Authors: David Faxon
There was hesitation on the other end.
Melendez did not receive many calls offering such intriguing possibilities. It could be phony, but he wasn’t going to take the chance.
“And to whom am I speaking?”
Connery remembered to use his new name.
“My name is Stanley Provencher, and my sources tell me you can be trusted.”
“Thank you. What time may I expect you here?”
“4:30 this afternoon. I look forward to seeing you.”
“Fine, Mr. Provencher; 4:30 it is.”
That afternoon, Connery brought the medallion to Melendez
. His office was clean, modern furniture. Except for the small library of books behind his desk, it did not look like the office of someone who dealt in artifacts. Tall, wearing horned rim glasses, Melendez had a professorial look. His skepticism showed until he examined the medallion, felt its heft, rubbed the surface, then placed it under a powerful magnifier as if to search for the secrets it held. Several times, he consulted leather bound books on the shelf behind him, totally absorbed. A full twenty minutes later, he removed his glasses, smiled and said:
“Where did you get this?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Are you interested or should I take it elsewhere?”
“This is indeed astounding! The possibility of such a piece has been rumored to exist for years, but to my knowledge, no one has seen it. If it is a forgery,
which I doubt, it is extremely well done. If it is real, I know a few people who would be more than interested and could well afford your price, which is?”
“I leave that to you Mr. Melendez, and I assure you, it isn’t a forgery.”
Melendez rubbed his eyes and said:
“I would ask no less than two hundred fifty thousand American dollars if its authenticity is confirmed.”
Connery tried not to show surprise and remained poker faced. He expected half that amount.
“I see. And how will that be done, Mr. Melendez
? May I call you Raul?”
“Certainly! Through a series of tests and comparison to other artifacts we have in our possession
dating to that period. I have an impeccable source. He is the only one I would trust in a matter like this. I would like him to see it, and he would most likely be the buyer.”
Connery thought for a moment before answering
. If there was more time, he might be able to get twice the amount Melendez quoted. He would let that pass.
“I will need to conclude this transaction as quickly as possible
, or my client may withdraw it from the market. Twenty percent of the net amount must be in cash, the rest wire transferred to a bank here in Brasilia. I will provide routing number, account number and wire transfer instructions within a few days. I trust you can accomplish this?”
“I can. However, my source is in Sao Paulo, where artifacts sell for much higher prices. I will fly there when you say you are ready to place the medallion in my care. My fee will be twenty percent of the selling price. In the meantime, how can I reach you?”
“You will be taking the object with you. I assume you are bonded.”
“Yes. Up to five million. I will put you in touch with my bonding company. My reputation is impeccable. You may return with the artifact once you are assured
, or you may accompany me to Sao Paulo. The choice is yours.”
Connery hated to let the medallion out of his sight. Before that happened, he needed to verify Melendez’ bonding capacity, then have him post a bond. Because of his reputation,
the broker assured him that wouldn’t present a problem.
Connery continued.
“I will be out of town but will return in a few days. I'll be staying at the Hotel Nacional. Here is the number. Call me. Leave a message at the desk where you can be reached. When I am satisfied that I am fully covered by a posted bond, I will return with the medallion.”
Mention of the Nacional, one of Brasilia's finest, made an impression on Melendez. Stanley Provencher must be a person of substance
, he concluded, or represent someone who is. Sale of the medallion would bring him a finder’s fee and commission of around fifty thousand; not bad for the investment of a few days in Sao Paulo. A tiny mark near the edge of the medallion had convinced him it was authentic. Few beyond him knew of the mark, and because of his reputation, he would have no problem making the sale.
A century before, Thomas Harding, a London dealer in artifacts, hunched over his desk on Pall Mall Lane. Before him was a leather wallet, dried with time. It belonged, originally, to his great- great- grandfather. He had come into its possession through an inheritance when his aunt died. Harding opened it carefully. Inside, yellowed papers in danger of crumbling into pieces, rested in its folds.
This could be of great significance
, he thought. With trembling hands, he used tweezers to spread the papers. Before him were five pages written in Spanish. The letters were compact and neat, yet flourishing. He didn’t have to read beyond the first line to know that it was written in the sixteenth century.
Fifteenth of November, In the Year of Our Lord, One Thousand Five Hundred Forty One
I thank Our Lord Jesus Christ, who has delivered me safely from harm. I only regret that my men were not to return with me from that treacherous place and guilt lies forever in my soul…
The document went on to describe the horrors experienced by the small group of Spanish explorers who were the first to enter the deep interior of the Amazon. Harding read of their struggles and deprivation, finally coming to what he was looking for, an account of an incident that would become legend.
We met them in battle on a sandbar…merciless… relentless in pursuit… only a few of my men survived. I have naught evidence to give that will convince you, save this medallion I retrieved that day. Study its markings. In all my journeys, I have not seen another like it.
Harding could not believe his good fortune when he saw the signature at the bottom.
Francisco D’ Orellana
Soldier of the Queen
1541
On the reverse side, D’Orellana had made a sketch of both sides of the medallion in minute detail. A tiny marking, hardly visible, appeared on the helmet of the javelin carrying warrior. The explorer
had sketched it also. But where was the medallion itself? To his chagrin, someone had obviously removed it long ago. When Harding died, Orellana’s account was left to a relative of the client that Melendez hoped to sell the medallion to. The relative lived in Luxembourg. To the best of anyone’s knowledge, family possession of the documents remained a secret. Melendez, and his client, would travel there to make comparison with the intricate sketch and confirm Connery’s find.
