Golden Relic (16 page)

"No, not at all," Sam stated.

"Good. Apart from looting the empire of all the gold they could find, the Spanish began dividing
up the 'Land of the Four Quarters' between themselves, becoming governors of regions that would
later become Peru, Chile, Bolivia and Ecuador. When Manco realised the Spanish were never going to
leave his land, he escaped from the city, rallied tens of thousands of Inca warriors and laid siege
to Cuzco for 12 months. When Spanish reinforcements arrived, Manco and about 20,000 followers
retreated to the central Andes of Peru from where they continued to provoke uprisings.

"Manco founded a new Inca capital in a region of almost impenetrable jungle northwest of Cuzco,
where he built a city called Vilcabamba. He fought the invaders for nine years before being murdered
by a supposed ally. Three of his sons, in succession, ruled Vilcabamba and waged irregular guerrilla
warfare for three decades. In 1572 a large Spanish force set out to destroy Vilcabamba but the Incas
set fire to and abandoned the city. However the last Sapa Inca, Tupac Amaru, was captured and taken
back to Cuzco where he was put through a show trial and beheaded in the town square."

"What happened to Vilcabamba?" Sam asked.

"The jungle reclaimed it and it became the stuff of legends - a lost city, the last
stronghold of the last Inca kings."

Sam tapped the photograph. "Despite your story, you don't think this Manco City is Vilcabamba, do
you?"

"Maggie shook her head. "Not unless Pavel, and all the people in this photo, decided not to tell
the world of their discovery. Archaeologists had been looking for the city since the 1830s. Hiram
Bingham thought he'd found it when he discovered Machu Picchu in 1911. In fact Bingham did find
Vilcabamba, west of Cuzco near Espíritu Pampa, the Plain of Ghosts, but dismissed it because it was
so less imposing than Machu Picchu.

"In 1964, two years after this photo of Lloyd's was taken, an American explorer named Gene Savoy
retraced Bingham's steps to Espíritu Pampa re-found the lost city of Vilcabamba. The ruins covered
two square miles and were, in turn, covered in trees and vines."

"So where do you suppose this picture was taken?" Sam asked.

"I've no idea. It's definitely Inca architecture though, the stonework is unmistakable. I know
Pavel's team found a couple of ceremonial centres northwest of Machu Picchu in 1962. Maybe they did
think this one was Vilcabamba, or Manco's city, but further research proved them wrong."

"Why weren't you with them?" Sam asked.

"I was in Luxor that year. I went into archaeology because of a passion for all things Egyptian
but in 1961 Jean McBride asked me to travel with her to meet up with an expedition she was joining
in Peru. I ended up staying for the duration, becoming enthralled with that part of the world and
its history and consequently changing the course of my life. I blame Pavel entirely for that. But, I
had to finish some work in Luxor in 1962 before I could embrace my new passion and all the study
that went with it."

"That explains
An Interlude in Hatshepsut's Kitchen
," Sam smiled.

Maggie laughed. "I would kill for a memory like yours, Sam."

"I would kill for a cup of coffee."

"Well if you think we've found all there is to find here, we may as well head back to town."
Maggie checked her watch. "You'll have most of the afternoon to get ready for your date."

"It is not a date, Maggie."

"Whatever you say, dear."

"Oh please don't. My sister Jacqui gives me that look when she thinks she knows better."

"Perhaps she does, Sam. Does she share your gift for remembering things?"

"No, she shares my house. Jac and I couldn't be more different. She dresses like a tart, goes out
with gay sailors and reads romances. I'm still trying to work out which of us was switched at
birth."

"Interesting," Maggie commented. "I think I'd like to meet her sometime."

"Oh no you wouldn't," Sam insisted, "she's quite deranged."

Sam had tried on her entire wardrobe three times before finally settling on a close
fitting, elegant black cocktail number with a dark purple flash that began discreetly at the waist
on the right hand side and swept around to the hemline at the front. Shoes were going to be a
problem though; she hadn't worn heels in three years.

"Well, well, well, so you are a girl," Jacqui observed from the doorway.

"I'm surprised you can tell the difference any more, Jac," Sam returned.

