inca.gold-第74部分

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f　the　objects。　Gaskill　made　a　wild　guess　of　at　least　ten　thousand　pieces　as　Ragsdale　slipped　into　the　storeroom　and　made　a　fast　recon。　He　was　back　in　five　minutes。
　　　　〃Four　men　working　with　a　forklift；〃　he　reported；　〃lowering　a　bronze　sculpture　of　a　Roman　legionnaire　into　a　wooden　crate　about　halfway　down　the　fourth　aisle。　Across　on　the　other　side；　in　a　closed…off　area；　I　counted　six　men　and　women　working　in　what　looked　to　be　the　artifact　forgery　section。　A　tunnel　leads　through　the　south　wall；　I'd　guess　to　a　nearby　building　that　acts　as　a　front　for　the　shipping　and　receiving　of　the　stolen　property。〃
　　　　〃It　must　also　be　used　for　the　covert　employees　to　enter　and　exit；〃　suggested　Pottle。
　　　　〃My　God；〃　murmured　Gaskill。　〃We've　hit　the　jackpot。　I　can　recognize　four　works　of　stolen　art　from　here。〃
　　　　〃We'd　better　stay　put；〃　said　Ragsdale　softly；　〃until　we　can　shuttle　reinforcements　from　above。〃
　　　　〃I　volunteer　to　operate　the　ferry　service；〃　said　Swain　with　a　foxy　grin。　〃What　woman　can　pass　up　the　opportunity　to　sit　in　a　fancy　bathtub　that　moves　from　floor　to　poor？〃
　　　　As　soon　as　she　left；　Poole　stood　guard　at　the　door　to　the　storage　area　while　Gaskill　and　Ragsdale　searched　Zolar's　underground　office。　The　desk　produced　little　of　value　so　they　turned　their　attention　to　searching　for　a　storeroom。　They　quickly　found　what　they　were　looking　for　behind　a　tall　sideboard　bookcase　that　swiveled　out　from　the　wall　on　small　castors。　Pushed　aside；　it　revealed　a　long；　narrow　chamber　lined　with　antique　wooden　cabinets；　standing　floor　to　ceiling。　Each　cabinet　held　file　folders　in　alphabetical　order　containing　acquisition　and　sales　records　of　the　Zolar　family　operations　as　far　back　as　1929。
　　　　〃It's　here；〃　muttered　Gaskill　in　wonder。　〃It's　all　here。〃　He　began　pulling　files　from　a　cabinet。
　　　　〃Incredible；〃　Ragsdale　agreed；　studying　files　from　another　cabinet　that　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　storeroom。　〃For　sixty…nine　years　they　kept　a　record　of　every　piece　of　art　they　stole；　smuggled；　and　forged；　including　financial　and　personal　data　on　the　buyers。〃
　　　　〃Oh；　Jesus；〃　Gaskill　groaned；　〃take　a　look　at　this　one。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　took　the　offered　file　and　scanned　the　first　two　pages。　When　he　looked　up　his　face　was　marked　with　disbelief。　〃If　this　is　true；　Michelangelo's　statue　of　King　Solomon　in　the　Eisenstein　Museum　of　Renaissance　Art　in　Boston　is　a　fake。〃
　　　　〃And　a　damned　good　one；　judging　by　the　number　of　experts　who　authenticated　it。〃
　　　　〃But　the　former　curator　knew。〃
　　　　〃Of　course；〃　said　Gaskill。　〃The　Zolars　made　him　an　offer　he　couldn't　refuse。　According　to　this　report；　ten　extremely　rare　Etruscan　sculptures　excavated　illegally　in　northern　Italy；　and　smuggled　into　the　United　States；　were　exchanged　along　with　the　forged　King　Solomon　for　the　genuine　article。　Since　the　fake　was　too　good　to　be　caught；　the　curator　became　a　big　hero　with　the　trustees　and　patrons　by　claiming　he　had　enhanced　the　museum's　collection　by　persuading　an　anonymous　moneybags　to　donate　the　objects。〃
　　　　〃I　wonder　how　many　other　cases　of　museum　fraud　we'll　find；〃　mused　Ragsdale。
　　　　〃I　suspect　this　may　only　be　the　tip　of　the　iceberg。　These　files　represent　thousands　upon　thousands　of　illegal　deals　to　buyers　who　turned　a　blind　eye　in　the　direction　the　objects　came　from。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　smiled。　〃I'd　like　to　be　a　mouse　hiding　in　the　wall　when　the　U。　S。　Attorney's　Office　finds　out　we've　laid　about　ten　years'　worth　of　legal　work　on　them。〃
