Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“He seems to have stepped out. My name is Mark Trevor.” He came into the room and shut the door behind him. “And I'm sure that you wouldn't want your assistant to hear our discussion anyway. We have some negotiating to do.”

“Get out.” He rose to his feet, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying.”

“No, you don't buy, you sell. And at a nice tidy profit. Of course, if you had the proper contacts you'd have done much better. I could have increased your take a hundred percent.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Sontag said coldly. “But if you don't leave at once I'm calling the security guard.”

“Do you really want him to know about the Girl and the Dolphin?”

Sontag froze. “I beg your pardon.”

“An exquisite statue that survived the eruption. You discovered it eleven years ago here in the marina.”

“Bullshit.”

“It's quite small and you must have had no problem keeping the find secret. From what I found out about you during that period of your career, you were much more hands-on. As soon as you thought there was a possibility of recovering something of value, you probably sent the crew away and excavated it yourself. But you evidently didn't have the proper connections to get as much money for the statue as it was worth because James Mandky is still chortling about how he cheated you.”

Sontag was no longer flushed but pale. “You lie.”

Trevor shook his head. “You know better. And I've no problem with you stealing an artifact or two. It's common practice among your less honorable brethren. When I heard you were very fond of the good life, it was almost a given that you'd pick up a treasure at some point and make it your own. After all, it's a hard life and a man deserves a few comforts.”

“Mandky is as much a criminal as I am. He's a receiver of stolen goods. He'd never testify against me.”

“Perhaps. But a whiff of scandal would ruin your reputation and send you back to London in disgrace. I understand from Ted Carpenter that you're very protective of your good name.” He smiled. “And I'm very good at dropping little tidbits in the newspapers.”

“Carpenter.” His lips tightened. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Oh, yes. And it's ridiculously easy. I was hoping for more of a challenge.”

He moistened his lips nervously. “You're saying that you'll forget my transaction with Mandky if I agree to pretend to find this skeleton?”

“And extend your full cooperation. I give the orders and you follow them. No questions, no arguments.”

“I won't do it.” He scowled. “I'll make the announcement but that's the end of it.”

“Wrong.” Trevor gazed directly into his eyes and his tone became hard. “Look at me and you'll see who you're up against. I've no problem with criminals since you might say I'm similarly inclined. But you're an amateur and I'm a professional and that makes you out of your league. You're in a corner and you'd better know when to fold. I don't give a damn about you if you get in my way. I'll ruin your career. I'll ruin this cushy life you've carved out. And if you piss me off, I may decide to put an end to your miserable existence. Are we clear?”

“You're bluffing,” Sontag whispered.

“Try me.” He headed for the door. “I'll call you in a few hours and tell you exactly what to say at the press conference you're calling this evening. Exactly. No ad-libs. No grandiose verbiage. Well, maybe a little grandiose. You've got to sound natural.”

“I'm not promising anything.”

“Promise? I wouldn't believe you if you gave me your word on a stack of Bibles. You'll do it because you realize that I mean every word I say.”

“It won't work. My crew will know that lately I've done no excavating near the theater.”

“That's why you hired a crew in Morocco and had them working in secret in the middle of the night. This was going to be your career's grand climax and you wanted to keep it to yourself until you could make your splendid announcement. Carpenter has generously agreed to stay in the background and only reap the monetary rewards. The glory is all yours.”

“He did?” Sontag was silent, thinking about it. “It could sound plausible,” he said cautiously.

“It will. Work at it.” He opened the door. “I'll give you the details later.”

Sontag.

Aldo eagerly scanned the article in the Rome newspaper. He vaguely remembered hearing about Herbert Sontag from his father and tried to recall what he'd said. Something about Sontag's larcenous nature and there being a possibility that they could work together. But it had never happened. His father had discovered the Precebio tunnel and hadn't had to bring in another archaeologist.

And now Sontag was back on the scene and boasting of this great find. No details. He was still making the discovery out to be this big secret. He hadn't named the actress found in the anteroom. Maybe he didn't know who she was yet. He'd only made reference to her beauty and the gold and lapis jewelry that adorned her. Another Nefertiti, he was claiming.

The phrase sent a chill through him. No, more beautiful than Nefertiti, Aldo thought. Cira.

And that bastard Sontag was already trying to make her out to be this immortal icon.

No!

He drew a deep breath and tried to control himself. He checked the other newspapers. No more information. He pulled up Archaeology Journal . No mention of Sontag's discovery.

Relief surged through him. The weekly magazine was usually on top of every significant find and they hadn't made reference to even the first hints that had been dropped before Sontag's announcement. Maybe it was just Sontag trying to garner a little more publicity for himself.

Wait. Be wary. The stakes were too high.

Cira.

Jane was still looking at the report of the interview when Trevor called that evening.

“Sontag's interview is in The New York Times . How did you manage that?” she asked.

“I didn't. The minute the story became real news and not a concoction, it was like a snowball going downhill. But that means we're going to have to move fast. There will be reporters buzzing around Sontag and there's nothing more dangerous than an inquisitive reporter.”

“What about Archaeology Journal ?”

“I'll get to it as soon as I can. I can't leave Sontag right now. He's getting a little too enthusiastic. He loves to see his name in print and he's already set up another interview for tomorrow. He's clever but he might make a slip that could land us in hot water.”

“Where's the main office of the magazine?”

“It's a university press in Newark, New Jersey. Tiny and esoteric and damn important to us. Any sign of Aldo?”

“You know that Joe would have let you know if there had been.”

“I hope he would.” He paused. “I found out a little about your theater while I was hovering around that press interview.”

“From one of Sontag's interns?”

“No, from Mario Latanza, a reporter from Milan. He had to do his homework when Sontag announced that the skeleton was almost certainly one of the actresses who performed at the theater. Latanza thought that since the actress appeared to be bejeweled and successful that she was probably the Herculaneum version of a musical comedy star.”

“What?”

“Musical pantomime was the most popular form of spectacle other than chariot races and gladiatorial battles. Lots of nudity, broad graphic jokes, singing, and dancing. Satyrs chasing nymphs brandishing erect leather phalluses. If Cira was as well-known as Julius's scrolls indicate, then she was more than likely catering to that popularity.”