Blind Alley ed-5

by Iris Johansen

He sighed. “I won't forget it. I'll give you what you want. You'll have to forgive me if I put Aldo first in priority.”

  “I wouldn't forgive you if you didn't.” Her hand tightened on the phone. “Do you think he's seen the articles yet?”

  “It depends how often he checks these Web sites. That's why we have to keep the insertions coming and building in intensity. If something catches his eye, he'll go back and see if he can find other references. But, dammit, we have to have something in Archaeology Journal to authenticate.”

  “How soon?”

  “Next week would be best. The week after if necessary. It doesn't have to be much. Just a short story and maybe a picture of the statue found with the skeleton.”

  “What statue? That's just part of the big lie. We don't have a statue of Cira.”

  He was silent. “I do.”

  She stiffened. “What?”

  “I bought it from the British collector Aldo sold it to. I made him an offer he couldn't refuse.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted it.” He hurried on, “Anyway, we have a statue to use in the Archaeology Journal article if they'll use it.”

  “I'm surprised you're willing to lend it. Isn't that dangerous for your plans of finding the gold? It's bound to attract more attention to Cira and her life. An article is one thing, but it's a visual-oriented world and a photo prods the imagination. Look at all that fuss the bust of Nefertiti caused.”

  “I'll take my chances. You can bet the place I choose to stage Cira's reconstruction won't be anywhere near Julius Precebio's tunnel.”

  “That goes without saying.” Jane was silent, and then asked, “Why did you want it?”

  “It was mine, dammit. It was my favorite bust of Cira and I negotiated with Guido for it as part of my cut. Aldo stole it. It was mine.”

  “The Italian government would give you an argument.”

  “It was mine,” he repeated. “I'll call you tomorrow night at midnight. Good night, Jane.”

  “Good night.” She hung up the phone and stared thoughtfully out at the lake. Cira again.

  “I wanted it. It was mine.”

  “Jane?” Eve called. “Are you through talking?”

  “Yes.” She turned and went into the cottage. “But he didn't tell me much more than we knew from checking the Web sites. He's worried about Archaeology Journal but he said he'd handle it.”

  “Then I'm sure he will. You can't fault his skill and dedication.”

  “It was mine. Aldo stole it from me.”

  “I believe the word's ‘obsession,' not ‘dedication,'” she murmured. “At any rate, he's going to call me back tomorrow night and maybe we'll learn more.”

  Dahlonega, Georgia

  Two days later

  Cira?

  Aldo stiffened as his gaze flew over the words in the Florence newspaper. Only a few lines but they were enough to rivet his attention and take his breath away.

  A woman's skeleton entombed and preserved for the ages.

  He closed his eyes as fear surged through him in an icy tide. His worst nightmare.

  If it was true. If the woman was Cira.

  But it could be Cira. Found in an anteroom of the ancient theater, and what other actress had so many statues commissioned of her?

  He opened his eyes, his gaze scanning the article. Be sure. Check all sources. He started jumping from site to site.

  There it was again. Rome.

  Maybe. Don't get too excited. This article referred to rumors of a find but no details. Nothing in Archaeology Journal.

  Perhaps it wasn't true.

  But if it was true then he had to face it. It wasn't only a bunch of fragile bones lying waiting for centuries to be laid to rest. It was that Medusa who had woven her death coils around his father. He had to break her. Use her. Humiliate her. Dominate her. Then crush her bones to powder so that no one would ever be able to resurrect her.

  Then kill her abomination of an offspring who had been taunting him only days before.

  Keep calm. He could wait. He had time to make sure this skeleton was the true Cira. He could study and research and put all the pieces together. It could be a trap.

  Or this might not be the disaster he'd first thought. It might be fate giving him his due. The final destruction of that bitch.

  And it was his due, he thought fiercely. He could see himself going to her sarcophagus and looking down at her in triumph. Reaching out and touching her. It was such a clear picture that he started to shake.

  Wait. Watch. There was no hurry.

  No matter what was happening in Herculaneum he still had the other Cira in Jane MacGuire.

  Jane didn't wait for Trevor to call her. At 10:45 P.M. the next evening she phoned him. “Sontag refused to cooperate. Carpenter said that he was pompous as hell and said that he couldn't compromise himself by admitting a connection with a find that wasn't his. He wasn't about to risk his sterling reputation with a hoax, and threatened to expose Carpenter if he tried to unveil his discovery. Carpenter thinks he doesn't want to share his little empire with anyone who might get more publicity than he does.”

  “Damn. Can Eve convince Carpenter to make a second try?”

  “She's ahead of you. She was on the phone with him for an hour but it's no go. He said there's nothing more he can do with Sontag and he doesn't intend to talk to the bastard again. Evidently Sontag was pretty unpleasant.”