"Very funny. Where are you going on a Sunday dressed liked that?"

"I've got a date with an archaeologist."

Jacqui raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said what's-her-name wasn't that sort of date."

"She isn't. This is a different archaeologist. Ah, the doorbell. Would you let him in while I
finish."

Jacqui disappeared but returned moments later, her eyes wide. "Sam. There is the most gorgeous
man standing in our lounge room."

"Well don't leave him there all by himself, Jacqui. I'll only be a minute."

"I wouldn't know what to say to him."

You and me both, Sam thought. "Ask him about his exhibition," she suggested; which is exactly
what Sam did the moment she was alone with Marcus Bridger in his car. Discussion of his show
maintained the conversation almost all the way to the Regency Hotel. And Rigby had been right,
Bridger did know the right people to ask about getting his exhibits on an earlier flight from
Paris.

"I'm quite passionate about de-accessioning," Bridger stated in response to Sam's question about
where he stood on the issue of the return of cultural property. "It's my belief that countries
should be in possession of their own cultural heritage. But there are still museum curators and
private collectors all over the world who, inexplicably, believe they have the right to horde the
treasures and artefacts of cultures not their own."

"What happens with something like Inca artefacts though? Whoa! Watch out," Sam cried as Bridger
took too sharp a turn into the hotel's carpark, narrowly missing the booth.

"Sorry," he apologised, though he looked more shaken by the near miss than Sam did. "I've spent
the last couple of months driving on the other side of the road. You were saying?"

"If the Inca Empire encompassed what is now five different South American countries, which one
do you return the cultural material to?"

"That situation does pose a dilemma. The same applies to relics from the Persian Empire which at
its height extended from Iran to India and Europe. And I'm not suggesting museums give everything
back. Rightful ownership would have to be verified. But why are you interested in Inca
artefacts?"

"I'm not really," Sam fibbed, as they got out of the car. "It's just that Marsden was dead
against returning any of his Andean antiquities and Maggie was telling me she'd just been in Paris
mediating a dispute between museums in Chile and Peru over the ownership of an Inca artefact."

"Ah, the now infamous 'Inca trinket fiasco'," Bridger laughed. "That dispute, even before the
theft, indicated that the concept of returning cultural property is saddled with a host of problems.
If Peru and Chile can't agree on who really owns a bracelet that one of them already possesses, then
you can imagine how hard it is to make decisions about the collections held by foreign
institutions."

"So do you advocate returning only those things that are requested?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Doing anything else would be nigh on impossible, but doing anything less would be
unenlightened. Don't you think?" Bridger ushered Sam into the lift.

"Oh I agree," Sam said. "But what about the argument that if all Inca artefacts were returned
then the rest of the world would be denied easy access to the remnants of an incredible
civilisation?"

"That's where exhibitions like mine become so important," Bridger stated. "The Rites of Life and
Death features treasures from all over the world, mostly on loan from their places of origin. My aim
is to take the world to the world. More people have seen some of the Hindu relics that were lent to
our show after their return to India, than ever saw them in the museum in London."

"I know that's true, Marcus," Sam said. "I was entranced by the Gold of the Pharaohs exhibition
that came here a few years ago, partly because I knew it might be as close as I'd ever get to
Egypt."

Bridger laughed. "I was lucky. My father was an archaeologist, so my entire childhood was
submerged by other times and places."

"You know," Sam caught her breath as Bridger's hand brushed against the small of her back to
direct her from the lift to the reception room. "You know," she repeated, "I come across people from
all walks of life during my investigations but I have to say I have never met a group who,
collectively and individually, are as passionate about their work as you all seem to be."

"It gets in your blood," Marcus stated. "It's not work, it's much more than a job, it's a
life."

"In your case, Marcus, it really is in the blood. Your career choice seems to be inherited."

"Yes, my father's passion for his life's work was quite inspiring. He once organised a protest,
long before the sixties made it popular, to prevent a golf course being built next to a sacred site.
But I feel I have to say, and I don't mean to sound old-fashioned Sam, that your career choice seems
a strange one for a woman."

