Margo blushed to the roots of her hair.
Malcolm broke through their levity with a low-voiced, "Mike, I really think you should have someone tail him until Primary cycles, but not so close that he bolts the second he's gone through."
Mike nodded. "My men are very, very good. Most of 'em got dumped on the street after The Accident when the DEA was torn down and its employees let go. They're good, Malcolm."
He nodded his trusting acquiescence. "I've got this plan, you see, Mike, to catch a member of that gang of notorious `antiquities acquisition specialists.' A really slick one. We'd appreciate your escort to the IFARTS office. We'll tell you the entire story there."
Kit put in wistfully, "I know this is police business, but could I come, too? After all, my only relative is involved."
Mike Benson snorted. "Kit Carson, you could wheedle your way into Buckingham Palace."
Kit laughed. "I already have, Mike. Long story" His eyes twinkled.
"Oh, you're impossible. Suit yourself. Hell, you probably know almost as much about antiquities as Robert Li does."
With that, Benson plucked off his belt the in-station radio unit all TT-86 security wore and efficiently set up the undercover tail.
"There. Now lets go find Li, shall we?"
They started toward Robert Li's antiquities shop, which also served as the IFARTS office in La-La Land. Every station had an IFARTS facility, staffed by at least one thoroughly trained expert, and sometimes more than one for the really big stations with twenty or thirty active gates. Since carbon dating was now useless, experts had to be relied upon to judge fake from genuine, to assign an approximate date as well as detailed descriptions, photos, the whole bit. Mike noticed Margo's red-faced struggle with her baggage only a few feet closer to their goal. Evidently, so did Kit, because before Mike could call for a baggage cart, Kit took the heaviest bag, earning a dazzling smile from his granddaughter. .
Mike sighed, jealous of Malcolm Moore because he'd found her first and because Kit had asked him to help train her. Given the looks that passed between the two lovebirds, each was as smitten with the other just as surely as Goliath had been smitten by little David. He shook his head over mixed metaphors and quietly herded them toward the IFARTS office.
They were approximately a third of the way there when Kit changed the suitcase to his other hand--again. "Thundering-" Kit cut off the oath midsentence, shaking out his cramped hand. "What the living hell is in this thing? Solid gold?"
Margo grinned up at him. "Yep. Mostly. Our Mr. Farley had expensive if disgusting taste in collectibles."
Mike gave her a long, measuring look, but all she did was wink at him. Damn. that lucky bastard, Moore. That one smile had seriously interfered with the transfer of oxygen-laden blood from his brain to a spot somewhat considerably lower. Grumbling, he grabbed one of Malcolm's bags to hide it, and actually staggered under the weight.
"Warned you," Malcolm laughed. "You're not gonna believe what that rat buried. And we even left the other motherlode intact, so uptime authorities can nail him digging it back up."
"That's ... great ... can we just ... get a move on, please?"
In minutes, he was as red-faced as they were. Margo laughed, Kit chuckled, and Malcolm gave him that irritating smirk-smile that was uniquely his own. From necessity, they stopped chatting and speeded up. Thank God. He wasn't as young as he'd once been and the strain was telling in his heart-rate, painful spasms in arms, shoulders, and bone-deep pain down his back from an old gunshot wound sustained while still working as a cop. This had better be worth it, Moore, or you're going to find yourself in deep, deep trouble whenever I'm around.
But when they opened the cases and spread the contents (except dirty clothes) across Robert Li's counter, Li gave out a strangled sound like a cat in orgasm, Kit Carson's eyes widened until his whole face was little more than luminous, shocked eyes, and Mike Benson forgave Malcolm with a low whistle. He glanced from one glittering figurine to the next, openmouthed, unable to believe he had a chance to catch an international thief of this magnitude.
Malcolm explained their whole story, recording it on his guide/scout's log, then sighed and added, "He was really angry that some of the pieces had vanished, obviously because the gold on them or in them was destined for something important. He made quite a haul in Denver's cathouses, too, and buried that a few yards from the hole he'd dug for these." He gestured carelessly at what amounted to an entire room's worth of display cases in some museum that didn't mind putting erotic devices of antiquity on display.
"Well," Robert Li rubbed his hands in anticipation, "shall we begin?"
It took several hours, with Kit occasionally arguing over a date for some weird little piece made of gold or wood where gold inlay hadn't survived stepping through the Porta Romae. Malcolm drew up a stool and watched quietly. Margo leaned against the counter, chin resting on elbows, drinking in every word, every date assigned. She was charming, leaning there like that, still in her Denver getup, so absorbed in the cataloging he doubted she would hear her own name if he said it.
One by one the pieces were examined, determined genuine, and carefully packed away. Occasionally a piece wrung groans and exclamations from Robert Li, and a few times, even from Kit.
"My God, Kit, look at this! It's a solid gold herm, you won't believe the detailing! Look, there, at the back end. The face and attributes of Hermes himself, and look at the expression on his face!"
Kit took what looked like a slightly-larger-than-life-size phallus, turned it carefully in reverent hands, and held it up to the light. The beautiful art on what should have been the flat "base" was muttered over in tones of ecstasy. "I've read of pieces like this," Kit said with a low moan in his voice, "but to hold one ..."
"Know what you mean," Robert said softly.
"The detailing is incredible. Lost wax?"
"Possibly Or mold and the mold lines rubbed out."
Kit held it up to the bright light again. "No, I don't think so. That would leave marks and I don't see anything like that."
"Lost wax would leave similar marks," Robert mused. "How the hell did they do it?"
Surprisingly, Margo spoke up. "Well, maybe it's a real man's, uh, you know, dipped in gold after it had been severed."
All three men stares at her. Then Robert Li managed a strangled-sounding reply. "That's, uh, not a bad guess, Margo," he started, breaking off to cough and get his voice back under control, "particularly considering the detailed veins, ridges, and foreskin, but a phallus dipped in gold wouldn't be nearly as heavy as this. It's solid metal."
"A copy of the original palladium of Athens perhaps?" Malcolm offered quietly. "I doubt Farley could wrest away the real one. After the Romans stole it, it was used in annual secret rituals which only the Pontifex Maximus was allowed to attend. But a copy, perhaps, carved from an ingot?"
"Carved from an ingot?" Robert echoed. Then, sudden realization hit. "Yes, that must be how it was done. Carve it from a solid piece, polish out any tool marks left over ... my God, it must have taken a master artisan months to craft this!"
Kit was nodding agreement. He said, grinning slightly, "Sometimes we forget your doctorates, Malcolm."
He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. Then said a bit smugly, "Apology accepted. And coming from you, Kit, any apology on professional matters is an honor to hold forever."
Kit flushed. "Huh. Ever since you got engaged, you've gone soft-headed and sentimental."
Malcolm just grinned, neither defending himself nor admitting guilt.
"Oh, you're impossible." Kit ignored him in favor of Robert Li. "Bob, do you have that phallus logged in?"
"Yes. And the next piece is ..." He simply stopped talking. His gaze was riveted to an exquisite little jade figurine.