He tilted his head toward the door, as if to bring the conference they had attended that afternoon into the discussion.
“Now, you take this case, for example,” he went on calmly. “It certainly isn’t a major one. Certainly no world-shaking events depend on what we discover here, or what we do not discover here. In fact, the chances are that even if we do find out who has this treasure and is trying to auction it off, it won’t help us discover exactly what weakness in CIA security allowed him to get the collection out of Langley. But we have to try. That’s why we’re here.”
Kovpak had been dressing during this dissertation. He started to button his white shirt. “And why is the CIA here in the first place?”
“Possibly to prevent us from learning anything. Or possibly for some other reason we know nothing about. Which is precisely why I shall be keeping an eye on our reportorial friend.”
“And in a similar vein,” Kovpak said sarcastically, tucking in the shirt, “why won’t your reportorial friend be keeping an eye on you?”
Ulanov’s eyebrows went up. “I should certainly be surprised if he didn’t,” he said, and smiled. “Or at least if he didn’t try.”
Kovpak shook his head in complete non-understanding of security work. He moved to the mirror and began knotting his necktie, straightening it carefully, examining it for perfection, speaking over his shoulder.
“If you’re going to keep such a careful eye on your friend, hadn’t you better be getting on with it?”
Ulanov smiled gently. “There’s no rush. If you made a date with your Dr. McVeigh, I’m quite sure our friend was watching you do it. And was wondering just what information you were trying to squeeze out of the American. It’s a suspicious business, this security work, I’m afraid. But, in any event, our friend undoubtedly decided the best way to find out what Dr. Kovpak wants from Dr. McVeigh is to keep an eye on the two of you. Which is what he will do.” He shrugged, but there was a humorous glint in his eye. “Therefore, there’s no need to get going, as you put it, until you yourself get going. By the way,” he added artlessly, “what’s your program for the evening?”
“A drink at the bar and then dinner,” Kovpak said. He had put on his suit jacket and was examining himself in the mirror critically, wishing he was a person who took more interest in his clothes. Still, the suit was the best one he had and would have to do. He just hoped that Dr. Ruth McVeigh would see beyond the suit to the inner man.
“You look fine,” Ulanov said dryly, reading the other man’s mind. “May I make a suggestion? The hotel lounge here is fine, but while the restaurant food is decent enough, I should imagine that Dr. McVeigh will get tired of it if she eats all her meals here. Now, there’s a very good place just down Curzon Street, across the way from the entrance to Shepherd Market. I’m sure she would enjoy that very much …”
Kovpak frowned. “Why do you want me to take her to this particular restaurant?”
Ulanov sighed. “My friend, you’re overly suspicious. Leave that to us security people. I merely suggested this restaurant—”
“Because you have a purpose in wanting us to go there,” Kovpak said shortly. “All right, I’ll take her there. But I really do not like playing these cloak-and-dagger games, Major.”
“Cloak-and-dagger? To take a lady to a decent restaurant?” Ulanov shook his head as if hurt by the unfair accusation. He came to his feet. “Incidentally, if you don’t mind, please leave the connecting door between our rooms open. I’ll close it later and lock it if you should find yourself in need of”—he cleared his throat innocently—“privacy.”
Kovpak laughed. “Serge, you have a filthy mind. I suppose it comes from spending your life peeping through keyholes. Do what you want with the door.” He looked at his watch. “I have to be leaving. Are you coming with me, or isn’t that in the best tradition of spying?”
“In the very worst tradition,” Ulanov said solemnly. “You go ahead. I have a few things to do.”
“I’ll see you later,” Kovpak said, and then paused. “By the way,” he said slowly, curiously, “if I’m going to be followed, I’d like to know what my follower looks like, or what his name is, at least.”
Ulanov grinned. “I’m afraid telling you would also not be in the best tradition of spying. You’d constantly be looking over your shoulder at him, and that would upset our friend very much. And it would also do you no good with your lovely lady. Women expect you to pay attention to them when you ask them to dinner.”
“All right,” Kovpak said. “Then I’ll simply have to watch out for someone who leans over the table and turns his ear close to our mouths.”
“Unless, of course, you have a deaf waiter. But generally that’s the way,” Ulanov said encouragingly. “And one more thing—”
Kovpak paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”
“Have a good time. Enjoy, enjoy,” Ulanov said with a smile, and walked back into his own room.
Ruth McVeigh was studying herself in the mirror and liking what she saw. When she had first bought the gown she had done so in a rare spirit of adventure, aware that the gown was cut to maximally flatter her full figure, and now she was happy she had purchased it. It would have been a shame, she thought, if Dr. Kovpak had been allowed to return to Leningrad, and they never saw each other again, without his knowing that Dr. Ruth McVeigh was more than just another archaeologist, another writer of papers, but was also a woman in every respect.
