"Nothing short of a miracle that I was able to save most of the artifacts and successfully smuggle them out of the country after the blunders committed by our ignorant rabble. Not to mention the intrusion by members of our own government."
"U.S. Customs or drug agents?" asked Zolar.
"Neither. Two engineers from the National Underwater and Marine Agency. They showed up out of nowhere when Juan Chaco sent out a distress call after Dr. Kelsey and her photographer became trapped in the sacred well."
"How did they cause problems?"
Sarason related the entire story from the murder of the true Dr. Miller by Amaru to the escape of Pitt and the others from the Valley of the Viracocha to the death of Juan Chaco. He finished by giving a rough tally of the artifacts he had salvaged from the valley, and how he arranged to have the cache transported to Callao, then smuggled out of Peru in a secret cargo compartment inside an oil tanker owned by a subsidiary of Zolar International. It was one of two such ships used for the express purpose of slipping looted and stolen art in and out of foreign countries while transporting small shipments of crude oil.
Zolar stared into the desert without seeing it. "The Aztec Star. She is scheduled to reach San Francisco in four days."
"That puts her in brother Charles's sphere of activity."
"Yes, Charles has arranged for your shipment to be transported to our distribution center in Galveston where he will see to the restoration of the artifacts." Zolar held his glass up to be refilled. "How is the wine?"
"A classic," answered Sarason, "but a bit dry for my taste."
"Perhaps you'd prefer a sauvignon blanc from Touraine. It has a pleasing fruitiness with a scent of herbs."
"I never acquired your taste for fine wines, brother. I'll settle for a beer."
Zolar did not have to instruct his serving lady. She quietly left them and returned in minutes with an iced glass and a bottle of Coors beer.
"A pity about Chaco," said Zolar. "He was a loyal associate."
"I had no choice. He was running scared after the fiasco in the Valley of Viracocha and made subtle threats to unveil the Solpemachaco. It would not have been wise to allow him to fall into the hands of the Peruvian Investigative Police."
"I trust your decisions, as I always have. But there is still Tupac Amaru. What is his situation?"
"He should have died," replied Sarason. "Yet when I returned to the temple after the attack of our gun-happy mercenaries, I found him buried under a pile of rubble and still breathing. As soon as the artifacts were cleared out and loaded aboard three additional military helicopters, whose flight crews I was forced to buy off at a premium, I paid the local huaqueros to carry him to their village for care. He should be back on his feet in a few days."
"You might have been wise to remove Amaru too."
"I considered it. But he knows nothing that could lead international investigators to our doorstep."
"Would you like another serving of pork?"
"Yes, please."
"Still, I don't like having a mad dog loose around the house."
"Not to worry. Oddly, it was Chaco who gave me the idea of keeping Amaru on the payroll."
"Why, so he can murder little old ladies whenever the mood strikes him?"
"Nothing so ludicrous." Sarason smiled. "The man may well prove to be a valuable asset."
"You mean as a hired killer."
"I prefer to think of him as someone who eliminates obstacles. Let's face it, brother. I can't continue eliminating our enemies by myself without risk of eventual discovery and capture. The family should consider itself fortunate that I am not the only one who has the capacity to kill if necessary. Amaru makes an ideal executioner. He enjoys it."
"Just be sure you keep him on a strong leash when he's out of his cage."
"Not to worry," said Sarason firmly. Then he changed the subject. "Any buyers in mind for our Chachapoyan merchandise?"
"A drug dealer by the name of Pedro Vincente," replied Zolar. "He hungers after anything that's pre-Columbian. He also pays a cash premium since it's a way for him to launder his drug profits."
"And you take the cash and use it to finance our underground art and artifact operations."
"An equitable arrangement for all concerned."
"How soon before you make the sale?"
"I'll set up a meeting with Vincente right after Sister Marta has your shipment cleaned up and ready for display. You should have your share of the profits within ten days."
Sarason nodded and gazed at the bubbles in his beer. "I think you see through me, Joseph. I'm seriously considering retiring from the family business while I'm still healthy."
Zolar looked at him with a shifty grin. "You do and you'll be throwing away two hundred million dollars."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your share of the treasure."
Sarason paused with a forkful of pork in front of his mouth. "What treasure?"
"You're the last of the family to learn what ultimate prize is within our grasp."
"I don't follow you."
"The object that will lead us to Huascar's treasure." Zolar looked at him slyly for a moment, then smiled. "We have the Golden Body Suit of Tiapollo."
The fork dropped to the plate as Sarason stared in total incredulity. "You found Naymlap's mummy encased in his suit of gold? It is actually in your hands?"
"Our hands, little brother. One evening, while searching through our father's old business records, I came upon a ledger itemizing his clandestine transactions. It was he who masterminded the mummy's theft from the museum in Spain."
"The old fox, he never said a word."
"He considered it the highlight of his plundering career, but too hot a subject to reveal to his own family."
"How did you track it down?"
"Father recorded the sale to a wealthy Sicilian mafioso. I sent our brother Charles to investigate, not expecting him to learn anything from a trail over seventy years old. Charles found the late mobster's villa and met with the son, who said his father had kept the mummy and its suit hidden away until he died in 1984 at the ripe old age of ninety-seven. The son then sold the mummy on the black market through his relatives in New York. The buyer was a rich junk dealer in Chicago by the name of Rummel."
"I'm surprised the son spoke to Charles. Mafia families are not noted for revealing their involvement with stolen goods."
"He not only spoke," said Zolar, "but received our brother like a long=lost relative and cooperated wholeheartedly by providing the name of the Chicago purchaser."
"I underestimated Charles," Sarason said, finishing off his final morsel of braised pork. "I wasn't aware of his talent for obtaining information."
"A cash payment of three million dollars helped immeasurably."
Sarason frowned. "A bit generous, weren't we? The suit can't be worth more than half that much to a collector with deep pockets who has to keep it hidden."
"Not at all. A cheap investment if the engraved images on the suit lead us to Huascar's golden chain."