“The FBI’s stolen art treasures section has them both on their Most Wanted Art Crimes website,” Garfield said. “And therein lies the problem we’re facing. Possessing a stolen antiquity, especially one of this value, can bring down numerous charges both domestically and internationally.”
“Wait a minute.” Wolf held up his hand. “You said something just now … ‘Both of them.’ Are you saying the other part is listed as stolen, too?”
“Yes,” Garfield said. “I did some substantial checking trying to identify this one, but the other one is missing, too.”
“And they both were stolen from the Iraqi National Museum in Baghdad?” Wolf asked.
“That’s right,” Garfield said. “There was a rumor they were circulating in the black market about four years ago.”
Four years, Wolf thought.
He looked at Mac, who nodded and said, “I bet I know who has the other piece.”
“And why so many have died,” Wolf said. “All for a two thousand-year-old piece of stone.”
At last, he thought. This is all starting to make sense.
Chapter Five
THE GRAND TETONS HOTEL
PHOENIX, ARIZONA
The suite was elegant and included a large dining room area as well as two other bedrooms. Soraces had set up the dining room as his Ops Center and had the hotel move a whiteboard, markers, a roll of scotch tape, and a package of blank paper into it. Right now, it only had a few entries on it: a list of the players, Wolf, McNamara, McNamara’s daughter and grandson, and the Shadows. He’d add any others as they entered the picture. All the entries were on pieces of paper that had been taped to the board. On overseas ops he’d taken a liking to the whiteboard displays but always was leery about leaving residual writing on the surfaces, even after it had been erased. Thus, he made the markings on the paper and taped them to the board. It proved to be ideal. Not only did it leave no marks to be found on the board, but the papers could be gathered together and burned very quickly. He knew he didn’t need that same level of secrecy on this op here in the States but old habits die hard. Soraces hadn’t survived this long by being lax.
While he’d only booked regular rooms for the Perkins brothers, they were still sumptuous compared to the hole-in-the-wall places they had stayed in before when working for the G. They weren’t about to complain about the inequity of their rooms compared to his, nor would Dirk, if he ever replied.
Speaking of the big man, Soraces thought, glancing at his watch.
It was nine-fifty.
Why hadn’t he called back?
Of course, depending on where Dirk was, the time didn’t mean anything.
Soraces had made a few phone calls, after Dirk had failed to call him back, and learned the big man was “on assignment.” Knowing the Agency, that could be anywhere from Central America to the Middle East. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. The time zone difference, not to mention the distance factor, would make it harder to set up the necessary boots on the ground here. But he wasn’t in a hurry, not with that rich, fat clown down in Belize footing the bill and paying for everything. No, for a change, it was a pleasure to be going first class on all aspects of an operation.
He thought about the possibilities of making this one his career endgame. If he could get control of this artifact, he could probably name his own price. But then again, who besides that rich Humpty Dumpty would be willing to pay top dollar for a hunk of centuries-old rock decorated with some mother of pearl and onyx carving? No, let the rich prick have his prize. Besides, with the little video he had featuring Von Dien and Fallotti, he had his own ace in the hole. Once he’d been paid and was a safe distance away from the hulking bodyguard, Soraces figured he’d arrange for a little snippet to come to their attention. That would foster the understanding that not only was he untouchable from here on out, but he was no longer in need of anything because with what they were going to pay him, he’d already have it all.
Von Dien had multiple estates here in the U.S., in Belize, and even was purported to own his own island somewhere in the Caribbean.
The Caribbean, Soraces thought. That wouldn’t be a bad place for an ex-spook to retire. He could go the Ian Fleming route and buy his own Golden Eye and fill it full of fine booze and luscious brown ladies. Well, he’d throw some Europeans into the mix, too.
After all, variety was the spice of life.
The phone jarred him from his reverie and he momentarily chastised himself for letting his daydreams take him out of the moment. That was the sure-fire way to disaster.
Focus, he told himself as he looked at the screen and then smiled.
Dirk was calling back.
”Good to hear from you,” he said as he pressed the button to open the connection. “I assume you got my message.”
“I’m interested.” It was Dirk’s unmistakable voice, all right. A man of few words.
“But are you available?” Soraces asked.
“As long as the money’s right.”
Soraces laughed. “Oh, it is. First class, all the way.”
“In that case, count me in.”
“Where you at?”
“Base,” Dirk replied.
Soraces knew this was code for Agency headquarters in Virginia.
“Good. Meet me in Phoenix. How soon can you get here?”
“I just have to make a drop off at Langley and do a quick debrief. I’ll hop on the next commercial flight after that.”
Soraces evaluated this new information. A debriefing on the last mission could take hours or even days and he didn’t necessarily want to wait.
“Sounds complicated,” he said. “Is it going to be involved?”
“Nah,” Dirk said. “Be in and out.”
This made Soraces feel more at ease. The sooner he had his personnel set in place, the faster the game could get underway. And, since money was no object …
“I’ll tell you what,” Soraces said. “I’ll set up a private jet for you and have it standing by at Reagan. I need you out here fast. I’ll text you everything.”
