Serpent (34 page)

"Yeah, and so was her 'husband,' Mr Wingate from Spokane."

"The mysterious scar-faced man with the disappearing beard. Has anything turned up on him?"

"He must have worn his gloves to bed," Austin replied with a frown. "The lab boys even checked the handle of the shovel he was using for fingerprints. Nothing."

"Smart move having a mole on the project;" Zavala said with unveiled admiration. "It certainly took the stinger out of our sting."

Look at it as a learning experience," Austin said, his voice gaining an edge. "We've learned not to underestimate these guys. We know they're well organized." He tapped the photo with his finger. And that they don't like loose ends."

"We've also confirmed the Time-Quest connection. They assign a couple of volunteers to the project, then kidnap them while they send in ringers. Time-Quest comes out clean. Pretty clever"

"Diabolically so. What do you make of Wingate's friendly wave just before the shed blew up and the offhand comment the guards told me he made?"

" 'Nice try'? You have to admit he had a sense of humor for a murderer."

"You don't see me laughing. He was rubbing it in when he didn't have to. Why?"

"He just felt like rubbing it in?"

"Maybe." Austin scratched his chin in thought. "I think it was partly just plain arrogance. He was telling us he knows who we are and that he is part of something so big he can treat us as a joke."

"Bigger than NUMA?"

"I wish I knew, Joe." Austin replaced the publicity photo in the folder "I wish I knew."

Any idea where we go next?"

"No more stings. Lucky I was recuperating when that scheme as dreamed up. We'll keep looking into the hovercraft link and the murder."

"Not exactly a well-lit highway we're following," Zavala said. "What if I flew down to San Antonio and checked out Time-Quest personally?"

"Might be worth a looksee. I'd be interested in Time-Quest's financial backing.

A soft knock came at the door. Trout entered, ducking his head under the jamb. He had a serious look on his face, but this was standard with Trout.

"Sorry I'm late, guys. I've been talking to the Nereus about Gamay."

Clearly worried about his wife, Trout had called NUMA frequently as they flew across the country, to see if Gamay had checked in.

"Any word?" Austin asked.

Trout settled his lanky form into a chair and shook his head. "They confirmed that she got a ride to shore from the ship. That she rented a Jeep. That she left word she was going to meet Professor Chi, the museum anthropologist she's been eager to. see. And that she'd be back that evening."

"Did she and this Dr. Chi ever get together?"

Trout shifted uneasily. "I don't know. The folks down there are still trying to get a hold of Chi. Seems he spends a lot of time out in the field, so they said. not to worry. But it's not like Gamay to stay out of touch."

"What do you want to do, Paul?"

"I know you need me here," Trout said apologetically, "but I'd like to get back to the Yucatan for a few days to check things out. It's tough trying to follow Gamay's track based on second or thirdhand accounts."

Austin nodded. "Joe's heading down to Texas for a look at Time-Quest. I'll be in Washington working up a report on the Arizona fiasco. Why don't you take forty-eight hours to see what you can learn? If you need more time I'll 'smooth things with Sandecker."

"Thanks, Kurt," Trout said, brightening. "I've lined up a flight that will get me down there early tonight. I've got a couple of hours before then I can spare for the team"

Any ideas lurking behind that broad intellectual forehead?"

Trout wrinkled his brow "The one thing we've solidly established is that the trigger in all of these incidents is the discovery of pre-Columbian artifacts."

"Yes, that's a given," replied Austin, "but we don't know why."

Zavala murmured, "In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue."

Austin, who'd been deep in thought, looked up with a bemused expression. "What did you say?"

"The first line of a poem from grade school. You probably had to learn the same rhyme."

"I did, and I don't remember the rest of it any better than you do."

"I wasn't trying to get an A in poetry," Zavala said. "I was thinking. Maybe pre-Columbian isn't the key. Maybe it's Columbus.'

"Good point," Trout said.

"It is?"'Zavala replied. Even he wasn't so sure.

"Paul is right," Austin said. "You can't have pre-Columbian without Columbus."

Zavala grinned. "In fourteen hundred and ninetytwo . . ."

"Exactly. That dumb rhyme pretty much sums up what most of us know about Columbus. The date he sailed and the fact we get a three-day weekend in October because of him. But what do we really know about old Chris? Especially as it might apply to these murderous attacks."

Trout's analytical brain was at work "I think I see where you're headed. We know there's an indirect link between Columbus and these incidents. Ergo . . ."

"Keep on ergoing," Zavala encouraged.

"Ergo the question: Is there a direct link?"

They exchanged glances.

"Perlmutter," they uttered in unison.

Austin grabbed the phone and punched out a number. In a spacious Georgetown carriage house the private line gave off a ring like a ship's bell. The receiver was plucked from its cradle by a plump hand belonging to a man who was not quite as wide as a barn door. He wore plummy purple pajamas under a red and gold paisley robe. He sat in a chair reading one of the thousands of books that seemed to fill every cubic inch of every room.

