"Crystal Skull" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacGregor Rob)

"Just wait till it's over. They're appealing the decision, right?"
"Sure. But I'll get it. You watch."
Pierce gripped Gibby's shoulder. "That's the spirit." He turned, opened his door, and stepped inside his office before Gibby had a chance to start talking about the convention he'd just attended in Arizona.
Even though he was no longer involved in the travel business, his office walls were still decorated with his travel photos, mostly of South American destinations. There were landscape scenes from the Amazon, Machu Picchu, and the Gran Sabana of Venezuela, as well as colorful Indian market scenes from Colombia and Ecuador.
Still, the office felt empty. His secretary had quit a few weeks ago, and he hadn't seen much point in rushing to hire a new one. As a result, he relied on his phone recorder. He was glad to see it blinking now; a new prospect, maybe. He rewound it and played back the recording.
The first three messages were from reporters following up on the murder story. Then he heard a familiar voice. It was Tina, and she sounded frantic. "Nicky. My God, why did you not say something? Are you all right? Call me right away."
"Christ." She'd seen the newspaper story. Even when Tina was excited and talking fast, she still didn't use contractions. He'd tried many times to get her to relax her stilted English, but had finally given up.
He punched her number. "Hi, Tina."
"There you are, Nicky. Are you okay? I opened the newspaper and could not believe my eyes."
"Tina, calm down. I'm okay."
She breathed into the phone. "I do not understand you. You keep everything inside."
Pierce cleared his throat. He was about to say that her mother told her she should have married a Latin man, but held off. He didn't want to get into a discussion of either their failed marriage or his personality traits. "Did you find the list for me?"
"Yes, and now I know why you asked. I hope you are not going to get involved with this murder."
"Don't worry. I want to get _uninvolved_. I need to return some money."
"Well, I have the museum's annual report. There are more than two hundred contributors listed, and that is not all of them. Some did not want their names used."
"Wonderful."
"You coming to get it?"
"No. I've got the feeling that whoever put up the money will find me. I'll just wait."
There was a knock at the door. "Someone's here. I've got to go."
"Maybe your wait is over."
"Yeah. Just call me psychic."
"Be careful, Nicky."
He hung up, walked over to the door. Neil Bellinger stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. A model for a fashion magazine. Real psychic, Pierce thought.
"Morning, Nick. Mind if I come in?"
Pierce stepped back, motioned for him to enter. Bellinger jammed his hands into the pockets of his pleated slacks, strolled around the room looking at the travel pictures. "So what kind of investigative work do you do?"
"The usual," Pierce said evasively. "By the way, thanks for giving the press my name."
"I didn't do it," Bellinger said.
"That was _my_ doing."
Pierce turned to see Morris Carver's massive frame filling the doorway. "It couldn't be helped."
"I noticed there was no mention of Redington or the skull in the article," Pierce commented.
Carver moved into the room, scanned Pierce's desk. His eyes settled for a moment on the envelope Pierce had dropped next to the telephone. "Had a talk with Professor Redington at Florida International University."
"He's not the murderer, Nick," Bellinger interjected. "At least not the one you described."
"Maybe he hired the guy with the scar."
"Yeah. Maybe he hired you, too." A menacing undercurrent rumbled through Carver's voice.
"Loften hired me. Or was going to."
"So you say."
"You accusing me of something?"
Carver's large, dark eyes glared at him. Stubble shadowed his jaw. "You feeling guilty?"
"No. Not at all."
Carver took a step closer. Suspicion sullied his face. He pointed an index finger. "I don't know what this is all about, but I _will_ find out. You can count on it."
"I hope you do."
Carver took another glance at the envelope on Pierce's desk, then walked over to the door. "Don't go making any deals for a free trip with your travel agent friends, either. Stick around."
Bellinger followed Carver as far as the door, where he glanced back. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward Carver and smiled. "He's really a nice guy."


4
His code name was Thor, and he drove a dark blue Mercedes with tinted windows. It was his second car, and he drove it only while performing special duties, the ones that would ensure him a special place in a very special future. This afternoon he was to meet Frey in the parking lot of a Quick Stop Grocery in Coral Gables, and as usual Frey was late.
After waiting five minutes, he got out of the car and stretched his arms. He gazed up at a tall pine tree, and squinted because the sun was directly behind it. He knew it was called a monkey-puzzle tree, and this one stood nearly a hundred feet high.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man walk from the Quick Stop to his car, and he imagined the guy stopping and asking him what he thought about the tree. He'd surprise him with his knowledge. He'd tell him that the monkey puzzle was native to the western slopes of the Andes in Chile, and that even though the tropics weren't the ideal environment for the tree, it was plentiful in South Florida.
And if that curious fellow would say he was asking because he was thinking of planting a tree like this one in his yard, he'd tell him to forget it. The evergreen was majestic and symmetrical, but it was trashy and dangerous. Its cones weighed up to ten pounds, and one of them falling from seventy or eighty feet could knock a grown man out cold.