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"Oh, I most certainly do, Charley, old pal. As it turns out, federal agents are more interested in you and your brother than Huascar's treasure."
"Where did you come from?" Zolar demanded.
"We merely caught a ride in one of the helicopters transporting the gold. The army engineers were used to our presence and paid no attention as we climbed aboard the plane. We hid out in one of the restrooms until the pilot left to confer with you and Charles on the airstrip. Then we seized the cockpit."
"Why would federal agents take your word for anything?" asked Oxley."
"In a manner of speaking, Micki and I were once agents ourselves," Moore briefly explained. "After we took over the cockpit, Micki radioed some old friends in Washington who arranged your reception."
Zolar looked as if he were about to tear Moore's lungs out whether he got shot in the attempt or not.
"You and your lying wife made a deal for a share of the antiquities. Am I right?" He waited for a reply, but when Moore remained silent he went on. "What percentage did they offer you? Ten, twenty, maybe as high as fifty percent?"
"We made no deals with the government," Moore said slowly. "We knew you had no intention of honoring our agreement, and that you planned to kill us. We had planned to steal the treasure for ourselves, but as you can see, we had a change of heart."
"The way they act familiar with guns," said Oxley, "Cyrus was right. They are a pair of killers."
Moore nodded in agreement. "Your brother has an inner eye. It takes an assassin to know one."
A pounding came from outside the forward passenger door on the deck below. Moore gestured down the stairwell with his gun. "Go down and open it," he ordered Zolar and Oxley.
Sullenly, they did as they were told.
When the pressurized door was swung open, two men entered from a stairway that had been pushed up against the aircraft. Both wore business suits. One was a huge black man who looked as if he might have played professional football. The other was a nattily dressed white man. Zolar immediately sensed they were federal agents.
"Joseph Zolar and Charles Oxley, I am Agent David Gaskill with the Customs Service and this is Agent Francis Ragsdale of the FBI. You gentlemen are under arrest for smuggling illegal artifacts into the United States and for the theft of countless art objects from private and public museums, not excluding the unlawful forgery and sale of antiquities."
"What are you talking about?" Zolar demanded.
Gaskill ignored him and looked at Ragsdale with a big toothy smile. "Would you like to do the honors?"
Ragsdale nodded like a kid who had just been given a new disk player. "Yes, indeed, thank you."
As Gaskill cuffed Zolar and Oxley, Ragsdale read them their rights.
"You made good time," said Moore. "We were told you were in Calexico."
"We were on our way aboard a military jet fifteen minutes after word came down from FBI headquarters in Washington," replied Ragsdale.
Oxley looked at Gaskill, a look for the first time empty of fear and shock, a sudden look of shrewdness. "You'll never find enough evidence to convict us in a hundred years."
Ragsdale tilted his head toward the golden cargo. "What do you call that?"
"We're merely passengers," said Zolar, regaining his composure. "We were invited along for the ride by Professor Moore and his wife."
"I see. And suppose you tell me where all the stolen art and antiquities in your facility in Galveston came from?"
Oxley sneered. "Our Galveston warehouse is perfectly legitimate. You've raided it before and never found a thing."
If that's the case," said Ragsdale craftily, "how do you explain the tunnel leading from the Logan Storage Company to Zolar International's subterranean warehouse of stolen goods?"
The brothers stared at each other, their faces abruptly gray. "You're making this up," said Zolar fearfully.
"Am I? Would you like me to describe your tunnel in detail and provide a brief rundown on the stolen masterworks we found?"
"The tunnel-- you couldn't have found the tunnel."
"As of thirty-six hours ago," said Gaskill, "Zolar International and your clandestine operation known as Solpemachaco are permanently out of business."
