inca.gold-第36部分

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ssing　and　realized　they'd　been　stolen。〃
　　　　Gunn　held　up　his　glasses　and　checked　for　smudges。　〃I　had　no　idea　art　theft　was　such　a　widespread　crime。〃
　　　　Ortiz　nodded。　〃In　Peru；　major　art　and　antiquity　collections　are　stolen　as　often　as　banks　are　robbed。　What　is　even　more　tragic　is　that　the　thieves　are　getting　bolder。　They　have　no　hesitation　in　kidnapping　a　collector　for　ransom。　The　ransom　is；　of　course；　his　art　objects。　In　many　cases；　they　simply　murder　a　collector　before　looting　his　house。〃
　　　　〃You　were　lucky　only　a　fraction　of　the　art　treasures　were　plundered　from　the　City　of　the　Dead　before　the　looters　were　stopped；〃　said　Pitt。
　　　　〃Lucky　indeed。　But　tragically　the　choice　items　have　already　made　their　way　out　of　the　country。〃
　　　　〃A　wonder　the　city　wasn't　discovered　by　the　huaqueros　long　before　now；〃　said　Shannon；　deliberately　avoiding　any　eye　contact　with　Pitt。
　　　　〃Pueblo　de　los　Muertos　sits　in　this　isolated　valley　ninety　kilometers　from　the　nearest　village；〃　replied　Ortiz。　〃Traveling　in　here　is　a　major　ordeal；　especially　by　foot。　The　native　population　had　no　reason　to　struggle　seven　or　eight　days　through　a　jungle　to　search　for　something　they　thought　existed　only　in　legends　from　their　dim　past。　When　Hiram　Bingham　discovered　Machu　Picchu　on　a　mountaintop　the　local　inhabitants　had　never　ventured　there。　And　though　it　would　not　deter　a　hardened　huaquero；　descendants　of　the　Chachapoya　still　believe　that　all　ruins　across　the　mountains　in　the　great　forests　to　the　east　are　protected　by　a　demon　god　like　the　one　we　found　this　afternoon。　They're　deathly　afraid　to　go　near　them。〃
　　　　Shannon　nodded。　〃Many　still　swear　that　anyone　who　finds　and　enters　the　City　of　the　Dead　will　be　turned　to　stone。〃
　　　　〃Ah　yes；〃　Giordino　murmured；　〃the　old　‘cursed　be　you　who　disturb　my　bones'　routine。〃
　　　　〃Since　none　of　us　feels　any　stiffening　of　the　joints；〃　said　Ortiz　jovially；　〃I　must　assume　the　evil　spirits　that　frequent　the　ruins　have　lost　their　spell。〃
　　　　〃Too　bad　it　didn't　work　against　Amaru　and　his　looters；〃　said　Pitt。
　　　　Rodgers　moved　behind　Shannon　and　placed　a　possessive　hand　on　the　nape　of　her　neck。　〃I　understand　you're　all　bidding　us　good…bye　in　the　morning。〃
　　　　Shannon　looked　surprised　and　made　no　attempt　to　remove　Rodgers's　hand。　〃Is　that　true？〃　she　said；　looking　at　Pitt。　〃You're　leaving？〃
　　　　Gunn　answered　before　Pitt。　〃Yes；　we're　flying　back　to　our　ship　before　heading　north　into　Ecuador。〃
　　　　〃You're　not　going　to　search　in　Equador　for　the　galleon　we　discussed　on　the　Deep　Fathom？〃　Shannon　asked。
　　　　〃Can　you　think　of　a　better　place？〃
　　　　〃Why　Ecuador？〃　she　persisted。
　　　　〃Al　enjoys　the　climate；〃　Pitt　said；　clapping　Giordino　on　the　back。
　　　　Giordino　nodded。　〃I　hear　the　girls　are　pretty　and　wild　with　lust。〃
　　　　Shannon　stared　at　Pitt　with　a　look　of　interest。　〃And　you？〃