He heard Dirk emit a low whistle.
“I told you it was lucrative.” Soraces laughed. “First class all the way, baby.”
“I’ll be there later today.”
“The sooner the better,” Soraces said but realized he was talking to dead air.
Excellent, he thought, and started scrolling for private jet services.
The phone rang with an incoming call.
The Shadows, he thought as he looked at the screen. Or Clyde’s phone, more specifically.
He answered it immediately.
“They’re leaving the shop,” Clyde Perkins said. “Appears they’ve got something with them in a backpack.”
The craft shop was where Soraces had assumed Wolf had taken the original bandito to get the duplicate made. Among other things, they specialized in ceramic figurines that people could buy to paint and display. So, Wolf might be bringing the bandito to get another duplicate made, which meant that he might be leaving the original there for the process. Or did he already have the original there? But moreover, where was the artifact? At this point, it was safe to assume that Wolf knew about the artifact. He’d hinted as much in their face-to-face meeting three weeks or so ago. He might have removed it from the original bandito and secreted it in another statue, or even a completely different hiding place.
Dammit, he thought. This was like trying to outguess the scam artist playing three-card-Monte.
Where the hell was the artifact?
“You want us to stay on them?” Perkins asked.
Soraces considered the options. At this point, he was still setting up pieces on his metaphorical chessboard. If Wolf did have the original bandito with him and it still contained the artifact, then he’d most likely be taking it to what he felt was a safe, secret location. He’d also be extra vigilant in looking for a tail. Plus, he had McNamara with him to do the driving. It was way too early in the game to take a chance
on blowing their surveillance, but, with the Shadows on the scene, the possibility of that happening was slim to none. They were working in tandem, each with a different car, which they changed periodically. In any case, it was worth the risk to find out where Wolf was taking that backpack. There was still a question of what he was doing in that shop, but that would have to be addressed later. Each possibility, each move, like a chess game, would have to be carefully thought out and evaluated.
“Yeah,” Soraces said. “Don’t let them see you.”
Perkins didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Acknowledging the statement would be like dignifying an insult.
Soraces smiled. The game has begun, he thought as he scrolled on his phone.
It was time for his next preemptive move.
FIRST FEDERAL PLAZA BANK
PHOENIX, ARIZONA
After the bank employee ushered the two of them into the private viewing room, Wolf slid the backpack from his shoulders and set it on the narrow shelf-like table. The room was so small that he almost felt like he and Mac were trying to share one of those old-time phone booths. Mac placed the safety deposit box onto the chair seat and lifted the lid while Wolf removed the newspaper wrappings from the bandito and flipped it over to test the sturdiness of the patch job that Garfield had done. It felt solid. Wolf grabbed the towel that had been in the safety deposit box and began to wrap the bandito in the soft cloth. The cracked, smiling face seemed to stare back at him in mocking fashion.
No more secrets between us, amigo, Wolf thought. I know all of yours now.
He flipped the edge of the towel over the head and put the bundled statue inside the box and closed the lid.
“What I don’t understand,” McNamara said in a low whisper, “was why you had him put that Lion thing back in there. Wouldn’t it be better to keep them separated? I mean, we could get another box.”
“Too risky,” Wolf said. He spoke in sotto voce too. “If we were to leave it exposed, we’d be acknowledging possession of the stolen artifact. Once Garfield finishes that other copy, we can play bait and switch again if we have to. This way, it gives me an ace the other side doesn’t know I have. It gives both of us what you’d call plausible deniability.”
“I’ve always hated them two words.” McNamara said. “Reminds me too much of all those politicians with their double-talk.”
“Nevertheless, we’ll need it if the feds suddenly step in and confiscate everything. We can claim we were never aware of what was inside the original.”
“Provided Garfield forgets what he saw.”
“I’m pretty sure he will.” Wolf recalled the old man’s grin as he made the proposal and slipped five crisp hundred dollar bills from the Cummins money-belt into Garfield’s hand.
“Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders,” Garfield had said.
“Shakespeare?” Wolf asked.
“Nietzsche,” Garfield said. “From his work, Beyond Good and Evil.”
The comment had reminded Wolf that he still had his English paper to complete. Not that it was a precedent at this point but it was something he needed to ask Garfield about.
“You ever read All’s Well That Ends Well?” he asked.
“Of course. One of the Bard’s lesser known efforts, but still an amusing venture. Based on one of Boccaccio’s tales from The Decameron. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve got an English paper to do on it,” Wolf said. “I was hoping you could tell me what to say so I’d sound smart.”
Garfield clapped him on the shoulder. “Then by all means, read the play, write the paper, and I’ll be glad to read it, my boy.”
“I was hoping you could give me a little bit more help than that,” Wolf said.
Garfield tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips. “All right, look for this quote. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.”
“What the hell does that mean?” McNamara asked.
“Read the play and find out.” Garfield smiled. “In the meantime, I’d better get to work on this task at hand.”
They’d left him busily working on the duplicate bandito which he said would take him two days.
