“You’re not holding…you didn’t check the bags, you mean.”

“Right. I sold ’em.”

“Funny,” Cooper said, “so did I.”

“No surprise there-so did somebody else before me. That’s how it works,” Borrego said. “I don’t even get the prime cut. And while antiquities are a passion of mine, I’m into them as a margin guy. You know-buy very low, sell not quite so low. Little or no risk-get in, get out.”

Borrego stopped eating just long enough to grin, and Cooper saw that the Polar Bear had sharp teeth that looked almost brown against his white skin and whiter suit.

“Except for the fact that I usually pluck a few of ’em for myself before getting all the way out,” he said.

“Well, that’s something else we’ve got in common. What about the two idiot gunslingers you required the shipper to take along for the ride to Naples? If you didn’t check the bags for a colleague of yours to retrieve on the other side, what do you care about protecting the merchandise?”

“Idiots is right. But while our conversation thus far is chippy and neat, I’d like you to answer my other questions now,” Borrego said.

Cooper considered this.

“You mean, ‘Who the fuck am I,’ and, ‘What the hell do I want?’”

Borrego thrust him a thumbs-up over the top of the bucket.

“I’ve got a few made-up names I can pick from,” Cooper said, “but the one most people use is Cooper. And I’m not one hundred percent positive what the hell I want, but if you are the middleman you claim to be, there are two questions I’ve got for you. I’d like to know the names of the people you sold the shipment to, and the names of the people you bought it from.”

“You know what I’d like to know?” Borrego said. “I’d like to know why you didn’t just give me a call. Slip past my secretary that way. I usually even call back.”

“I’m old-fashioned.”

“Meaning you like to discuss such things in person.”

“Sometimes.”

“Or you just prefer to be a pain in the ass, in hopes it’ll get you somewhere the phone call wouldn’t.”

“Come on,” Cooper said, “why the gunslingers?”

El Oso Blanco shook his massive head.

“You tell me, ‘Cooper,’” he said. “The guns came at the behest of the buyer. Stupid and unnecessary, no matter what you’re shipping. Unless you’re running dope, the U.S. task forces don’t give a shit what you’re shipping. Might get a little sticky from all the red tape if you’re caught, but those boys think they’re fighting a war, and they don’t have time for anything but the front lines. I advised the buyers as much, but I was paid what I asked to get, and the goodies were out of my hands the instant the wire transfer landed. I knew they wanted the gunslingers, so I worked that into the shipping terms in advance. That’s what they wanted, so that’s what they got.”

“As it turns out,” Cooper said, “that shipment was worth quite a lot of money.”

“Oh, I know what it was worth. It was obviously worth quite a lot of trouble too.”

“You know what happened with the Coast Guard?”

“Sure.” Borrego pointed with his fork at the computer screen on the desk. “‘Coast Guard Guns Down Smugglers at Sea,’ or something to that effect.”

“You get a call from the buyers once the story broke?”

“I wouldn’t get that call directly anyway, but no.”

“You find that surprising?”

“That I didn’t get a call?” Borrego shrugged. “Mildly.”

“Who’d you sell to?”

Borrego began packing up the remains of his meal. “Considering that you’ve come and alerted me to the ‘string of bodies,’ as you put it, I’d be happy to break protocol and give you a name. He isn’t the buyer, of course. Only another middleman. A fence. But unless he’s relocated already, which is something he frequently does, you can find him in Naples.”

Food and silverware pushed aside, Borrego removed the napkin from around his neck, pulled a pen from a drawer, wrote something on a Post-it, and held the Post-it across the desk for Cooper to take.

“Should be able to reach him here.”

Cooper leaned in and took the Post-it.

“Appreciate the help.”

“Appreciate the warning.”

“What about the source?” Cooper said.

“You know, Señor Cooper, you are one greedy bastard.”

“Selfish too,” Cooper said. “Also angry.”

There came that brownish-yellow grin again. It faded, though, and the Polar Bear said, “No cigar there, campañero.”

“Why not?”

“Only way this artifact-acquisition system works is to retain the anonymity of the seller. I’ve got people out there-South and Central America, Africa, China-do my buying for me. And when they buy, they do it on a no-questions-asked basis. We pay close to the lowest price, but you always know you’ll never be ratted out by the Polar Bear.”

He grinned again, pleased at this declaration of his reputation.

Cooper thought for a moment. “You know where your people bought it, though,” he said. “Geographically speaking. And I imagine telling me that wouldn’t be ‘ratting out’ on your suppliers.”

“Interested in a tour through rebel-infested Central American jungle?”

Even hearing the term Central American jungle made Cooper’s stomach roil. He tensed up, Cooper starting to get pissed off at the indecipherable presence of butterflies that kept lightening his midsection whenever he put too much thought into the source of Po Keeler and Cap’n Roy’s goddamn gold artifacts. He thought for a moment of the statue of the priestess, camped out on the shelf in his bungalow: Yeah, Cooper, he heard her decayed, gritty voice croak, we up here in the afterlife waitin’ for your help. Up here lookin’ down at a slice o’ Central American jungle, about where you lost track of a few things yourself.

“I’m not following you,” Cooper said.

“No joke, amigo,” Borrego said. “I like to get out there once in a while-two, three times a year, minimum. Head out with my boys and do the buy myself-maybe even coax some tomb raider or other to take us along for the spelunk.”

“Spelunk,” Cooper said.

“The journey belowground-into the caves. The tombs, if you can find them. Still plenty of ’em out there-Inca gold, Mayan antiquities, art and treasure been hidden for a thousand-plus years. Technology and civilization just now getting us in on some of it.”

Cooper didn’t say anything about the relative youth Susannah Grant had pinpointed as to the origins of the Keeler artifacts-a hundred and fifty years at most.

“Appreciate the offer but I’ll take a pass,” Cooper said. “You go along for the ride on the shipment in question? If not, why don’t you just tell me where you got them.”

“Well, that’s the point. We purchased them in a remote, mountainous region along the border between Guatemala and Belize-but we’d have to get out and track down the sellers, among other things, to pin it down any better than that. I could track them down if I nosed around those parts for a bit, but there isn’t exactly a phone number.”

Borrego waved the receptionist in from the perch she’d clung to in the doorway, and she came in and cleared the remains of his lunch, shooting Cooper a series of dirty looks along the way. Or maybe she’s taking the time to admire the sharp crease of my cheekbones.

Then the Polar Bear stood and extended a hand.

“Offer stands,” he said.

Cooper, who tended to tower over the average guy, had to look way up as he took hold of El Oso Blanco’s paw and shook. Man had to be six-nine, maybe taller. An effective guess on his weight seemed impossible.

“While I enjoy a nice eco-tour as much as the next soul,” Cooper said, “that part of the world isn’t exactly my favorite. I’ll be getting hold of your Florida buyer, though.”

“Fence. You going to call him?”

Cooper cocked his head a notch, unclear as to what Borrego was asking.

“Just curious,” the Polar Bear said, “if you were planning to call the man on the phone, or whether you’d ride in on a train to get past his security guards.”