　　　　〃Me？〃　Pitt　murmured　innocently。　〃I'm　going　for　the　fishing。〃

　　　　〃You　sure　can　pick　'em；〃　said　FBI　Chief　of　Interstate　Stolen　Art　Francis　Ragsdale；　as　he　eased　into　the　vinyl　seat　of　a　booth　in　a　nineteen…fifties…style　chrome　diner。　He　studied　the　selections　on　the　coin…operated　music　unit　that　was　wired　to　a　Wurlitzer　jukebox。　〃Stan　Kenton；　Charlie　Barnett；　Stan　Getz。　Who　ever　heard　of　these　guys？〃
　　　　〃Only　people　who　appreciate　good　music；〃　Gaskill　replied　sourly　to　the　younger　man。　He　settled　his　bulk；　which　filled　two…thirds　of　the　seat　on　his　side　of　the　booth。
　　　　Ragsdale　shrugged。　〃Before　my　time。〃　To　him；　at　thirty…four；　the　great　musicians　of　an　earlier　era　were　only　vague　names　mentioned　occasionally　by　his　parents。　〃e　here　often？〃
　　　　Gaskill　nodded。　〃The　food　really　sticks　to　your　ribs。〃
　　　　〃Hardly　an　epicurean　remendation。〃　Clean…shaven；　with　black　wavy　hair　and　a　reasonably　well…exercised　body；　Ragsdale　had　the　handsome　face；　pleasant　gray　eyes；　and　bland　expression　of　a　soap　opera　actor　automatically　reacting　to　his　counterpart's　dialogue。　A　good　investigator；　he　took　his　job　seriously；　maintaining　the　image　of　the　bureau　by　dressing　in　a　dark　business　suit　that　gave　him　the　appearance　of　a　successful　Wall　Street　broker。　With　a　professional　eye　for　detail；　he　examined　the　linoleum　floor；　the　round　stools　at　the　counter；　the　period　napkin　holders　and　art　deco　salt　and　pepper　shakers　that　were　parked　beside　a　bottle　of　Heinz　ketchup　and　a　jar　of　French's　mustard。　His　expression　reflected　urbane　distaste。　He　would　unquestionably　have　preferred　a　more　trendy　restaurant　in　midtown　Chicago。
　　　　〃Quaint　place。　Hermetically　sealed　within　the　Twilight　Zone。〃
　　　　〃Atmosphere　is　half　the　enjoyment；〃　said　Gaskill　resignedly。
　　　　〃Why　is　it　when　I　pay；　we　eat　in　a　class　establishment；　but　when　it's　your　turn　we　wind　up　in　a　geriatric　beanery？〃
　　　　〃It's　knowing　I　always　get　a　good　table。〃
　　　　〃What　about　the　food？〃
　　　　Gaskill　smiled。　〃Best　place　I　know　to　eat　good　chicken。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　gave　him　a　look　just　shy　of　nausea　and　ignored　the　menu；　mimeographed　entrees　between　sheets　of　plastic。　〃I'll　throw　caution　to　the　winds　and　risk　botulism　with　a　bowl　of　soup　and　a　cup　of　coffee。〃
　　　　〃Congratulations　on　solving　the　Fairchild　Museum　theft　in　Scarsdale。　I　hear　you　recovered　twenty　missing　Sung　dynasty　jade　carvings。〃
　　　　〃Twenty…two。　I've　got　to　admit　I　passed　over　the　least　obvious　suspect　until　I　drew　blanks　on　all　the　probables。　The　seventy…two…year…old　director　of　security。　Who　would　have　figured　him？　He　worked　at　the　museum　for　close　to　thirty…two　years。　A　record　as　clean　as　a　surgeon's　scrubbed　hands。　The　curator　refused　to　believe　it　until　the　old　guy　broke　down　and　confessed。　