Гарри Гаррисон: Montezuma’s Revenge

“This is quite a serious matter, I am sure.”

“Serious! The Mark IX radar has been outdated for ten years now. You can buy them at the war surplus stores if you happen to want an old radar set weighing a thousand pounds. So of what importance are the textbooks?”

Sones considered this in silence for a moment, tapping his teeth again, then making a check mark in the dossier with the pencil.

“I will have to look into this, keep the record open on this point. But still you do have a security rating and that is what counts. I am sure that with the data here we can have it upgraded and updated.”

The file of papers was an inch thick. “Is that all about me?” Tony asked.

“Of course. Classified, so I’m afraid you can’t look at it. But thorough, very thorough. Well, everything seems to be clarified. We have, ahh, three more minutes so if there are any questions ... ?”

“The same one. What is this all about?”

“Classified information, I’m afraid.” Tap, tap. “But they will tell you downstairs, and we had better get going.”

With precise movements Sones slipped the dossier into a brief case he produced from the desk, locked it, then snapped the handcuff about his wrist that was attached to it by a chain. Only after this had been safely secured and tested did he touch the button that unlocked the door. They went side by side down the corridor and past the bank of elevators to an unmarked door that Sones unlocked, which opened unexpectedly into a small lobby no bigger than a closet. The far wall was made of gray steel and labeled in bold red letters security elevator—do not use without proper clearance. Sones appeared to have the proper clearance for at the turn of another key the wall slid back to reveal the elevator itself, and once inside he pressed the bottom button in the row, all of them labeled with cryptic code groups. Security was obviously very good and Tony was very impressed, although he still wondered what it was all about. The elevator dropped and when the door next opened a hard-eyed man stood before them pointing a large and menacing automatic pistol at their chests.

“Operation Buttercup,” Sones said at once and the gun was lowered and they were waved silently on. Another guard, almost a twin of the first in dullness of eye and strength of jaw, opened another door for them and they entered the large conference room where a number of men already waited around the long table. They were uniformly dressed in grayish black suits and dark neckties, white shirts and, presumably, all wore the same kind of shoes though the table prevented the verification of this assumption. Pads and pencils were arranged neatly before each chair as well as little signs at every place, each with a different letter of the alphabet upon it. X sat at the head of the table and looked on severely as Sones led Tony toward two vacant chairs.

“You are J,” Sones whispered. “Top security. Sit here.”

No sooner had they found their places than X coughed deeply and rapped on the table with his knuckles.

“All right, let’s get down to it. K, have you checked J’s security?”

“He is clean. He needs upgrading, but he is clean enough for a prelim.”

“That is encouraging. Pass me his dossier.”

“I do not have the key to this case.”

“Who has it?”

“C.”

“Then pass the case to C.”

“I cannot. I do not have the key to the handcuff. The key is held by . , .”

“I don’t care about that” There was the hint of a biting edge of exasperation in X’s heretofore controlled voice. “Just walk over to C so he can unlock it and give me the dossier.”

The others waited in silence while this was done and X flipped through the pages of the file. What he read apparently satisfied him for he closed it and turned to Tony for the first time.

“Welcome to Operation Buttercup, J. You are the man we need.” Before Tony could ask the question that hung ready to his lips, X raised his voice and said, “Roll it!”

Instantly a projection screen dropped from the ceiling behind him and a small window opened in the far wall. The lights went out a fraction of a second later and the beam of a projector shot across the room and a colored picture flashed on the screen, a painting.

“Do you know what that is?” X’s voice came from the darkness. “I’m talking to you, J,” he added when there was no answer.

“Yes, sir, I do, a painting.”

“Do you know the identity of this painting?”

There was the sudden feeling of tension in the room and Tony wondered why. There was no secret about it—he even sold prints of this particular canvas in the National Gallery.

“Of course. That is the ‘Battle of Anghiari’ by Leonardo da Vinci.”

The lights blazed on again and the picture vanished; Tony blinked at the sudden glare and became slowly aware that every eye in the room was on him.

“And where is that painting now?” There was a feeling of strain in X’s voice as he spoke.

“Nowhere. It was destroyed during the war when the museum in Capitello, Italy, was bombed during an air raid.”

This bit of information, known to any art major who had passed his first year, caused an excited stir in the room as the men shifted in their chairs and one or two murmured to their neighbors. The sharp rap of X’s knuckles restored order instantly.

“That is it then, gentlemen. Operation Buttercup is off and rolling. J and E will make the contact. It will be far easier now with one of our own agents on the job—we don’t want to co-opt outsiders. We all know the trouble that happens when we do.”

“Pardon me,” Tony broke in. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“Not at all. We have evidence, strong evidence I can assure you, that this painting was never destroyed. There is a man in the country now who is attempting to sell the painting and the whole operation has landed in our laps. And we can handle it. But before we do anything else, we need verification that this is indeed the painting in question and that is where you come in, J. We are putting a specialized team in the field, yourself and E. You are the art man, you let us know if this thing is the real McCoy or not. E is a specialist in keeping his eyes open, he’s our bunco operator and knows all the people in the business. Now—get out there and get a report back here as soon as you can. At once, since we are under a bit of time pressure.”

“Just a minute! I can’t do that. I’m an art historian, a shop manager, not a specialist. I don’t know a thing about this kind of work, I’ve never even seen the painting in question and I don’t know about testing the paints and all ....”

“You’re good enough for us, you’re part of the bunch, J, and that is what counts. We can bring in those specialists later, but right now we are in a hurry and we want to keep this right in the shop, so to speak. There are complications, international complications as well as some with other agencies, and we don’t want word of what is happening to leak to anyone, understand? You’ll do the job. E will brief you on the operation.”

For the first time Tony looked closely at the man sitting behind the E sign and found him quite familiar.

“Yes, I know him, that is ...”

“No names!” X snapped and a censorious rumble muttered around the room. “We do not break security here. Meeting adjourned.”

There was the scrape of chairs and louder voices now as they rose to leave and Tony’s protest went unheard. X was already out of the room through a small door and there was nothing more that could be done.

“Congratulations,” Sones said before leaving and Tony wondered just what had happened and how he had become involved. Art expert? Well, he certainly knew more about painting than anyone else in this room, and apparently the entire Bureau as well. And perhaps the whole operation wasn’t a bad idea after all; he would certainly not mind being away from the gilt G-man badges and the ubiquitous Sophie Feinberg for a while. He had never even had a chance to ask where the painting was supposed to be, maybe it wasn’t in Washington, it could even be as far away as New York City where all the big galleries were. It would be pleasant to take a trip. All in all, there was really nothing to complain about. When E-Davidson came up to him he was actually smiling at the prospect ahead.