inca.gold-第27部分

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　　　　〃Make　it　sooner。〃　Gaskill　smiled　wryly。　〃I'm　itching　with　anticipation。〃
　　　　After　Pottle　left；　Gaskill　called　up　Swain。　〃Give　me　a　status　report　on　the　movers。〃
　　　　In　the　lobby　of　Rummel's　apartment　building；　Bev　Swain　sat　behind　the　security　desk　and　stared　up　at　an　array　of　four　monitors。　She　watched　as　the　furniture　haulers　moved　out　of　camera　range。　Pressing　the　buttons　on　a　remote　switch；　she　went　from　camera　to　camera；　mounted　at　strategic　areas　inside　the　building。　She　found　the　movers　ing　out　of　the　freight　elevator　on　the　nineteenth　floor。
　　　　〃So　far　they've　brought　up　a　couch；　two　upholstered　chairs　with　end　tables；　and　what　looks　like　boxed　crates　of　household　goods；　dishes；　kitchen　and　bathroom　accessories；　clothing。　You　know；　stuff　like　that。〃
　　　　〃Do　they　return　anything　to　the　truck？〃
　　　　〃Only　empty　boxes。〃
　　　　〃We　think　we've　figured　where　Rummel　stashes　his　artifacts。　Pottle's　gone　for　a　warrant。　We'll　go　in　as　soon　as　he　returns。〃
　　　　〃That's　good　news；〃　Swain　said　with　a　sigh。　〃I've　almost　forgotten　what　the　world　looks　like　outside　this　damn　lobby。〃
　　　　Gaskill　laughed。　〃It　hasn't　improved。　Sit　tight　on　your　trim　little　bottom　for　a　few　more　hours。〃
　　　　〃I　may　take　that　statement　as　sexual　harassment；〃　said　Swain　primly。
　　　　〃Merely　words　of　praise；　Agent　Swain；〃　Gaskill　said　wearily；　〃words　of　praise。〃

　　　　A　beautiful　day　dawned；　crisp　and　cool；　with　only　a　whisper　of　breeze　ing　off　Lake　Michigan。　The　Farmers'　Almanac　had　predicted　an　Indian　summer　for　the　Great　Lakes　region。　Gaskill　hoped　so。　A　warmer　than　normal　fall　meant　a　few　extra　days　of　fishing　on　the　Wisconsin　lake　beside　his　getaway　cabin。　He　led　a　lonely　private　life　since　his　wife　of　twenty　years　died　from　a　heart　attack　brought　on　by　an　iron　overload　disease　known　as　hemochromatosis。　His　work　had　bee　his　love；　and　he　used　his　leisure　time　fortably　settled　in　a　Boston　Whaler　outboard　boat；　planning　his　investigations　and　analyzing　data　as　he　cast　for　pike　and　bass。
　　　　As　he　stood　next　to　Pottle　and　Swain　in　the　elevator　rising　to　Rummel's　penthouse；　Gaskill　skimmed　the　wording　of　the　warrant　for　the　third　time。　The　judge　had　allowed　a　search　of　Rummel's　penthouse；　but　not　Kammer's　apartment　on　the　floor　below；　because　he　failed　to　see　just　cause。　A　minor　inconvenience。　Instead　of　going　directly　into　what　Gaskill　was　certain　were　the　rooms　that　held　the　artifacts；　they　would　have　to　find　a　hidden　access　and　e　down　from　the　top。
　　　　Suddenly　he　was　thinking　a　strange　thought；　what　if　the　collector　had　been　sold　fakes　and　forged　artworks？　Rummel　would　not　be　the　first　greedy　collector　who　had　been　sold　a　bill　of　goods　in　his　unbridled　lust　to　acquire　art　from　any　source；　legal　or　not。　He　swept　away　the　pessimistic　thought　and　basked　in　a　glow　of　fulfillment。　The　culmination　of　long　hours　of　unflagging　effort　was　only　minutes　away。
　　　　Swain　had　punched　in　the　security　code　that　allowed　the　elevator　to　rise　beyond　the　residents'　apartments　and　open　directly　into　Rummel's　penthouse。　The　doors　parted　and　they　stepped　onto　the　marble　floor　of　the　foyer；　unannounced。　Out　of　habit；　Gaskill　lightly　fingered　his　shoulder…holstered　nine…millimeter　automatic。　Pottle　found　the　button　to　a　speaker　box　on　a　credenza　and　pressed　it。　A　loud　buzzer　was　heard　throughout　the　penthouse。
　　　　After　a　short　pause；　a　voice　fogged　with　sleep　answered。　〃Who's　there？〃
