“Don’t hang up, Frank. It’s Thompson.”
“I won’t hang up. I need to talk to you,” said Frank.
“Listen, I’m sorry about what I did, but there is a leak. I’m sure of it.”
“You could have found some other way to make your point, you know, other than slapping my own cuffs on me.” Frank stopped, and Thompson realized that the detective wasn’t angry. Thank God, Thompson thought.
“Your boss, Sergei Molotov, is the leak.”
Thompson sat back against the warm back of the bench, stunned. “Frank, how did you find this out? Have you already arrested someone? ”
“There were three men involved with the actual placement of the bombs. Two men at the lab and one at the Huguenot Church. We have all three in custody. They’re low-levels who haul money to wire service companies all day. The FBI didn’t even have to offer them a deal. They walked right into the main police station on Lockwood. According to these guys, the man who hired them sounded like the character Boris in Rocky and Bullwinkle.”
“What the hell is Rocky and Bullwinkle?”
“Russian, the man who hired them sounded Russian. They were called around 9:00 this morning and told to come to a North Charleston strip club. A man paid them ten thousand dollars each, gave them the packages and instructed them on how to light the bomb, and told them where to put them. Two of them were to enter the hospital lab, steal the reliquary, and give it to the man who hired them, who would be waiting outside in an SUV. The bomb at the church was supposed to go off before the one at the hospital, diverting attention from the hospital. Instead, it went off after the MUSC one.”
“I can’t believe they turned themselves in.”
Frank snorted. “The two at the hospital got scared because of the isolation suits the techs at MUSC were wearing. They’re demanding medical care. The third man showed up a little while later. I guess these three think that life in a United States federal prison is better than dying. Maybe they think they can dig a tunnel and escape like that drug lord in Mexico.”
“So, how did this lead to Sergei?”
“The perps told us the man who hired them got a phone call while all of them were in the strip club. The FBI pulled a record of all calls received in the immediate vicinity of the club, and what do you know, your boss’s cell phone turns up. Unless you can think of another reason Sergei Molotov would be calling someone at a strip club in Charleston?”
Thompson couldn’t believe it. His boss was the damned leak. “So Sergei called the man who paid for these three to plant the bombs? And the man who did the hiring sounded like a Russian?”
“Looks that way. What we don’t know is the identity of the man that Sergei called, since the receiving phone in the strip club was a throwaway, but we’re proceeding under the assumption that it’s Imran Sadat. We’ve got the three suspects looking at pictures.”
“Imran Sadat is Chechen, isn’t he? I guess that would sound Russian.”
“Absolutely,” said Frank. He paused. “The FBI wants you back in the Task Force to help them with Interpol. Agent Reynolds is not prepared to arrest Sergei yet, and she is still arguing with Homeland Security about whether Anton Bunin is dangerous. Homeland doesn’t believe the FBI’s FIG program is accurate, and says there’s no indication that Bunin is planning to attack the U.S. with any kind of weapon.”
Thompson didn’t think so either, but he said nothing.
“By the way, where are you, and is the Sims family still with you? You know Amarintha Sims could be spreading anthrax as we speak. You need to bring her in.”
“Yeah, they are. I still think they are in danger. If Sergei is the leak, and I agree he probably is, then he would have told Bunin who Amarintha Sims is. She’s cured, Frank; I know she is. That makes her a target for these crazies. We still can’t say for sure what Bunin wants.”
Thompson leaned over on the bench and added, “Frank, Jack Strong and his daughter are with me too. Is there any update on what the FBI is going to do to find his wife? He and his daughter both know she’s alive.”
“No, no update. I’m not sure what Brook’s plan will be now. The FBI is going to spend all its time trying to find the missing fourth man and putting him in jail. How far away are you?”
“Nice try, Frank. I’ll call you in an hour. Give me time to think.”
“You might want to find a way to break the news to Jack that the FBI won’t be leaving for Istanbul anytime soon,” said Frank.
Istanbul
Chapter 68
In Kate’s hand was another lipstick case that Zora had brought her. Zora had come in with a tray of tea, and as before, suggested that Kate put on some lipstick.
Kate went into the bathroom and looked at herself. It would take more than lipstick to make her presentable again. Her normally curly dark brown hair, with its now dingy highlights, was lank against her white complexion. Given her haggard face and the enormous dark circles under her eyes, she looked like a meth-addicted owl. Her sweatshirt and jeans hung off her as if she were a scarecrow. She scratched her arms through the sweatshirt and then abruptly stopped, pulling up the sleeve on the left side to stare at her forearm, crisscrossed with red welts. Kate splashed water into her face and willed herself to stay calm.
Retrieval of the note from the tube took much longer than the first time, as her hands shook uncontrollably. This was due to lack of lithium, and she had never craved the equalization that the drug gave her more than she did at this moment. Fumbling, she managed to smooth the small roll of paper.
Bunin is done with you. I have convinced him to drug you and drop you at the Embassy in Istanbul. The drug is already in the tea. Do not swallow. After a few minutes, you should pretend to pass out. Do not wake up until the Embassy brings you inside their building in case Bunin is watching you. Good luck, Dr. Strong.
