Brian Sadler Archaeology 01 - The Bethlehem Scroll

by Bill Thompson

  “Wait a moment, Darius. If it weren’t for me and my deals, as you call them, you wouldn’t have met Brian Sadler in the first place, so you wouldn’t have his million and a half personal investment. Nor would you have $4 million of public money that Warren Taylor and Currant raised for you. Thanks to me this archaeology buff got the investment proposal from Bijan Rarities in the first place. Thanks to me WT&C did the offering without hesitating. Keep all that in mind, my high and mighty friend, and remember that you have deals of your own. Think about whether you want Sadler involved in those.”

  “Listen to me, Johnny. Back off this transaction now. Stay away from Brian Sadler. He’s the best thing that’s happened to me in years. Keep your greasy hands off him.”

  There was silence on the phone for perhaps thirty seconds. Then John Spedino said calmly, “Darius, if you ever call me Johnny again, I’ll send someone around to talk to you. You know what I mean. You’ve seen my people talk to others. What nerve you have, telling me what to do. And calling me greasy. Are you trying to make me angry?”

  Then his voice turned hard, cold. “You would be nothing without me, you little prick. You needed help with money and I helped you. Not once, but over and over. Now your prestigious little gallery and Brian Sadler are going to help me.”

  “You leave me no choice. I’ve dealt with you too long already. I’m not going to be your hostage any more. Maybe you can take me down, Johnny. I’m not scared of you. You won’t take the firm and Brian Sadler down. I won’t let it happen.”

  He hung up.

  -----

  By five pm the man who would cause Darius Nazir to die had spent a half hour looking at the alleys behind Nazir’s apartment building. Earlier today the man received a call and began to prepare for the job he was assigned. He learned that Nazir ate dinner out every evening around 7:30. Armed with a photo, the man stood at the intersection of Park Avenue and 86th Street, half a block away from Darius’ building and watched until he left.

  Shortly thereafter the intruder used a lock pick and easily gained access to the building through a back entrance in the alley. He took a service elevator to Nazir’s floor and was in his flat in seconds.

  The man had a number of ways he could do his job. He hoped for the best – the easiest way. Medicine bottles sat by the bathroom sink. One had large capsules filled with liquid. The label said, “Take three before bedtime.”

  Excellent. The man counted five capsules in the bottle. He took one, held it in his gloved hand and injected it with liquid in a syringe he took from his pocket.

  There was no guarantee Darius Nazir would take his medication tonight or that one of the three he took today would be the right one. In a day or two he’d take the right pill. Death would occur within a couple of hours, leaving no suspicion of foul play.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brian spent the afternoon in his office. He went through the contents of Weisenberg’s envelope – a description of how a sample transaction worked, photocopies of the bearer bonds themselves, a sample transfer document and the letter of attestation from the London law firm.

  He read everything, made notes and laid out the transaction in a flowchart. That made it easier to understand. It was nearly six when he finally took a break. He had to tell Darius good night – this had been their first argument and Brian wanted to smooth things over.

  Collette and Jason were closing things up. She had just shut the vault and set its alarm.

  “Is Darius here?”

  “He left around noon, right after he talked with you. We haven’t seen him since. I presume he had errands to run since he just got in from Chicago. Should I try to reach him on his cell?”

  Brian said he’d catch up with him in the morning.

  He put on his overcoat and muffler and walked out into a light snowfall. He checked his cell phone once again to see if he could have missed Nicole’s call. As he held it in his hand it rang. He saw her name and number displayed.

  “Hey. I thought you’d forgotten about me.” As they talked he made his way toward the Lexington Avenue subway station.

  He words were clipped. “I’ve been busy, Brian. I read these documents you sent me. What the hell is all this about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My God. Borrowing somebody’s bearer bonds? Who in hell would do that? If this deal blew up, whoever did this would be stuck holding a huge bag of problems.”

  Brian’s intention had been to explain Spedino’s proposition to acquire the ancient relics. Instead he said, “I was talking to a guy the other day and he told me about this method of using assets short-term. I thought the firm might borrow some assets, make a major acquisition, pre-sell the deal to a client before we buy it and be paid by the buyer, all in a matter of days. Sounded like a win-win deal to me.”

  “Are you serious? This sounds like a wishy-washy deal to me. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Who the hell dreamed this up? If you have a guaranteed pre-sold deal just take it to the bank and they’ll loan you the money.”

  His explanation was weak but he hardly understood it himself. He tried to make it simple, as much for his own edification as hers.

  If a theoretical opportunity required $25 million, Bijan’s bank wouldn’t loan that much because something could go wrong, leaving the gallery at risk of default. But a huge deal carried with it the opportunity for Bijan to make a correspondingly huge profit, he rationalized.

  She wasn’t buying it. “Here’s a little free advice for you. If it looks too good to be true, it usually is. You can choose to take my advice or leave it – it’s up to you – but to say this kind of deal is out of the ordinary would be a massive understatement. Even more dangerous, you say a traditional bank won’t loan the money because of the risk! Red flags everywhere! Do you see where I’m coming from?”

