phone to call the fuel truck? I don't have enough in my tanks to make Wichita.'
'Sure, just check with the agent behind the desk.'
An hour later, Vincente was winging across Texas on his way to Wichita. Beside him in the copilot's seat were four briefcases stuffed with over six million dollars, smuggled on board just prior to takeoff by one of the two men who drove the refueling truck.
After a thorough search of the plane, and not finding the slightest trace of drugs or other illegal contraband, the Customs agents concluded Vincente was clean. They had investigated him years before and were satisfied he was a respected Costa Rican businessman who made a vast fortune growing coffee beans. It was true that Pedro Vincente owned the second largest coffee plantation in Costa Rica. It was also true he had amassed ten times what his coffee plantation made him as he was also the genius behind a highly successful drug smuggling operation known as Julio Juan Carlos.
Like the Zolars and their criminal empire, Vincente directed his smuggling operation from a distance. Day- to-day activities were left to his lieutenants, none of whom had a clue to his real identity.
Vincente actually had a former wife who was living with his four children on a large farm outside of Wichita. The farm was a gift from him after she begged for a divorce. An airstrip was built on the farm so he could fly in and out from Costa Rica to visit the children while purchasing stolen art and illegal antiquities from the Zolar family. Customs and Drug Enforcement agents were more concerned about what came into the country rather than what went out.
It was late afternoon when Vincente touched down on the narrow strip in the middle of a corn field. A golden-tan jet aircraft with a purple stripe running along its side was parked at one end. A large blue tent with an awning extending from the front had been erected beside the jet. A man in a white linen suit was seated under the awning beside a table set with a picnic lunch. Vincente waved from the cockpit, quickly ran through his postflight checklist, and exited the DC-3. He carried three of the briefcases, leaving one behind.
The man sitting at the table rose from his chair, came forward and embraced Vincente. 'Pedro, always a delight to see you.'
'Joseph, old friend, you don't know how much I look forward to our little encounters.'
'Believe me when I say I'd rather deal with an honorable man like you than all my other clients put together.'
Vincente grinned. 'Fattening the lamb with flattery before the slaughter?'
Zolar laughed easily. 'No, no, not until we've had a few glasses of good champagne to make you mellow.'
Vincente followed Joseph Zolar under the awning and sat down as a young Latin American serving girl poured the champagne and offered hors d'oeuvres. 'Have you brought choice merchandise for me?'
'Here's to a mutual transaction that profits good friends,' Zolar said as they clinked glasses. Then he nodded. 'I have personally selected for your consideration the rarest of rare artifacts from the Incas of Peru. I've also brought extremely valuable religious objects from American Southwest Indians. I guarantee objects that have just arrived from the Andes will lift your matchless collection of pre-Columbian art above that of any museum in the world.'
'I'm anxious to see them.'
'My staff has them displayed inside the tent for your pleasure,' said Zolar.
People who begin to collect scarce and uncommon objects soon become addicts, enslaved by their need to acquire and accumulate what no one else can own. Pedro Vincente was one of the brotherhood who was driven constantly to expand his collection, one that few people knew existed. He was also one of the lucky ones who possessed secret, untaxed funds that could be laundered to satisfy his craving.
Vincente had purchased 70 percent of his cherished collectibles from Zolar over twenty years. It did not bother him in the least that he often paid five or ten times the true value of the objects, especially since most of them were stolen goods. The relationship was advantageous to both. Vincente laundered his drug money, and Zolar used the cash to secretly purchase and expand his ever-increasing inventory of illegal art.
'What makes the Andean artifacts so valuable?' asked Vincente, as they finished off a second glass of champagne.
'They are Chachapoyan.'
'I've never seen Chachapoyan artwork.'
'Few have,' replied Zolar. 'What you are about to view was recently excavated from the lost City of the Dead high in the Andes.'
'I hope you're not about to show me a few potsherds and burial urns,' said Vincente, his anticipation beginning to dwindle. 'No authentic Chachapoyan artifacts have ever come on the market.'
Zolar swept back the tent flap with a dramatic flourish. 'Feast your eyes on the greatest collection of Chachapoyan art ever assembled.'
In his unbridled excitement, Vincente did not notice a small glass case on a stand in one corner of the tent. He walked directly to three long tables with black velvet coverings set up in the shape of a horseshoe. One side table held only textiles, the other ceramics. The center table was set up like an exhibit in a Fifth Avenue jewelry store. The extensive array of precious handcrafted splendor stunned Vincente. He had never seen so many pre- Columbian antiquities so rich in rarity and beauty displayed in one place.
'This is unbelievable!' he gasped. 'You have truly outdone yourself.'
'No dealer anywhere has ever had his hands on such masterworks.'
Vincente went from piece to piece, touching and examining each with a critical eye. Just to feel the embroidered textiles and gold ornaments with their gemstones took Vincente's breath away. It seemed utterly incongruous that such a hoard of wealth was sitting in a corn field in Kansas. At last he finally murmured in awe, 'So this is Chachapoyan art.'
'Every piece original and fully authenticated.'
'These treasures all came from graves?'
'Yes, tombs of royalty and the wealthy.'
'Magnificent.'
'See anything you like?' Zolar asked facetiously.
'Is there more?' asked Vincente as the excitement wore off and he began to turn his mind toward acquisition.
'What you see is everything I have that is Chachapoyan.'
'You're not holding back any major pieces?'
'Absolutely not,' Zolar said with righteous resentment. 'You have first crack at the entire collection. I will not sell it piecemeal. I don't have to tell you, my friend, there are five other collectors waiting in the wings for such an opportunity.'
'I'll give you four million dollars for the lot.'
'I appreciate the richness of your initial offer. But you know me well enough to understand I never haggle. There is one price, and one price only.'
'Which is?'
'Six million.'
Vincente cleared several artifacts, making an open space on one table. He opened the briefcases side by side, one at a time. All were filled with closely packed stacks of high denomination bills. 'I only brought five million.'
Zolar was not fooled for an instant. 'A great pity I have to pass. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have sold the collection to.'
'But I am your best customer,' complained Vincente.
'I can't deny that,' said Zolar. 'We are like brothers. I am the only man who knows of your secret activities, and you are the only one outside my family who knows mine. Why do you put me through this ordeal every time we deal? You should know better by now.'
Suddenly Vincente laughed and gave a typically Latin shrug. 'What is the use? You know I have more money than I can ever spend. Having the artifacts in my possession makes me a happy man. Forgive my bargaining habits. Paying retail was never a tradition in my family.'
'Your reserve supply of cash is still in your aircraft, of course.'
