of people—because you told Stikes that I was there. Eddie’s friend—my friend too—was killed. Murdered.” She rose from her seat, once again attracting the attention of other diners, but ignoring them. “So now do you know why Eddie was so mad at you? It was your fault, Larry! If you hadn’t called Stikes in order to cover your own ass, all those people would still be alive!”
“But how could I know?” Larry cried, the words somewhere between a demand and a plea. “I had no idea any of that would happen!”
“Well, of course you didn’t. Because that would have meant thinking beyond yourself, wouldn’t it?” She shoved back her chair. “Julie, every time we’ve met dinner’s ended in an argument. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. But you, Larry …” She gave him a look of utter disgust. “What you’ve done, it’s … unforgivable.” Without a further word, she turned and walked away.
Julie blushed crimson under the eyes of the other patrons, leaving Larry to shift awkwardly in his seat. The waiter hesitantly returned. “I, er, think we’ll call it a night,” the Englishman told him, tossing a couple of bills on the table. Julie was already on her feet as Larry stood up to leave.
FIVE
Nina emerged from the elevator and made her way to the IHA’s offices, still angry about what she had learned the previous evening. All the deaths at El Dorado, the destruction of a priceless archaeological site … everything had happened because of Larry Chase. A few words to the wrong person had ended dozens of lives. And for what? Nothing more than money. The mere thought stoked her fury once more.
“Uh-oh,” said Lola Gianetti from the watercooler.
Nina stopped. “Uh-oh what? What is it?” She gave Lola a worried look; her assistant was seven months pregnant and, judging from the size of her bump, the baby was impatient to leave its increasingly cramped accommodation. “Was it a kick? Or a contraction? It wasn’t a contraction, was it?”
Lola laughed. “No, I’m fine. The uh-oh was for you. You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“The look that warns everyone they should stay out of your way.”
“I don’t have a look,” Nina protested as the big-haired blonde padded back to the reception desk. “Do I? What does the look look like?”
“That was almost a tongue twister,” said Lola, sitting. “But … well, you’d know it when you saw it. Everyone else does.”
“Everyone thinks I have a look? Oh, great,” Nina said, exasperated. “I thought I was a half-decent boss, but apparently I’m some terrifying flame-haired Medusa stalking the halls with her deadly look.”
“Only occasionally,” Lola said with a teasing smile. “By the way, Mr. Penrose asked me to call him when you arrived. He wants to see you.”
“Tell him I’m here,” said Nina, starting for her office.
“Okay. Oh, by the way, how was your dinner with Eddie’s dad?” Nina glowered at her. “There’s the look again,” Lola said, hurriedly picking up the phone.
Penrose was in Nina’s office less than ten minutes later. “There’s been a development regarding the statues.”
“What kind of development?”
“They’ve been found.”
Her eyes widened. “Stikes has been caught?”
“I’m afraid not. But they’re secure, and apparently intact. They’re in Japan.”
“Japan? Who’s got them?”
“Do you know of a man called Takashi Seiji?” Nina shook her head. “He’s a Japanese businessman, the head of Takashi Industries.”
“Never heard of it.”
“I’m not really surprised—it’s the kind of company that owns dozens of other companies that you probably have heard of. But that’s not important. What does matter is that he has all three statues. Here.” He handed her a color printout; it showed the trio of crudely carved figurines inside a display case.
Nina examined the picture closely. As far as she could tell, the statues were in the same condition as when she had last seen them. “What’s his interest in them?”
“He owns one of them.”
She was startled. “What?”
Penrose gave her another picture. In this there was only a single statue, the one discovered in the Khoils’ underground vault in Greenland. There was a date stamp in one corner: over ten years earlier. “He also supplied all the necessary certificates of ownership. It was stolen from him last year. Apparently by the same group that stole Michelangelo’s David and the Talonor Codex.”
“Working for the Khoils,” Nina remembered. “But wait—Interpol tried to track down the owners of everything they’d stolen, and nobody ever claimed the statue. If he’d reported the theft, they would have returned it to him. Why didn’t he say anything?”
“No idea.