The Collectors cc-2

by David Baldacci

  “So?” Reuben said.

  “So homes with a pitched roof of this vintage usually have an attic.”

  Milton said, “I didn’t see anything like that upstairs.”

  “You wouldn’t if the access were hidden,” Stone replied.

  Reuben checked his watch. “What’s taking the book geeks so long? You think they’re fighting?”

  “I don’t really see those two chucking first editions at each other,” Milton said.

  “Whatever it is they’re doing, let’s just hope they keep it up for a little while longer,” Stone said. “Milton, you stay down here and keep watch. If you hear the elevator, call up to us.”

  It took a few minutes, but Stone found the attic access behind a rack of clothes in DeHaven’s closet. It was locked, but Stone had brought a pick and tension tool with him, and the lock quickly succumbed to his prodding.

  “They must have added this closet later,” Reuben said.

  Stone nodded. “Walk-in closets weren’t very popular in the nineteenth century.”

  They headed up the stairs. Along the way, Stone found and hit a light switch; this illuminated their path only weakly. They arrived at the top of the stairs and looked around the large space. It appeared unchanged since the day the home had been built. There were a few boxes and old suitcases, but a quick examination revealed them to be either empty or full of old junk.

  Reuben spotted it first, positioned in front of a half-moon window of leaded glass. “Why a telescope here?” he asked.

  “Well, you wouldn’t have one in the basement, would you?”

  Reuben looked through it. “Holy shit!”

  “What?” Stone exclaimed.

  “It’s pointed at the house next door.”

  “Whose house is it?”

  “How do I—” Reuben stopped and adjusted the eyepiece. “Damn!”

  “What is it? Let me see.”

  “Now, wait a minute, Oliver,” Reuben said. “Let me just execute a nice long recon.”

  Stone waited a few moments and then pushed his friend out of the way. Wiping the eyepiece clear, he gazed through a window of the house next to DeHaven’s. The drapes were drawn, but this window also had a half-sphere of glass above, which the drapes didn’t cover. It was only from this high vantage point that one could see into the room. And now Stone saw what had fully captured Reuben’s attention. The room was a bedroom. And Cornelius Behan was sitting naked on a large four-poster while a tall and lovely brunet did a slow striptease for him. The dress had already hit the polished floor, as had a black slip. She was now undoing her bra. When this fell, she was left with nothing on save four-inch heels and a G-string.

  “Come on, Oliver, it’s my turn,” Reuben called out, his big hand on Stone’s shoulder. Stone didn’t budge. “Hey, that’s not fair, I saw the damn telescope first,” Reuben protested.

  As Stone continued to watch, the panties slid down the young woman’s long legs. She stepped out of them and tossed them to Behan, who promptly put them over a certain part of his anatomy. She laughed, grasped one of the bedposts and proceeded to engage in a professional-looking pole dance. When she took off her shoes and slinked barefoot and naked toward the eagerly awaiting Behan, Stone gave up the telescope to his friend. “I’ve seen a picture of Mrs. Behan in the newspaper. That is not the woman.”

  Reuben adjusted the eyepiece. “Damn it, you got it all out of focus,” he groused.

  “Well, you fogged up the glass.”

  Reuben settled down to watch. “A little, homely man and that beautiful woman: How does that crap happen?”

  “Oh, I could give you about a billion reasons.” Stone added thoughtfully, “So DeHaven was a Peeping Tom.”

  “Hell, can you blame him?” Reuben exclaimed. “Ow, that looked like it hurt. Oh, it’s okay. It looked worse than it was . . . Wow, the gal’s limber too. Talk about heels over head.”

  Stone perked up. “What was that?”

  Reuben was too busy giving the play-by-play to answer. “Okay, they’re on the floor. Oh, get this, now she’s lifted him up in the air.”

  “Reuben, that’s Milton calling us. Caleb and Pearl must be coming.”

  Reuben didn’t budge. “What the hell? I’ve never seen that move outside a monkey house. That chandelier must be really anchored to the damn ceiling.”

