The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

  “Good morning, Thompson,” said Frank.

  “Good morning, Frank. Hello, Gerry and Amanda.” Thompson and Brook sat.

  Brook said, “Agent Denton, the FBI has made a formal request to Interpol for your case records relating to Drs. Strong and Chalk. We believe that since Dr. Strong may have been kidnapped by Anton Bunin, your investigation into her boss’s activities related to antiquities theft and money laundering should be folded into the FBI.” She nodded at Frank, and added, “The criminal investigation to identify and arrest Adam Chalk’s murderer remains with Charleston Police Department.”

  Thompson looked at the FBI agents, Gerry, Amanda and Brook. They looked like a Brooks Brothers ad. He said, “I wore a tie just for you FBI guys.” When the agents just looked at him, he loosened his tie and said, “Agent Reynolds, I understand. Your guys will swarm into Istanbul, and by your overwhelming presence you’ll frighten the bad guys so much they’ll return Strong.”

  Brook nodded, “Well, that is part of it. We can mobilize great numbers of resources. Recovering kidnapped American citizens is part of our mission.”

  Brook straightened her file folder, and put her hand on the conference line.

  Thompson said, “Before we listen to the tape of the call, I have a question.” He paused. “I assume you already have a file on Anton Bunin’s associates in the area. Like Imran Sadat? He’s the person who actually runs Alternative Auctions here in the States.”

  Brook opened a file and showed Thompson and Frank a picture of a young bald man taken from a surveillance camera. “We do. We’ve been watching him for a while. He’s hip deep in the money services business here in South Carolina. His brother, Samuel, seems to be uninvolved. They present themselves as Egyptian, but they are actually from the Chechen Republic. There are quite a few Hispanic gangs that move money for Sadat, but since they technically aren’t doing anything illegal, at least by South Carolina laws, all we can do is watch.”

  Frank added, “We’ve heard rumors on the street that Sadat—Imran, not Samuel—will pay top dollar for stolen antiques. Charleston Police doesn’t have anything we can arrest him on either.”

  Thompson pulled two folders from his attaché. “Here are my personal case notes about Adam Chalk and Kate Strong. I’ve sent all of you the electronic case file via email. I hope it helps.”

  “The FBI is very grateful for your help,” said Brook.

  Thompson was surprised. She sounded as if she actually meant it.

  “Let’s speak with the agent in Istanbul.” Brook leaned over the phone and punched in some numbers. The line rang with the odd sounding European tones.

  “Agent Phillippe Baras here,” said a deep voice in an indeterminable accent. “Who else is on the line?”

  “FBI Special Agent in Charge, Brook Reynolds, in Charleston, SC. With me is Detective Frank Edson from the Charleston Police, Agent Thompson Denton of INTERPOL, and FBI Agents Gerry Davis and Amanda Travis.”

  “How do you want to begin?”

  “How about your position there in Istanbul, and a little about the tip line,” said Brook.

  “Not much to tell. We have a toll-free tip line, like every other law enforcement agency. Also like everybody else, we get calls from drunks, pissed spouses, and crooks ratting each other out. My mother is American, my father Turkish, so I get to listen to any calls that are in English. My normal assignment is liaising with any English-speaking law enforcement agency outside of Turkey. That’s how you got me.” He paused. “I’m real busy.”

  “Agent Baras, any clue as to where the call came from?” Frank asked.

  “No. The call came in on that open line. Anyone in the public can get the number. Why don’t you hold your questions until you listen to it?”

  There was a pause, and then a woman’s voice came over the intercom. Thompson heard what he believed were crashing waves in the background.

  “Dr. Kate Strong, from South Carolina, in America, is being held near Istanbul, Turkey by a man named Anton Bunin. I am afraid she will be killed if you do not rescue her. I cannot give you my name, or I will be in trouble as well. The location is an hour from the city, in an old castle. . . .”

  The call ended.

  Thompson blurted, “That’s it?”

