The Devil’s Share (3 page)

“How much does it weigh?” she said.

“Five hundred pounds,” Cota said. “Give or take. It's called a
lamassu.
A mythical creature, sort of the Assyrian version of a sphinx. It was built to guard the throne room of Sargon II, in Dar-Sharrukin.”

“Where's that?” she said.

“Northern Iraq,” Hicks said. “Near Mosul. At least that's what it is now.”

“This one will give you a sense of scale,” Cota said.

In the next photo, the statue rested on a large wooden pallet, half covered by a canvas tarp. A dark-skinned man in green fatigues stood beside it. The top of the statue was even with his shoulder.

“There's another one like it, much larger, at the University of Chicago,” Cota said. “In their Oriental Institute. And a third at the British Museum in London. This one is the smallest of the lot, and has sustained more damage than the others, as you can see. Who knows what might have happened to it eventually, if I hadn't brought it here?”

Hicks took more photos from a tan folder, set them out. There were pictures of the statue from different angles, all taken in the same high-ceilinged warehouse space.

“You take these for potential buyers?” she said.

“For the serious ones,” Cota said. “If it got to that stage, yes.”

The seventh photo was of a different piece, half the size of the first. A section of wall depicting two robed figures with elaborate headdresses and the same square beards.

“From the same excavation,” Cota said.

The last three photos were of the bust of a man's head. Wide staring eyes, curved beard, the neck ending in a jagged edge where it had been broken from a larger statue. There was a wooden ruler on the canvas next to it for scale. The height was a little over seven inches.

“Don't let the size deceive you,” Cota said. “That's one of the most valuable pieces that's ever crossed my hands. It's from the Third Dynasty of Ur. 2000 BC.”

She looked through the photos again. “I don't know anything about this type of stuff.”

“You don't need to. I just wanted you to get a sense of what we're talking about.”

“Just these three?”

“That's it,” Hicks said.

“These other two could be moved easily enough, but that one…” She touched the photo of the winged bull.

“It's actually in three segments,” Cota said. “That's how we had it transported over here, by ship. We reassembled it once it arrived, for photographic purposes. It has to be crated and moved as three separate units, though.”

“Who's the man in the photo?”

“His name is Hashemi Rafsan. He was my expert in those matters.”

“Military?”

“He was,” Hicks said. “Iraqi Army, Republican Guard, until he saw us come tear-assing across the desert.”

“A pragmatist above all else,” Cota said. “He was very useful to me.”

“He was my point man over there,” Hicks said. “To help decide what was worth the risk, what wasn't. He'd worked at the National Museum in Baghdad before the war.”

“He know about all these? What you were bringing over?”

“
He did,” Hicks said.

“Where is he now?”

“Regrettably, he's no longer with us,” Cota said.

“How's that?”

“It's still a dangerous place over there,” Hicks said. “Even now.”

She lined up the photos in two rows. Hicks sat back, crossed his arms, watching her.

“When is all this supposed to happen?” she said.

“One month,” Cota said. “That's the timetable we agreed on. If it's going to take more time, I have to let them know. They won't be happy, though, and I'd like to avoid giving any impression of reluctance. Would four weeks be sufficient time?”

“It might be,” she said. “Let it ride for now. Don't tell them any different.” She looked at the first picture again. “Five hundred pounds.”

“It had to be taken by boat down the Tigris,” Cota said. “Then by rail to the port of Umm Qasr. As I said, there was considerable expense involved.”

“And I'd guess considerably more if you have to pay the freight all the way back to where you got it.”

“One of their stipulations,” Cota said. He rested his cane in his lap. “As I said, a dilemma. And an expensive one.”

“Your new buyer, how do you get the pieces to him?”

Cota looked at Hicks. “Randall?”

“We haven't worked out all the details yet,” Hicks said. “But I think a simple detour works best. The truck carrying the items is supposed to go to Long Beach, where a rep from the Iraqi government will meet it at the port, sign off on the contents, supervise the shipping. However, our real buyer will be waiting at another port with his own ship, a hundred miles away.”

“Where?”

“San Diego.”

“That's a long haul.”

“But the hard part will be over. My thought is we intercept the truck after it leaves the warehouse, somewhere out in the desert. Then we tie up the personnel, drive off with the goods. Once we do the handover to the buyer, it's his problem. Hopefully, by the time anyone figures out what's happened, his ship will have sailed.”

“A truck hijacked while returning stolen goods under duress,” she says. “Hard coincidence to buy, isn't it?”

“A chance we have to take,” Cota said. “My options are limited.”

“You could go through with it,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Give them back.”

“I think not.” He looked at Hicks, who nodded, got up and left the room.

“How many people traveling with this circus?” she said.

“Five men. But as I said, they're all my employees, or ones I've subcontracted.”

“Any of them in on this?” If the answer was yes, she'd be on a plane home tonight.

“They don't need to be,” he said. “They're always under strict instructions not to resist if there's an issue. And with the little I pay them, I doubt that interfering with armed bandits will enter into their thinking. It wouldn't be worth it.”

“Let's hope they remember that.”

“I wouldn't be overly concerned. And having them there is to our advantage. They'll tell their stories afterward, and quite truthfully. The convoy was stopped, the truck taken, and that was that.”

She looked at the photos again.

“Should I consider your interest piqued?” he said.

“Lots of logistics.”

“That I would leave up to you. Hicks will be at your service. Others, too, if you need them. His associates.”

“What's the personnel breakdown on the convoy?”

“A single truck, two cars. One leading, one following. There will be a driver and a guard in both of the cars. But only a driver in the truck.”

“Armed?”

“The guards, yes.”

“Will they have radios?”

“To communicate between the vehicles? No.”

