“That was about stolen property. This is new. It doesn’t hold water, Cyrus.”
“But, I gave you the location of the robbery and you said you’d leave me alone and clear the record.”
“Um-hum,” Sandy said and waited him out.
“Besides,” he said. “A lot of good you made of it. They robbed the museum right under your nose.”
Sandy waited for effect and then she asked, “Who was it told you, Cyrus?”
“Nobody told me. I overheard it.”
“Sure you did. Where was that?”
“I don’t remember the place. It could have been several places.”
“You think if we shut you down and did a thorough inspection of everything you have here, we might find something else that was stolen?”
“Hey. I cannot control the legitimacy of everything that comes through my door.”
“A name, Cyrus. Give me a name.”
Best remained silent.
A voice came from the open doorway behind them.
“Cyrus, Cyrus. Don’t jerk us around. Give her the name.”
“Dickie,” Best said. “I didn’t know you were on this.”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He held up a pocket watch. He looked at it. Put it to his ear. “Nice piece, Cyrus. Your man out there let me see it. I think I saw one like this listed on our stolen merchandise list.”
“Awe, Dickie. Let’s not go there,” Best pleaded.
“One last time. Give her a name, Cyrus.”
“It’ll kill my business, Dickie. I can’t be giving up names.”
Williams shrugged. Sandy spoke.
“What business is that, Cyrus? I thought you were a pawnshop. What are you saying? Your business is stolen items?”
Cyrus remained quiet.
Sandy started for the door. “I better check his other jewelry items. There could be more on our stolen list.” She spied a cricket bat propped up in the corner. She picked it up. Dickie and Cyrus Best watched her.
“The cases are probably locked. Good thing I have a key,” she said, taking a half swing.
“Wait.” Cyrus Best shook his head back and forth. “You can’t say where you got this.”
“Are you the only one he told?” Dickie asked.
“I’m sure I’m not. He likes to brag when he knows something.”
Dickie explained, “Then he won’t know it was you.”
Cyrus finally told them. “Alfred.”
“Last name,” Sandy ordered.
“Baywater,” Best added.
“Where do we find Mr. Baywater?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t kn…..” Cyrus began.
“Never mind, Sandy. I know where we start.” Dickie tossed the watch to Best and left. Sandy swung the bat into the desk. Best jumped at the loud crack. She tossed the bat to Best and followed Dickie out.
At the front door, Dickie quietly said, “Good job, partner.”
Chapter 5
Zevic turned into the alley. Halfway to the next block was Mary’s, a pub in name only. One beer on tap that changed its brand name every week, yet the customers would say it always tasted the same. Not that the customers often commented on the beer or the limited selection of whiskies and vodka under the counter. Whatever fell off a truck this week was what was served. Customers didn’t order by brand, only by type.
Dark booths lined one wall. At eleven in the morning, Zevic was surprised that they were already half full. He saw his contact in the far booth, stopped by the counter to order a whiskey, and took it to the booth.
Zevic had known the man opposite him for ten years.
“You need something cleaned up?” the man asked smiling.
That’s what the man did. He found people. He made people disappear. It’s the only reason Zevic would call him, and yet still he asked. Zevic found only a few people creepy in all his years of crime. This man was one of them. The man seemed to enjoy his work too much.
“I will. But, first I need to find someone. Then I need to find something that the someone has. Nothing beyond that.” This was a twist to the usual request. Zevic was not sure this was the right man for the job. He only knew a couple people in London, not like his long list of contacts in Europe, the Balkans, and the Middle East.
“What do you think I am, mate? A bloody butcher? I run a first class operation. Subtlety and finesse is my middle name.”
Zevic didn’t ask how one could have two middle names.
“Good. That’s what I needed to hear.”
“Who am I finding?”
“I don’t know a name. He was present at a robbery last night at the Sir Robert Onsley Museum and Gallery. He tried to prevent it. He may be a cop, maybe private security. He was hurt and possibly received medical attention.”
“I heard about that. That was you?”
Zevic glared and the man knew the mistake in asking. He quickly added, “I’ll start with hospitals and such. Would I find any security footage at the Museum?”
Zevic shook his head no. “I don’t think so.”
“You have any description?” the man asked.
“Not much. Taller than average, fit, short red hair.”
“Okay. It will take a few days.”
“Make it less.”
“Cost more.”
“Okay.”
“When I find him, I can provide the service to get the something you want.” He was smiling again.
“I’ll handle that.”
The man looked into Zevic’s eyes and knew that was true.
Zevic wrapped it up. “Meet me here tomorrow. Same time.” He passed an envelope with money across the table.
He waited until after the man left. It was professional courtesy not to follow each other. Nonetheless, Zevic had watchers to ensure he was clear. He eyed the unknown liquor in the shot class, shrugged, and drank it. There was some cleanup to do. Someone on the robbery team told somebody something. Zevic didn’t know whom yet. He would take the rest of the day to find out. He wondered if he needed to extend his cleanup to the leader of the team. The thief did screw up by not getting all of the photos, but he had been good at what he did. He pulled every museum heist so far. He was good at organizing, planning, and finding the right people. He wasn’t needed for any more museums, but who knows what other thefts might be needed to get the last two photos.