Wolf felt the vibration of his cell phone in his pocket. Ignoring the signal, he picked up the box and motioned for McNamara to open the door. The bank clerk was seated at a desk about twenty feet away and rose to her feet as they approached.
“All set, gentlemen?” she asked.
“Sure are,” McNamara said.
He and Wolf replaced the box in the vault and the clerk slammed the metal door and twisted both keys, locking it. She then gave Wolf back his key.
As they exited the bank, McNamara mentioned that Manny wanted to talk to them.
“About what?” Wolf asked.
McNamara shrugged. “Maybe he’s got some work for us.”
“Doubtful, the way the courts have been going during this thing. Everything’s either remote or socially distanced and operating at a pace that would make a snail look like Usain Bolt.”
“Let’s go see what’s what,” McNamara said.
Wolf took out his phone, checked the screen, and saw that there was a voice mail listed. He pressed the button to check it.
“Mr. Wolf,” a feminine voice said. “My name is Dolores Delgato and I work for the Mark Edwards Law Firm. We were appointed to review the cases of your former attorney, Rodney Shemp, after his unfortunate death. I’ve been reviewing your case and wanted to speak with you about it. Please call me back at your convenience.”
She read off a phone number and said goodbye.
“Who was that?” McNamara asked. “Sounded like a female.”
“It was. An attorney. Said she was reviewing Rod’s old cases and wants to talk to me.”
McNamara’s brow furrowed. “Well, seeing as how we broke into his office last month and removed that file about the Mexico adventure, you think she’s talking about the appeal?”
“We did leave that one there.”
“And we got us some money to have her look into it, don’t we?”
“We do,” Wolf said, although the prospects had seemed dim before when Shemp had reviewed it, that was before Wolf had known the truth about the bandito and how his court-martial was all tied to that stolen artifact. Plus, somewhere out there was a video that just might be able to clear his name.
It was certainly worth looking into.
They got into McNamara’s maroon Escalade and he pulled out of the bank parking lot.
Wolf hit the redial number and waited.
“Delores Delgato,” a cool feminine voice said after three rings.
“Yes, this is Steve Wolf, returning your call.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Wolf.” She had one of those voices that Wolf figured would drive most men crazy wondering if she looked as sexy as she sounded. He put her on speaker. “I’m glad you called back. I assume you got my message?”
“Right.” As was his custom, he held back, waiting to sound out the other person.
“Well,” she said. “I’ve been assigned to do follow-ups on several of Mr. Shemp’s cases and would like to review yours with you. If you’d be interested in hiring me to look into it, that is.”
Wolf considered this offer. Shemp had told him it was all but hopeless, but again that was before he found out about the video clearing him. And he did need another lawyer.
“Yes,” he said. “I would be interested in that.”
“Would you have any time this afternoon?”
Wolf looked at Mac, who shrugged.
Wolf was intrigued, if for no other reason than he wanted to see what the lady on the other end of the phone connection looked like. But he needed to sort things out in his own mind first, especially in view of what he’d found out this morning.
“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” he said. “Tomorrow would be better.”
“All right,” she said. “Just let me check my calendar.” After
a long pause of silence, she came back with, “How’s eleven o’clock sound?”
That would give him tonight to sort things out and figure out what to say, and what not to say. He agreed and she read off an address which sounded familiar.
“That’s the same building as Rodney Shemp’s office,” he said.
“Yes, we aren’t allowed to remove any files until the estate’s settled. However, we are allowed to review them. If we agree, I’ll order a new transcript and start my own review.”
It sounded like more legal mumbo-jumbo to Wolf, but he agreed and said he’d meet her there tomorrow at eleven.
After Wolf terminated the call, McNamara emitted a low whistle.
“Man,” Mac said. “I think I’ll tag along with you, if you don’t mind, just to see if Ms. Delgato looks as sexy as she sounds.”
“She does have a sultry voice,” Wolf agreed. “But I was thinking of checking to see how much that guy, Taylor, who represented us in Pima last month, might charge.”
“Judging from what I had to pay him for just the little bit he did,” McNamara said. “It’d probably be quite a bit. Of course, we do have money with what was in that money-belt and the funds in your bank account.”
We do have money, Wolf thought, with “we” being the operative word. He’d already decided that whatever was left in the money-belt, minus the expenses of today, which Mac had insisted on paying, belonged to Mac. And as far as the hundred-grand in the bank, Wolf wanted to give that to him as well for Chad’s college fund. But now the chance had arisen that he might be able to ultimately clear his name. Should that take precedence?
Wolf blew out a slow breath.
“What’s the matter?” McNamara asked. “Things are looking up, ain’t they?”
Good old Mac, Wolf thought. Always seeing the glass as half full. There was no way I ever want to let him down.
He figured it couldn’t hurt to see what this lawyer with the sexy voice had to say before he made any decisions.
But if only I could somehow get my hands on that damn video that bastard, Soraces, had shown me, he thought. That would provide some traction, give a lawyer something to dig his, or her, teeth into.
Devil's Advocate (Trackdown Book 4) Page 9