“But cell phones, I'm sure, all of them.”

“I would expect so.”

“That's a problem.”

“Again, I bow to your expertise in those matters.”

Hicks came back in carrying a legal-sized manila envelope. He put it on the table, sat back down. On a lower floor a cuckoo clock began to chime. Nine
P.M.

“At least five people to be dealt with,” she said. “So you'd need a three-person team going in. Four would be better. Easier to manage the variables.”

“If that's what you suggest,” Cota said.

“How will the truck be packed?” she said. “Lots of padding, I would expect. Crates?”

“Big ones,” Hicks said. “With foam rubber padding, and sandbags to keep them from shifting in transit.”

“Locks?”

“Nothing special,” he said. “Oversized padlock on the rear door, crossbar, standard for that type of truck. A sledgehammer and a pry bar would do the trick.”

“Or we could procure an extra key,” Cota said. “Much less effort.”

“No,” she said. “It has to look like what it is. A robbery. A key says inside job.”

“Ah,” Cota said.

“Still,” she said, “I'm a little surprised. Items like these, shouldn't there be more security involved? Armored car, maybe? More vehicles, at least. This sounds bare bones.”

“Randall, would you care to explain?”

She turned to Hicks.

“It's a little different in the antiquities world,” he said. “We do this kind of thing all the time. Transporting, I mean. The object is to keep it as low profile as you can. The more security you have, the more people know you're moving something valuable. Instead, you do it simple and quick, attract as little attention as possible.”

“These things will be insured, I'm guessing?”

“Of course,” Cota said.

“Will the insurance company want to send someone along for the ride, keep an eye out?”

“They haven't before,” Cota said. “No reason to think they'd insist upon it this time. If they did, they'd have notified me already.”

She nodded at the envelope. “What's that?”

“I thought,” Cota said, “since you came all the way out here at your own expense, the least I could do was reimburse you. Whether we move forward, or you walk out of here tonight and we never meet again. Either way, I want you to keep that.”

He slid the envelope closer to her.

“How much is in there?” she said.

“Five thousand,” Cota said. “Cash, of course. Just a gesture.”

“No thanks,” she said. She slid it back toward him. “If I decide to help you out, then we'll talk about money. And it'll be a lot more than five thousand.”

“Of course,” Cota said. “But I insist you take that in the meantime, as a gesture of good faith.”

“She doesn't want any obligations,” Hicks said. “She wants to be able to walk away without any strings attached, any debts.” He looked at her. “Am I right?”

“Something like that.”

Cota sat back. “As you wish.”

“As long as we're talking money,” she said, “how much are these things worth?”

“On the open market,” Cota said, “who knows? On one level, they're priceless. Let's just say what I'm taking for them is quite a bit less than their actual value, which is considerable.”

“As is the risk.”

“Fair enough. When you say it might require a four-person team, you're including yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Then here would be my proposition. Two hundred thousand cash to you, a hundred thousand to whoever you bring in. Half when they sign on, half when it's done. Would you consider that equitable?”

“Four might not do it,” she said. “I wouldn't know until I got into it. It might take five.”

“Then the fifth man—or woman—comes out of the same pie. Two hundred thousand to you, seventy-five to each of your people—or however you want to divide it up. Five hundred thousand total. And don't forget, Hicks will be available to help as well, as needed. Equipment, logistics, tactics, whatever. In fact, the one thing I will insist upon is that he go along on this ‘mission,' so to speak.”

“If it happens.”

“Indeed, if. And his end isn't part of the five hundred. I pay him myself. The rest is yours, to divide as you see fit. And as I said, half now, half when it's done.”

She slid the pictures back into the folder. “I'll take these with me.”

“If you think that's wise,” Cota said.

“I'll also need to look at maps, specs on the truck, the warehouse, personnel. Everything you can give me.”

“I can get you all that,” Hicks said.

“Good.” She closed the folder, stood.

“I'll walk you out,” Hicks said. “I'm headed back to my own place.”

“Where's that?”

“Venice. I have a condo by the beach there.”

“All right,” she said. Then to Cota, “I'm going to look all this over, along with whatever else Hicks gives me. He can deal with me directly.”

“How will I know what you've decided?” Cota said.

“If I'm in,” she said, “you'll get a phone call.”

“And if I don't, you're not,” he said. “Because you will have already left Los Angeles.”

“That's right.”

“And I'll be left to worry what you might do with the knowledge you already have.”

“I don't work like that,” she said.

He looked at the envelope with the money, then back at her.

“No,” he said. “I believe you don't.”

 

THREE

The hotel on Sunset had an outdoor bar on the second floor, next to a swimming pool. Tiki torches threw shadows on the patio, and light shimmer reflected from the water. The deck looked out on dark hills dotted with the lights of houses. She wondered which one was Cota's.

They sat at a table near the railing, Crissa with a glass of red wine, Hicks on his second scotch. A citronella candle flickered between them. He'd repeated his invitation when they were leaving the house, and this time she'd accepted, suggested here. They'd come in separate cars, and she'd met him at the bar.

“So,” he said. “What do you think about what you've heard so far?”

She looked around. The tables near them were empty. Most of the drinkers were at the inside bar, clustered around a large-screen TV showing a baseball game.

“I'll take a look at what you get me,” she said. “Then maybe we can figure out a way to do it. Or not. How long have you worked for him?”

“Three years in September. He hired me away from the outfit I'd been working with. It was too good a deal to turn down. A lot safer, too.”

“He ever do anything like this before?”

“Robbing himself? No, this is a one-off. Like he said, he ended up in a jam, and this was the plan he came up with to get himself out. You have to give him credit for even thinking of it. After all, it's a victimless crime, isn't it?”