Zevic walked out into a thickening fog. London.
Chapter 6
“That’s what you’re wearing?” Chad asked.
“Yeah, how do I look?” Sandy answered.
“Not sure. What look are you going for? Something between a homeless person and a career criminal?”
Sandy wore torn and dirty jeans and a loose fitting flannel shirt, hanging out and covered by an old military coat.
She looked in the mirror. “Good. Dickie says we needed to dress down. By a lot. Some of these places we’ll hit are places you wouldn’t normally even sit down in. Friends in low places he called it.”
“Where did you get those clothes?”
“East End Thrift.”
“Your hair will give you away.” Sandy had beautiful red hair, shoulder length.
“I’ll pin it up. I’ve got an old hat as well.”
Chad thought that despite the old clothes and no makeup, she would still be hard to ignore.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
“I go in first. We pulled Baywater’s form, so I know what he looks like. If I see him, I call Dickie and block the back door.”
Chad knew better than to press his concern for her safety. He knew she could handle herself. She was trained by the Metropolitan Police and even more so as one of the Guard, her second and secret vocation.
She could read his mind. “I’ll be careful. You, too. Your meeting with the Professor. Tell him I said hello.”
“Why do I need to be careful with the Professor?”
“You say that you have all these differences and issues with him and his Guardians. Philosophically
…”
“And ethically. Sometimes.” Chad added.
“Whatever. Yet he still talks you into an assignment.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
She gave Chad a knowing smile. “Why don’t you tell him you need a project on some exotic island, and I need to go as well?”
“I’ll try.”
“Right. Come here and give me a kiss goodbye.”
-----
Chad made the comparison between the Flag and Crown pub and the image he had of where Sandy was. No comparison. An immaculate mahogany bar was elbow to elbow with the suits and ties from the financial houses a block away. They looked about Chad’s age, twenty-eight. Some older, forty-something diners occupied a few booths. The Professor sat by himself in a booth. He stood out with his straight back posture, tweed jacket, and bow tie. That and the fact that he was twenty years senior to everyone else.
The booths were high-backed, carved wood, and held plush red cushions.
The Professor had a drink in front of him. Chad knew it would be the single malt eighteen-year-old Macallan.
“Dr. Archer. Thanks for joining me. How are you feeling?”
“My pleasure. The headaches are mostly gone. No blurred vision. Sandy says hello.”
“How is Saundra?”
“She’s good. Busy. I think she has found a home here.”
“That is good to hear. Give her my best.”
“I will. This is unusual. For you to be in London.”
“First time in six years.”
“Wow. What brings you to the city of eight million people?”
“You.”
Chad was taken back.
“Me?”
“A request of you. A request for a quest, to be poetic.”
“I’m intrigued.”
The server came by, unusual for pub service. The Professor must have asked for it. Chad ordered the same as the Professor. The Professor ordered a second one.
“Up front, Chad, I do not know much about the quest. You will have to take a trip to learn more. I will tell you what little that I know. One of the reasons I am here is to get an immediate answer for the next step, that trip that I mentioned. I understand there is a sense of urgency and a timeline.”
“If it’s not the quest that interests you, then it must be the people or the country involved. Middle East? Russia?” Chad was quick in assembling bits of information and reaching a conclusion.
“Right and wrong. It is both. A country, rather a region, and a person that intrigue us. But, wrong on your choice of the region. It is the Balkan Peninsula.”
The Professor continued, “I can see by your look you are not familiar with the countries that comprise the Balkans.”
“I’m sorry, I am not. I know there were civil wars in the nineties and there were trial for genocide.”
“I am not surprised by what you know and do not know. In general Americans do not know much about that war, the atrocities, the region, and even less about the impact of millions of refugees in European countries like Germany, Austria, Bulgaria, Romania, and Turkey.”
“So, educate me, Professor.”
“I will, but to understand today’s Balkans, you have to go back over a thousand years. We don’t have that much time. I have brought you some information and I am sure, knowing you, that you will do additional research. As some of my students say to each other – Google it.” The Professor almost chuckled. “That’s the first time I’ve had the opportunity to say that.”
“I’m happy that I can contribute to your progress into the twenty-first century,” Chad quipped.
“Chad, you mentioned the eight plus million people in London. The western Balkan countries, even if combined, are only twenty two million. That’s excluding Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria, and Romania but including Albania along with the six Balkan countries that were at one time a part of Yugoslavia for eighty years. The European power countries - UK, France, Germany, Spain, and Italy – each have forty-five to eighty million. That’s just to give you an idea of size.”
“Thanks, that helps.”
“The issue in the Balkans today is the same as it has been for a millennia – ethnic nationalism and three major religious identities that are much aligned along national lines.”
“That seems to be a problem in many places, Professor.”
