Agents in black fled the room to receive assignments from their captains and lieutenants and sergeants. Montgomery Wilkes remained behind in the empty ready room and gazed cold-eyed at the projected visage of smiling Skeeter Jackson. "I'll get you," he said softly to the colored light on the blank, ten-foot wall. "I will by God get you. And it's about time Bull Morgan understood just who the law around here really is."
He stalked out onto the Commons on course for the station manager's office.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Like most time terminals, TT-86 attracted gifted scholars from around the world, many of them the very best at what they did. Robert Li was no exception. As an antiquarian, he was sought out by private collectors and museums alike as a consultant and had been instrumental in identifying numerous quality forgeries.
There was good reason for this: no one excelled Robert Li at producing forgeries of the genuine article. His work was-usually-strictly legal. Tourists and museum reps often brought items uptime to his studio to be reproduced in exquisite detail, which were then exported to museums around the world as legal replicas bearing the IA trademark. Occasionally, however, like most other 'eighty-sixers, Robert Li would get a bellyful of ATFs high-handed tactics.
He had an exceptionally strong-if unique-sense of right and wrong. The closer Montgomery Wilkes' people watched his operation, the more ire he swallowed until, inevitably, it broke out in such indignant expressions as assisting thieves smuggle out their wares! (Of course, only after he'd charged them a substantial amount of cash to reproduce the item.)
Even so, far more frequent were the times when scouts had returned "stolen" items to their original times when he felt an item shouldn't go missing although, again, he usually reproduced it, first. And occasionally, an item crossed his counter that was so breathtaking, so unique that he simply couldn't resist. He could wax rhapsodic about Min porcelain, but Greek bronzes threw him into utter fits. Unknown to ATF---or anyone else, for that matter-Robert II kept a private safe the size of his bedroom, where he stored his most precious belongings. His collection of ancient bronzes rivaled that of the Louvre and surpassed that of uptime collectors with far more money than he had.
Some things, one simply did not sell.
Greek bronzes were one; friends were another.
Goldie Morran was, at heart, a cheating scoundrel who would've sold her own teeth, if they d been worth enough, but she was also a friend and one of the few people in the world whose knowledge of rare coins and gems approached his own. Goldie had done him a favor or two over the years, obtaining items here and there which his heart had coveted, and he harbored a secret admiration for her skills.
Unlike Kit Carson, he never tried to best her at billiards or pool, knowing his own limitations as fully as his strengths. Normally Goldie would've respected his lack of desire to wager against her. He was equally aware, however, that with Goldie's livelihood on the line, she would consider nothing sacred. So when she entered his studio, Robert Li buttoned his pockets, locked the cases and cabinets he could reach, and put on his best smile.
"Why, Goldie, what a surprise to see you."
She nodded and placed a carbuncle with ornate carving across its upper surface on a velvet pad left lying on the countertop.
"What do you think of it?"
He eyed her speculatively, then picked up the gem and a jeweler's loupe. "Mmm ... very nice. The depiction of the statuary on the spine of the Circus Maximus is excellent and I've never seen a better representation of the turning posts. Who forged it for you?"
Goldie sniffed, eyes flashing irritation and disappointment. "Bastard. How'd you know?"
He just gave her a sorrowful look from under his brows.
Goldie sniffed again. "All right, but would it fool most people? Even a discerning collector?"
"Oh, without a doubt. Unless," he smiled, "they hired someone like me to authenticate it."
"Double what I said before. Triple it. How much?"
Robert laughed quietly. "To keep quiet? Or provide authentication papers?"
"Both, you conniving-"
"Goldie." The reproach in his voice was that of a lover wounded by his lady's mistrust.
"Robert, you owe me a few. I'm desperate."
"ATF's watching me like a hawk. Word's out: Monty's planning to nail you and Skeeter, send you both packing to an uptime jail."
Goldie could swear more creatively than anyone Robert Li knew-and he knew all the time scouts operating out of TT-86.
Robert knew better than to pat her hand, but sympathy seemed called for. "Well, I suppose you could always poison Wilkes, but I think it would be easier to steer clear of anyone you don't know for the next few days. This place is crawling with undercover agents."
Goldie's eyes, sharper than ever, flashed dangerously. "Bull know about that? If ATFs undercover, they're way outside their jurisdiction and Montgomery Wilkes for damn sure knows it."
Before Robert could answer, Kit Carson entered the shop, sauntering over in a gait calculated to appear lazy, but which covered ground with astonishing speed. "Hi. Heard the news?"
"Which news?" Goldie demanded, exasperation coloring her voice.
Kit chuckled and winked at Robert. "Reliable eyewitnesses said the shouting could be heard through the soundproofing."
"Bull and Monty?" Robert asked eagerly. -Ten says Monty stepped over the line just a tad too far this time."
"No bet," Kit laughed. "You'll never guess what Bull's done now."
Goldie, carefully covering the carved carbuncle with her hand, asked, "Bull `fishpond him'?"-referring to the time Margo had taken offense at being mauled by a multibillionaire with a thing for nubile redheads. Margo had thrown him into the fishpond.
Kit laughed heartily. Robert Li was sure Goldie had intended, with careful calculation, to remind Kit of that particular incident. And such a ruckus the dripping wet old goat had raised, too, threatening to sue everything and everyone he could.
Fortunately, Bull Morgan had pointed out that said goat would have to file suit in the jurisdiction where the assault had taken place, then explained that no lawyers at all were permitted to hang their shingles anywhere inside TT-86. Better that way for everyone.
Of course, the way Margo looked and moved ...
A man could hardly be blamed for trying. Malcolm Moore was one lucky son if she said yes.
Kit leaned forward conspiratorially. "Good guess, but nope, you're way off the mark."
Kit's little audience leaned forward, unaware they did so.. Kit grinned. "Bull Morgan had Mike Benson place dear old Monty under arrest. Threw him into the brig with seventeen boozers, half-a-dozen brawlers, and three flea-bitten thieves clumsy enough to get caught."
"WHAT?"
The demand came out in stereo, Goldie's screech hitting soprano.
Kit's grin lit his thin, mustachioed face like an evil jack-o-lantern. "Yep. Seems like during their, er, meeting over jurisdiction up in Bull's office, Monty's sense of outrage and diligence to the letter of the law prompted him to, um, an assault."
Robert Li gasped. "Monty hit Bull? And he's still alive?"
"Oh, no," Kit laughed, eyes twinkling. "Much better than that. Monty assaulted Bull's prize porcelain of the Everlasting Elvis.. You know the one, sat on his desk like some serene Buddha for years after he, er, borrowed it from that cathouse in New Orleans."
Goldie's eyes went as round as the carbuncle she'd tried to hide from Kit's sharp-eyed gaze. "He broke Bull's Elvis?"
"They're still digging pieces out of the wall. And ceiling. And carpet."
"Oh, dear God," Robert said hoarsely, covering his eyes. "You know what this means?"