  Of course she was right. He tried to rationalize, explaining that he was merely considering every opportunity that came along. He casually ended that discussion with a blatant lie.

  “There’s nothing we’d need that kind of money for anyway. I’m just thinking about the future.”

  He changed the subject. “I thought you might return my call last night.”

  She told him she was in a deposition with a client who owned one of Texas’ largest private oil companies. The Federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission sued him, alleging he employed illegal aliens.

  “He’ll lose a couple of million dollars if the EEOC prevails. We’ve been working night and day to get his testimony nailed down. But it’s nice you missed me.”

  He was overcome with jealousy as he listened to how she worked so closely with another man. He pushed for information, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He asked if she and the client had gone to dinner last night.

  “No, Brian. We skipped dinner completely. We went over to his place and screwed until after midnight. I was so exhausted I couldn’t talk so I didn’t call you. Satisfied now?”

  Brian stopped walking suddenly, thrown by her flippant answer. A pedestrian nearly ran into his back, giving him a gesture as he stormed around Brian on the busy sidewalk.

  Nobody said anything for a few seconds. At last she spoke tersely. “I’m a lawyer. I have clients and I have to work late sometimes. I’m also a red-blooded American female. I have drinks with guys now and then. I have dinner with guys now and then. We agreed that we would do that since we’re so far apart. I’m not screwing my clients so lighten up on the junior high jealousy. I’d rather be with you but I’m not. So long as we both want to keep up this here-today-gone-tomorrow relationship, we have to live with being apart.”

  He crossed Park Avenue as a cold wind picked up and the streetlights came on. “I don’t like this. Come up here this weekend. I miss the hell out of you.”

  “I miss the hell out of you too. Christmas is next week. You’re coming home, right?” Both his family and hers were in Texas, so he’d undoubtedly be there over the holidays.

  “Yeah,
but with your schedule I feel like I need an appointment to spend a day with you.”

  She laughed and said she’d reduce her rates for him. “I’ll call you in a day or two, but I have to go now.” She had to attend a cocktail party at the office of the firm’s largest client, a major South American oil cartel. “I’ll be home late but don’t worry about me. I’ll be good if you will. Let’s spend some quality time together next week when you’re here.”

  Another cocktail party. Another client. Another chance to lose this girl.

  “Good night, Nicole.”

  “I miss you a bunch, baby. See you soon.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning Brian arrived at the gallery earlier than usual. It was the week before Christmas and there was a major sale in the works. A long-time customer who ran a large mutual fund had stopped by to look at a gold necklace once worn by Anne Boleyn. Although not ancient by Bijan’s standards, it was a truly historic piece that the firm had on consignment from a client in London. The provenance for the piece was a portrait painted in 1535, the year before Anne literally lost her head when Henry VIII decided it was time for a new wife. In that painting she was wearing this same necklace.

  A London conservator confirmed the piece dated to the sixteenth century. That was enough for most collectors. The mutual fund executive had an appointment this morning for his third and perhaps final visit to view the $1.5 million necklace.

  A half hour before the customer’s appointment Darius still hadn’t arrived. Coming in late without calling was unprecedented – missing this appointment was unbelievable. They also couldn’t reach him by phone – it went straight to voicemail.

  At 10:30 the customer arrived and Brian spent an hour with him in a private viewing room. The fund manager used a jeweler’s loupe to examine the piece and examined the paperwork that authenticated it. He’d seen all this before, but there was no place for buyer’s remorse on a purchase this large.

  They consummated the purchase at $1.3 million. This would be a stunning Christmas gift for his wife, the man said. Brian heartily agreed.

  A good Christmas gift for Bijan as well, Brian thought. The profit to the firm on this item would be over four hundred thousand dollars. The man took Bijan’s wire transfer information and set a time to pick up the necklace the following day. He left to arrange the money transfer and purchase insurance on the priceless piece. Until then it would remain in Bijan’s vault.

  By mid-afternoon Collette, Jason and Brian were very concerned about Darius. There had been no word whatsoever, which was totally unlike him. Brian sent Jason to Darius’ apartment house while Collette called hospitals in Manhattan. She got nowhere, and neither did Jason.

  The doorman at Darius’ residence hadn’t seen him all day. He had sent the super upstairs to ring Nazir’s doorbell. No one had answered and they weren’t allowed to enter the apartment.

  Brian called Darius’ son Christopher Nazir, an internist in San Francisco. Brian told the receptionist it was an emergency and Christopher answered quickly. Darius had not been in the gallery today and they couldn’t reach him, Brian told the physician.

  “Have you heard from him?” Brian asked.

  The doctor hadn’t but said he would call his brother and phone Brian right back.

  Within ten minutes Brian knew there had been no contact. He and Christopher agreed Brian should call the police and they exchanged cell phone numbers.

  Around five pm a plainclothes detective from the Eighteenth Precinct rang the front buzzer. Collette admitted a modern version of Columbo dressed in a gray suit and a heavy black wool topcoat. He dusted snowflakes off and Jason took his coat. Brian introduced himself and the man said, “I’m Detective Simon Patterson. Is there some place we can talk?”

