From The Grave

Chapter 7

Cecil opened the case and took out a plastic bag and laid it on the table. Inside, the men could see the stamp with its bright blue background and the image of the island warrior.

"Why is that so valuable?" Hunter asked, putting his comb away.

"It is a limited edition that celebrates a time in this island's history. As far as anyone knows, it is the only pristine version remaining."

"So there are more?"

"Yes, but their value drops considerably because of cancellation stamps and the fact that they have been used at all. This stamp has never been used."

"So what's the price?" Hunter asked, subtlety not his forte.

"$850,000.00 American."

"For that!" Hunter tipped his chair back and looked at the others with gaping incredulity.

"Shut up." Humboldt said, picking up the bag and studying the stamp.

"How do I know this is genuine?"

"My superior has affidavits from several renowned philatelists, as well as the government of Niue."

"And they aren't complaining that this is in the hands of a private individual looking to make a buck?"

"There has been some protesting but the courts here have to be supported by the New Zealand Superior Court and up to now that hasn't happened. My superior has possession and is using that advantage as his own."

"Just who the hell is your superior?" Arlo asked.

Cecil stared across the table for a moment and then reached across and grabbed Arlo's wrist. The move was lightning fast and the effect was to silently immobilize Arlo while his other hand produced a huge six shooter that aimed in the general direction of Hunter and Humboldt.

"What the-"

Arlo's mouth moved and his eyes began to roll up into his head. Cecil released his grip and sat back, his gun still aiming in the general direction of his visitors.

"I stressed that blaspheming in God's house was not to happen. Third time is a lesson."

They looked at Arlo who was slowly catching his breath and staring at the indents in his wrist.

"I don't deal with nut cases, pal. I'll speak to your 'superior' or he can answer personally to mine."

The threat wasn't idle. Cecil eyes clouded as he put his gun away and a grey tongue slid over his thin, dry lips.

"I'll make a call." He stood and went to an old fashioned wall phone in the corner and dialed a number, waiting several seconds before speaking in a muffled tone. A minute later, he hung up and returned to the table, picking up the stamp and replacing it in the case.

"Well?" Humboldt barked.

"He will meet you for dinner this evening at your hotel. Nine sharp." Cecil picked up the case and left the room.

"Nine sharp. Who the hell does he think he is?" Hunter snapped. "You gonna sit still for that crap?"

"We got our meeting, dummy. Next we'll get to set some ground rules." He stood from the table and lumbered toward the door they came in through.

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The mood around the table was gloomy. Arny spooned cereal into his mouth with the motions usually seen in eight year olds who have been scolded. Gretta hummed tunelessly as she buttered toast at the counter. She hadn't denied his question from the previous night and he had taken it as a yes, which it was.

Gretta rarely ignored situations where in her professional capacity she could correct a wrong or help someone beset by iniquitous forces. And Arny should have known better than to object; it only strengthened her resolve.

She carried her plate to the table and sat down, pouring some coffee from the pot and adding a taste of sugar.

"Hold that expression long enough and it will become permanent."

"Ha, ha. It already is. I got it right at the beginning when we first met."

"So why did you stick around?" She bit into her toast and stirred her coffee.

He shoveled some cereal into his mouth, avoiding an answer. It wouldn't have served his current position well and they both knew it.

"Arny, every time something like this comes up you moan and groan and complain. I don't do that about your job. As a matter of fact, your job came about because of what I do."

He coloured and dipped his head. It was true. When they first met and he had been virtually kidnapped to Mexico, when he returned the CIA had made up for all his suffering by interceding with Cutter and Glimb and Arny wound up with a cushy new position.

"I might also point out that since the beginning you have accompanied me on all my projects."

"That was to make sure you were okay . . . " The statement dwindled away as he realized how inane it sounded. Gretta could make ten of Arny when it came to self protection.

"And this time?"

"What? You expect me to tag along again? Me your Pancho to you, Gretta Quixote."

"Actually, yes."

He banged down his spoon, splashing milk onto his pants, and sat back, arms crossed, face set. Gretta calmly chewed her toast and drank her coffee.

"It's just a big lark to you, isn't it?"

She swallowed her coffee and looked hard at him."That, lover, was the wrong thing to say. It is my job. It is what I do and I do it very well. Liking what I do is a very large bonus. How do you feel about your job?"
"When are you leaving." It was a quiet statement of resignation.

"You don't have to come, Arny."

His face was frozen in an expression of pure frustration. "Yes, I do. Actually, I do."

"Terrific, our flight for New Zealand leaves tomorrow at four-thirty. CONGA had space made for us as far as Fiji."

"You had this arranged already! You knew I would cave again! I'm not going!"

"Sure you are. It'll be fun. You've never been to the South Pacific." She finished her coffee and took the dirty dishes to the sink. "When you've finished your cereal put on the dishwasher, okay. And you should wipe that milk off your pants before it dries."

"You had this all planned." He railed, scraping a serviette over the damp spots.

"Arny, you'll love Fiji, although we won't be there any longer than to change planes."

He put his head down on his arms and rolled it side to side. She did it again, he groaned inwardly. I can't win.