inca.gold-第24部分

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d　then　lusted　to　collect　objects　only　they　could　possess。　Many　of　them　abandoned　families　or　gladly　suffered　divorce　because　their　craving　became　an　obsession。　That's　why　someone　as　addicted　to　pre…Columbian　art　as　Rummel　could　never　ignore　a　hoard　that's　probably　more　valuable　than　any　in　the　finest　museums　in　the　world。〃
　　　　〃Did　you　ever　consider　the　possibility　that　our　sources　might　be　wrong　or　highly　exaggerated？〃　asked　Pottle　gloomily。　〃The　cleaning　lady　who　claimed　she　found　the　photograph　of　the　gold　suit　is　a　confirmed　alcoholic。〃
　　　　Gaskill　slowly　shook　his　head。　〃Rummel's　got　it　stashed　somewhere。　I'm　convinced。〃
　　　　Pottle　stared　across　at　Rummel's　apartment　as　the　lights　blinked　out。　〃If　you're　right；　and　if　I　were　Rummel；　I'd　take　it　to　bed　with　me。〃
　　　　〃Sure　you　would…〃　Gaskill　stopped　abruptly　as　Pottle's　wit　triggered　a　thought。　〃Your　perverted　mind　just　made　a　good　point。〃
　　　　〃It　did？〃　muttered　a　confused　Pottle。
　　　　〃What　rooms　do　not　have　windows　in　the　penthouse？　The　ones　we　can't　observe？〃
　　　　Pottle　looked　down　at　the　carpet　in　thought　for　a　moment。　〃According　to　the　floor　plan；　two　bathrooms；　a　pantry；　the　short　hall　between　the　master　and　guest　bedrooms；　and　the　closets。〃
　　　　〃We're　missing　something。〃
　　　　〃Missing　what？　Rummel　seldom　remembers　to　draw　his　curtains。　We　can　watch　ninety　percent　of　his　movements　once　he　steps　off　the　elevator。　No　way　he　could　store　a　ton　of　art　treasures　in　a　couple　of　bathtubs　and　a　closet。〃
　　　　〃True；　but　where　does　he　spend　the　thirty　or　forty　minutes　from　the　time　he　exits　the　lobby　and　steps　into　the　elevator　until　he　sets　foot　in　his　living　room？　Certainly　not　in　the　foyer。〃
　　　　〃Maybe　he　sits　on　the　john。〃
　　　　〃Nobody　is　that　regular。〃　Gaskill　stood　and　walked　over　to　a　coffee　table　and　spread　out　a　set　of　blueprints　of　Rummel's　penthouse　obtained　from　the　building's　developer。　He　studied　them　for　what　had　to　be　the　fiftieth　time。　〃The　artifacts　have　to　be　in　the　building。〃
　　　　〃We've　checked　every　apartment　from　the　main　floor　to　the　roof；〃　said　Pottle。　〃They're　all　leased　by　live…in　tenants。〃
　　　　〃What　about　the　one　directly　below　Rummel？〃　asked　Gaskill。
　　　　Pottle　thumbed　through　a　sheaf　of　puter　papers。　〃Sidney　Kammer　and　wife；　Candy。　He's　one　of　those　high…level　corporate　attorneys　who　saves　his　clients　from　paying　a　bushel　of　taxes。〃
　　　　Gaskill　looked　at　Pottle。　〃When　was　the　last　time　Kammer　and　his　wife　made　an　appearance？〃
　　　　Pottle　scanned　the　log　they　maintained　of　residents　who　entered　and　left　the　building　during　the　surveillance。　〃No　sign　of　them。　They're　no…shows。〃
　　　　〃I　bet　if　we　checked　it　out；　the　Kammers　live　in　a　house　somewhere　in　a　plush　suburb　and　never　set　foot　in　their　apartment。〃
　　　　〃They　could　be　on　vacation。〃
　　　　The　voice　of　agent　Beverly　Swain　broke　over　Gaskill's　portable　radio。　〃I　have　a　large　moving　van　backing　into　the　basement　of　the　building。〃
　　　　〃Are　you　manning　the　front　security　desk　or　checking　out　the　basement？〃　asked　Gaskill。
　　　　〃Still　in　the　lobby；　walking　my　post　in　a　military　manner；〃　Swain　answered　pertly。　A　smart　little　blonde；　and　a　California　beach　girl　before　joining　Customs；　she　was　the　best　undercover　agent　Gaskill　had　on　his　team　and　the　only　one　inside　Rummel's　building。　〃If　you　think　I'm　bored　with　watching　TV　monitors　depicting　basements；　elevators；　and　hallways；　and　on　my　way　out　the　door　for　a　flight　to　Tahiti；　you're　half　right。〃
　　　　〃Save　your　money；〃　replied　Pottle。　〃Tahiti　is　nothing　but　tall　palms　and　exotic　beaches。　You　can　get　that　in　Florida。〃