　　　　〃Mr。　Rummel；〃　said　Pottle　into　the　speaker。　〃Will　you　please　e　to　the　elevator？〃
　　　　〃You'd　better　leave。　I'm　calling　security。〃
　　　　〃Don't　bother。　We're　federal　agents。　Please　ply　and　we'll　explain　our　presence。〃
　　　　Swain　watched　the　floor　lights　over　the　elevator　flicker　as　it　automatically　descended。　〃That's　why　I'd　never　lease　a　penthouse；〃　she　said　in　mock　seriousness。　〃Intruders　can　rig　your　private　elevator　easier　than　stealing　a　Mercedes…Benz。〃
　　　　Rummel　appeared　in　pajamas；　slippers；　and　an　old…fashioned　chenille　robe。　The　material　of　the　robe　reminded　Gaskill　of　a　bedspread　he'd　slept　on　as　a　young　boy　in　his　grandmother's　house。　〃My　name　is　David　Gaskill。　I'm　a　special　agent　with　the　United　States　Customs　Service。　I　have　an　authorized　federal　court　warrant　to　search　the　premises。〃
　　　　Rummel　indifferently　slipped　on　a　pair　of　rimless　glasses　and　began　reading　the　warrant　as　if　it　were　the　morning　newspaper。　Up　close；　he　looked　a　good　ten　years　younger　than　seventy…six。　And　although　he　had　just　e　out　of　bed；　he　appeared　alert　and　quite　meticulous。
　　　　Impatient；　Gaskill　moved　around　him。　〃Pardon　me。〃
　　　　Rummel　peered　up。　〃Look　through　my　rooms　all　you　want。　I　have　nothing　to　hide。〃
　　　　The　wealthy　scrap　dealer　appeared　anything　but　rude　and　irritable。　He　seemed　to　take　the　intrusion　in　good　grace　with　a　show　of　cooperation。
　　　　Gaskill　knew　it　was　nothing　but　an　act。　〃We're　only　interested　in　your　foyer。〃
　　　　He　had　briefed　Swain　and　Pottle　on　what　to　search　for　and　they　immediately　set　to　work。　Every　crack　and　seam　was　closely　examined。　But　it　was　the　mirror　that　intrigued　Swain。　As　a　woman　she　was　instinctively　drawn　to　it。　Gazing　into　the　reflective　backing；　she　found　it　free　of　even　the　tiniest　imperfection。　The　glass　was　beveled　around　the　edges　with　etchings　of　flowers　in　the　corners。　Her　best　guess　was　that　it　was　eighteenth　century。　She　could　not　help　but　wonder　about　all　the　other　people　who　had　stood　in　front　of　it　over　the　past　three　hundred　years　and　stared　at　their　reflections。　Their　images　were　still　there。　She　could　sense　them。
　　　　Next　she　studied　the　intricately　sculptured　frame；　crowded　with　cherubs　overlaid　in　gold。　Keenly　observant；　she　noticed　the　tiny　seam　on　the　neck　of　one　cherub。　The　gilt　around　the　edges　looked　worn　from　friction。　Swain　gently　grasped　the　head　and　tried　to　turn　it　clockwise。　It　remained　stationary。　She　tried　the　opposite　direction；　and　the　head　rotated　until　it　was　facing　backward。　There　was　a　noticeable　click；　and　one　side　of　the　mirror　came　ajar　and　stopped　a　few　centimeters　from　the　wall。
　　　　She　peered　through　the　crack　down　the　hidden　stairwell　and　said；　〃Good　call；　boss。〃
　　　　Rummel　paled　as　Gaskill　silently　swung　the　mirror　wide　open。　He　smiled　broadly　as　he　was　swept　by　a　wave　of　satisfaction。　This　was　what　Gaskill　liked　best　about　his　job；　the　game　of　wits　culminating　in　ultimate　triumph　over　his　antagonist。
　　　　〃Will　you　please　lead　the　way；　Mr。　Rummel？〃
　　　　〃The　apartment　below　belongs　to　my　attorney；　Sidney　Kammer；〃　said　Rummel；　a　shrewd　gleam　forming　in　his　eyes。　〃Your　warrant　only　authorizes　you　to　search　my　penthouse。〃
　　　　Gaskill　groped　about　in　his　coat　pocket　for　a　moment　before　extracting　a　small　box　containing　a　bass　plug；　a　fishing　lure　he　had　purchased　the　day　before。　He　extended　his　hand　and　dropped　the　box　down　the　stairs。　〃Forgive　my　clumsiness。　I　hope　Mr。　Kammer　doesn't　mind　if　I　retrieve　my　property。〃
