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"I hope you're not about to show me a few potsherds and burial urns," said Vincente, his anticipation beginning to dwindle. "No authentic Chachapoyan artifacts have ever come on the market."
Zolar swept back the tent flap with a dramatic flourish. "Feast your eyes on the greatest collection of Chachapoyan art ever assembled."
In his unbridled excitement, Vincente did not notice a small glass case on a stand in one corner of the tent. He walked directly to three long tables with black velvet coverings set up in the shape of a horseshoe. One side table held only textiles, the other ceramics. The center table was set up like an exhibit in a Fifth Avenue jewelry store. The extensive array of precious handcrafted splendor stunned Vincente. He had never seen so many pre-Columbian antiquities so rich in rarity and beauty displayed in one place.
"This is unbelievable!" he gasped. "You have truly outdone yourself."
"No dealer anywhere has ever had his hands on such masterworks."
Vincente went from piece to piece, touching and examining each with a critical eye. Just to feel the embroidered textiles and gold ornaments with their gemstones took Vincente's breath away. It seemed utterly incongruous that such a hoard of wealth was sitting in a corn field in Kansas. At last he finally murmured in awe, "So this is Chachapoyan art."
"Every piece original and fully authenticated."
"These treasures all came from graves?"
"Yes, tombs of royalty and the wealthy."
"Magnificent."
"See anything you like?" Zolar asked facetiously.
"Is there more?" asked Vincente as the excitement wore off and he began to turn his mind toward acquisition.
"What you see is everything I have that is Chachapoyan."
"You're not holding back any major pieces?"
"Absolutely not," Zolar said with righteous resentment. "You have first crack at the entire collection. I will not sell it piecemeal. I don't have to tell you, my friend, there are five other collectors waiting in the wings for such an opportunity."
"I'll give you four million dollars for the lot."
"I appreciate the richness of your initial offer. But you know me well enough to understand I never haggle. There is one price, and one price only."
"Which is?"
"Six million."
Vincente cleared several artifacts, making an open space on one table. He opened the briefcases side by side, one at a time. All were filled with closely packed stacks of high denomination bills. "I only brought five million."
Zolar was not fooled for an instant. "A great pity I have to pass. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have sold the collection to."
"But I am your best customer," complained Vincente.
"I can't deny that," said Zolar. "We are like brothers. I am the only man who knows of your secret activities, and you are the only one outside my family who knows mine. Why do you put me through this ordeal every time we deal? You should know better by now."
Suddenly Vincente laughed and gave a typically Latin shrug. "What is the use? You know I have more money than I can ever spend. Having the artifacts in my possession makes me a happy man. Forgive my bargaining habits. Paying retail was never a tradition in my family."
"Your reserve supply of cash is still in your aircraft, of course."
Without a word, Vincente exited the tent and returned in a few minutes with the fourth briefcase. He set it beside the others and opened it. "Six million, five hundred thousand. You said you have some rare religious objects from the American Southwest. Are they included too?"
"For the extra five hundred thousand you can have them," answered Zolar. "You'll find the Indian religious idols under the glass case in the corner."
Vincente walked over and removed the glass dust cover. He stared at the strangely shaped gnarled figures. These were no ordinary ceremonial idols. Although they looked as if they had been carved and painted by a young child, he was aware of their significance from long experience of collecting objects from the American Southwest.
"Hopi?" he asked.
"No, Montolo. Very old. Very important in their ceremonial rituals."
