He walked on. 'If you're interested in insects, I just got some beaut spiders from the Nkomi Shales of Namibia. New shipment of crabs from Heinigen, Germany-those are hot these days, they're getting two, three hundred dollars apiece. Agatized wood-sell that by the pound. Great for tumbling. Crinoids, concretions with ferns. Coprolites-kids love 'em. We got it all-and no one can beat our prices.'
Tom followed. At one point Beezon stopped, pulled out a concretion. 'Lot of these haven't even been split. You can sell them that way, let the customer split them. The kids'll buy three or four. Usually there's a fern or leaf inside. Once in a while a bone or jaw-I've heard of mammal skulls even being found in some. It's like gambling. Here-'
He handed Tom a concretion, and then he swiped a rock hammer off an anvil. 'Go ahead-split it.'
Tom took the hammer and, remembering his cover, fumbled with it a bit before placing the fossil on the anvil.
'Use the chisel end,' said Beezon quietly.
'Right, of course.' Tom turned the hammer around and gave the concretion a whack. It split open, revealing the single leaf of a fossilized fern.
He found Beezon eyeing him thoughtfully.
'What do you have as far as, er, higher-end material goes?' Tom asked.
Beezon went silently to a locked metal door and led him into a smaller, win-dowless room. 'This is where we keep the good stuff-vertebrate fossils in here, mammoth ivory, dinosaur eggs. In fact, I just got a new shipment of hadrosaur eggs from Hunan, at least sixty percent of the shell intact. I'm letting them go at one-fifty apiece. You can get four, five hundred for them.' He unlocked a cabinet, hefted a stone egg out of a nest of crumpled newspaper, held it up. Tom took it, looked it over, gave it back, then fussily dusted off his hand with a silk handkerchief pulled out of his pocket. The little move did not escape Beezon's notice.
'Minimum order a dozen.' He moved on, coming to a long, coffin-shaped metal box, unlocked it to reveal an irregular plaster lump about four feet by three. 'Here's something really sweet, a Struthiomimus, forty percent complete, lacking the skull. Just came in from South Dakota. Legal, strictly legal, came from a private ranch. Still jacketed and in matrix, needs preparation.'
He gave Tom a rather pointed look. 'Everything we deal in here is legal, with signed and notarized documents from the private land owner.' He paused. 'Just what are you after, Mr. Broadbent?' He was not smiling now.
'Just what I said.' The encounter was going exactly as he had hoped: he had aroused Beezon's suspicions.
Beezon leaned forward and said in a low voice. 'You're no fossil dealer.' His eyes flicked over the suit again. 'What are you, a fed?'
Tom shook his head, putting on a sheepish, guilty smile. 'You smoked me out, Mr. Beezon. Congratulations. You're right, I'm no fossil dealer. But I'm also no fed.'
Beezon continued to gaze at him, all his western friendliness gone. 'What are you then?'
'I'm an investment banker.'
'What the hell do you want with me?'
'I work with a small and exclusive clientele in the Far East-Singapore and South Korea. We invest our clients' money. Sometimes our clients seek eccentric investments-old master paintings, gold mines, racehorses, French wines . . .' Tom paused, and then added, 'Dinosaurs.'
There was a long silence. Then Beezon echoed, 'Dinosaurs?'
Tom nodded. 'I guess I didn't cut a convincing figure as a fossil dealer.'
Some of Beezon's friendliness returned, combined with a look of a man taking satisfaction in not having been fooled. 'No, you didn't. First of all, there was that fancy suit. And then as soon as you held that rock hammer I knew you were
no fossil dealer.' He chuckled. 'So, Mr. Broadbent, who is this client of yours and what kind of dinosaur is he in the market for?'
'May we speak freely?'
'Naturally.'
'His name is Mr. Kim, and he is a successful industrialist from South Korea.'
'This Struthiomimus here is a pretty good deal, at one hundred and twenty thousand-'
'My client is not interested in junk.' Tom had shifted his tone, and he hoped the new persona of crisp, arrogant investment banker would be convincing.
Beezon lost his smile. 'This is not junk.'
'My client runs a multibillion-dollar industrial empire in South Korea. The last hostile takeover he launched resulted in the suicide of the CEO on the other side, an occurrence which Mr. Kim did not find displeasing. It's a Darwinian world my client inhabits. He wants a dinosaur for the corporate headquarters that will make a statement about who he is and how he does business.'
There was a long silence. Then Beezon asked, 'And just what kind of dinosaur might that be?'
Tom stretched his lips in a smile. 'What else-but a T. Rex?'
Beezon gave a nervous laugh. 'I see. Surely you're aware that there are only thirteen tyrannosaur skeletons in the world and every single one is in a museum. The last one that came up for sale went for eight and a half million. We're not talking chump change.'
'And I am also aware that there may be one or two others for sale-quietly.'
Beezon coughed. 'It's possible.'
'As for chump change, Mr. Kim will not even consider an investment under ten million. It's simply not worth his time.'
Beezon spoke slowly. 'Ten million?'
'That's the lowest limit. Mr. Kim is expecting to pay up to fifty million, even more.' Tom lowered his voice and leaned forward. 'You will understand, Mr. Beezon, when I tell you he is none too particular about how or where the specimen might have been found. What is important is that it be the right specimen.'
Beezon licked his lips. 'Fifty million? That's a bit out of my league.'
'Then I am sorry to have wasted your time.' Tom turned to leave.
'Now hold on a minute, Mr. Broadbent. I didn't say I couldn't help you.'
Tom paused.
'I might be able to introduce you to someone. If ... well, if my time and effort is compensated, of course.'
'In the investment banking business, Mr. Beezon, everyone involved in a deal is remunerated to the extent of his contribution.'
'That's exactly what I was hoping to hear. As to the commission-'
'We would be prepared to commission you with one percent, at the time of sale, for an introduction to the appropriate person. Satisfactory?'
The calculation clouded Beezon's brow for only a moment and then a faint smile spread on his round face. 'I think we can do business, Mr. Broadbent. Like I said, I know a gentleman-'
'A dinosaur hunter?'
'No, no, not at all. He doesn't like to get his hands dirty. I guess you might call him a dinosaur seller. He lives not far from here, in a little town outside Tuc-
,, son.
There was a silence.
'Well?' said Tom, pitching his voice to just the right level of impatience. 'What are we waiting for?'
12
WEED MADDOX CROUCHED behind the barn, watching. Children were riding around the arena in circles, shouts mingling with laughter. He had been there an hour and only now did the gymkhana for retards or whatever it was seem to be winding down. The kids began to dismount, and soon they were helping to unsaddle and brush down the horses, turning them out one by one in a back pasture. Maddox waited, his muscles aching, all keyed up, wishing he had come at five instead of three. Finally the kids were shouting good-bye and the pickup trucks and soccer-mom SUVs were driving out of the parking area behind the house amid a lot of waving and shouting good- byes.
