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"None. A clean job. If I didn't know better, I'd say the Specter did it."
Not unless he came back from the dead. He'd have to be well over ninety years old."
Gaskill held up his glass, and Ragsdale poured the wine. "Suppose he had a son, or established a dynasty who carried on the family tradition?"
"That's a thought. Except that no calendars with circled dates have been left at art robberies for over fifty years."
"They could have branched out into smuggling and forgeries and dropped the cornball theatrics.
Today's professionals know that modern investigative technology could easily comb enough evidence out of those hokey calendars to put a collar on them."
"Maybe." Ragsdale paused as the waitress brought his salmon. He sniffed the aroma and gazed in delight at the presentation. "I hope it tastes as good as it looks."
"Guaranteed, honey," the old waitress cackled, "or your money back."
Ragsdale drained his wine and poured another glass. "I can hear your mind clicking from here. Where are you headed?"
"Whoever committed the robbery didn't do it to gain a higher price from another black market collector," Gaskill replied. "I did some research on the golden body suit encasing the mummy.
Reportedly, it was covered with engraved hieroglyphs, illustrating a long voyage by a fleet of Inca ships carrying a vast treasure, including a huge golden chain. I believe the thieves took it so they can trace a path to the mother lode."
"Does the suit tell what happened to the treasure?"
"Legend says it was buried on an island of an inland sea. How's your salmon?"
"The best I've ever eaten," said Ragsdale happily. "And believe you me, that's a compliment. So where do you go from here?"
"The engravings on the suit have to be translated. The Inca did not have a method of writing or illustrating events like the Mayans, but photographs of the suit taken before its earlier theft from Spain show definite indications of a pictorial graphic system. The thieves will need the services of an expert to decode these glyphs. Interpretation of ancient pictographs is not exactly an overcrowded field."
"So you're going to chase down whoever gets the job?"
"Hardly a major effort. There are only five leading specialists. Two of them are a husband and wife team by the name of Moore. They're considered the best in the field."
"You've done your homework."
Gaskill shrugged. "The greed of the thieves is the only lead I've got."
"If you require the services of the bureau," Ragsdale said, "you have only to call me."
"I appreciate that, Francis, thank you."
"There's one other thing."
"Yes?"
"Can you introduce me to the chef? I'd like an inside track on a table for Saturday night."
After a short layover at the Lima airport to pick up the EG&G magnetometer that was flown in from the Deep Fathom by a U.S. Embassy helicopter, Pitt, Giordino, and Gunn boarded a commercial flight to Quito, the capital of Ecuador. It was after two o'clock in the morning when they landed in the middle of a thunderstorm. As soon as they stepped through the gate they were met by a representative of the state oil company, who was acting on behalf of the managing director Gunn had negotiated with for a helicopter.
He quickly herded them into a limousine that drove to the opposite side of the field, followed by
a small van carrying their luggage and electronic equipment. The two-vehicle convoy stopped in front of a fully serviced McDonnell Douglas Explorer helicopter. As they exited the limo, Rudi Gunn turned to express his appreciation, but the oil company official had rolled up the window and ordered the driver to move on.
"Makes one want to lead a clean life," Giordino muttered at the efficiency of it all.
"They owed us bigger than I thought," said Pitt, ignoring the downpour and staring blissfully at the big, red, twin-engined helicopter with no tail rotor.
"Is it a good aircraft?" asked Gunn naively.
