Montezuma’s Revenge

“Operation Buttercup,” Sones said at once and the gun was lowered and they were waved silently on. Another guard, almost a twin of the first in dullness of eye and strength of jaw, opened another door for them and they entered the large conference room where a number of men already waited around the long table. They were uniformly dressed in grayish black suits and dark neckties, white shirts and, presumably, all wore the same kind of shoes though the table prevented the verification of this assumption. Pads and pencils were arranged neatly before each chair as well as little signs at every place, each with a different letter of the alphabet upon it. X sat at the head of the table and looked on severely as Sones led Tony toward two vacant chairs.

“You are J,” Sones whispered. “Top security. Sit here.”

No sooner had they found their places than X coughed deeply and rapped on the table with his knuckles.

“All right, let’s get down to it. K, have you checked J’s security?”

“He is clean. He needs upgrading, but he is clean enough for a prelim.”

“That is encouraging. Pass me his dossier.”

“I do not have the key to this case.”

“Who has it?”

“C.”

“Then pass the case to C.”

“I cannot. I do not have the key to the handcuff. The key is held by . , .”

“I don’t care about that” There was the hint of a biting edge of exasperation in X’s heretofore controlled voice. “Just walk over to C so he can unlock it and give me the dossier.”

The others waited in silence while this was done and X flipped through the pages of the file. What he read apparently satisfied him for he closed it and turned to Tony for the first time.

“Welcome to Operation Buttercup, J. You are the man we need.” Before Tony could ask the question that hung ready to his lips, X raised his voice and said, “Roll it!”

Instantly a projection screen dropped from the ceiling behind him and a small window opened in the far wall. The lights went out a fraction of a second later and the beam of a projector shot across the room and a colored picture flashed on the screen, a painting.

“Do you know what that is?” X’s voice came from the darkness. “I’m talking to you, J,” he added when there was no answer.

“Yes, sir, I do, a painting.”

“Do you know the identity of this painting?”

There was the sudden feeling of tension in the room and Tony wondered why. There was no secret about it—he even sold prints of this particular canvas in the National Gallery.

“Of course. That is the ‘Battle of Anghiari’ by Leonardo da Vinci.”

The lights blazed on again and the picture vanished; Tony blinked at the sudden glare and became slowly aware that every eye in the room was on him.

“And where is that painting now?” There was a feeling of strain in X’s voice as he spoke.

“Nowhere. It was destroyed during the war when the museum in Capitello, Italy, was bombed during an air raid.”

This bit of information, known to any art major who had passed his first year, caused an excited stir in the room as the men shifted in their chairs and one or two murmured to their neighbors. The sharp rap of X’s knuckles restored order instantly.

“That is it then, gentlemen. Operation Buttercup is off and rolling. J and E will make the contact. It will be far easier now with one of our own agents on the job—we don’t want to co-opt outsiders. We all know the trouble that happens when we do.”

“Pardon me,” Tony broke in. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“Not at all. We have evidence, strong evidence I can assure you, that this painting was never destroyed. There is a man in the country now who is attempting to sell the painting and the whole operation has landed in our laps. And we can handle it. But before we do anything else, we need verification that this is indeed the painting in question and that is where you come in, J. We are putting a specialized team in the field, yourself and E. You are the art man, you let us know if this thing is the real McCoy or not. E is a specialist in keeping his eyes open, he’s our bunco operator and knows all the people in the business. Now—get out there and get a report back here as soon as you can. At once, since we are under a bit of time pressure.”

“Just a minute! I can’t do that. I’m an art historian, a shop manager, not a specialist. I don’t know a thing about this kind of work, I’ve never even seen the painting in question and I don’t know about testing the paints and all ....”

“You’re good enough for us, you’re part of the bunch, J, and that is what counts. We can bring in those specialists later, but right now we are in a hurry and we want to keep this right in the shop, so to speak. There are complications, international complications as well as some with other agencies, and we don’t want word of what is happening to leak to anyone, understand? You’ll do the job. E will brief you on the operation.”

For the first time Tony looked closely at the man sitting behind the E sign and found him quite familiar.

“Yes, I know him, that is ...”