ROSKILDE
6:15 PM
MALONE WAITED UNTIL AFTER THE AUCTION STARTED BEFORE slipping into the hall. He was familiar with the setup and knew bidding would not begin before six twenty, as there were preliminary matters of buyer registration and seller agreements that had to be verified before any money began changing hands.
Roskilde was an ancient town nestled beside a slender saltwater fjord. Founded by Vikings, it had served as Denmark's capital until the fifteenth century and continued to exude a regal grace. The auction was held downtown, near the Domkirke, in a building off Skomagergade, where shoemakers had once dominated. Bookselling was an art form in Denmark. There was a nationwide appreciation for the written word--one Malone, as a lifelong bibliophile, had come to admire. Where once books were simply a hobby, a diversion from the pressures of his risky career, now they were his life.
Spotting Peter Hansen and Stephanie near the front, he stayed toward the rear, behind one of the stone pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling. He had no intention of bidding, so it mattered not if the auctioneer could see him.
Books came and went, some for respectable numbers of kroner. But he noticed Peter Hansen perk up as the next item was displayed.
"Pierres Gravees du Languedoc, by Eugene Stublein. Copyright 1887," the auctioneer announced. "A local history, quite common for the time, printed in only a few hundred copies. This is part of an estate we recently acquired. This book is very fine, leather-bound, no marks, with some extraordinary prints--one is reproduced in the catalog. Not something we normally bother with, but the volume is quite lovely, so we thought there may be some interest. An opening bid, please."
Three came fast, all low, the last at four hundred kroner. Malone did the math. Sixty dollars. Hansen then weighed in at eight hundred. No more bids came from the other potential buyers until one of the representatives who worked phones for those unable to attend called out a bid of one thousand kroner.
Hansen seemed perturbed by the unexpected challenge, especially from a long-distance bidder, and upped his offer to 1,050. Phone Man retaliated with two thousand. A third bidder joined the fray. Shouts continued until the bid soared to nine thousand kroner. Others appeared to sense there might be something more to the book. Another minute of intense bidding ended with Hansen's offer of twenty-four thousand kroner.
More than four thousand dollars.
Malone knew Stephanie was a salaried civil servant, somewhere in the seventy- to eighty-thousand-dollar-a-year range. Her husband had died years ago and left her with some assets, but she was not wealthy and certainly not a book collector, so he wondered why she was willing to pay so much for an unknown travel log. People brought them into his shop by the box, many from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a time when personal accounts of faraway places were popular. Most sported purple prose and were, by and large, worthless.
This one clearly seemed an exception.
"Fifty thousand kroner," the representative for Phone Man called out.
More than double Hansen's last bid.
Heads turned and Malone retreated behind the pillar as Stephanie whirled to face the phone bank. He peered around the edge and watched as Stephanie and Hansen conversed, then returned their attention to the auctioneer. A moment of silence passed while Hansen seemed to consider his next move, but he was clearly taking his cue from Stephanie.
She shook her head.
"Item is sold to the telephone bidder for fifty thousand kroner."
The auctioneer retrieved the book from the display stand and a fifteen-minute break was announced. Malone knew the house was going to take a look at Pierres Gravees du Languedoc to see what made it worth more than eight thousand dollars. He knew the Roskilde dealers were astute and unaccustomed to treasures slipping past them. But apparently, something had this time.
He continued to hug the pillar while Stephanie and Hansen remained near their seats. A number of familiar faces filled the hall and he hoped no one called out his name. Most were idling toward the other corner where refreshments were being offered. He noticed two men approach Stephanie and introduce themselves. Both were stocky, with short hair, dressed in chinos and crew-necked shirts beneath loose-fitting tan jackets. As one bent to shake Stephanie's hand, Malone noticed the distinctive bulge of a weapon nestled against his spine.
After some discussion, the men withdrew. The conversation had appeared friendly, and while Hansen drifted toward the free beer, Stephanie approached one of the attendants, spoke a moment, then left the hall through a side door.
Malone moved straight for the same attendant, Gregos, a thin Dane whom he knew well.
"Cotton, so good to see you."
"Always on the lookout for a bargain."