Important to him, Danielle thought. But why it would matter to a geneticist or a doomsday cult trying to infect the world with a plague she couldn’t possibly fathom.
“I could use a drink,” she said.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “Make sure not to stare; it will only increase the cost. There’s bound to be a shill or two down here somewhere.”
Danielle smiled to herself, glancing around at the other patrons. She counted eight groups in all. Three couples and two men by themselves, all looking like the Mediterranean version of old money. In addition there were three other groups, including two Arab men — power brokers or their minions by the look of things — and a younger European man who sported a large ring and expensive suit but who didn’t quite look the part of a dilettante.
As the man picked up a glass of wine, Danielle studied his hands. They were rough, with thick callous pads edging the top of his palm. This was a workingman, a proxy, not someone spending his own money. Maybe that’s the way it worked down here.
Najir returned with two glasses of champagne. He looked disappointed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I know some of these men,” he said. “I’m afraid this is going to be an expensive evening.”
Danielle laughed and took a sip of the champagne. She hated to admit it but she was starting to have fun.
A moment later, the thin man ushered them into one of the alcoves. Expensive chairs and a small table were placed there; matching setups graced each alcove, one for each of the bidding groups.
He placed an iPad in her hand. “This will tell you the bid on each item,” the thin man said. “You can see each additional bid as it comes through.”
“But not who makes the bid,” she guessed.
“No, madam. Our buyers prefer to retain their anonymity.”
“As do I.”
The man scooted off, heading to the next alcove, and Najir sat down. He leaned over the table.
“You’re not going to bid on everything, are you?”
“I might,” she said. “But I promise not to buy everything.”
Najir took another sip of champagne, seeming only slightly mollified.
A high-toned bell rang. “The bidding will now commence on item one,” the thin man said.
Danielle studied the iPad. Within seconds, four bids appeared. As each new bid topped the old, a green bar tracked upward toward a reserve mark. The current bid was $120,000 for the Sumerian tablet.
“This is a pretty sophisticated setup,” Danielle said. “How much do you know about it?”
“The thin man runs it,” Najir said. “The art comes from all over, but mostly from Iraq. Sites there are still being looted, even as other items are discovered and returned. Some have been stolen, recovered, and returned several times already.”
Danielle looked back at the iPad. The bid had reached $200,000, the reserve mark. It quickly went above that.
She noticed that the bids were numbered, just like the paddles at a regular auction. A good trick: it maintained anonymity while allowing the bidders to know whether they were bidding against one person in particular or the whole group, facts that tended to trigger different types of pride responses and drive the bidding higher.
The first item closed at $280,000.
Out in the center of the room, two guards secured the prize in a felt-lined, polished wooden box, and the thin man’s voice came through the hall.
“Bidding begins on the head of Persian goddess.”
This time Danielle pressed in a bid, $100,000: half the reserve.
“Be careful,” Najir said.
As they spoke, the price doubled and then doubled again. To Najir’s relief, Danielle laid off as a heated competition developed between two parties. It went back and forth several times until one of them withdrew.
“Four hundred and seventy thousand for a head,” Danielle mused. “Wonder how much you get for the whole body?”
“More than we have to spend,” Najir insisted.
In the center, the guards boxed up the statue’s head, placed a wax seal against the edge of the case, and marked it.
“A seal,” Danielle said. “For authentication.”
“A formality,” Najir said. “You don’t steal from this kind of people, not if you want to stay alive.”
The bell rang a third time and the bidding commenced on the Gilgamesh statue. It went quickly, and then they were on to the fourth item: the copper scroll.
The initial bid came in at $100,000.
A bid of $150,000 came in from number four.
Danielle bid $200,000.
Number eight bid $250,000. Number four raised that to $300,000 and Danielle topped them both.
Najir glanced at the number but said nothing.
The bid hit $500,000, from number four again.
Then $550,000 from Danielle, $600,000 from bidder number two, and $650,000 from number four.
“Be careful,” Najir said. “They’re baiting you.”
Danielle didn’t think so. In fact, she felt more like she was baiting them. If Bashir wanted this item so badly, forcing someone to bid into the extreme might make them a suspect in what had happened to him and Ranga.
A $700,000 bid came in from number eight, instantly topped by number four to the tune of $850,000. It seemed a huge raise, almost unnecessary; a nervous bidder trying to knock others out of the game, throwing money away.
She felt Najir wince as she entered $875,000 on the touchscreen and then $925,000 after number four answered.
“I’d like to know who that son of a bitch is,” Danielle whispered, but none of the alcoves faced any of the others. No bidder could be seen from where they sat, and even if they could be, the small taps of a finger would be hard to make out.
When $975,000 came in Danielle tried to top it, but a red bar on the iPad flashed. She tried again, but the same red bar popped up.
The thin man appeared. He whispered discreetly.
“Does madam have additional equity she wishes to pledge?”
She looked at him and then at Najir. “Does madam have additional equity that she could pledge?”
Najir clenched his jaw. And then slowly, appearing as if it pained him, he nodded.
“What limit?”
“Full credit,” he said. “Three million dollars.”
The thin man looked pleased. It seemed a killing was about to be made.
“Though we don’t intend to use it all,” Najir added, glaring at Danielle.
The thin man tapped his own iPad a few times and the bar on Danielle’s screen turned green. She’d noticed that bidder number four had topped her by smaller amounts each time. She hoped that meant he was running low on funds.
She took a deep breath and typed in a new figure. One that would turn Najir green.
She pressed Enter and the screen cycled. The new bid was $1.5 million.
A collective gasp wafted through the room, emerging simultaneously from the other alcoves. Najir hung his head at the sound. He seemed to guess.
Danielle turned to show him but he held out his hand.
“I don’t even want to know.”
She turned back to the screen, waiting for number four to top her bid. Waiting, and wondering what she might do if he did. And then …
The screen went gray and a window popped up indicating that she had been awarded the scroll. It requested a code for verification — in effect, an electronic signature.
With a little trepidation she handed the iPad to Najir.
“At least you’re getting five percent,” she said.
“Making five percent on my own money is a good way to go out of business,” he said. Despite looking stricken, he typed in his code.
The deal was done. Danielle now owned the copper scroll Bashir had been interested in. Whether she had just wasted a million-five or gotten something worthwhile, she had no clue.
Before she could even think about it, there was some commotion down the hall.