“Quite. Anyway, it appears your Fargos have done it again. A most remarkable discovery on Baffin Island. Apparently, it’s a Viking longship, the likes of which has never been seen.”
“Interesting, but hardly earth-shattering. And more important, of little use to me. There’s not much market for Norse antiquities.”
“Nor should there be, I’d think. Beastly stuff. Axes and pelts and the like.”
Janus could tell from Percy’s inflection that there was more, but he didn’t rush the man. He’d get to whatever it was when he was ready. “But it does tend to highlight the incredible success this cavalier couple have in turning up unusual finds.”
“I’ll give them that,” Percy said. “This one in particular is noteworthy because of what was being transported by the longship.”
“I see. What was being transported . . .” Janus echoed.
“Yes. It appears that it was a hoard of pre-Columbian knickknacks. Pots, statues, that sort of rot.”
Janus sat up straighter, and his heart rate increased by twenty beats per minute. “You did say pre-Columbian, didn’t you, old boy?”
“The very thing.”
“Ah, then I understand what the fuss is all about. That’s certainly a feather in their caps. I’d imagine it will cause quite a stir in academic circles.”
“Quite.”
“Brilliant work, as usual, my good man. And if I know the Fargos, this will be only the first step. They have keen minds and move quickly. They’re sure to use their newfound knowledge to their best advantage, and, if there’s a treasure to be found, they’ll be relentless. I think it’s time to step up surveillance of them. But more sophisticated than the last idiot you sent. I want no more incidents that could tip them off.” Percy had filled Janus in on the botched photography outside the Fargos’ La Jolla home and was livid over the sloppiness.
“Of course. I’ve already taken steps in that regard. This time, with more, er, subtle approaches.”
“I want to be kept abreast of every move they make, is that clear?”
“Crystal. It shall be done. I’ll report on anything that seems pertinent.”
“Where are they at this moment?”
“On their plane. According to the flight plan the pilot filed this morning, headed back to San Diego.”
“Very well. Do whatever you need to do. Spare no resources. My instinct is that watching and waiting should turn up some very interesting results. They don’t stay stationary for long, and when they move, I want to be two steps ahead of them.”
Janus hung up and stared at the phone, then set it back on the table and resumed his appreciation of his fine Cuban smoke. The horizon had faded to purple and crimson, the sun’s final shimmering on the sea replaced by the lights of other estates owned by the privileged and powerful, stretching all the way to Cannes. He took another sip of the liquid gold and sighed contentedly. Whatever the Fargos had planned, he intended to foil. After their interference with his last project, it was personal. For all Janus’s aplomb, that had been a slap to his face, an insult every bit as painful as a blow.
That would not stand.
One of the French doors swung open and Reginald stepped through before closing it softly behind him.
“There you are. You missed the sunset,” Janus said as his brother took the seat on the opposite side of the table.
“I’ve seen plenty of them. What’s that you’re knocking back?”
“Bit of vintage port.”
“Any good?”
“Not bad. You might not like it, though.”
“Probably not. Don’t see how you choke down that sweet stuff. Like molasses to me.” Reginald depressed the button on a discreetly located intercom on the table and called out, “Simon, be a good lad and fetch me a Glenfiddich on the rocks, would you?”
After a few moments of silence, a stately voice emanated from the tinny speaker. “Of course, sir. Very good. Your usual measure?”
“Perhaps a finger or so more. It’s been a frightful day.”
“It will be there shortly, sir.”