The Pretender's Gambit

by Alex Archer

  Startled by the abrupt cessation of Pousao’s question, Calapez turned to look at the younger man.

  Pousao stumbled backward, his face a mask of confusion. A single dot of blood wept from his forehead, then tracked down his face, between his eyes, and on the left side of his nose. Then he toppled over. His eyes were vacant.

  Brisa! Calapez looked around as passersby started to skirt Pousao’s corpse. A couple of women screamed in alarm. A teenager pulled out his phone and began taking video while he was talking to someone on an earpiece.

  Everyone on the sidewalk was in motion. Calapez didn’t know in which direction to run. He had never laid eyes on Brisa and didn’t know anyone who had.

  Calapez held his hands up in surrender. “Please! Please don’t do this! I didn’t say anything! I never said a—”

  His words stopped when he felt a harsh pinch just behind his left ear. He felt dizzy and tried to take a step but discovered that he could not move. His legs no longer obeyed him, then they no longer held him up. He fell, knowing the impact against the sidewalk was going to hurt, but he was dead before he got there.

  * * *

  THE PHONE CHIRPED once and Sequeira picked it up. Anticipation made his heart accelerate. Maybe his goal would still be achieved. He read the simple text message.

  THEY ARE BOTH DEAD.

  The phone vibrated in Sequeira’s hand. He glanced at the viewscreen and saw the picture of Calapez and Pousao lying dead on a sidewalk in the center of a gawking crowd.

  EXCELLENT WORK. THANK YOU.

  NOW I WILL FIND THE ARCHAEOLOGIST.

  Sequeira smiled. LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU DO. He re-read the texts, thinking that he should have sent Brisa to get the elephant. He would have if Brisa hadn’t been in Prague dealing with another situation that had gone badly. Calapez and Pousao had only been sent to New York to bring back the piece. Sequeira had fully intended to win the bidding war for the elephant.

  Only that hadn’t worked out.

  But things were working out now. He tore the second burner phone to pieces and flung them over the side of the yacht, as well. Brisa would find Annja Creed and the elephant, then the hunt for whatever lay at the end of the legend would begin in earnest.

  Chapter 14

  “Did you know that Onoprienko has killed three men?” Annja peered at her tablet PC as she rode in the backseat of the cab. She had been researching their quarry and putting feelers out about the elephant piece on the archaeology websites she regularly used for research. So far there hadn’t been any pingbacks.

  Klykov sat on the seat next to her and looked calm, not at all like they were on their way to visit a known murderer. He and Pitor Serov had both put on Chasing History’s Monsters T-shirts and now wore them under their jackets. “Sure, sure. But that’s only the number of men Onoprienko has been convicted of killing. He’s killed many more. The police have suspected that for years. He is much better when he kills professionally.”

  In the front seat beside the driver, Serov nodded in agreement. “They haven’t even found the bodies of some of those men. Onoprienko can be methodical and effective when he wishes.”

  “Meh.” Klykov dismissed the praise. “I said only that Onoprienko was better. I didn’t say he was someone you should go to.”

  In the pictures of Pavel Onoprienko that Annja had found online, the Russian appeared to be an average-looking guy. He could have been a plumber or a tire salesman. He wore a button-up shirt and slacks, and he looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair was a fading red and gray at the temples. Judging from the pictures, Onoprienko had a habit of squinting or had bad vision. Maybe that was why he killed with a hammer.

  “What is he doing out of prison?” Annja asked.

  “Because no one ever proved Onoprienko intended to kill those guys.” Serov twisted around in his seat, causing the driver to shift aside a little. “The last conviction was for second-degree murder. That carries a mandatory five-year sentence, but since Onoprienko got five years for the first one, he received eleven years for the second. He had the bad luck to draw the same judge, and that man felt Onoprienko was too prone to violence, which is a fair assessment. Also, they made Onoprienko undergo counseling. I was told on good authority this did not help.”

  The driver ignored them, listening to a self-help on real estate over his ear buds. Pop music flowed from the radio, creating a soft undercurrent of sound that was incongruous to the conversation they were having.

  “How did he manage to get second-degree murder charges twice?” Annja couldn’t believe it.

  “He had a good attorney,” Serov said. “One that I have used in the past.”

  “And one that I have used. Maruska Deyneka’s second boy, if I remember correctly.”

  Annja couldn’t believe the two old gangsters were chatting so casually. She shook her head.

  “I thought Oleg was her third boy,” Serov said.

  “Whatever.” Klykov rummaged inside his jacket and took out a business card. He offered it to Annja. “Here. For if you ever need him. And if you do, tell him I sent you. He is very good with murder charges.”

  Although she never planned on needing the lawyer’s services, Annja took the card and stuck it into her backpack to be polite. “What is Onoprienko doing these days?”

  “Obviously he’s still killing people. Look at poor Maurice.”

  “When he’s not killing people. Legitimate employment.”

  “You mean what is he doing as a job?” Klykov asked.

  “Yes.”

  Klykov looked thoughtful, tilting his head to one side. “He works as a bouncer at a club, right, Pitor? Someplace where the music is bad and it is too loud?”