Sam shrugged; she was accustomed to this attitude. "I've always loved figuring things out,
solving puzzles. In a sense, Marcus, our work is similar. We're both detectives rummaging around in
the lives of dead people. Mine just happen to be more recently dead than yours."

"True," Marcus acknowledged. "I've never thought of it like that, and I admit I never thought it
strange that women wanted to be archaeologists. Speaking of which, is that your young constable with
Maggie? I thought she meant the older guy was escorting her."

"Jack? He wouldn't be seen dead at a shindig like this," Sam laughed, looking over at Maggie and
Rivers who were seated at a large table with Prescott, Adrienne, Andrew Barstoc, the dreaded Enrico
Vasquez, Robert Ellington and three people Sam had never seen before. Glancing around the other
tables in the intimate dining room she recognised several museum staff, including Peter Gilchrist
and Anton, as well as people she'd seen working at the Exhibition Building.

There were two spaces left at the main table, between Rivers and Adrienne. Bridger, ever the
gentleman, pulled Sam's chair out for her before sitting down himself.

Ellington introduced Sam to his wife Miriam, and to Joan Harris, head of Museum PR, and her
husband Paul. "I believe you know everyone else," he added.

"We're so pleased you could join us, Sam," Adrienne smiled, although she'd given Bridger what
could only be described as a filthy look.

"Sam dear, you look stunning," Maggie stated.

"And you look like a million dollars," Sam said, admiring Maggie's gold silk frock-coat.

"Not quite a million, but it was the only thing I splurged on while in Paris."

"Any progress on the case Detective Diamond?" Prescott asked.

"He's already tried me," Rivers muttered to Sam.

"This is a social evening Mr Prescott. Officially, I am not here."

"Ah yes, of course," Prescott murmured, his immaculate exterior barely managing to conceal his
impatience, or his curiosity as to why, in fact, Sam was there.

When the drink waitress arrived to take orders Sam motioned to Rivers to lean back a little so
she could address Maggie. "Did you manage to get in touch with…"

"My friend?" Maggie interrupted hurriedly. "No. But I made several calls this afternoon and I'm
expecting at least one to be returned this evening," she replied.

"Yes Miriam, it is indeed tragic," Prescott was saying. "And I'm just praying it doesn't reflect
too badly on the Conference."

Maggie tried not to laugh when she noticed Sam's expression. She leant across Rivers, her hand on
his knee, and whispered, "He really only opens his mouth to change feet, you know."

"What with ominous postcards and…"

"Mr Prescott," Sam interrupted before he could spill the beans about poisons and suspect lists,
"there's something I've been meaning to ask…someone." Preferably someone else, she thought,
hesitating as a waiter informed Maggie she had a phone call.

"And what would that be, Detective Diamond?" Prescott asked.

"How can the Museum of Victoria host an international museum conference when Melbourne doesn't
actually have a museum at the moment?"

Uproarious laughter from everyone at the table, except Rivers, made Sam wish she'd kept her mouth
shut. She raised her hands, "Okay, obviously I have no idea what I'm talking about," she said.

"The new Melbourne Museum may not be finished," Prescott began, "but it is a prime example, in
production, of just where museums are heading in the 21
^st
century. The old idea of a
museum as one building able to display only a small part of its collection at any one time, has
given way to the multi-campus concept - a network of museums and galleries which focus on
different aspects of culture, science, and natural and social history."

"Part of the new Museum is open," Joan Harris said. "The IMAX theatre has been operating for a
while now."

"What's that?" Rivers asked.

"It's an experience and then some," Joan enthused. "The screen is six-stories high and designed
to show in amazing fidelity the latest films on technology, human history and nature."

"Getting back to what I was saying," Prescott stated, "we do have Scienceworks, the Immigration,
the Hellenic and the National Wool museums, not to mention a reputation within the museum community
for our superb natural history collection - even if it is in storage."

"And work is proceeding on the National Air and Space Museum at Point Cook," Ellington
volunteered. "We also have heritage buildings, parks, cultural sites, folk museums like Sovereign
Hill at Ballarat, even the Old Melbourne Gaol. And of course the term museum covers the Botanic and
Zoological gardens and the National Gallery."