  They went to Brian’s office. He gave the detective as much information as he could about Darius – his home address, home and cell numbers and contact information for his sons. The officer asked about Darius’ typical routine on a workday. Brian explained that today’s sale had been extremely important. Darius wouldn’t have missed that appointment without calling. He described the fruitless visit to Darius’ home and Collette’s calls to area hospitals.

  The detective asked Brian about himself, how long he had been with Bijan and how he had come to be there. He asked about the ownership of the gallery and how it was doing financially. He told Brian he might need financial statements.

  Brian was surprised. “Why are you asking all these questions that have nothing to do with the man who’s missing?”

  There are lots of possible reasons for a person to disappear and it was his job to think about all of them, the cop replied. Sometimes people disappeared when things were going badly. Other times people disappeared when things were going well but someone wanted them gone.

  Brian assured him the gallery was doing very well financially and promised balance sheets and income statements if the detective wanted them.

  After an hour they wrapped up. The detective explained they must wait twenty-four hours from the last known contact before they could use force to enter Mr. Nazir’s home. Later this evening they’d do that if he hadn’t been found beforehand.

  “You’ve been very helpful,” the policeman continued. “I may need to talk to you again soon. Do you plan to be in the City over the holidays?”

  Brian said he would be in New York until the middle of next week, when he was flying to Texas for Christmas. He and the detective exchanged contact numbers. Patterson left with a promise to call when he had information.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brian left the subway station for Gramercy Park as his cell phone rang. It was Christopher Nazir.

  “My brother Tom and I are coming on the redeye tonight. We’ll be at JFK tomorrow morning at 6:30.” They agreed to meet up at the gallery around ten.

  At 2:45 am Brian awoke from a fitful sleep, filled with disturbing dreams he couldn’t quite recall. His phone was ringing.

  “This is Detective Patterson, Mr. Sadler. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. We’ve found Mr. Nazir’s body.” Brian fell back in bed, tears welling in his eyes.

  The police went to Nazir’s East 86th Street apartment after his meeting with Brian, but got no response from repeated knocking. Once the twenty-four-hour timeframe ended the super used his passkey. That was around midnight.

  Nazir appeared to have died in his sleep. Initial post-mortem examination by the medical examiner indicated he’d been dead for maybe 24 hours and there were no visible signs of trauma.

  Brian told him that Nazir’s two sons were en route to New York and furnished their cell numbers. The detective said he would get the final medical examiner’s report in a few days but it looked as though death was from natural causes. He would post a uniformed officer at the scene until the sons arrived and determined where the body should be taken. Then Patterson wanted to meet with them to close his investigation.

  Brian hung up, dialed Christopher Nazir’s cell and left a voicemail for him to call as soon as their plane landed.

  There was no more sleeping that night. Around four Brian gave up. He turned on his TV and sat transfixed on his couch, hearing nothing and thinking only about what would happen to Bijan Rarities now that Darius was gone. Brian couldn’t possibly afford to buy Nazir’s stake so it was certain Brian would shortly be finding something else to do. Nazir’s sons would sell the gallery. With Brian’s limited experience in the business, it wasn’t likely new owners would be as enthused about him as Darius had been.

  He recalled wistfully how much fun it was to go to work every morning. Life today was just the opposite of the turmoil at WT&C. He was so happy traveling around the world to make acquisitions for such a respected gallery – his gallery – that working anywhere else was almost unthinkable. Now, however, the clock would start ticking. His time at Bijan was nearly over.

  Chapter Twenty

  Christopher called Brian as soon as the plane landed at JFK. Brian gave h
im the news and offered heartfelt condolences at the loss of their father. Christopher decided they’d go directly to their father’s apartment instead of coming to the gallery. Later today the men would meet with Brian.

  When Collette and Jason arrived at the gallery, they hugged and cried together, mourning the loss of an employer, a business partner and a good friend. Each tried to work but ended up remembering Darius with a few long-time customers who dropped by after hearing the news. It was hard for Brian – he felt enormous pain and sadness. He would miss Darius Nazir very much. He would also miss the opportunity this unique man had given him.

  At 2:30 pm Christopher rang and made arrangements to meet at the gallery. Collette and Jason had met them previously; they hugged the brothers and more tears were shed. Brian was surprised at how much they resembled their father. He told them sincerely how much Brian’s mentor and friend had meant to him.

  Brian wasn’t sure what the subject of conversation would be so he seated them in his office and waited for them to begin. Christopher said Detective Patterson asked if there would be an autopsy. Given the circumstances of his death, they decided against it. His body had been taken to a funeral home. Tom Nazir explained that his father wasn’t a religious man. He would be cremated and a memorial service held Monday at the funeral parlor.

  Tom told Brian his father spoke of him and commented on the sincere friendship Darius and Brian had forged in such a short time.

  “My father is a fairly private man but we could hear the delight in his voice every time we talked. Once you arrived he was truly happy, which he hadn’t been in a long time, perhaps even since our mother died.”

  The Nazir brothers revealed astonishing news to Brian. Just in the past month their father had made provisions for succession. He’d told his sons he had done this only after he was convinced Brian was the right partner for him and the gallery.