  Baras said, “Yes, that’s all we have. We’ve put the recording through a voice analysis program and as a result have some information that might help. The call came in on our tip line at 12:00 p.m. yesterday. The voice shows signs of distress, but not deception. We heard sounds of two separate waves in the background, and based on the wave pattern, our analysts believe the call was made somewhere on the Mediterranean, not the Black Sea. There are six of what could be called old castles within an hour of Istanbul. Three are museums owned by the government, one is owned by a local politician, one is abandoned, and one of them has a complicated ownership that we haven’t been able to trace. The woman’s accent indicates that she is Russian and has spent time with Americans.”

  Thompson was startled at the amount of information the Istanbul office had gleaned from a ten-second call. “How do you know she spent time with Americans?” he asked. “And 12:00 p.m. would have been 6:00 a.m. here on the East Coast of the U.S., right?” He looked over at Frank, who was taking copious notes.

  “Yes, that’s right. She used the words ‘in trouble,’ an American expression. I don’t suppose there is any doubt about who Dr. Kate Strong is. And I assume the FBI knows of Anton Bunin?”

  “No doubt at all,” Brook said, trying to sound confident. “There are no other Dr. Kate Strongs in South Carolina, and no other women with the name are missing from the United States. Yes, we are familiar with Bunin. What is he involved in on your end?”

  Baras barked a laugh. “Anything involving the theft, movement, and sale of antiquities. He claims to be saving priceless art from ISIS, but that’s bullshit. They’re stealing these things and making money selling them to your people.”

  Thompson saw Brook frown. “It isn’t just Americans that buy stolen goods, Agent Baras.”

  “You’re right,” said Baras, sarcastically. “What do you want us to do next here in Istanbul?”

  Agent Reynolds tapped on the table. The other two agents watched her, waiting, as did Frank and Thompson.

  “Agent Baras, is your office continuing to trace the ownership of all the castles? Can you do that without alerting everyone in your office? And, how many people know about this call?”

  Agent Baras didn’t reply for a moment, and when he did, his tone was less friendly. “Agent Reynolds, we have compartmentalized procedures just as you do. The person who logged the call heard it; I heard it, and my boss heard it. We notified Interpol headquarters of the information but did not provide a transcript or recording. I will, of course, send both to you since I’m assuming you will want your own FBI technicians to analyze it.”

  Brook said, “I apologize for asking. Please continue your investigation into the ownership of that last castle you mentioned and secure warrants to search the castles, if you can do it in an unobtrusive way. Is there any indication of where the call came from or how it ended?”

  “We’re still trying to trace its location, but Turkey doesn’t have the same capabilities to trace calls like in Europe or the U.S. As for why it ended, let’s hope it was a dropped call and not harm to the caller.”

  She said, “Agent Denton will be briefing the FBI team on everything he knows about Dr. Kate Strong. I have your information and will share contact details of our team shortly. I need to brief Washington before I can send agents to Istanbul. Do you have facilities we can use? We will need your help and the help of local authorities.”

  “I understand, Agent Reynolds, but by the time the FBI plane lands and your team gets to our office, every informant in Istanbul will know you’re here. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “No, we don’t. We�
��ll be sure to coordinate with you. It will take 24-36 hours to arrange.”

  She looked at Thompson and Frank. “Agent Denton, Detective Edson, do you have any questions?”

  Thompson sighed and shook his head. Frank shrugged and said, “Agent Baras, thank you for your time. I know how difficult tip lines can be. I’ve had that duty before.”

  Agent Baras said, “Why thank you, Detective. Let me know if you need anything else from us. I’ll stand by on the resources here in Istanbul.”

  Chapter 16

  Amarintha arrived at the lot and went to her usual perch on Richard’s porch swing. On the first day she had come to the job site Richard had walked to the pile of concrete blocks where she had been sitting and insisted that she not only enjoy his swing, but also his bathroom. She had graciously accepted both offers, and now she usually went straight to the swing on Richard’s porch where Jack or any other contractor could easily find her.