　　　　〃That's　trespassing！〃　Rummel　blurted。
　　　　There　was　no　reply。　Followed　by　Pottle；　the　burly　Customs　agent　was　already　descending　the　stairway；　pausing　only　to　retrieve　his　bass　plug　box。　What　he　saw　upon　reaching　the　floor　below　took　his　breath　away。
　　　　Magnificent　pre…Columbian　artworks　filled　room　after　room　of　the　apartment。　Glass…enclosed　Incan　textiles　hung　from　the　ceilings。　One　entire　room　was　devoted　solely　to　ceremonial　masks。　Another　held　religious　altars　and　burial　urns。　Others　were　filled　with　ornate　headdresses；　elaborately　painted　ceramics；　and　exotic　sculptures。　All　doors　in　the　apartment　had　been　removed　for　easier　access；　the　kitchen　and　bathrooms　stripped　of　their　sinks；　cupboards　and　accessories　to　provide　more　space　for　the　immense　collection。　Gaskill　and　Pottle　stood　overwhelmed　by　the　spectacular　array　of　antiquities。　The　quantity　went　far　beyond　what　they　expected。
　　　　After　the　initial　amazement　faded；　Gaskill　rushed　from　room　to　room；　searching　for　the　piece　de　resistance　of　the　collection。　What　he　found　was　a　shattered；　empty　glass　case　in　the　center　of　a　room。　Disillusionment　flooded　over　him。
　　　　〃Mr。　Rummel！〃　he　shouted。　〃e　here！〃
　　　　Escorted　by　Swain；　a　thoroughly　defeated　and　distraught　Rummel　shuffled　slowly　into　the　exhibition　room。　He　froze　in　sudden　horror　as　though　one　of　the　Inca　battle　lances　on　the　wall　had　pierced　his　stomach。　〃It's　gone！〃　he　gasped。　〃The　Golden　Body　Suit　of　Tiapollo　is　gone。〃
　　　　Gaskill's　face　went　tight　and　cold。　The　floor　around　the　empty　display　case　was　flanked　by　a　pile　of　furniture　consisting　of　a　couch；　end　tables；　and　two　chairs。　He　looked　from　Pottle　to　Swain。　〃The　movers；〃　he　rasped　in　a　tone　barely　audible。　〃They've　stolen　the　suit　from　right　under　our　noses。〃
　　　　〃They　left　the　building　over　an　hour　ago；〃　said　Swain　tonelessly。
　　　　Pottle　looked　dazed。　〃Too　late　to　mount　a　search。　They've　already　stashed　the　suit　by　now。〃　Then　he　added；　〃If　it　isn't　on　an　airplane　flying　out　of　the　country。〃
　　　　Gaskill　sank　into　one　of　the　chairs。　〃To　have　e　so　close；〃　he　murmured　vacantly。　〃God　forbid　the　suit　won't　be　lost　for　another　seventy…six　years。〃

IN　SEARCH　OF　THE　CONCEPCION
October　15；　1998
Callao；　Peru

　　　　Peru's　principal　seaport；　Callao；　was　founded　by　Francisco　Pizarro　in　1537　and　quickly　became　the　main　shipping　port　for　the　gold　and　silver　plundered　from　the　Inca　empire。　Appropriately；　the　port　itself　was　plundered　by　Francis　Drake　forty…one　years　later。　Spain's　conquest　of　Peru　ended　almost　at　the　spot　where　it　had　begun。　The　last　of　the　Spanish　forces　surrendered　to　Simon　Bolivar　at　Callao　in　1825；　and　Peru　became　a　sovereign　nation　for　the　first　time　since　the　fall　of　the　Incas。　Now　joined　with　Lima　as　one　sprawling　metropolitan　area；　the　bined　cities　host　a　population　of　nearly　6。5　million。
　　　　Situated　on　the　west　bank　of　the　Andes　along　the　lowlands；　Callao　and　Lima　have　an　annual　rainfall　of　only　41　millimeters　（1。5　inches）；　making　the　surrounding　land　area　one　of　the　earth's　chilliest　and　driest　deserts　in　the　lower　latitudes。　Winter　fog　supports　thin　ground　cover　and　mesquite　and　little　else。　The　only　water；　besides　excessive　humidity；　flows　down　several　streams　and　the　Rimac　River　from　the　Andes。
　　　　After　rounding　the　northern　tip　of　San　Lorenzo；　the　large　offshore　island　that　protects　Callao's　natural　maritime　shelter；　Captain　Stewart　ordered　slow　speed　as　a　launch　came　alongside　the　Deep　Fath