  “Reuben! Come on!”

  “How is she doing that with no freaking hands?”

  Stone grabbed his friend and pulled him toward the door. “Now!”

  Stone managed to push him down the stairs with Reuben complaining the whole time. They arrived on the main level just as Caleb and Pearl emerged from the elevator.

  As Milton shot Stone and Reuben murderous glances, no doubt for cutting it so close, the rare book dealer looked stunned while Caleb appeared triumphant.

  “I know it must’ve been a shock,” he said, patting Pearl on the shoulder. “But I did tell you it was an original.”

  “So it is a 1640 edition?” Stone asked.

  Pearl nodded dumbly. “And I held it, in these two hands, I held it.” He sat down in a chair. “I almost fainted down there. Shaw here had to fetch me some water.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Caleb said in a sympathetic tone that was betrayed by his broad grin.

  “This morning I called every institution that owns a Psalm Book,” Pearl said. “Yale, the Library of Congress, Old South Church in Boston, everyone. They confirmed that all was fine.” He wiped his face with a handkerchief.

  Caleb took up the story. “We went over all the accepted points of authenticity regarding the book. That’s what took us so long.”

  “I came convinced it was a forgery,” Pearl admitted. “But even though we examined the entire book, I knew from the opening pages that it was real. I could tell largely from the uneven presswork. The printer thinned his ink sometimes, or else there were splotches of it across the printing elements. In first editions you will always see signs of dried ink caked in between the letters, which makes it very difficult to read. It was not the norm back then to wash one’s typeset letters. The other points one would expect to see, indeed have to see in a first edition, are all there. All there,” he repeated.

  “Of course, the authenticity will have to be confirmed by a team of experts undertaking stylistic, historical and scientific analysis,” Caleb noted.

  “Precisely,” Pearl agreed. “Still, I believe in my heart what their answer will be.”

  Stone said, “That there’s a twelfth existing copy of the Psalm Book?”

  “Indeed,” Pearl confirmed quietly. “And Jonathan DeHaven had it.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe he never told me. To have one of the world’s rarest books, one that some of the greatest collectors of all time never possessed. And to keep it a secret. Why?” He looked at Caleb helplessly. “Why, Shaw?”

  “I don’t know,” Caleb acknowledged.

  “What would something like that be worth?” Reuben asked.

  “Worth?” Pearl exclaimed. “Worth? It’s priceless!”

  “Well, if you’re going to sell it, somebody has to put a price on it.”

  Pearl stood and started pacing. “The price will be whatever the highest bid is. And it will run to many, many millions of dollars. There are some collectors and institutions flush with cash right now, and the interest will be extraordinary. There hasn’t been a Psalm Book on the market for over six decades. This will be the positively last chance for some to get it for their collection.” He stopped pacing and looked at Caleb. “And I would be honored to arrange the auction. I could do it in conjunction with Sotheby’s or Christie’s.”

  Caleb drew a deep breath. “This is a lot to take in, Mr. Pearl. Let me just think about everything for a day or two, and then I’ll phone you.”

  Pearl looked disappointed but managed a smile. “I will eagerly await your call.”

  After Pearl had left, Stone said, “Caleb, while you were down in the vault, we searched the house.”
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br />   “You did what!” Caleb exclaimed. “Oliver, that is outrageous. I’m only allowed in this house as Jonathan’s literary executor. I have no right to go through his other possessions, and neither do you.”

  “Tell him about the telescope,” Reuben prompted with a smug look.

  Stone did so, and Caleb’s anger was replaced with astonishment. He said, “Jonathan watching people having sex. That’s repulsive.”

  “No, it’s really not,” Reuben replied earnestly. “It’s actually very uplifting in a way. You wanna go check it out with me?”

  “No, Reuben!” Stone said firmly. Then he showed Caleb the photo of the young woman and DeHaven.

  “If she was Jonathan’s wife, that was before I knew him,” Caleb said.

  “If he kept the photo, he might have been in touch with her,” Milton suggested.

