"Crystal Skull" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacGregor Rob)

Pierce turned, joined Andrews at the table, and set his glass down. "I realize that now."
"You've always got to guard your rear, Nicholas. Especially when you're dealing with high rollers." He jerked his head toward the interior of the house. "I was just talking with my lawyers about a corporate raider who's after Tropic Air. Believe it or not, I loaned this guy five million dollars a few years ago."
"Can you stop him?"
Andrews shrugged, looked out toward the ocean. "I don't know. I feel like Daedalus, trapped in a labyrinth of my own making. And now the Minotaur's going to eat me alive." He laughed. He didn't sound too concerned. "Ah, hell, it'll work out one way or another."
"Just don't fly too close to the sun," Pierce quipped.
"Icarus, I'm not. My wings aren't about to melt." Andrews regarded him a moment, twisting the gold band on his ring finger. "Business loans can always be recovered. Human losses are another matter. It'll be one year next Wednesday, and I still sorely miss Ginger."
"It must be tough."
"I guess I didn't pay enough attention to her. I thought everything was great, but she was hooked on cocaine. I didn't even know it until she overdosed."
The woman in the blue uniform appeared and asked if they'd like anything. Pierce said he was fine, and Andrews dismissed the woman with a wave of his hand. As she left, K.J. walked out on the veranda carrying a video camera and a tripod.
"You've got a lot of helpers."
Andrews counted them off on his fingers. "Two personal assistants, a secretary, two cooks, a housekeeper, and K.J. That doesn't count my help at the office, or the lawyers." He chuckled. "Lots of company."
Andrews's entourage, Pierce mused, and asked, "Isn't a bodyguard sort of confining?"
Andrews glanced over at K.J., who was setting up the tripod in the corner. "I used to have two of them, but they tripped over each other. I kept K.J. because he was the least intrusive." He flashed a grin, gritting his teeth. The smile was at once friendly and aggressive, ingratiating and contradictory -- a visual oxymoron. A smile he remembered from the past.
Pierce looked from Andrews to K.J. and back again as the bodyguard aimed the camera at him.
"You don't mind if I tape our session, do you?" Andrews asked. "I like to keep a video record of important matters."
Pierce shrugged, wondering if Andrews really considered the meeting important, or if he was simply trying to impress him. Or intimidate him. "No, I guess not. I just hope I don't blow my lines."
Andrews laughed, then turned to the hulking bodyguard-cameraman. "Make sure we're in focus."
Pierce smiled to himself, remembering the semester Andrews had taken a filmmaking class. He'd made a ten-minute, sixteen-millimeter film called _Anything You Want_, a deliberately sophomoric spoof about the advantages of being rich. Andrews was the only actor, and his nonstop monologue had shifted from settings on Wall Street, to the front of a mansion, to a polo field, and finally to an office where he'd stood behind a desk stacked with cash. He'd ended the film by opening a closet door and piles of money had tumbled out, nearly burying him. He'd stepped back, brushed himself off, and turning to the camera, had said: "What do you do with it all?" When Pierce had asked him what the answer was, Andrews had gotten angry. "It's obvious, Nicholas. Anything you want."
The image of Andrews and the cash reminded him of why he was here. He reached into his pocket and dropped the roll of bills on the table. "I want to return this to you. Ray. It's short a couple hundred for my time and trouble."
Andrews brushed a mote of dust from his silk shirt, then turned his attention to Pierce. "I'd still like to retain you, Nicholas. I want you to find the man who killed Paul Loften ... and get the skull back."
Pierce reached for his iced tea. The ice was melting, and the glass was sweating in the sunlight. "That's what the police are for."
"They're overworked. It's just one more murder to them. Besides, they don't have a very good record for recovering stolen property."
Pierce knew he could use the work, but he wasn't interested in getting involved in a murder case. It wasn't the sort of case he took, and he told Andrews as much. "Hell, I don't even own a gun."
Andrews smiled and fiddled with his ring. "We go back a long way, Nicholas. I trusted you to handle my business interests in Santa Marta. You were fearless."
"That was the old days," Pierce said, glancing uneasily at the camera.
"Before the Medellin cartel, before pot was snowed under by cocaine," Andrews said. "Back when drugs were enlightening." His smile faded. "Instead of death traps."
"Jesus, you want this on tape?"
Andrews held up a hand. "Don't worry, Nicholas. It's a private tape. I have no plans to play it in front of the grand jury."
Pierce imagined Andrews studying the tape, watching his expression, looking for hints of hidden thoughts. He did his best to relax, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. "You know, I can't remember you ever smoking a joint. Not once."
"Tell you the truth, I never liked the stuff much. Besides, I was too busy to get high." He reached into his pocket and took out a roll of bills in a silver money clip. "Considering the dangers involved in this case, it's only fair to double your payment."
Pierce watched Andrews count out the cash and lay it next to the other stack. "Ray, I appreciate your generosity, but -- "
"Look, Nick. You help me out, and after this is over I'll straighten things out with the clients you lost. You know I can do it."
Andrews was pressing, and Pierce was wavering. "What about the cops? They're already harassing me like they think I'm involved."
"Tell them you're working for me. Whatever you think is appropriate. Besides, now you can prove them wrong. You'll be working in your own best interest."
Pierce mulled it over a moment. "What's your interest in that skull, Ray?"
"My interest is seeing that it's returned to its owner. I'm presently involved in negotiations with him to buy it."
"When Loften hired me, he said something about a William Redington and -- "
"Another skull," Andrews finished. "A twin, yes. I'd like to find it, too. But the stolen one is the important one right now. My guess is that Professor Redington had something to do with the theft. He's the key."
Or maybe Monica is, Pierce thought. Maya-2. Two what? Two Mayan crystal skulls?
He looked at the money on the table, then shifted his gaze back to Andrews. "What's so important about these skulls?"
"They're priceless works of art. No one knows how they were made. It's very difficult to cut quartz with such precision and detail without causing serious fractures in the crystalline structure."
Pierce hesitated, then picked up one of the stacks of cash and counted out a grand. "This will cover me for three days. Let's see what I come up with."
Andrews smiled, reached for the cash, peeled off five more hundreds, and handed them to Pierce. "For expenses. Get yourself a gun."


7
As Pierce waited for the clerk from the license bureau in Tallahassee to return to the phone, he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. The receiver was still glued to his ear, and he wished he owned a speakerphone. He stared absentmindedly at a photo on the wall next to his desk.
He'd taken it in Ecuador, at an Indian market in Quito, several years ago, and had made an eight-by-ten print of the slide. From a distance it looked like a hodgepodge of colorful ponchos and sweaters, fruits and vegetables. But now as he leaned toward the photo, he saw that in the midst of the crowded market a girl of about ten was smiling and standing straight, seeming to pose for the picture. He'd never noticed her and yet there she was, standing in the center of the photo, beaming at him. Perhaps the lesson in that, he thought, was to pay attention to details.
A woman's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hello, sir."
"Yes, I'm still here."