He　had　removed　the　carved　figurines　one　at　a　time　over　a　period　of　four　years；　returning　after　closing　hours；　shutting　down　the　alarm　system；　picking　the　locks　on　the　cases　and　lowering　the　carvings　into　the　bushes　beside　the　building　from　a　bathroom　window。　He　replaced　the　stolen　carvings　in　the　cases　with　less　valuable　pieces　stored　in　a　basement　vault。　The　catalogue　labels　were　also　altered。　He　even　managed　to　reset　the　raised　stands　in　their　exact　positions　without　leaving　telltale　dust…free　spots　on　the　floor　of　the　cases。　Museum　officials　were　more　than　impressed　with　his　display　technique。〃
　　　　The　waitress；　the　archetype　of　all　those　who　wait　on　counters　and　tables　in　small…town　cafes　or　truck　stop　restaurants；　pencil　in　funny　little　cap；　jaws　furiously　grinding　gum；　and　surgical　stockings　hiding　varicose　veins；　came　over；　pencil　stub　poised　above　a　small　green　pad。
　　　　〃Dare　I　ask　what　your　soup　of　the　day　is？〃　inquired　Ragsdale　loftily。
　　　　〃Curried　lentil　with　ham　and　apple。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　did　a　double　take。　〃Did　I　hear　you　correctly？〃
　　　　〃Want　me　to　repeat　it？〃
　　　　〃No；　no；　the　curried　lentil　soup　will　be　fine。〃
　　　　The　waitress　wagged　her　pencil　at　Gaskill。　〃I　know　what　you　want。〃　She　yelled　their　orders　to　an　unseen　chef　in　the　kitchen　in　a　voice　mixed　with　ground　glass　and　river　gravel。
　　　　〃After　thirty…two　years；〃　asked　Gaskill；　continuing　the　conversation；　〃what　triggered　the　museum's　security　chief　to　go　on　a　burglary　binge？〃
　　　　〃A　passion　for　exotic　art；〃　answered　Ragsdale。　〃The　old　guy　loved　to　touch　and　fondle　the　figurines　when　no　one　was　around；　but　then　a　new　curator　made　him　take　a　cut　in　pay　as　an　austerity　measure　just　when　he　expected　a　raise。　This　made　him　mad　and　triggered　his　desire　to　possess　the　jade　from　the　exhibits。　It　seemed　from　the　first　the　theft　could　only　have　been　pulled　off　by　a　first…rate　team　of　professionals　or　someone　from　the　inside。　I　narrowed　it　down　to　the　senior　security　director　and　obtained　a　warrant　to　search　his　house。　It　was　all　there　on　his　fireplace　mantel；　every　missing　piece；　as　if　they　were　bowling　trophies。〃　'
　　　　〃Working　on　a　new　case？〃　asked　Gaskill。
　　　　〃Just　had　one　laid　in　my　lap。〃
　　　　〃Another　museum　theft？〃
　　　　Ragsdale　shook　his　head。　〃Private　collection。　The　owner　went　to　Europe　for　nine　months。　When　he　returned　home；　his　walls　were　bare。　Eight　watercolors　by　Diego　Rivera；　the　Mexican　painter　and　muralist。〃
　　　　〃I've　seen　the　murals　he　did　for　the　Detroit　Institute　of　Art。〃
　　　　〃Insurance　pany　adjusters　are　foaming　at　the　mouth。　It　seems　the　watercolors　were　insured　for　forty　million　dollars。〃
　　　　〃We　may　have　to　exchange　notes　on　this　one。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　looked　at　him。　〃You　think　Customs　might　be　interested？〃
　　　　〃A　thin　possibility　we　have　a　connecting　case。〃
　　　　〃Always　glad　to　have　a　helping　hand。〃