  Serov disagreed. “Pavel’s working as a stocker at a discount liquor place these days. The club didn’t work out after he put a couple people in the hospital. They were cutting in line. Pavel told them not to. They didn’t listen. I heard they had to wait even longer at the emergency room.” He smiled at Annja as if he’d told a joke.

  Though the humor didn’t quite suit, Annja smiled in return.

  Klykov smirked. “Those people are lucky Onoprienko didn’t have a hammer.”

  “Pavel complained to the club owner, Karl Braz, and the police. Said he didn’t start the fight, he just finished it. Exactly what he thought he was supposed to do. He claimed he was doing his job and shouldn’t have been fired or arrested. You ask me, Braz got the worst of it. Pavel got arrested and released after Oleg Deyneka used video in front of the club to show that Pavel warned the people repeatedly. They didn’t listen, but they listened to the personal-claims shyster they retained.”

  “So Braz got sued.”

  “Of course. Cost him a fat bundle.”

  “Why would Braz hire Onoprienko in the first place?”

  “Says he got him cheap. Thought Onoprienko could just stand in the corner and scare people. Pavel can look very intimidating when he wishes to.”

  Annja looked at the image of the man on her tablet PC. Upon closer inspection, she spotted the deadness in his eyes.

  “Onoprienko complained to Braz?” Klykov asked as the cab driver took a right-hand turn and honked impatiently at the car ahead of him.

  “Yes. Pavel said he was treated unfairly, and he even tried to sue Braz himself. That didn’t go so well.”

  “How did Pavel get the job at the discount liquor?”

  “His mother. She begged the owner, who was the son of her best friend, to give Onoprienko the job. Onoprienko said he wasn’t to blame for the problem at the club, so his mother went to bat for him.” Serov chuckled. “This guy is a real chump. No matter what he does, it is always someone else’s fault.”

 
“His mother got him the job?” Annja asked in disbelief.

  “Sure, sure. His mother, God bless her, loves her son very much even though he believes the rules of the world do not apply to him.”

  Annja tried to comprehend that. “She knows Onoprienko’s a killer?”

  “Sure, sure. She was always at his trials. She got thrown out of most of them. She’s a very demonstrative woman.”

  Serov nodded. “I think she is where Onoprienko gets all of his passion.” He paused. “The job at the club should have been a good fit for him. Pavel just doesn’t have much tolerance, you know. Especially not for authority.”

  “A guy like Pavel? The club owner should have known better. You can’t put him in a corner and expect him to stay there,” Klykov said.

  “Before we get all Dirty Dancing,” Annja said, “maybe we should talk about how to handle Onoprienko.”

  “Dirty dancing?” Klykov asked in confusion.

  “Sure,” Serov said. “You remember. The film with Patrick Swayze. We’ve seen it.”

  “Ah. The corner and no for Baby. Good movie.” Klykov nodded with a small smile and focused on Annja. “Never you mind about Onoprienko. Pitor and I will handle him. You just be prepared to ask him about the elephant. You’ll soon learn what Onoprienko did with it.”

  Annja didn’t feel too certain of that, but before she could ask any more questions, her phone rang. She checked the screen and saw that the caller was Doug Morrell, her producer. She considered blowing off the call, but he had come through with the swag delivery for Klykov and his cronies.

  She answered and put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Doug.”

  “Look, I know you’re helping the police solve that murder and everything, but I tell you, we gotta come up with something for the show before long. Production wants to get something cooking. I want to get something cooking.” Doug was ambitious and always looking for the next big thing in television.

  “I’ve sent you three lists.” Annja drew a breath, willing to bet that Doug hadn’t even looked at the subjects she’d suggested. He seldom did until he was truly desperate, and he wasn’t there yet. She could tell by the tone in his voice.

  “Yeah, yeah, but we need something sexy. Not just that history junk.”

  Annja bristled at his casual disregard of her chosen field of study. If it hadn’t been for her successes, Chasing History’s Monsters might not have lasted a season. Of course, the whole monsters concept had been Doug’s idea.

  “Kristie is working on a volcano god story,” Doug said. “She got herself scheduled to become a sacrifice in Hawaii. Grass skirt, hula hoops, the whole enchilada. Of course, she’s not going to become a real sacrifice, but it sounds pretty intense. There’ll be lava, tiki gods, some kind of evil worshippers. I can’t wait to see it.”

  Kristie Chatham was the other star of Chasing History’s Monsters. She definitely was not an archaeologist or historian. She played on sensationalism and generally had wardrobe malfunctions in every episode. Her popularity among the teens and European market was a little higher than Annja’s own popularity, but the hardcore fan base of the show tuned in to see Annja. Generally she didn’t feel the competition, but occasionally she got irritated.

  “A sacrifice to a volcano god? Seriously? Doug, Christie just wants to go to Hawaii.”

  “Maybe so, but if she can pull off something worth filming—”

  Or some article of clothing, Annja couldn’t help thinking.

  “—then we’re locked and loaded. That’s all I’m asking for, Annja. Something that will satisfy the fans. That’s all any of us really want.”