“It is and there is an economic impact from the wars for independence. In general unemployment is twenty percent or more. Their population is getting older as people live longer and yet it is decreasing. Partly because of forced or voluntary emigration. What we’re left with is a powder keg of unemployed youth who are angry.”
“I can understand that result. Can you refresh my memory, or fill in my lack of knowledge about the wars?” Chad asked.
“There is long history of ethnic clashes within Croatia, Bosnia, Kosovo, and Serbia. Atrocities were committed in World War II and those are still remembered. There were more in the 1990s. Serbians in Croatia took over thirty percent of the country, forcing out Croats. Then the Serbs in Bosnia did the same thing and there were instances of genocide, as you mentioned. That was followed after 2000 by attacks in Serbia against the Kosovo region that is mostly Muslim. The UN and NATO were called in to protect Kosovo as well as areas of Bosnia. Kosovo is now an independent country, recognized by most of the world, though not recognized by Serbia.”
“It sounds like a mess. What are the three religious factions?” Chad asked.
“Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Islam.”
“I do know something about these timelines,” Chad said. “Islam began in the 600s. The Orthodox and Roman Catholic split occurred around 1000 CE, right?”
“Very good. In 1054, the Pope crowned Charlemagne, the King of the Franks, as Holy Roman Emperor. The Byzantine Empire felt slighted. Particularly since they felt they had weathered the barbaric invasions from the east and had fought a war with the Muslims for four hundred years. The European crusades came late to the fight at the turn of the millennium. Besides, Rome had fallen apart in 400 CE. There was no Roman Empire. It should be noted that the ethnic culture was a large factor as well. Byzantines hardly spoke Latin and the Roman Catholics in Europe did not know Greek. Add to that split, the ambitious advances of the Arab and Persian Muslims, and you have the divisive factors of culture, ethnicity, and religion. Where do you suppose the three meet?”
“I’m going to guess the Balkans.”
“Exactly. Serbia became Orthodox. Croatia and Slovenia remained Roman Catholic. Bosnia and Herzegovina, that’s one country you realize, became the place where Islam pushed north and Serbians pushed back. It ended up sixty percent Muslim. Similarly Muslims pushed into Serbia, resulting in the Kosovo area becoming nearly one hundred percent Albanian and Muslim. Just to confuse you, there is a small Serbian dominated country called Montenegro between Albania and Bosnia.”
The Professor paused.
“Ah,” he said. “I see I have reached terminal input. You must recognize it as well when facts and information overload occurs with your students. I guess you will have to Google it.”
This time the Professor did laugh.
Chad ordered a second drink. The Professor stopped at two.
Chad asked, “You said in addition to the countries and the region there was a person that caused your interest?”
“Yes. Mihajlo Brajkovic. Do you know the name? I’d rather doubt you do.”
“I don’t.”
“Brajkovic is the Serbian Minister of Economy. He has been in that role for three years. Before that he was the Minister of Labour, Employment, Veteran and Social Policy. That was a position that touched many powerful people and organizations. Brajkovic has become a well known face to the seven million people of Serbia, and to another two million Serbians who live outside of Serbia, mostly in Bosnia.”
“Sounds like he has an important role.”
“He does. Equal in power to the Finance Minister and Foreign Affairs Minister. They are se
cond to the Prime Minister, who runs the government and is appointed by an elected President. However, that is just a part of what makes him so interesting.”
“Oh?”
“Prior to those two positions he served one year as Minister of Culture and two as Minister of Economy in Croatia.”
“Croatia? I thought he is Serbian?”
“He is both. He was born in Croatia to a Serbian father and Croatian mother. He is a citizen of both countries. He practices both religions, Catholic and Orthodox. Highly un-orthodox.” The Professor deadpanned the last sentence then said, “Hmmph” and then laughed once more.
“You’re in rare form tonight Professor.”
“I can let myself go a bit when I am with you, Chad. I think it might be your American revolutionary attitude.”
“Good. Tell me more about the Minister.”
“Brajkovic appears to have the goal of cooperation and the value of religious tolerance. He has bridged gaps. He has formed consortiums on culture across the nations in the region and has made progress. It seems he wants to improve the entire region as well as individual countries. He is not afraid to go against other ministers and even the Prime Minister at times. He does not need the job. Brajkovic is independently wealthy.”
“How?”
“An interesting story of perseverance. In the early 90s Croatia waged a war of Independence. Both sides persecuted his mixed family. Croats killed his father. He and his mother fled their home near the Bosnian border. She subsequently was abused and killed by the Serbian army, but not before secreting her son out of Croatia with relatives. He ended up in Austria, was recognized as an excellent student and sponsored to Oxford. He graduated in economics. He was a genius with investing, real estate, and as a venture capitalist. He made millions in just five years. Then he returned to Croatia and volunteered , at no pay, to work for the government. In an unprecendented move he then volunteered as a dual Serbian citizen to serve that country, also without pay. ”
“A Cinderella story,” Chad commented.
“Quite right. I am familiar with that expression. Caddyshack , right? ”
The Grey Falcon Page 3