　　　　〃Run　tape　on　the　front　entrance；〃　ordered　Gaskill。　〃Then　trot　down　to　the　basement　and　question　the　movers。　Find　out　if　they're　moving　someone　in　or　out　of　the　building；　what　apartment；　and　why　they're　working　at　this　ungodly　hour。〃
　　　　〃On　my　way；〃　Swain　answered　through　a　yawn。
　　　　〃I　hope　she　doesn't　meet　up　with　a　monster；〃　said　Pottle。
　　　　〃What　monster？〃　asked　Gaskill　with　raised　eyebrows。
　　　　〃You　know；　in　all　those　stupid　horror　movies；　a　woman　alone　in　a　house　hears　a　strange　noise　in　the　cellar。　Then　she　investigates　by　going　down　the　stairs　without　turning　on　the　lights　or　holding　a　kitchen　knife　for　protection。〃
　　　　〃Typical　lousy　Hollywood　direction。〃　Gaskill　shrugged。　〃Not　to　worry　about　Bev。　The　basement　is　lit　like　Las　Vegas　Boulevard　and　she's　packing　a　nine…millimeter　Colt　bat　mander。　Pity　the　poor　monster　who　es　on　to　her。〃
　　　　Now　that　Rummel's　penthouse　was　dark；　Gaskill　took　a　few　minutes　away　from　the　binoculars　to　knock　off　half　a　dozen　glazed　donuts　and　down　a　thermos　bottle　of　cold　milk。　He　was　sadly　contemplating　the　empty　donut　box　when　Swain　reported　in。
　　　　〃The　movers　are　unloading　furniture　for　an　apartment　on　the　nineteenth　floor。　They're　ticked　off　at　working　so　late　but　are　being　well　paid　for　overtime。　They　can't　say　why　the　client　is　in　such　a　rush；　only　that　it　must　be　one　of　those　last…minute　corporate　transfers。〃
　　　　〃Any　possibility　they're　smuggling　artifacts　into　Rummel's　place？〃
　　　　〃They　opened　the　door　of　the　van　for　me。　It's　packed　with　art　deco　style　furniture。〃
　　　　〃Okay；　monitor　their　movements　every　few　minutes。〃
　　　　Pottle　scribbled　on　a　notepad　and　hung　up　a　wall　phone　in　the　kitchen。　When　he　returned　to　Gaskill's　position　at　the　window；　he　had　a　cagey　grin　on　his　face。　〃I　bow　to　your　intuition。　Sidney　Kammer's　home　address　is　in　Lake　Forest。〃
　　　　〃I'll　bet　you　Kammer's　biggest　client　turns　out　to　be　Adolphus　Rummel；〃　Gaskill　ventured。
　　　　〃And　for　the　bongo　drums　and　a　year's　supply　of　Kitty　Litter；　tell　me　who　Kammer　leases　his　apartment　to。〃
　　　　〃Got　to　be　Adolphus　Rummel。〃
　　　　Pottle　looked　pleased　with　himself。　〃I　think　we　can　safely　shout　Eureka。〃
　　　　Gaskill　stared　across　the　street　through　an　open　curtain　into　Rummel's　living　room；　suddenly　knowing　his　secret。　His　dark　eyes　deepened　as　he　spoke。　〃A　hidden　stairway　leading…from　the　foyer；〃　he　said；　carefully　choosing　his　words　as　if　describing　a　screenplay　he　was　about　to　write。　〃Rummel　walks　off　the　elevator；　opens　a　hidden　door　to　a　stairway　and　descends　to　the　apartment　below　his　penthouse；　where　he　spends　forty…five　minutes　gloating　over　his　private　store　of　treasures。　Then　he　returns　upstairs；　pours　his　brandy；　and　sleeps　the　sleep　of　a　satisfied　man。　Strange；　but　I　can't　help　envying　him。〃
　　　　Pottle　had　to　reach　up　to　pound　Gaskill　on　the　shoulder。　〃Congratulations；　Dave。　Nothing　left　now　but　to　obtain　a　search　warrant　and　conduct　a　raid　on　Rummel's　penthouse。〃
　　　　Gaskill　shook　his　head。　〃A　warrant；　yes。　A　raid　by　an　army　of　agents；　no。　Rummel　has　powerful　friends　in　Chicago。　We　can't　afford　a　big　motion　that　could　result　in　a　media　barrage　of　criticism　or　a　nasty　lawsuit。　Particularly　if　I've　made　a　bad　call。　A　quiet　little　search　by　you　and　me　and　Bev　Swain　will　acplish　whatever　it　takes　to　ferret　out　Rummel's　artifact　collection。〃
　　　　Pottle　slipped　on　a　trench　coat；　a　never…ending　source　of　friendly　ridicule　by　fellow　agents；　and　headed　for　the　door。　〃Judge　Aldrich　is　a　light　sleeper。　I'll　roust　him　out　of　bed　and　be　back　with　the　paperwork　before　the　sun　es　up。〃
　　　　〃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