Jones laughed at the tale. “That’s classic Schliemann. The guy was slippery.”
“Remember, fortune was only a small part of the equation with Schliemann. He also wanted to be the world’s most famous antiquarian-that’s what’s archaeologists were called back then. So he photographed his wife wearing the fanciest items, which he dubbed the Jewels of Helen, and published her photograph next to a detailed description of his findings. He actually admitted in the media that he had smuggled everything out of the country. Well, let me tell you, it sparked a huge controversy. The Turkish government revoked his digging permits, they imprisoned some of his workers, and they sued him for their rightful share of the treasure. But Schliemann escaped to Greece before the Turks could arrest him.”
“And what happened to the treasure?” Payne wondered.
“The majority of it was acquired by the Imperial Museum of Berlin, which was Schliemann’s way of endearing himself to his native Germany. But during World War Two, it was looted from a hidden bunker located underneath the Berlin Zoo. For nearly fifty years, no one knew what happened to it. It was one of the greatest mysteries of the war. Then, one day in 1993, an exhibition opened at the Pushkin Museum in Moscow, displaying Priam’s Treasure.”
“It surfaced in Russia?” Payne asked. “How’d it get here?”
“The Russian army’s Trophy Brigade, as they were called back then, had seized it and lied about it for decades. Eventually, leaders in Moscow decided the treasure was too beautiful to hide, and they put it on display for the whole world to see. Which, of course, started another controversy. Despite multiple threats by Germany, the Russians refused to give it back, claiming it was compensation for the destruction of Russian cities by the Nazis. Not to mention Nazi looting. If you know anything about World War Two, it wasn’t a good time to own art.”
Payne and Jones nodded. They knew all about the spoils of war.
“Which brings us to Saint Petersburg,” she said as she glanced at Payne. “Sorry it took so long to get here. I felt you needed to hear the whole story to understand.”
“No problem. I learned a lot.”
“Since Schliemann lived in Saint Petersburg for several years, the Russian government decided that half of the treasure should be exhibited in the city. Since 1998, it has been on public display at the Hermitage.”
“And Richard wanted to study it?”
She shook her head. “Richard didn’t care about the treasures that Schliemann had found. He was more concerned with the treasures that had eluded him.”
34
Payne considered all the information he had been told and tried to figure out why Richard Byrd had been killed. But it was dif ficult. There were still pieces missing from the equation.
He knew Byrd was a treasure hunter who had an affinity for Heinrich Schliemann, an archaeologist who lived in Saint Petersburg during the nineteenth century. Allison was an expert on the subject, able to talk at length about every aspect of Schliemann’s life, including his passion for Greek treasures. What Payne didn’t know, though, was what role she served in Byrd’s latest project. Or, for that matter, what the project was.
“When we spoke to Petr Ulster,” Payne said, hoping to shift the focus of the conversation back to Allison, “he mentioned Richard’s taste for young assistants. From what we were told, their talents were less than helpful in the Archives.”
Allison agreed with the assessment. She was fully aware of Richard’s former employees and their sexual reputations. “Like I said, Richard was a player. He used his wealth and power to get what he wanted. And they, in return, traveled the globe.”
“Yet you were willing to work for him. How did that happen?”
“For two years I spent most of my free time in Stanford’s library, trying to learn everything I could about Heinrich Schliemann. The more I learned, the more I realized that my thesis was lacking an important element: firsthand experience. Unlike most archaeologists of his day, Schliemann didn’t live in a library. He lived in the field. He took his books and his shovels and started digging. How could I write a paper about him without experiencing the same things?”
Payne said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
“One day my thesis adviser told me that Richard was looking for a new assistant, preferably a doctoral student with an extensive knowledge of Greek treasures. Not only was it a paid position, but most of the fieldwork would be done in Europe. Obviously, it sounded perfect to me, so I submitted a letter of interest and my résumé. In the meantime, I researched Richard and discovered several interesting things. He came from old money. Ironically, it was made in the same manner as Schliemann’s-gold and banking. Later I found out their connection was even stronger than that. Richard’s ancestors had actually worked with Schliemann during the Gold Rush. So Richard believed they were kindred spirits, destined to be linked forever.”
Jones said, “That explains his boat.”
She looked at him, confused. Not sure what he meant.
“We saw a picture of his boat. It was called the Odyssey.”
“Ah, yes. Richard’s yacht. A tribute to Homer and the journeys he hoped to make.”
“Journeys that included you,” Payne said, trying to keep her focused.
She nodded. “Richard called me a week later and asked me a number of questions about Schliemann and Greece. I must have passed his test, because he hired me sight unseen.”
Payne smiled at the comment. It said a lot about her personality. She wanted them to know that she had been hired for her brains, not her looks. Then again, Payne had known that within five minutes of talking to her. “When was that?”
“About a month ago.”
“A month? You’ve been here for a month?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I’ve been here less than a week.”
“But you worked with him for a month. What were your duties?”
“At first, not much. He flew me to Berlin, where he spent most of his time at the local museums searching for information about Schliemann’s treasures. He talked to curators and experts in various fields. Meanwhile, I waited back at the hotel.”
“Why was that?” Payne asked.
“He didn’t trust me. In fact, he didn’t trust most people he met. In that way, he was just like Schliemann. He kept his plans to himself and only asked for help when he needed it.”
“What type of help?”
“He would summon me to his room, where I would be told to read a document or look at a picture. Then I would be asked for my opinion. Did I think this? Did I think that? It was very strange.”
“In what way?”
“It was always something different. One minute it was about Schliemann. The next about Zeus. Or the geology of Ancient Europe. There was never a consistent theme, like he was purposely trying to confuse me so I wouldn’t know what he was looking for.”
Payne furrowed his brow. “What was he looking for?”
“I have no idea. He never trusted me enough to tell me.”
“Come on. Don’t give me that. A smart gal like you, you must have a theory.”
She smiled. “I have a couple.”
“Such as?”
“As I mentioned, Richard didn’t care about the treasures that Schliemann found. He was more concerned with the ones he didn’t. So I focused my attention there, trying to figure out what Schliemann was hunting for in the latter stages of his life. Two days before he died, despite a horrible ear infection that had required several operations in the preceding weeks, Schliemann toured the ruins of Pompeii. As you probably know, the city was destroyed by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in seventy-nine A.D. and wasn’t rediscovered until the mid-seventeen hundreds.”
“Pardon my ignorance,” Payne said. “But isn’t Pompeii in Italy?”
She nodded. “Near Naples.”
“What does it have to do with Ancient Greece?”
“Nothing, as far as I know. But Richard had an interest in the place, probably because of Schliemann. One day he showed me ancient maps of Pompeii, along with some artwork that survived the blast. Another time he asked me about Herculaneum, Pompeii’s wealthier sister city, which was also destroyed.”