  “Yeah, so I've found out. Even his crew thinks he's an asshole. The student interns draw straws to see who's going to have to work with him.”

  “You've learned that already?”

  “I wasn't about to sit on my hands and wait for Carpenter to come through for us if there was a possibility it wouldn't happen. I went out to the dig and did some snooping.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Other than he's not a wonderful human being? He loves publicity and has got an ego that's as big as all outdoors. He likes money and eats up admiration.”

  “Anything you could use?”

  “Possibly. I'm doing a little background checking. I'll know soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “I'll let you know when I do.”

  She stopped pushing. He'd made more progress than she could have hoped. “Anything else?”

  “Not about Sontag. But I got a chance to talk to two of the students about the eruption. It wasn't hard when they're so excited about what they do. They live and breathe that day with every scoop of their shovels.”

  “Did they talk about the theater?” she asked eagerly.

  “We didn't get that far. They were too absorbed with the eruption itself.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “But you're disappointed. I'm surprised. It must have been one hell of a blowup. First, the sun brightly shining and then the end of their world.”

  Night without air.

  “Sun? I thought it happened at night.”

  “Did you? It blew at their seventh hour. But it must have seemed like night if anyone was in a tunnel. Or when the ash and smoke covered the sky. . . . Like I said, the end of their world.”

  “But I read that fewer than a dozen bodies were found in Herculaneum over all these years. Maybe most of them escaped.”

  “Recently more bodies have been discovered in a drainage ditch under the marina. There's a theory that hundreds tried to get to the sea and died on the beaches or in the seismic tidal wave that rushed back to engulf them.”

  “Dear God.”

  “But skeletons and bodies were almost perfectly preserved there also, which lends credibility to our story about the preservation of Cira's skeleton in the anteroom of the theater. I'm sure Aldo would know every detail he could find out about that eruption.”

  She had been so caught up in the vision of those poor people running in panic toward the sea that she'd forgotten about Aldo. “I'm sure he would, too. Since it seems to have dominated his life.” She moistened her lips. “Then it could be true. She
could still be buried there.”

  “Possibly. The scholars still don't have a clue about what happened to all those people. The entire town was buried in volcanic matter over sixty-five feet deep. And the intense heat of the flow played tricks. Carbonizing some items and leaving others unscathed. In some houses wax tablets were actually left undamaged. It was freaky.”

  “But the scrolls in Julius's library weren't damaged.”

  “That tunnel was far outside town and in a different direction from Herculaneum. It wouldn't have received the full force of the flow. Besides, the scrolls were protected in bronze tubes.”

  “Did you see any sign in that tunnel that the earth had broken open and lava rushed in?”

  “No, but we didn't get much past the library. As I said, it was slow going and Guido got greedy.” He paused. “Why?”

  “I was just curious.” No, she couldn't pull off casual curiosity. Not if she wanted to find out what she needed. “Trevor, I really want to know about the theater.”

  “Because it's part of her.”

  “And I want to know exactly what those scrolls told you about Cira. You were very vague.”

  “I can only tell you about her from Julius's point of view. And from the viewpoint of a few of the scribes he had writing his descriptions of her.”

  “Were they the same?”

  “Not really. I believe the scribes did what all ghostwriters do if not reined in. They tell their own story, with their own impressions.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I believe I'll leave that for another day.”

  “Bastard.”

  He laughed. “Such language for a youngster. Don't Quinn and Eve ever reprove you?”

  “No. They don't believe in censorship and anyway it was too late to change me by the time I came to live with them. And you shouldn't call the kettle black.”

  “I'll keep that in mind. I'll call you tomorrow evening.”

  “What shall I tell Eve about Sontag?”

  “That I'll handle it. Good night.”

  She went back inside the cottage after she hung up. “He said he'd handle it,” she said to Eve. “Don't ask me how. We probably don't want to know.”

  Eve nodded. “I wouldn't be surprised. I just checked the Rome Web site. Tonight it mentions a leading British archaeologist who's quoted as saying this may be the most exciting discovery since King Tut. If he's going to handle it, he'd better do it damn fast. Sontag's not the only archaeologist at Herculaneum, but he's the best known and he's going to be asked questions.”

  “But a denial might not be a disaster. Trevor said that most archaeologists are secretive about their work.”

  “Unless he opens his mouth about the phone call from Ted Carpenter.”

  Jane shrugged. “Then I guess we'll have to trust Trevor to come through. We don't have much choice.”

  Sontag's office occupied the first floor of a small warehouse on the waterfront and was surprisingly luxurious. A low velvet couch and kilim carpet vied with an obviously antique desk for elegant prominence.

  “Professor Sontag?” Trevor said. “May I come in?”

  Herbert Sontag looked up with a frown. “Who are you? I'm busy. Speak to my assistant.”

  “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?”