mexican authorities would say about these pieces.

“These are beautiful pieces.” This from one of the two men ogling the pre-Columbian selection; he pointed to the effigies.

Rembert had turned on his recorder again.

The gold effigies were each no larger than a golf ball, and they had been placed next to Colima pottery figurines and a pre-Columbian Moche stirrup vessel that Aeschelman said was dated to 300 AD.

“I acquired that very piece myself,” Aeschelman told Garin. “We are ready to begin.”

In the end, Garin acquired the shield for thirty thousand, not as much as he had expected to spend, but the only other interested bidder was the woman, and she had already purchased several of the Egyptian pieces. If the others had known that the shield had in fact been carried by one of Joan of Arc’s knights...and had Aeschelman saw Joan’s signature etched in the steel, it could have sold for ten times that amount.

And Garin would have paid it. He would have given up every last cent to get this, would have stolen it if need be. He knew when he saw it earlier today that he would not be leaving Wisconsin without it.

Garin spent eight thousand on the earrings, having been told that a pair of earrings of that age was exceedingly valuable. Often only one survived the centuries. And another two thousand on the small medallion of the half man/half badger; he intended to have it turned into a key chain.

If Rembert had been surprised at the money Garin was tossing at Aeschelman, he wisely didn’t show it. Garin decided that it had not been so foolish a decision to bring Annja’s photographer into this after all.

“Wine to celebrate your purchases?” Aeschelman offered Garin a toast.

“I have wine waiting for me in my room, thank you.” And better company to share it with. He pictured Keiko stretched out, catlike, on the bed and could not help but smile. But he had one more stop to make before he could return to her. He paid Aeschelman and added thirty thousand to it. “The name of the gentleman who had the shield?”

Aeschelman provided a card; it would take at least a phone call to determine if it was the right man...an expensive risk. The auction host had also provided packaging material for each item. In Garin’s case, the shield was carefully nested into an overlarge thin portfolio, the kind artists carried their paintings in.

“Perhaps I will see you at the next gathering of this circle,” Garin said to Aechelman as he and Rembert left.

“Perhaps.” Aeschelman turned his attention to the woman and put his hand against the small of her back.

At the elevator, Garin saw Rembert let out a deep breath and relax his shoulders. He opened his mouth, but Garin shook his head and mouthed
Later.
In the elevator, Garin waited until Rembert punched the button for the eighth floor.

“Are you sharing your room with anyone, Mr. Hayes?”

“No.” Rembert gave him a puzzled look.

“Good. We will talk there.”

Garin took the desk chair and rested the portfolio with the shield in the only other chair, leaving Rembert to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What did you think, Mr. Hayes?”

Rembert planted his palms on his knees, pointed his face toward the floor and rocked. “I think those are people with too much money and big egos. I’m going to sell my video to a major network and I bet they’ll use it as a piece of a much larger exposé. Those people back there are going to be in a world of trouble. The police...hell, I think the FBI will come after them.”

“And I think you will have solved some of your money woes and made quite a name for yourself.”

Rembert agreed and raised his head to meet Gavin’s gaze. “So tell me...at least tell me why you did this.” He pulled the recorder out of his pocket and laid it on the bed. Garin could tell it was off. He took off his tie-tack camera and the glasses