Victor Korontzis was sweating. “I’ve never done anything like this, Tony. I’ve never stolen anything. All my life…”
“I know,” Rizzoli said soothingly. “Neither have I. Remember, Victor, I’m taking all the risks, and I don’t get a thing out of it.”
Korontzis’s voice broke. “You’re a good friend, Tony. The best friend I ever had.” He was wringing his hands. “Do you have any idea when I will get my money?”
“Very soon,” Rizzoli assured him. “Once we pull this off, you won’t have any more worries.” And neither will I, Rizzoli thought exultantly. Never again.
Two cruise ships were in the port of Piraeus that afternoon, and consequently the museum was filled with tourists. Usually Victor Korontzis enjoyed studying them, trying to guess what their lives were like. There were Americans and British, and visitors from a dozen other countries. Now Korontzis was too panicky to think about them.
He looked over at the two showcases where copies of the antiquities were sold. There was a crowd around them, and the two saleswomen were busily trying to keep up with the demand.
Maybe they’ll sell out, Korontzis thought hopefully, and I won’t be able to go through with Rizzoli’s plan. But he knew he was being unrealistic. There were hundreds of replicas stored in the basement of the museum.
The vase that Tony had asked him to steal was one of the museum’s great treasures. It was from the fifteenth century B.C., an amphora with red mythological figures painted on a black background. The last time Victor Korontzis had touched it had been fifteen years earlier when he had reverently placed it inside the case to be locked up forever. And now I’m stealing it, Korontzis thought miserably. God help me.
Dazedly, Korontzis went through the afternoon, dreading the moment when he would become a thief. He went back to his office, shut the door, and sat down at his desk, filled with despair. I can’t do it, he thought. There has to be some other way out. But what? He could think of no way to raise that kind of money. He could still hear Prizzi’s voice. You’ll give me that money tonight, or I’m going to feed you to the fish. Do you understand? The man was a killer. No, he had no choice.
A few minutes before six, Korontzis came out of his office. The two women who sold replicas of the artifacts were beginning to lock up.
“Signomi,” Korontzis called. “A friend of mine is having a birthday. I thought I’d get him something from the museum.” He walked over to the case and pretended to be studying it. There were vases and busts, chalices and books and maps. He looked them over as though trying to decide which to choose. Finally, he pointed to the copy of the red amphora. “I think he’d like that one.”
“I’m sure he will,” the woman said. She removed it from the case and handed it to Korontzis.
“Could I have a receipt, please?”
“Certainly, Mr. Korontzis. Would you like me to gift wrap this for you?”
“No, no,” Korontzis said quickly. “You can just throw it in a bag.”
He watched her place the replica in a paper bag and put the receipt inside. “Thank you.”
“I hope your friend enjoys it.”
“I’m sure he will.” He took the bag, his hands trembling, and walked back to his office.
He locked the door, then removed the imitation vase from the bag and placed it on his desk. It’s not too late, Korontzis thought. I haven’t committed any crime yet. He was in an agony of indecision. A series of terrifying thoughts ran through his head. I could run away to another country and abandon my wife and children. Or I could commit suicide. I could go to the police and tell them I’m being threatened. But when the facts come out I will be ruined. No, there was no way out. If he did not pay the money he owed, he knew that Prizzi would kill him. Thank God, he thought, for my friend Tony. Without him, I would be a dead man.
He looked at his watch. Time to move. Korontzis rose to his feet, his legs unsteady. He stood there, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. His hands were wet with perspiration. He wiped them on his shirt. He put the replica back in the paper bag, and moved toward the door. There was a guard stationed at the front door who left at six, after the museum closed, and another guard who made the rounds, but he had half a dozen rooms to cover. He should be at the far end of the museum now.