Victor Korontzis was giving Tony Rizzoli a personally conducted tour. Korontzis stopped in front of a case holding a figurine of a goddess with a crown of opium poppies. “That’s the poppy goddess,” he explained in a hushed voice. “The crown is symbolic of her function as the bringer of sleep, dreams, revelation, and death.”
“How much would that be worth?”
Korontzis laughed. “If it were for sale? Many millions.”
“Really?”
The little curator was filled with obvious pride as he walked around, pointing out his priceless treasures. “This is a head of kouros, 530 B.C.…this is the head of Athena with a Corinthian helmet, circa 1450 B.C…and here’s a fabulous piece. A gold mask of an Achaean from the royal tomb of the Acropolis of Mycenae, from the sixteenth century B.C. It is believed to be Agamemnon.”
“You don’t say?”
He led Tony Rizzoli to another case. In it was an exquisite amphora.
“This is one of my favorites,” Korontzis confessed, beaming. “I know a parent shouldn’t have a favorite child, but I can’t help it. This amphora…”
“It looks like a vase to me.”
“Er—yes. This vase was discovered in the throne room during the excavation in Knossos. You can see the fragments showing the capture of a bull with a net. In ancient times, of course, they captured bulls with nets to avoid the premature spilling of their sacred blood, so that…”
“How much is it worth?” Rizzoli interrupted.
“I suppose about ten million dollars.”
Tony Rizzoli frowned. “For that?”
“Indeed! You must remember, it came from the Late Minoan Period, just after 1500 B.C.”
Tony was looking around at the dozens of glass cases crammed with artifacts. “Is all this stuff that valuable?”
“Oh, my, no. Only the real antiquities. They’re irreplaceable, of course, and they give us a clue as to how ancient civilizations lived. Let me show you something over here.”
Tony followed Korontzis to another chamber. They stopped in front of a case in the corner.
Victor Korontzis pointed to a vase. “This is one of our greatest treasures. It’s one of the earliest examples of the symbolism of phonetic signs. The circle with the cross that you see is the figure of Ka. The crossed circle is one of the very earliest forms inscribed by human beings to express the cosmos. There are only…”
Who gives a shit! “How much is it worth?” Tony demanded.
Korontzis sighed. “A king’s ransom.”
When Tony Rizzoli left the museum that morning, he was counting riches beyond his wildest dreams. By a fantastic stroke of luck he had stumbled upon a gold mine. He had been looking for a mule, and instead he had found the key to a treasure house. The profits from the heroin deal would have to be split six ways. Nobody was stupid enough to double-cross the Family; but the antiques caper was something else again. If he smuggled artifacts out of Greece, it would be a side deal that belonged only to him; the mob would not expect anything from it. Rizzoli had every reason to be elated. Now all I have to do, Rizzoli thought, is to figure out how to hook the fish. I’ll worry about the mule later.
That evening, Rizzoli took his newfound friend to the Mostrov Athena, a nightclub where the entertainment was lewd and amorous hostesses were available after the show.
“Let’s pick up a couple of broads and have some fun,” Rizzoli suggested.
“I should be getting home to my family,” Korontzis protested. “Besides, I’m afraid I couldn’t afford anything like that.”
“Hey, you’re my guest. I’m on an expense account. It doesn’t cost me anything.”
Rizzoli arranged for one of the girls to take Victor Korontzis back to her hotel.
“Aren’t you coming?” Korontzis asked.
“I have a little business to handle,” Tony told him. “You go on ahead. Everything’s taken care of.”
The following morning, Tony Rizzoli dropped in at the museum again. There was a large crowd of tourists walking through the various rooms, marveling at the ancient treasures.
Korontzis took Rizzoli into his office. He was actually blushing. “I…I don’t know how to thank you for last night, Tony. She…it was wonderful.”