She turned abruptly from the mirror, irritated with herself for her self-admiration and, unreasonably, also a bit irritated with Gregor Kovpak for making her think the thoughts she had. You would think you had never had dinner with a man before, she said to herself. It’s simply a matter of eating a meal in the company of a person you respect and admire for his work, rather than eating alone. Why even get so dressed up for it? Dr. Kovpak probably won’t even notice the lovely gown, or the woman inside of it. Besides, she added to herself in stern warning, if you keep standing here admiring yourself, you’ll be late, and whether Dr. Kovpak will notice how beautiful you are or not, he’s sure to notice if you’re very late, because that’s one thing that most men do not approve of. But you do look nice, she said to herself, turning back to the mirror for a last check on her makeup, and if Dr. Kovpak doesn’t notice it, he’s blind. She gave herself a wink in the mirror, grinned back at the gamine image, and left the room.
Gregor Kovpak was waiting for her at a small table for two in one corner of the dim lounge, aware of how much better dressed the men at the tables around him were in comparison with himself. He came to his feet as Ruth paused in the doorway, looking about in the gloom. He could see the eyes of almost every man turn at the same moment to take in the beautiful woman some lucky dog was going to escort that evening. Gregor fought down a tendency to grin around the room like an idiot, to show that he was that lucky dog. But then his inner exaltation faded. He knew it certainly wasn’t because of his excessive charm that Ruth McVeigh had agreed to have dinner with him, but because he was a fellow scientist in her field. He wondered at his own nerve in asking her so blithely that afternoon, and instantly promised himself that as soon as he got back home he would see to it that he had a wardrobe as extensive and as colorful as Alex Pomerenko’s. But he knew he wouldn’t. To what purpose? Clothes had never meant a thing to him, and what difference would it make, in any event? Clothes, he was sure—or at least he hoped—were not, or could not, be important to someone as intelligent as Ruth McVeigh. Besides, he would see Ruth McVeigh tonight and possibly at the meeting the following day, and after that they would simply be distant acquaintances, reading each other’s scientific papers, possibly, and—at least on his part—wondering how the other person was faring. Or who she was having dinner with …
He became aware that Ruth had made her way through the crowded lounge and the battery of admiring eyes and was standing before him. He hurried to pull out her chair, watched her sink into it, and then sat down himself, wondering at his sudden
feeling of gaucherie. It’s been too long, he said to himself. It’s been so long since I was with a woman, certainly with a woman this lovely or this talented, that I’m acting like a sixteen-year-old on his first date. He looked up. A waiter was standing at their side, looking at them a bit impatiently. Gregor looked at Ruth inquiringly.
“A martini, very dry,” she said. “With gin, not vodka.”
“I’ll have the same,” he said, surprised to hear himself say it since he never drank gin. He waited for some word from his companion to open the conversation, but she was looking about the lounge, as if she were seeking someone. Their drinks were served in the silence that had fallen; they both sipped, set down their glasses, and spoke at the same time.
“I—” she said.
“You—” he began.
They both laughed. The ice broken, Gregor felt himself begin to relax. It’s simply dinner with a fellow archaeologist, he told himself. Forget that she’s beautiful, and hope she forgets you’re dressed like a peasant. And forget that you’ll be going back to Leningrad when she’s on her way to New York. He raised his glass in the gesture of a toast and Ruth responded. They both sipped, then Gregor set down his glass.
“Now,” he said firmly, “what were you going to say?”
“No, you first.”
He smiled. “I was only going to say that you look very attractive in that gown. And you were going to say?”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Ruth said. “I was going to ask you what you meant this afternoon when you said you thought the first session had been rather amusing.”
Gregor felt his initial feeling of clumsiness slip entirely away. He was thankful that Ruth had obviously seen his insecurity and was turning the conversation in a direction where he would feel equal, a rational person discussing an event in a rational way.
“I simply meant that the arguments the four people presented each appeared logical on the surface, until the next person spoke. Then the logic seemed to change sides. But what I found amusing was the fact that all of the arguments they presented were basically completely illogical and invalid.”
“Invalid?”
“Completely. But before we go into that, what did you think I meant when I said the session was amusing?”
“I thought you found the session amusing, because—” Ruth hesitated a moment and then decided to be completely frank. “Well, because you thought the whole thing of the auction was a hoax, and that the meeting was, therefore, a waste of time—”
“And I do. A complete waste of time.”
“—because you knew where the treasure was all the time—in Russia—and who was auctioning it off,” Ruth went on, disregarding the interruption.
“You thought that?” Gregor Kovpak shook his head. “No,” he said gently, “in this you are wrong. The treasure is not in Russia, nor has it ever been. That is the truth. And as for the auction being a hoax, I’m quite convinced it is quite genuine. Since I first heard of this auction I’ve spoken with people I know at various museums, and they assure me the pieces they received as proof of the genuineness of the offer, were themselves quite genuine.” He looked at her. “Wasn’t this also your experience?”
“It was. But, in that case, why do you think this conference is a waste of time?”
Gregor hesitated, putting his thoughts in order, twisting the stem of the martini glass in his fingers, watching the contents sluggishly attempt to follow the motion of the glass but never quite catch up. At last he looked up.
