“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.”