About to gain sufficient financing, Connery’s confidence increased. He went directly to the Nacional where he summoned the
maitre d
, gave his name as Stanley Provencher and told him he would be returning in a few days to register. Could he please leave word with the desk to take any phone messages? An overly large tip brought a smile to the man's face. He wouldn't forget when the time came, and he would make sure that the desk knew that Mr. Stanley Provencher would be back in the city within a few days, should he receive any calls. Connery lacked cash and sufficient identity, but made it seem like he had both. All he needed was the forged documents from Pacho, then a quick sale of the medallion, and he would have plenty of cash.
“Certainly, Senhor Provencher. I will take care of everything, personally.”
By late Thursday, Connery made several inquiries about Melendez and verified his very solid reputation in the antiquities business. He was adequately licensed, insured, and bonded. Melendez had probably called the hotel by that time. It was time to make another appearance. The door attendant, who remembered the large tip, recognized him.
“Good evening, Senhor Provencher,
There is a message for you at the desk.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your service.”
“Not at all.”
He asked the clerk for the message. It read simply”
Call me. Here is my cell phone number. You can reach me at any time.
Raul Melendez
114-244-6541
The call to the hotel, made by Melendez, assured
the broker that indeed, a Stanley Provencher would be a guest there shortly. Connery thanked the desk clerk, tipped him and said he would return that evening with his luggage. Satisfied that Melendez met all his requirements for credibility and bonding, he called and arranged for a time to deliver the medallion. Melendez immediately booked a flight to Sao Paulo.
Next evening,
Connery went back to Franco’s at 10:30 pm, hoping that Pacho would show up with the documents. Success or failure of his plan depended on two men at that moment, Raul and Pacho. He ordered a beer, chatted with Carlos, who recognized him right away, then waited; and waited some more. A full hour later, there was no sign of Pacho. With his carefully laid plan in jeopardy, he asked Carlos where his friend was. Carlos shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know. Give him time. If he said he’d be here, he will.”
He ordered another beer, deciding to wait as long as it took. If Pacho was a no show, everything was over. He was running out of ideas when Pacho walked through the door, sat on the bar stool next to him and calmly asked why he looked so worried. They went to the same corner booth.
“You have the money, senhor?”
Connery reached for the envelope in his pocket and gave it to Pacho, who didn't immediately produce the documents.
Damn! Now he's got a thousand bucks
of mine, and I've got nothing to show for it The bastard scammed me!”
Pacho took a long drag on his cigarette
and saw the look on Connery's face. He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and smiled.
“You worry too much, senhor. I would take it as an insult if you didn’t trust me.”
Connery reached for the envelope, Pacho pulled it away.
“Not too fast. Because I give you special service, my man has to work overtime. This will cost you another $500. I'm sure you will understand, no?”
“We had a deal, Pacho.”
“I know, I know, but business is business. You want them or not?”
“Let me at least see them, OK?”
Pacho held them up. They were decent forgeries. Connery thought if his deal with Melendez went through, $500 wouldn't matter much. Besides, he knew when he was being squeezed
. He couldn't win this one, so he handed Pacho the money. Now, all he had to do was get out of that neighborhood without losing what little he had left.
On Monday, he went to a branch of one of Brazil's largest banks, presented his newly forged documents, and with a minimum of cash, opened an account under the name of Stanley Provencher. He explained that a large amount would be wire transferred within a week to ten days. All he had to do was wait for Melendez’ call and hope that his dwindling cash held out. He called
him with wire instructions as he had promised.
Three days, four days, five days passed.
He was flat broke when Melendez called him on his cell, telling him the medallion was sold. He asked if it was possible to meet in the lobby of the Nacional that afternoon.
The news came as a great relief. Meeting at the Nacional…well, that might present a problem. He hadn't registered as he told them he would. Either the
maitre’d,
or a desk clerk, might recognize him. He preferred to avoid any possibly embarrassing moments at this late stage.
“I would prefer to meet at your office. Is there any problem?”
“Not at all. I was merely thinking of your convenience. Two o'clock at my place, then.”
At two, a buoyant Melendez greeted him at the door.
“Mr. Provencher. I am so pleased! I apologize for some last minute delays. But everything proceeded as I expected.”
He handed Connery a briefcase with $40,000 cash. Along with it, confirmation of a wire transfer in the amount of $160,000 to his account at Banco Santander.
“Senhor Melendez, you have done well.”
“There is no doubt as to the authenticity of the medallion. It will provide valuable clues to what has remained a mystery for centuries.”
“I’m pleased.”
Connery shook hands
and then went directly to the Nacional where he booked one of their more expensive rooms, making apologies for his delayed arrival. He had an ID and more than enough cash. After two nights he checked out, opting for another hotel. He paid the twenty one hundred and left, thinking he shouldn't have stayed even one night. It was stupid. On the way out, he gave the concierge another fifty.
Less than twelve hours later, Jaime and Santos approached the desk attendant with police badges and a very professional sketch of Connery
; with and without a beard.
“Yes, I have seen a gentleman who resembles this man.
He checked out yesterday. One moment please.”