“I think your conference is a waste of time,” he said quietly, “because of the people you are dealing with. Consider your first session today. Four claimants, each convinced he represents the party to whom the treasure morally and legally belongs. Do you believe you can convince those four people that they are wrong? As indeed they are? And your discussions will get more disruptive, not less. Most of those present want the treasure, and they want it for themselves. If they were serious people, they would agree that each museum put up a portion of the asking price and they would buy the treasure jointly. And then decide in some kind of future lottery among themselves how each museum would exhibit it in turn. In that way—” He frowned at the expression on Ruth’s face. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”
“You said exactly what I said to our board of directors!” Ruth said triumphantly, and smiled at him. “That is exactly the proposition I intend to present to the conference tomorrow morning. In fact, I’m going to suggest that the four claimants, as you call them, be allowed to share without paying anything. That was my idea when I set up this conference.” She felt exhilarated. “So you agree that’s the best way to handle the matter. I’m sure it is.”
Kovpak was frowning at her. “I do not agree at all! I said that is what would happen if you were dealing with serious people. But you are dealing with fanatics, collectors. Do you honestly believe the four who spoke today are going to relinquish their claim, just because they are given a small share of something they believe is totally theirs? Now you expect to ask the others to not only pay their own share, but to add something on for the claimants. Then you intend to tell them they possibly might not be able to exhibit the treasure for as much as fifteen or twenty years, perhaps.” He shrugged. “Many of them will be dead by then.”
“They could visit the museum exhibiting the treasure and see it there—”
“That would be even worse. They don’t want to see the treasure, they want to own it. Many of them have already seen the treasure in Berlin, before the war. Certainly the two German museums who argued for possession today have seen it. It would be even more galling for them to travel, say, to the Metropolitan in New York, and look at a treasure they feel (a) is theirs, (b) is in the hands of someone else, and (c) they cannot show in their own museum for ten or fifteen years.” He shook his head decisively. “They will never agree. Which is why I said the conference is not only amusing, but is also a waste of time.”
Ruth shook her head stubbornly. “I think you’re wrong. Bob Keller said the same thing as you, and I told him I thought he was wrong, too. In fact I bet him a dinner on it—”
Kovpak wondered who this Bob Keller was. For a moment he felt an unreasoning wave of jealousy, and then realized how foolish he was being. “Speaking of dinner,” he said, happy to be getting away from the subject of Bob Keller, whoever he might be, “would you like another drink here, or with dinner?”
“With dinner, I think.”
They finished their drinks and Gregor signed the tab. He came to his feet, helped Ruth up, and walked into the lobby with her, smiling down at her. “There’s a restaurant that’s been highly recommended to me. It’s only a few blocks from here. It’s a nice evening. We could walk over there and try it, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
They left the hotel and walked slowly along Park Lane, with the traffic pouring by on the park side, and turned into the quieter Curzon Street, not speaking, each busy with his own thoughts. The restaurant was easily identifiable, being the only one in the block across from Shepherd Market that exhibited any light at all. It occurred to Kovpak that they had no reservations, but his fears on that score were allayed when he saw the restaurant was practically deserted. If that was an indication of bad food, Kovpak said to himself, I’ll have the major’s scalp! On my first and probably last date with Ruth McVeigh! Not that food was all that important, but still …
They were seated, ordered a cocktail as well as their main meal, which was to be delayed awhile, and looked at each other in silence. Ruth could see the admiration in Gregor’s eyes, and wondered if he could see the same in hers. She decided it was time to change the unspoken subject, and picked the first thing that came into her mind.
“You said before, that the arguments of those four people who made claim to the collection were completely invalid,” she said. “On what basis?”
“Simply because they were. On the same basis, you could claim the treasure for the Metropol
itan, or possibly the Smithsonian. After all, one made his claim on the basis of Sophie Schliemann being Greek. Well, after all, Heinrich Schliemann was a citizen of the United States at the time he discovered Troy; not of Germany or Greece, but of the United States.”
“But that’s ridiculous—”
“Of course it is. As were the other arguments you heard today.” He suddenly grinned. “The only valid arguments for ownership—there are two of them—would have to come from Russia.”
“Russia? You’re joking.”
“I’m quite serious,” Gregor said, his grin disappearing. “It’s easy to say that Heinrich Schliemann spent the last part of his life and most of his fortune searching for Troy, or Mycenae, or anything else. The thing that enabled him to do this, instead of working as a clerk somewhere, was money. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Ruth said, wondering where he was leading.
“Money,” Gregor said, repeating himself. “Money discovered the treasure, because it was money that hired the workers who did the actual excavation. It was money that paid for the equipment, for the shovels and picks and the wagons and everything else. It was money that paid for Heinrich and Sophie to travel to those places. And that money was Russian money.” He saw the look on Ruth’s face and nodded. “It’s quite true, you know. It was money Schliemann made by holding the Russian army up to exorbitant prices during the Crimean War. Schliemann had managed a monopoly on the indigo trade in Russia, and he made the Russian army pay what even an American would call an unconscionable price for indigo at a time when the army found it an indispensable product. It was a natural product then. Indigo wasn’t synthesized until many years later, and by—the word is gouging—the Russians, Schliemann became wealthy enough to indulge his passion for exploration.” He shrugged. “So, on the basis that it was Russian money that financed the discovery of the treasure in the first place, one has to say the treasure properly belongs to Russia.”
The Gold of Troy Page 18