"St. Julien Perlmutter here," he said through a magnificent gray beard. "State your business in a brief manner."

"Christopher Columbus," Austin said. "Is that brief enough for you?"

"My God, is that you, Kurt? I heard you've been fighting pirates off the Barbary Coast."

"Just a humble government servant doing my job. Somebody has to keep the seas safe for American shipping."

"Live and learn, my friend. I was unaware: that the U.S. Navy had been disbanded in favor of NUMA."

"We've decided to give them another chance to shape up. As you know, pirates aren't NUMA's usual business."

"Ah, yes. So you're interested in the Admiral of the Ocean Sea? You know, it's a wonder he ever made it west of the Canary Islands."

"Bad navigation?"

"Heavens, no. Dead reckoning was adequate for the task at hand. It would have been hard for him to have missed two continents connected by an isthmus even though that's what happened. I'm talking about the crew's food. Did you know that the basic ration was a pound a day of hard biscuit, salt meat, salt fish, and olive oil? Beans and chickpeas, of course, with almonds and raisins for dessert," he said with horror in his voice. "The only bright spot was the availability of fresh fish."

Austin sensed Perlmutter was drifting off onto a dissertation on fine food and wines, his burning passion for which was equaled only by his interest in ships and shipwrecks. Perlmutter was the classic gourmand and bon vivant. Weighing in at nearly four hundred pounds, his corpulent figure was a familiar and awe-inspiring sight at the most elegant restaurants, where he often hosted sumptuous dinners.

"Don't forget the weevils that developed in their food," Austin said, trying to move Perlmutter away from his favorite subject.

"I can't imagine what weevils would be like. I've tried locusts and grubs in Africa. Good sources of protein, I'm told, but if I want something that tastes like chicken, I'll eat chicken. You'll have to tell me precisely what you want to know. Why are you so curious about Columbus, if I may ask?"

Perlmutter listened quietly, his encyclopedic mind absorbing every detail, as Austin summarized the story, from the Moroccan murders to the blunted sting.

"I think I see what you need. You want to know why Columbus would inspire anyone to kill. It wouldn't be the first time Columbus excited tempers. He was an incredible survivor. He was wrong about discovering America, yet that is what he is famous for. To his dying day he claimed to have discovered China. He never acknowledged the existence of an entire continent. He started the slave trade in the Americas and brought the terrible glories of the Spanish Inquisition to the New World. He was obsessed with gold. He was either a saint or a scoundrel, depending on your point of view."

"That was then. I'm talking about now Why would somebody murder to prevent his discoveries from being discredited? All I need is one link."

"His voyages have produced tons of written material and millions of pages. What has been written about the old boy could fill an entire library."

"I'm aware of that, which is why I called. You're the only one I know who could brush away the dross."

"Flattery will get you nowhere . . ."

"I'll repay your work with dinner at a restaurant of your choice."

. . . But food will. How could any man resist twin seductions of his ego and appetite? I'll start digging right after I have lunch.".

22 PERLMUTTER CHEWED OVER AUSTIN'S request along with succulent breast of duck stuffed with grapes on focaccia, left over from 'dinner the night before, complemented with a rare Marcassin Chardonnay. Austin would rue the day Perlmutter tempted him with food. There was a new French restaurant in Alexandria he was dying to try. A bit pricey perhaps, but a deal was a deal. His blue eyes danced merrily in his ruddy round face in anticipation. Austin would get his money's worth: Perlmutter knew without turning a page that an ocean of literature had been written on the subject of Christopher Columbus. Too vast to simply jump in and start swimming. He would need a guide, and there was none better he could think of.

After tidying up from lunch he pawed through his card file and dialed an overseas number.

"Buena dies," came a deep voice on the other end.

"Good morning, Juan."

Ah Julien! What a pleasant surprise. All goes well with you?"

"Very well. And you, my old friend?"

"Older than the last time. we talked," the Spaniard said with a chuckle, "but let us discuss more agreeable subjects. I trust you called to inform me that you have tried my recipe for cordonices emhoja de parra."

"The quail in grape leaves was superb. As you advised I stuffed each quail with a fresh fig instead of the thyme and lemon zest. The results were spectacular. I also used mesquite wood in the grill."

Perlmutter had met Juan Ortega in Madrid at a convocation of rare book collectors. They discovered that in addition to an obsession with antique volumes, they shared a gourmand's fondness for fine dining. They tried to get together at least once a year to indulge their gustatory yearnings and traded recipes in between.

"Mesquite! A stroke of genius. I should expect nothing less. I'm glad the recipe pleased you. No doubt you have something for me to try." Perlmutter could almost hear Ortega licking his lips.

"Yes, in a moment. But there is another reason for my call. I must request the use of your skills not as a master chef but as Juan Ortega, the greatest living authority on Christopher Columbus."

"You are too kind, my friend," Ortega ducked. "I am only one of many historians who have written books on the subject."