　　　　〃You　don't　know　federal　prosecutors；〃　said　Gaskill。　〃When　they　get　a　load　of　all　the　wealthy　businessmen；　politicians；　sports　and　entertainment　celebrities　who　willfully　purchased　hot　art；　they'll　think　they've　died　and　gone　to　heaven。〃
　　　　〃Maybe　we'd　better　rethink　all　the　exposure；〃　cautioned　Ragsdale。
　　　　〃What've　you　got　cooking？〃
　　　　〃We　know　that　Joseph　Zolar　and　his　brothers；　Charles　Oxley　and　Cyrus　Sarason；　are　in　Mexico　where　we　can't　arrest　and　take　them　into　custody　without　a　lot　of　legal　E　hassle。　Right？〃
　　　　〃I　follow。〃
　　　　〃So　we　throw　a　blanket　on　this　part　of　the　raid；〃　explained　Ragsdale。　〃From　all　indications；　the　employees　on　the　legitimate　side　of　the　operation　have　no　idea　what's　going　on　in　the　basement。　Let　them　go　back　to　work　tomorrow　as　if　the　raid　turned　up　nothing。　Business　as　usual。　Otherwise；　if　they　get　wind　that　we've　shut　down　their　operation　and　federal　prosecutors　are　building　an　airtight　case；　they'll　go　undercover　in　some　country　where　we　can't　grab　them。〃
　　　　Gaskill　rubbed　his　chin　thoughtfully。　〃Won't　be　easy　keeping　them　in　the　dark。　Like　all　businessmen　on　the　road；　they　probably　keep　in　daily　munication　with　their　operations。〃
　　　　〃We'll　use　every　underhanded　trick　in　the　book　and　fake　it。〃　Ragsdale　laughed。　〃Set　up　operators　to　claim　construction　work　severed　the　fiber　optic　lines。　Send　out　phony　memos　over　‘their　fax　lines。　Keep　the　workers　we've　taken　into　custody　on　ice。　With　luck　we　can　blindside　the　Zolars　for　forty…eight　hours　while　we　figure　a　scam　to　entice　them　over　the　border。〃
　　　　Gaskill　looked　at　Ragsdale。　〃You　like　to　play　long　shots；　don't　you；　my　man？〃
　　　　〃I'll　bet　my　wife　and　kids　on　a　three…legged　horse　if　there　is　the　tiniest　chance　of　putting　these　scum　away　for　good。〃
　　　　〃I　like　your　odds。〃　Gaskill　grinned。　〃Let's　shoot　the　works。〃

　　　　Many　of　Billy　Yuma's　village　clan　of　one　hundred　seventy…six　people　survived　by　raising　squash；　corn；　and　beans。　Others　cut　juniper　and　manzanita　to　sell　for　fence　posts　and　firewood。　A　new　source　of　ine　was　the　revival　of　interest　in　their　ancient　art　of　making　pottery。　Several　of　the　Montolo　women　still　created　elegant　pottery　that　had　recently　e　into　demand　by　collectors；　hungry　for　Indian　art。
　　　　After　hiring　out　as　a　cowboy　to　a　large　ranchero　for　fifteen　years；　Yuma　finally　saved　enough　money　to　start　a　small　spread　of　his　own。　He　and　his　wife；　Polly；　managed　a　good　living　pared　to　most　of　the　native　people　of　northern　Baja；　she　firing　her　pots；　and　he　raising　livestock。
　　　　After　his　midday　meal；　as　he　did　every　day；　Yuma　saddled　his　horse；　a　buckskin　mare；　and　rode　out　to　inspect　his　herd　for　sickness　or　injury。　The　harsh　and　inhospitable　landscape　with　its　bounty　of　jagged　rocks；　cactus；　and　steep…sided　arroyos　could　easily　maim　an　unwary　steer。
　　　　He　was　searching　for　a　stray　calf　when　he　saw　the　stranger　approaching　on　the　narrow　trail　leading　to　his　village。
　　　　The　man　who　walked　through　the　desert　seemed　out　of　place。　Unlike　hikers　or　hunters；　this　man　wore　only　the　clothes　on　his　back　no　canteen；　no　backpack。　He　didn't　even　wear　a　hat　to　shade　his　head　from　the　afternoon　sun。　There　was　a　tired；　worn…to…the…bones　look　about　him；　and　yet　he　walked　in　purposeful；　rapid　strides　as　if　he　was　in　a　hurry　to　get　somewhere。　Curious；　Billy　temporarily　suspended　his　hunt　for　the　calf　and　rode　through　a　creek　bed　toward　the　trail。