  Stone said, “If so, she might be someone we need to find.” He glanced at the book Caleb was holding. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a book in Jonathan’s collection that needs some work. It got some water damage somehow. I didn’t notice it the last time we were here. I’m going to take it into the conservation department at the library. Our people are the best in the world. One of them does some freelance work on the side. I’m sure he can repair it.”

  Stone nodded and said in a warning tone, “Jonathan DeHaven inexplicably had one of the world’s most rare books. He was spying on an adulterous defense contractor and maybe saw more than sex. And no one knows how he really died.” He looked at his friends. “I think we have our work cut out for us.”

  “Why do we have to do anything?” Reuben asked.

  Stone looked at him. “Jonathan DeHaven might have been murdered. Someone followed us. Caleb works at the library, and he’s been commissioned to be DeHaven’s literary executor. If Cornelius Behan was involved in DeHaven’s death, he now might suspect that Caleb knows something. That might put Caleb at risk. So the sooner we find out the truth, the better.”

  “Wonderful,” Caleb said sarcastically. “I just hope I manage to live through it.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “YOU WILL RECEIVE AN E-MAIL from my people,” Annabelle said. She was standing in the operations center at the Pompeii Casino with several of Bagger’s people in attendance. “When you open the e-mail, it will provide you with detailed instructions.”

  One of the men spoke up. “We don’t like opening e-mails if we don’t know where they’re from.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Hit it with all your antivirus stuff. I’m assuming you’re state-of-the-art.”

  “We are,” the same man said confidently.

  “Then do like the lady told you and hit it hard,” Bagger said impatiently.

  Leo sat in one corner of the room, his gaze resolutely on the other men. His job was to note any degree of suspicion or concern while Annabelle went through her spiel. It didn’t hurt matters that she was wearing a very clingy, short skirt, with no hose and a blouse with the top two buttons undone. Every guy in the room followed each glimpse of her upper thighs and cleavage. And if they were doing that, they weren’t thinking as clearly as they should have been. Annabelle Conroy, Leo had long ago learned, used every asset in her arsenal.

  “The only form of acceptable communication will be through the secure Web portal contained in the e-mail. Under no circumstances will you use your phone or fax, both of which can be monitored. Correction,” she added, glancing at Bagger, “both of which are monitored.”

  Bagger raised his eyebrows on that comment but said, “You heard the woman. Nothing but the Net.” Bagger was no doubt secure in his cooperation because he had an ace, or in this case, two aces in the hole. He would be holding Annabelle and Leo until his money came back.

  “The e-mail will tell you where and how to send the funds. Two days later the funds will be automatically wired back to your account, plus the interest.”

  “And one million becomes one point one million in a couple of days, right?” Bagger said.

  Annabelle nodded. “Just like we said, Jerry. Not a bad payday.”

  “It better be,” he said ominously. “When can we start?”

  Annabelle checked her watch. “The e-mail should be coming over your system right about now.”

  Bagger snapped his fingers, and one of his men checked the computer.

  “Here it is,” the man said. He hit a few buttons. “I’m just running it through some extra security scans to make sure it’s clean.”

  Two minutes went by, and then the IT guy looked up. “Okay, it’s good.”

  “Open it,” Bagger ordered.

  “You have your own money-wiring capabilities, right?” Annabelle asked, even though her careful background research had already provided the answer.

  Bagger said, “Our system is piggybacked right onto the bank’s. I don’t like third parties controlling my money or necessarily knowing where my money’s going. The funds come from the bank right to us, and we send the wire out ourselves. That’s the way I like it.”

  I like it too, Annabelle said to herself.

  Ten minutes later $1 million of Jerry Bagger’s money was on its way to a very special account.

  Leaving the office, Bagger said to Annabelle, “All right, you’re my ‘guest’ for the next forty-eight hours. Give us a chance to get to know each other better.” He smiled and let his gaze run up and down her long, lithe figure.

  “Sounds good,” Annabelle said.

  “Yeah, sounds good,” Leo added.

  Bagger looked at Leo like he’d forgotten he was part of the deal. “Right,” he muttered.

