"Minimum order a dozen." He moved on, coming to a long, coffin-shaped metal box, unlocked it to reveal an irregular plaster lump about four feet by three. "Here's something really sweet, a Struthiomimus, forty percent complete, lacking the skull. Just came in from South Dakota. Legal, strictly legal, came from a private ranch. Still jacketed and in matrix, needs preparation."
He gave Tom a rather pointed look. "Everything we deal in here is legal, with signed and notarized documents from the private land owner." He paused. "Just what are you after, Mr. Broadbent?" He was not smiling now.
"Just what I said." The encounter was going exactly as he had hoped: he had aroused Beezon's suspicions.
Beezon leaned forward and said in a low voice. "You're no fossil dealer." His eyes flicked over the suit again. "What are you, a fed?"
Tom shook his head, putting on a sheepish, guilty smile. "You smoked me out, Mr.
Beezon. Congratulations. You're right, I'm no fossil dealer. But I'm also no fed."
Beezon continued to gaze at him, all his western friendliness gone. "What are you then?"
"I'm an investment banker."
"What the hell do you want with me?"
"I work with a small and exclusive clientele in the Far East-Singapore and South Korea.
We invest our clients' money. Sometimes our clients seek eccentric investments-old master paintings, gold mines, racehorses, French wines . . ." Tom paused, and then added, "Dinosaurs."
There was a long silence. Then Beezon echoed, "Dinosaurs?"
Tom nodded. "I guess I didn't cut a convincing figure as a fossil dealer."
Some of Beezon's friendliness returned, combined with a look of a man taking satisfaction in not having been fooled. "No, you didn't. First of all, there was that fancy suit. And then as soon as you held that rock hammer I knew you were no fossil dealer." He chuckled. "So, Mr. Broadbent, who is this client of yours and what kind of dinosaur is he in the market for?"
"May we speak freely?"
"Naturally."
"His name is Mr. Kim, and he is a successful industrialist from South Korea."
"This Struthiomimus here is a pretty good deal, at one hundred and twenty thousand-"
"My client is not interested in junk." Tom had shifted his tone, and he hoped the new persona of crisp, arrogant investment banker would be convincing.
Beezon lost his smile. "This is not junk."
"My client runs a multibillion-dollar industrial empire in South Korea. The last hostile takeover he launched resulted in the suicide of the CEO on the other side, an occurrence
which Mr. Kim did not find displeasing. It's a Darwinian world my client inhabits. He wants a dinosaur for the corporate headquarters that will make a statement about who he is and how he does business."
There was a long silence. Then Beezon asked, "And just what kind of dinosaur might that be?"
Tom stretched his lips in a smile. "What else-but a T. Rex?"
Beezon gave a nervous laugh. "I see. Surely you're aware that there are only thirteen tyrannosaur skeletons in the world and every single one is in a museum. The last one that came up for sale went for eight and a half million. We're not talking chump change."
"And I am also aware that there may be one or two others for sale-quietly."
Beezon coughed. "It's possible."
"As for chump change, Mr. Kim will not even consider an investment under ten million.
It's simply not worth his time."
Beezon spoke slowly. "Ten million?"
"That's the lowest limit. Mr. Kim is expecting to pay up to fifty million, even more."
Tom lowered his voice and leaned forward. "You will understand, Mr. Beezon, when I tell you he is none too particular about how or where the specimen might have been found. What is important is that it be the right specimen."
Beezon licked his lips. "Fifty million? That's a bit out of my league."
"Then I am sorry to have wasted your time." Tom turned to leave.
"Now hold on a minute, Mr. Broadbent. I didn't say I couldn't help you."
Tom paused.
"I might be able to introduce you to someone. If ... well, if my time and effort is compensated, of course."
"In the investment banking business, Mr. Beezon, everyone involved in a deal is remunerated to the extent of his contribution."
"That's exactly what I was hoping to hear. As to the commission-"
"We would be prepared to commission you with one percent, at the time of sale, for an introduction to the appropriate person. Satisfactory?"
The calculation clouded Beezon's brow for only a moment and then a faint smile spread on his round face. "I think we can do business, Mr. Broadbent. Like I said, I know a gentleman-"
"A dinosaur hunter?"
"No, no, not at all. He doesn't like to get his hands dirty. I guess you might call him a dinosaur seller. He lives not far from here, in a little town outside Tuc-
,, son.
There was a silence.
"Well?" said Tom, pitching his voice to just the right level of impatience. "What are we waiting for?"
12
WEED MADDOX CROUCHED behind the barn, watching. Children were riding around the arena in circles, shouts mingling with laughter. He had been there an hour and only now did the gymkhana for retards or whatever it was seem to be winding down. The kids began to dismount, and soon they were helping to unsaddle and brush down the horses, turning them out one by one in a back pasture. Maddox waited, his muscles aching, all keyed up, wishing he had come at five instead of three. Finally the kids were shouting good-bye and the pickup trucks and soccer-mom SUVs were driving out of the parking area behind the house amid a lot of waving and shouting good-byes.
He checked his watch. Four o'clock. Nobody seemed to have stayed on to clean up-Sally was alone. She wouldn't go out like she did last time. It had been a long day and she was tired. She'd go inside and rest, maybe take a bath.
With that interesting thought in mind he watched the last SUV drive out of the driveway with a flourish of dust. The slow cloud drifted off and disappeared into the golden afternoon sunlight and all became quiet. He watched her cross the yard carrying an armload of bridles and halters. She was a knockout, dressed in western riding boots, jeans, and a white shirt, long blond hair streaming behind her. She came toward the barn and entered it, and he could hear her moving around, hanging up stuff, talking to the horses. At one point she was no more than a few feet from him on the other side of the flimsy wooden wall. But this was not the time; he needed to seize her inside the house where the confined space would deaden any noise she might make. Even though the
nearest neighbors were a quarter mile away, sound did carry and you never knew who might be walking or riding around within earshot.
He heard more activity in the barn, the horses blowing and pawing, the scraping of a shovel, more murmurings to the animals. Ten minutes later she emerged and went into the house by the back door. He could see her through the kitchen window, moving around, filling a kettle at the faucet and putting it on the stove, bringing out a mug and what looked like a box of tea bags. She sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the water to boil, flipping through a magazine. Tea and then a bath? He couldn't be sure, and it was better not to wait. She was where he wanted her anyway, in the kitchen. The making and drinking of the tea would take at least five minutes, giving him the opportunity he needed.
He worked quickly, slipping on the plastic booties, the plastic raincoat, the hair net, shower cap, and stocking. He checked the Clock 29, popped out the magazine, and slapped it back in place. As a last step he unfolded the map of the house and gave it a final scrutiny. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.
Maddox moved around to the other side of the barn, where she couldn't see him from the kitchen window. Then he straightened up, walked easily across the yard, in through the gate leading to the patio, and then quickly flattened himself against the side of the house, with the patio doors on his right. He peered into the living room and saw it was empty-she was still in the kitchen-and he swiftly inserted a shim into where the door latched, worked it through to the other side, then pulled it down. The door latch released with a loud click; he slid the door open, ducked inside, shut it, and flattened himself behind an angled wall where the hall led from the living room to the kitchen.