　　　　Pitt　had　hiked　14　kilometers　（almost　9　miles）　across　the　desert　after　ing　out　of　an　exhausted　sleep。　He　might　still　be　dead　to　the　world　if　a　strange　sensation　hadn't　awakened　him。　He　blinked　open　his　eyes　to　see　a　small　rock　lizard　crouching　on　his　arm　staring　back。　He　shook　off　the　little　intruder　and　checked　his　Doxa　dive　watch　for　the　time。　He　was　shocked　to　see　that　he　had　slept　away　half　the　morning。
　　　　The　sun　was　already　pouring　down　on　the　desert　when　he　awoke；　but　the　temperature　was　a　bearable　30　degrees　Celsius　（86　degrees　Fahrenheit）。　The　sweat　dried　quickly　on　his　body；　and　he　felt　the　first　longing　for　water。　He　licked　his　lips　and　tasted　salt　from　his　swim　through　the　sea。　Despite　the　warmth；　a　cold　self…anger　crept　through　him；　knowing　he　had　slept　away　four　precious　hours。　An　eternity；　he　feared；　to　his　friends　enduring　whatever　misery　Sarason　and　his　sadists　felt　like　inflicting　on　them　this　day。　The　core　of　his　existence　was　to　rescue　them。
　　　　After　a　quick　dive　in　the　water　to　refresh　himself；　he　cut　west　across　the　desert　toward　Mexico　Highway　5；　twenty；　maybe　thirty　kilometers　away。　Once　he　reached　the　pavement；　he　could　flag　a　ride　into　Mexicali；　and　then　make　his　way　across　the　border　into　Calexico。　That　was　the　plan；　unless　the　local　Baja　telephone　pany　had　thoughtfully　and　conveniently　installed　a　pay　phone　in　the　shade　of　a　handy　mesquite　tree。
　　　　He　gazed　out　over　the　Sea　of　Cortez　and　took　one　final　look　at　the　Alhambra　in　the　distance。　The　old　ferryboat　looked　to　have　settled　in　the　water　up　to　her　deck　overhang　and　was　resting　in　the　silt　at　a　slight　list。　Otherwise　she　seemed　sound。
　　　　She　also　looked　deserted。　There　were　no　search　boats　or　helicopters　in　sight；　launched　by　an　anxious　Giordino　and　U。S。　Customs　agents　north　of　the　border。　Not　that　it　mattered。　Any　search　team　flying　a　reconnaissance　over　the　boat；　he　figured；　wouldn't　expect　to　look　for　anyone　on　land。　He　elected　to　walk　out。
　　　　He　maintained　a　steady　7…kilometer　（4。3…mile）　an…hour　pace　across　the　isolated　environment。　It　reminded　him　of　his　trek　across　the　Sahara　Desert　of　Northern　Mali　with　Giordino　two　years　before。　They　had　e　within　minutes　of　dying　under　the　fiery　hell　of　scorching　temperatures　with　no　water。　Only　by　finding　a　mysterious　plane　wreck　did　they　manage　to　construct　a　land　yacht　and　sail　across　the　sands　to　eventual　rescue。　Next　to　that　ordeal；　this　was　a　jaunt　in　the　park。
　　　　Two　hours　into　his　journey；　he　came　to　a　dusty　footpath　and　followed　it。　Thirty　minutes　later　he　spotted　a　man　sitting　astride　a　horse　beside　the　trail。　Pitt　walked　up　to　the　man　and　held　up　a　hand　in　greeting。　The　rider　gazed　back　through　eyes　worn　and　tired　from　the　sun。　His　stern　face　looked　like　weathered　sandstone。
　　　　Pitt　studied　the　stranger；　who　wore　a　straw　cowboy　hat　with　a　large　brim　turned　up　on　the　sides；　a　long…sleeved　cotton　shirt；　worn　denim　pants；　and　scuffed　cowboy　boots。　The　black　hair　under　the　hat　showed　no　tendency　toward　gray。　He　was　small　and　lean　and　could　have　been　anywhere　between　fifty　and　seventy。　His　skin　was　burnt　bronze　with　a　washboard　of　wrinkles。　The　hands　that　held　the　reins　were　leathery　and　creased　with　many　years　of　labor。　This　was　a　hardy　soul；　Pitt　observed；　who　survived　in　an　intolerant　land　with　incredible　tenacity。
　　　　〃Good　afternoon；〃　Pitt　said　pleasantly。
　　　　Like　most　of　his　people　Billy　was　bilingual；　speaking　native　Montolan　among　his　frie