  No, some of us would like to present a solid documentary. Annja sighed and tried to think of what to say. In a few days, Doug would be desperate and the tension would start to mount. Another call beeped in and the viewscreen showed Bart’s name. He wouldn’t call unless it was important because he thought she’d gone home and gone to bed.

  “I have to take this call, Doug. It’s the police. There could have been a break in the case.” That possibility deflated Annja somewhat. Solving murders was Bart’s job, but she felt like the elephant was much more than evidence in a homicide investigation. Once the police got their hands on the elephant, it would be impounded and she wouldn’t have access to it.

  “We need a show, Annja.” Doug sounded whiny and desperate, but it was put on, certainly not his best effort.

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. And thanks again for the swag.” Annja broke the connection and answered Bart’s call.

  “A volcano god?” Twisted around in his seat, Serov nodded with bright interest. “Now that is something I would like to see. The other girl is not so good as you in my opinion, and she’s gorda. A little heavy. She needs to go to the gym more.”

  Klykov snorted. “You’re one to talk about gyms, you who have never been inside one.”

  “I used to box.” Serov held up his hands and bobbed his head. The driver swayed away from the old gangster and looked concerned for a moment, then, when he realized the fists were just part of the conversation, he returned his attention to his driving and the real estate audio. “So why have we never gone to Hawaii?”

  “Too much water.” Klykov dismissed the question. “I don’t want to end up fighting sharks.”

  “Annja?” Bart said. “Are you there?”

  “Hi.” Annja turned away from Klykov and Serov. They got the hint and started shushing each other, sounding like leaky tires. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Bart hesitated. “We had to let those two guys who shot up the diner go free. Someone, we don’t know who yet, hired one of Manhattan’s top criminal lawyers to force us to cut them loose.”

  “They didn’t pay for their own lawyer?”

  “No. They never even called anyone. Judging from the little background we’ve got on these guys, neither one of them had the money to hire the attorney they got. But that’s not the real problem. I take it you haven’t been near a television.”

  The television above the bar had on a Russian-language channel. “No.”

  “As soon as those guys left the precinct, they were shot dead, killed right on the street. Whoever did it was a pro, put a .22 round in each of their heads in the open and got away with it clean. We’re going over the videos of the security cams, but nobody’s seen anything.”

  “Why would anyone kill those two?” It didn’t make sense to Annja.

  “I think the hunt for your elephant is still on.” Bart didn’t sound happy. “Whoever hired those guys to look for it decided to clean up the mess they left behind.”

  “That means they knew whoever had them killed.”

  “Yeah, so we’re digging into their backgrounds, looking for anything that will lead us to anyone interested in stuff like that elephant.”

  “Antiquities.”

  “Yeah. Those. Just a second.” Bart was silent for a moment, but a voice spoke up in the background. “Look, I gotta go, Annja. I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay. I didn’t see these murders coming, and it made me worry about you.”

  “I’m fine, but now I’m worried about you. You’re still looking for the person behind this.”

  “I’m with the NYPD. I’m not going to be alone. I just didn’t want you out there doing anything stupid.”

  “Just a little shopping.”

  “Get it done and get home. Put your security on at your loft. Stay inside. That guy Nguyen? He’s in the wind, too. He escaped the cruiser that was transporting him to lockup, and a few minutes ago I got a report that a guy matching his description got into a fight with some Russian thugs only a few blocks from the Benyovszky murder scene.”

  “Where was this?”

  “A cybercafe.” Bart read off the address and Annja realized it was on the same street as Buba’s. Just a
cross the street, in fact. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No.” Annja hated lying to Bart, didn’t do it as a general rule because she respected him too much and their friendship was one of the things she valued the most, but she wanted to keep him out of her investigation, at least for now.

  “Then why did you ask?” Bart was suspicious. He had good instincts.

  “Just curious, that’s all. If Nguyen is still in that area, maybe the elephant is, too.”

  “Exactly what Joe and I were thinking.” The voice sounded in the background again, more insistent this time. “I have to go. I just want you to make sure you take care of yourself.”

  “I always do.”

  Bart said goodbye and hung up.

  If the elephant led to Benyovszky’s murderer, Annja told herself she would hand the artifact over. Reluctantly. She told herself the only reason she wasn’t blowing the whistle on Onoprienko was because she wasn’t yet as convinced of the man’s guilt as Klykov and Serov were.

  The cab glided to a curb in front of a dumpy apartment building.

  “We’re here,” Klykov announced. He handed the driver a hundred dollar bill. “Stay here. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, but the meter’s gonna be ticking.”

  After Klykov opened the door and got out, Annja slid over and followed him. She grabbed her backpack and pulled it on.

  “I could carry that for you,” Serov offered.

  Annja shook her head. “Thanks, that’s very kind of you, but this backpack goes everywhere I do.”

  Serov shrugged, then followed Klykov into the building.

  Chapter 15

  “You’re sure Onoprienko lives here?” Annja trailed after Klykov, who was taking his time with the stairs.

  “Yeah. Fifth floor.” Klykov looked at Serov and frowned. “You didn’t say this was a walkup.”