　　　　〃I　saw　photos　of　what　may　be　your　Rivera　watercolors　in　an　old　box　of　Stolen　Art　Bulletins　my　sister　cleaned　out　of　an　old　house　she　bought。　I'll　know　when　I　pare　them　with　your　list。　If　there　is　a　connection；　four　of　your　watercolors　were　reported　missing　from　the　University　of　Mexico　in　1923。　If　they　were　smuggled　into　the　United　States；　that　makes　it　a　Customs　case。〃
　　　　〃That's　ancient　history。〃
　　　　〃Not　for　stolen　art；〃　Gaskill　corrected　him。　〃Eight　months　later；　six　Renoirs　and　four　Gauguins　vanished　from　the　Louvre　in　Paris　during　an　exhibition。〃
　　　　〃I　gather　you're　alluding　to　that　old　master　art　thief；　what　was　his　name？〃
　　　　〃The　Specter；〃　replied　Gaskill。
　　　　〃Our　illustrious　predecessors　in　the　Justice　Department　never　caught　him；　did　they？〃
　　　　〃Never　even　made　an　I。　D。〃
　　　　〃You　think　he　had　a　hand　in　the　original　theft　of　the　Riveras？〃
　　　　〃Why　not？　The　Specter　was　to　art　theft　what　Raffles　was　to　diamond　thefts。　And　just　as　melodramatic。　He　pulled　off　at　least　ten　of　the　greatest　art　heists　in　history。　A　vain　guy；　he　always　left　his　trademark　behind。〃
　　　　〃I　seem　to　recall　reading　about　a　white　glove；〃　said　Ragsdale。
　　　　〃That　was　Raffles。　The　Specter　left　a　small　calendar　at　the　scene　of　his　crimes；　with　the　date　of　his　next　theft　circled。〃
　　　　〃Give　the　man　credit。　He　was　a　cocky　bastard。〃
　　　　A　large；　oval　plate　of　what　looked　like　chicken　on　a　bed　of　rice　arrived。　Gaskill　was　also　served　an　appetizing　salad　on　the　side。　Ragsdale　somberly　examined　the　contents　of　his　bowl　and　looked　up　at　the　waitress。
　　　　〃I　don't　suppose　this　greasy　spoon　serves　anything　but　beer　in　cans。〃
　　　　The　grizzled　waitress　looked　down　at　him　and　smiled　like　an　old　prostitute。　〃Honey；　we　got　beer　in　bottles　and　we　got　wine。　What'll　it　be？〃
　　　　〃A　bottle　of　your　best　burgundy。〃
　　　　〃I'll　check　with　the　wine　steward。〃　She　winked　through　one　heavily　mascaraed　eye　before　waddling　back　to　the　kitchen。
　　　　〃I　forgot　to　mention　the　friendly　service。〃　Gaskill　smiled。
　　　　Ragsdale　warily　dipped　a　spoon　into　his　soup；　suspicion　lining　his　face。　He　slowly　sipped　the　contents　of　his　spoon　as　if　judging　a　wine　tasting。　Then　he　looked　across　the　booth　with　widening　eyes。　〃Good　heavens。　Sherry　and　pearl　onions；　garlic　cloves；　rosemary；　and　three　different　kinds　of　mushrooms。　This　is　delicious。〃　He　peered　at　Gaskill's　plate。　〃What　did　you　order；　chicken？〃
　　　　Gaskill　tilted　his　plate　so　Ragsdale　could　see　it。　〃You're　close。　The　house　specialty。　Broiled　marinated　quail　on　a　bed　of　bulgur　with　currants；　scallions；　puree　of　roasted　carrots；　and　leeks　with　ginger。〃
　　　　Ragsdale　looked　as　if　his　wife　had　presented　him　with　triplets。　〃You　conned　me。〃
　　　　Gaskill　appeared　hurt。　〃I　thought　you　wanted　a　good　place　to　eat。〃
　　　　〃This　is　fantastic。　But　where　are　the　crowds？　They　should　be　lined　up　outside。〃
　　　　〃The　owner　and　chef；　who　by　the　way　used　to　be　at　the　Ritz　in　London