gently grasped the head and tried to turn it clockwise. It remained stationary. She tried the opposite direction, and the head rotated until it was facing backward. There was a noticeable click, and one side of the mirror came ajar and stopped a few centimeters from the wall.
She peered through the crack down the hidden stairwell and said, 'Good call, boss.'
Rummel paled as Gaskill silently swung the mirror wide open. He smiled broadly as he was swept by a wave of satisfaction. This was what Gaskill liked best about his job, the game of wits culminating in ultimate triumph over his antagonist.
'Will you please lead the way, Mr. Rummel?'
'The apartment below belongs to my attorney, Sidney Kammer,' said Rummel, a shrewd gleam forming in his eyes. 'Your warrant only authorizes you to search my penthouse.'
Gaskill groped about in his coat pocket for a moment before extracting a small box containing a bass plug, a fishing lure he had purchased the day before. He extended his hand and dropped the box down the stairs. 'Forgive my clumsiness. I hope Mr. Kammer doesn't mind if I retrieve my property.'
'That's trespassing!' Rummel blurted.
There was no reply. Followed by Pottle, the burly Customs agent was already descending the stairway, pausing only to retrieve his bass plug box. What he saw upon reaching the floor below took his breath away.
Magnificent pre-Columbian artworks filled room after room of the apartment. Glass-enclosed Incan textiles hung from the ceilings. One entire room was devoted solely to ceremonial masks. Another held religious altars and burial urns. Others were filled with ornate headdresses, elaborately painted ceramics, and exotic sculptures. All doors in the apartment had been removed for easier access, the kitchen and bathrooms stripped of their sinks, cupboards and accessories to provide more space for the immense collection. Gaskill and Pottle stood overwhelmed by the spectacular array of antiquities. The quantity went far beyond what they expected.
After the initial amazement faded, Gaskill rushed from room to room, searching for the piece de resistance of the collection. What he found was a shattered, empty glass case in the center of a room. Disillusionment flooded over him.
'Mr. Rummel!' he shouted. 'Come here!'
Escorted by Swain, a thoroughly defeated and distraught Rummel shuffled slowly into the exhibition room. He froze in sudden horror as though one of the Inca battle lances on the wall had pierced his stomach. 'It's gone!' he gasped. 'The Golden Body Suit of Tiapollo is gone.'
Gaskill's face went tight and cold. The floor around the empty display case was flanked by a pile of furniture consisting of a couch, end tables, and two chairs. He looked from Pottle to Swain. 'The movers,' he rasped in a tone barely audible. 'They've stolen the suit from right under our noses.'
'They left the building over an hour ago,' said Swain tonelessly.
Pottle looked dazed. 'Too late to mount a search. They've already stashed the suit by now.' Then he added, 'If it isn't on an airplane flying out of the country.'
Gaskill sank into one of the chairs. 'To have come so close,' he murmured vacantly. 'God forbid the suit won't be lost for another seventy-six years.'
IN SEARCH OF THE CONCEPCION
Peru's principal seaport, Callao, was founded by Francisco Pizarro in 1537 and quickly became the main shipping port for the gold and silver plundered from the Inca empire. Appropriately, the port itself was plundered by Francis Drake forty-one years later. Spain's conquest of Peru ended almost at the spot where it had begun. The last of the Spanish forces surrendered to Simon Bolivar at Callao in 1825, and Peru became a sovereign nation for the first time since the fall of the Incas. Now joined with Lima as one sprawling metropolitan area, the combined cities host a population of nearly 6.5 million.
Situated on the west bank of the Andes along the lowlands, Callao and Lima have an annual rainfall of only 41 millimeters (1.5 inches), making the surrounding land area one of the earth's chilliest and driest deserts in the lower latitudes. Winter fog supports thin ground cover and mesquite and little else. The only water, besides excessive humidity, flows down several streams and the Rimac River from the Andes.
After rounding the northern tip of San Lorenzo, the large offshore island that protects Callao's natural maritime shelter, Captain Stewart ordered slow speed as a launch came alongside the Deep Fathom and the harbor pilot jumped onto a boarding ladder and climbed on board. Once the pilot steered the ship safely inside the main channel, Captain Stewart took command of the bridge again and adroitly eased the big research ship to a stop beside the dock of the main passenger terminal. Under his watchful eye the mooring lines were slipped over big, rusty bollards. Then he shut down his automatic control system, rang his chief engineer, and told him that he was through with the engines.
Everyone lining the ship's rail was surprised to see over a thousand people jamming the dock. Along with an armed military security force and a large contingent of police, TV news cameras and press photographers quickly began jockeying for position as the gangway was lowered. Beyond the news media stood a group of smiling government officials, and behind them the happily waving parents of the archaeology students.
'Still no Dixieland band playing `Waiting for the Robert E. Lee,' ' Pitt said, feigning a disappointed tone.
'Nothing like a cheering populace to snap one out of depression,' said Giordino, gazing at the unexpected reception.
'I never expected so grand a turnout,' murmured Shannon in awe. 'I can't believe word spread so fast.'
Miles Rodgers lifted one of three cameras hung around his neck and began shooting. 'Looks to me like half the Peruvian government turned out.'
The dock was filled with an air of excitement. Small children were waving Peruvian and American flags. A roar came from the crowd as the archaeology students climbed out on the bridge wing and began waving and shouting as they recognized their parents. Only Stewart looked uneasy.
'My God, I hope they all don't expect to storm aboard my ship.'
'Too many boarders to repel.' Giordino shrugged. 'Better to haul down your flag and plead for mercy.'
'I told you my students came from influential families,' said Shannon happily.
Unnoticed by the crowd, a small man wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase expertly squeezed through the milling throng and slipped around the cordon of security guards. He bounded up the still-lowering gangway before anyone could stop him and leaped onto the deck with the elated expression of a running back who has just crossed a goal line. He approached Pitt and Giordino and grinned.
'Why is it prudence and discretion are beyond your talents?'
'We try not to fly in the face of public opinion,' Pitt said before smiling broadly and embracing the little man. 'Good to see you, Rudi.'
'Seems we can't get away from you,' said Giordino warmly.
Rudi Gunn, the deputy director of NUMA, shook Stewart's hand and was introduced to Shannon and Rodgers. 'Will you excuse me if I borrow these two rogues before the welcoming ceremonies?' he asked graciously.
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped through a hatch and walked down an alleyway with ease. Gunn had helped design the Deep Fathom and was very familiar with the ship's deck layout. He stopped before the doorway to the conference room, opened it and entered. He went directly to the head of a long table and fished through his briefcase for a yellow legal pad filled with notations as Pitt and Giordino settled into a pair of leather chairs.
Though Giordino and Gunn were both short, they were as unalike as a gibbon and a bulldog. While Gunn was as slight as a girl, Giordino was a huge walking muscle. They also differed in brain power. Giordino was shrewd and street smart. Gunn was sheer genius. Number one in his class at the Naval Academy, and a former navy commander who could easily have ascended to a top staff job in the Navy Department, he preferred the underwater science of NUMA to the science of warfare. Extremely nearsighted, he peered through heavy hornrimmed glasses, but never missed the slightest movement within two hundred yards.