  She pushed herself on the swing and considered how to break the news from her oncologist to Ava and Fannie. There had been no surprises. The scan, taken a week after the last treatment, had been on one screen, the prior scan on the other. She saw no appreciable difference in the size of the growth, although the doctor had optimistically pointed out 2-3 millimeters of shrinkage. If her doctor was correct, the cost of the infinitesimal shrinkage was dear: all her hair, thirty-five pounds, and who knew how many thousands of dollars.

  The doctor had finished his monologue by thrusting papers into her hands and saying something about the “next approach we’d like to try,” as if her body was a recalcitrant oven that just needed the right recipe to produce a good cake.

  Stumbling out of his office, she had gone straight to the job site, where distractions were plentiful.

  At times, she forgot she was sick. The chemo and radiation treatments had been so debilitating that their cessation gave her an illusory sense of health, at least until the inevitable mirror presented itself. The disease had stripped whatever curves she had possessed. With her new uniform—a scarf, ball cap, jeans, and t-shirt—from behind, passersby likely thought she was Jack’s skinny teenage son, at least until they saw her face.

  Amarintha and Richard now met every morning on his porch, each of them benefitting from the camaraderie. It was Thompson, though, who she most enjoyed. He hovered about the site most days and had stopped showing her anything in coral, periwinkle, or any other pastel. He was smart, funny, solicitous and thoroughly heterosexual after all. She was annoyed with herself that she had jumped to the conclusion that he was gay, based on his profession, when there was evidence to the contrary. She had watched him deal with a variety of women that came to the job site—the kitchen cabinet person, the tile lady, and the window saleswoman. Once she had even caught him checking out one of these women head to toe.

  He had blushed when he had met her eyes but had not turned away, staring back at her with a grin that she could not help returning. This parade of women continued, their presence premature given there was no foundation yet. Clearly, Thompson was the attraction.

  Amarintha was pleased not just with Thompson but with Jack as well. He was even-tempered, detailed, and excellent at his job. In spite of his positive demeanor, there always seemed to be an air of sorrow gathered round him that reminded her of the almost invisible flying gnats, no-see-ums, which stung locals as well as visitors in an equal opportunity torment. This sadness was due to his wife’s disappearance, she knew. How did he deal with it? If Ava disappeared, Amarintha did not think she would be able to hold herself together for even a day, much less a month. The rumor was that Dr. Kate Strong had just run off, but Amarintha couldn’t imagine a woman who would not contact her child, even if she had left the child’s father for another man.

  Watching Jack work with the men who would be digging the piers, the vision of the finished house came to her, along with that familiar piercing realization that she might not be there to see the finished product.

  Amarintha put her feet down, stopping the swing, and pressed both hands to her eyes. Ava needed to come home now. Fannie would sort it out.

  She waved at Jack, who had parked his truck across the street. He walked over and put one foot on the step of Richard’s porch, waiting for her to speak. “I found out today I don’t have much time left to make good decisions.”

  Jack jerked his head. “But you might—”

  “Jack, you and I have become friends. Let’s not ignore the obvious. I’m bringing Ava home from Clemson, and my mother will make sure you get what you need to finish this house, if I’m not able to.”

  Jack nodded and rubbed his head, a gesture she had seen more than once when he had to receive or give bad news.

  Just then, Richard came out of his house, letting the door bang. “I finally found it,” he yelled, holding up a piece of paper.

  A second later, the subcontractor yelled, “Jack, I’ve been looking for you.”

  Buck hollered again, pointing to something in the ground. “We found something.”

  Jack looked from the old man to Buck to Amarintha. She made the decision.

  “Let’s go see what they found.” She pushed herself off the swing. “Richard, you coming?”

  “No ma’am, but I’ll wait right here for y’all.”