  Over the next two days they ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with Bagger. At all other times Bagger’s men stood outside their hotel rooms at the Pompeii and accompanied them wherever they went. Annabelle also sat up late into the night having drinks with the casino king, but expertly playing off his advances with just enough encouragement to allow the man to remain hopeful. She carefully let out facts of her “history,” with just enough held back to guarantee intrigue and continued interest. He talked a lot about himself, with all the bravado and conceit one would have expected from such a man.

  “I think you would’ve made a good spy, Jerry,” she said admiringly as they relaxed on his couch over a couple of martinis. “You’ve got brains and nerve, that’s a rare combination.”

  “Look who’s talking.” He slid closer to her, gave her thigh a pat. Then he tried to grab a quick kiss, but she turned away.

  “Jerry, I could get into real trouble going down that road.”

  “Who’s gonna tell? Look, we’re all alone. I know I’m not a spring chicken, but I work out every day, and I think I’ll surprise you between the sheets, baby.”

  “Just give me some time. It’s not like I’m not attracted to you, but I’ve got a lot going on right now. Okay?” She gave him a peck on the cheek, and he finally backed off.

  At the end of the two-day period Bagger was $100,000 richer.

  “Want to try for five million, Jerry? That’ll get you half a million in interest in forty-eight hours.” Annabelle was casually perched on Bagger’s desk, her long legs crossed, while Leo sat on the couch.

  “Only if you hang around until it comes back,” Bagger said.

  She winked. “That’s part of the deal, Jerry. You get me all to yourself.”

  “So you keep telling me. Where’d my money go, by the way?”

  “Like I told you, El Banco del Caribe.”

  “No, I mean, what overseas operation did it fund?”

  Leo spoke up. “She could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you both.” There were a few moments of awkward silence until Annabelle laughed. Then Leo and finally Bagger joined in, the latter a little reluctantly.

  Two days later the $5-million wire had ballooned by $500,000.

  “Damn,” Bagger said, “this is better than printing money.” He was again in his office with Annabelle and Leo. “I know Uncle Sam has got a ton of dough, but how can even the gov
ernment afford this?”

  Annabelle shrugged. “We can’t. That’s why we have trillion-dollar deficits. If we need more money, we just sell more T-bills to the Saudis and the Chinese. It won’t work forever, but it does for now.” She glanced at Bagger and put a hand on his arm. “But if you’re feeling sorry for Uncle Sam, Jerry, you can let us use your money for free.”

  He laughed. “My motto hasn’t changed in forty years: Every asshole for himself.”

  And a motto never fit anyone better than that one does you, Annabelle thought even as she smiled in mock admiration at the man.

  Bagger leaned forward in his chair, glancing at Leo as he did so. In a low voice he said to her, “You ever lose the shadow?”

  Annabelle said, “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how good of friends you and I become.”

  “I know how we can be really good friends.”

  “Tell me.”

  “We do a run for ten million, and I get an even mil for my troubles. Can Uncle Sam cover that action?”

  “Just wire the money, Jerry.”

  “And you stay right here until I get it back?”

  “We both do,” Leo said.

  Bagger grimaced and spoke in an even lower voice to her so Leo couldn’t hear. “I suppose I’d get in deep shit for whacking him, wouldn’t I?”

  “You remember the scum of the scum I talked to you about? You harm him, they show up on your doorstep. I really wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Well, damn,” Bagger complained.

  “It’s not a total loss, Jerry. In two days you make a million bucks for doing nothing except eating and drinking with me.”

  “I wanna do more than that, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Jerry, I knew that the first time you tried to put your hand up my dress.”

  Bagger roared with laughter. “I like your style, lady. You’re too good for the government. You should come and work for me. We’d take this town to a new level.”

  “I’m always open to future prospects. But for now why don’t we work on the next million for you? I want you to be able to afford to keep me in the manner to which I’ve grown accustomed.” She patted his hand, letting a fingernail dig lightly into his palm. She felt the shudder run through the man’s entire body.