Blind Alley - Iris Johansen [82]
Sontag was no longer flushed but pale. “You lie.”
Trevor shook his head. “You know better. And I've no problem with you stealing an artifact or two. It's common practice among your less honorable brethren. When I heard you were very fond of the good life, it was almost a given that you'd pick up a treasure at some point and make it your own. After all, it's a hard life and a man deserves a few comforts.”
“Mandky is as much a criminal as I am. He's a receiver of stolen goods. He'd never testify against me.”
“Perhaps. But a whiff of scandal would ruin your reputation and send you back to London in disgrace. I understand from Ted Carpenter that you're very protective of your good name.” He smiled. “And I'm very good at dropping little tidbits in the newspapers.”
“Carpenter.” His lips tightened. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Oh, yes. And it's ridiculously easy. I was hoping for more of a challenge.”
He moistened his lips nervously. “You're saying that you'll forget my transaction with Mandky if I agree to pretend to find this skeleton?”
“And extend your full cooperation. I give the orders and you follow them. No questions, no arguments.”
“I won't do it.” He scowled. “I'll make the announcement but that's the end of it.”
“Wrong.” Trevor gazed directly into his eyes and his tone became hard. “Look at me and you'll see who you're up against. I've no problem with criminals since you might say I'm similarly inclined. But you're an amateur and I'm a professional and that makes you out of your league. You're in a corner and you'd better know when to fold. I don't give a damn about you if you get in my way. I'll ruin your career. I'll ruin this cushy life you've carved out. And if you piss me off, I may decide to put an end to your miserable existence. Are we clear?”
“You're bluffing,” Sontag whispered.
“Try me.” He headed for the door. “I'll call you in a few hours and tell you exactly what to say at the press conference you're calling this evening. Exactly. No ad-libs. No grandiose verbiage. Well, maybe a little grandiose. You've got to sound natural.”
“I'm not promising anything.”
“Promise? I wouldn't believe you if you gave me your word on a stack of Bibles. You'll do it because you realize that I mean every word I say.”
“It won't work. My crew will know that lately I've done no excavating near the theater.”
“That's why you hired a crew in Morocco and had them working in secret in the middle of the night. This was going to be your career's grand climax and you wanted to keep it to yourself until you could make your splendid announcement. Carpenter has generously agreed to stay in the background and only reap the monetary rewards. The glory is all yours.”
“He did?” Sontag was silent, thinking about it. “It could sound plausible,” he said cautiously.
“It will. Work at it.” He opened the door. “I'll give you the details later.”
Sontag.
Aldo eagerly scanned the article in the Rome newspaper. He vaguely remembered hearing about Herbert Sontag from his father and tried to recall what he'd said. Something about Sontag's larcenous nature and there being a possibility that they could work together. But it had never happened. His father had discovered the Precebio tunnel and hadn't had to bring in another archaeologist.
And now Sontag was back on the scene and boasting of this great find. No details. He was still making the discovery out to be this big secret. He hadn't named the actress found in the anteroom. Maybe he didn't know who she was yet. He'd only made reference to her beauty and the gold and lapis jewelry that adorned her. Another Nefertiti, he was claiming.
The phrase sent a chill through him. No, more beautiful than Nefertiti, Aldo thought. Cira.
And that bastard Sontag was already trying to make her out to be this immortal