Inca Gold (Dirk Pitt 12)

Zolar waited at the top of the stairs as his guest climbed toward the terrace. They greeted each other warmly and embraced. "Good to see you in one piece, Cyrus."

Sarason grinned. "You don't know how close you came to losing a brother."

"Come along, I've held lunch for you." Zolar led Sarason through the maze of potted plants to a lavishly set table beneath a palapa roof of palm fronds. "I've selected an excellent chardonnay and my chef has prepared a delicious braised pork loin."

"Someday I'm going to pirate him away from you," said Sarason.

"Fat chance." Zolar laughed. "I've spoiled him. He enjoys too many perks to jump ship."

"I envy your lifestyle."

"And I yours. You've never lost your spirit of adventure. Always skirting death and capture by police in some desert or jungle when you could conduct business out of a luxurious corporate office and delegate the dirty work to others."

"A nine-to-five existence was never in my blood," said Sarason. "I find

wallowing in dirty dealings an exciting challenge. You should join me sometime."

"No, thank you. I prefer the comforts of civilization."

Sarason noticed a table with what looked like four weathered tree limbs about one meter in length lying across its surface. Intrigued, he walked over and studied them more closely. He recognized them as sun-bleached roots of cottonwood trees that had grown naturally into grotesque human-shaped figures, complete with torsos, arms and legs, and rounded heads. Faces were crudely carved in the heads and painted with childlike features. "New acquisitions?" he asked.

"Very rare religious ceremonial idols belonging to an obscure tribe of Indians," answered Zolar.

"How did you come by them?"

"A pair of illegal artifact hunters found them in an ancient stone dwelling they discovered under the overhang of a cliff."

"Are they authentic?"

"Yes, indeed." Zolar took one of the idols and stood it on its feet. "To the Montolos, who live in the Sonoran Desert near the Colorado River, the idols represent the gods of the sun, moon, earth, and life-giving water. They were carved centuries ago and used in special ceremonies to mark the transition of boys and girls into young adulthood. The rite is full of mysticism and staged every two years. These idols are the very core of the Montolo religion."

"What do you estimate they're worth?"

"Possibly two hundred thousand dollars to the right collector."

"That much?"

Zolar nodded. "Providing the buyer doesn't know about the curse that stalks those who possess them."

Sarason laughed. "There is always a curse."

Zolar shrugged. "Who can say? I do have it on good authority that the two thieves have suffered a run of bad luck. One was killed in an auto accident and the other has contracted some sort of incurable disease."

"And you believe that hokum?"

"I only believe in the finer things of life," said Zolar, taking his brother by the arm. "Come along. Lunch awaits."

After the wine was poured by a serving lady, they clinked glasses and Zolar nodded at Sarason. "So, brother, tell me about Peru."

It always amused Sarason that their father had insisted on his sons and daughters adopting and legalizing different surnames. As the oldest, only Zolar bore the family name. The far-flung international trade empire that the senior Zolar had amassed before he died was divided equally between his five sons and two daughters. Each had become a corporate executive officer of either an art and antique gallery, an auction house, or an import/export firm. The family's seemingly separate operations were in reality one entity, a jointly owned conglomerate secretly known as the Solpemachaco. Unknown and unregistered with any international government financial agencies or stock markets, its managing director was Joseph Zolar in his role as family elder.

"Nothing short of a miracle that I was able to save most of the artifacts and successfully smuggle them out of the country after the blunders committed by our ignorant rabble. Not to mention the intrusion by members of our own government."

"U.S. Customs or drug agents?" asked Zolar.

"Neither. Two engineers from the National Underwater and Marine Agency. They showed up out of nowhere when Juan Chaco sent out a distress call after Dr. Kelsey and her photographer became trapped in the sacred well."

"How did they cause problems?"