  Chapter 17

  Thompson leaned against the wall in the FBI conference room, looking out a window at Meeting Street. Gerry and Amanda were flitting around the room trying to lower a screen that was hanging two feet down from the ceiling like a wet sheet, too high for the projector. The two debated in low voices, ignoring the buzzing noise coming from the ceiling motor. These two FBI agents could handcuff a bad guy blindfolded, but were clearly flummoxed by the audiovisual screen.

  An hour previously, Sally Heath had called, telling Thompson that he needed to attend a meeting at the FBI office, “right away.” She had brought him to a conference room, where he now waited. At least the FBI had provided coffee, and Thompson nursed a cup, watching a horse carriage leisurely making its way down the street.

  Detective Frank Edson sauntered into the room. “Hello, Thompson.” They shook hands, and Frank walked over to the break table. “You know what this meeting is about?”

  “Something to do with Kate Strong and Adam Chalk, or so said Sally Heath. She said to get here right away.”

  “Same as me.” Frank poured a cup of coffee and claimed a chair at the conference table. “What’s your gut feeling on the call in Istanbul being legitimate? Could your Russian crime boys really be holding Kate Strong captive?” He sipped his coffee. “You know, everything we found points to her leaving Charleston voluntarily. There were calls to her husband, a call to her boss. She sure wasn’t driving the truck that threw her boss off the bridge, and she wasn’t in Chalk’s car.”

  “I don’t know, Frank. I can’t figure out why Alternative Auctions would kidnap anybody. So far they’ve been able to find plenty of experts who would do the appraisals without coercion.”

  At that moment, the projector screen dropped the remaining six feet to its proper location, and a muted cheer broke out at the front of the room.

  Frank laughed. “Looks like this show is about to start.”

  Brook Reynolds walked into the room, followed by several other people. Three were in uniform.

  The SAC remained standing and waited for everyone else to sit. When the room quieted, she said, “Thank you all for coming so quickly. I’ve convened this meeting to discuss some recent developments regarding the reported kidnapping of Dr. Kate Strong.”

  Frank looked at Thompson and raised his eyebrows. Thompson shrugged and wondered who the other attendees were.

  “All of you know me, of course. Would the rest of you identify yourselves?”

  She looked at Thompson, and he said, “I’m Thompson Denton, from Interpol’s Art and Antiquities Investigation Team. I’ve been in Charleston
looking into a smuggling ring that is operating out of South Carolina.”

  Frank spoke next. “I’m Detective Frank Edson, from the Charleston Police Department. I’m investigating the death of Dr. Adam Chalk, one of the individuals Agent Denton was investigating. He was also Dr. Kate Strong’s boss at the College.”

  A tall man stood. He was wearing what Thompson thought looked like a Royal Canadian Mounted Police uniform. He was ramrod straight, his arms bulging out of the sleeves of his shirt. “I’m Major Victor Munez. I lead the South Carolina Information Security Team. It’s part of SLED, the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division.”

  He did not introduce the two other uniformed men, who sat against the wall, but he did gesture to a young woman sitting at the table with him. “This young lady, Tiffany Gray, is our resident computer analyst. She holds degrees in physics and statistics from North Carolina State University.” He paused. “Most of the time I don’t understand a single word Tiffany is saying.” Major Munez sat down.

  Fleetingly, Thompson wondered why a computer analyst had been included in a meeting to discuss the possible kidnapping of Kate Strong.

  Brook gestured to a harried-looking, disheveled man with a mullet haircut. “I’m Dr. Kevin Umstead. I lead the infectious disease group at South Carolina’s DHEC. That’s the Department of Health and Environmental Control.”

  Munez said, “Agent Reynolds, your office told me you needed SLED here to discuss a development concerning Kate Strong, but why did you ask me to bring Ms. Gray?”

  She tapped on the table with her finger. “Bear with me, Major. I assume that both you and Dr. Umstead have listened to the transcript of the anonymous call and read the summary report about Agent Denton’s investigation?”

  The two men nodded.

  “Interpol in Istanbul sent us the recording of the call. Forensic agents in D.C. analyzed the voice, and this morning they found a match. That is the primary reason you are all here.”