She staggered back to the main room and flopped down in front of Zora. The older woman nodded, and Kate took a sip of tea, both hands trembling as she brought the cup to her mouth. A monstrous flap of anxiety almost caused her to drop the cup, as she realized that whatever was in the tea was now inside her mouth. The liquid was sickly sweet. Kate gagged, and saw Zora begin to stand up. Kate grabbed a piece of bread, and bringing it to her mouth, managed to soak the bread with the tea in her mouth. Zora sat back down. Kate put the bread aside.
She longed to ask questions of Zora, but had to play the role, a role she was uncomfortably close to, that of a broken, drugged, passed-out woman. Panic was flapping its wings again and her mind raced, even as she felt sleepy. She fell back in the chair and saw Zora’s eyes wide above her, the woman’s face coming in and out of view.
Zora lifted Kate’s head and whispered, “You did swallow some of it, but not much. You will be fine. Just remember to stay like this and act crazy if anyone speaks to you.”
Kate tried to speak but couldn’t. She saw Zora’s face recede and change like a kaleidoscope. Zora disappeared. Her face was replaced by Bunin. He leaned down.
He said, “How much did she take?” His voice sounded like a foghorn.
“Enough,” Kate heard Zora say. “Enough, Anton. Let’s go.”
Kate heard Bunin walk away and speak to someone. Two people, her guards she thought, grabbed her, one under her arms, and one at her feet. They carried her into what she remembered was the elevator, their faces bobbing and occasionally blocking the overhead lights, which flashed their brilliance into her closed eyes.
She felt the elevator move, and when it opened, someone cried out, “What have you done to her?” It was Atay, and she wanted to wave at him, to tell him she was ok, that she understood why he hadn’t helped her escape. Kate wanted to talk to him about the splendor of the Byzantine Empire, how the Frankish Crusaders had wrecked the city, stolen its wealth, and raped its women.
She had to tell something else to Atay. Something about a bug, a bug in the reliquaries. Kate
wanted to talk to Atay about many things, but she could not and remained dazed and flaccid as the two men placed her in a vehicle and fastened her seat belt. She heard car doors slam.
“Drive,” said Bunin. “Take us near the U.S. Embassy in Istanbul, but not within view of their cameras.”
Georgetown
Chapter 69
According to the radio news, Sadat’s three hired men had turned themselves into the police. The announcer solemnly stated that a fourth man “is being sought as a person of interest.” Imran Sadat swung the SUV on to the shoulder of Highway 17 and slammed the brakes. Pounding the wheel, he glanced over at the reliquary tucked inside a leather bag, sitting on the passenger seat of his car, and wondered why in hell Bunin wanted this object.
That Bunin was willing to pay him a hundred grand for what he had thought would be a morning’s work had dulled his normal caution. Bunin had not told him the reliquary would be guarded, and had made the deed sound like an easy art theft, an act Sadat had certainly participated in before. The explosions hadn’t been intended to hurt anybody, just provide distractions.
He had roared off two seconds before the bomb exploded, managing his exit from the city before the roads had been closed. Not until he was well on his way north on Hwy 17, did he learn from the radio that two tourists and a horse were killed by the dynamite planted at the hospital. Why had his henchmen turned themselves in? They’d be charged with murder for sure, and the prosecutor might ask for the death penalty.
Sadat let off a string of curses. He should have eliminated the men as soon as they retrieved the reliquary, just as he had eliminated Adam Chalk, even though the ramming of Chalk had been an act of rage. He hadn’t intended to kill the man, just scare him. Eventually all three would remember the phone call. The Nicaraguans, Panamanians, or whatever nationality they were, would tell the police about the call Imran received while all of them were in the bar.
Why had he answered the call? Thank God he had used a disposable phone, which would slow his identification down for a little while, but eventually the FBI would trace every call made to any phone near the strip club, and would identify Sergei’s phone number. The Interpol man would be the link the FBI was looking for, and Sergei would be arrested soon, if he weren’t in custody already.
Months ago, Sadat had warned Anton about involving the Interpol agent. He’d been sitting in his Isle of Palms house, leisurely reviewing pictures of items recently unearthed by ISIS in Syria, identifying which buyers would want which objects. Selling these types of artifacts was becoming more difficult, but Sadat’s network of museum buyers and wealthy individuals was deep enough that all of the items would eventually find homes. His phone rang.
“Hello, Imran, Bunin here,” Anton had said.
“What can I do for you, Anton?”
“I’ve arranged for another source, someone I think can be very useful to us. He is with Interpol.”
For a moment, Sadat had been so shocked, he hadn’t replied.
“Have I lost you?”
Sadat had sputtered, “Anton, are you out of your mind? Why would you work with a source there?”
“I have another project. For this one, I am still looking for religious objects, like reliquaries.”
“Anton, I thought we agreed that selling items from churches was off limits. ‘Stick to the Muslim world,’ you said. ‘Nobody gives a shit about them.’”
“This is a special project. We will not need buyers. I want the reliquaries for myself.”
Imran sneered, “Getting religious?”
“Never mind, Sadat. This man—his name is Sergei Molotov—is working to identify reliquaries that might be available. Did you know that the Vatican does not actually know how many reliquaries they have around the world? Some of them can be obtained for very little effort, at least according to Sergei. Apparently, the Vatican is quite free with information when they are dealing with Interpol. It will be easier for you to meet him than for me to do so. I am on the ‘no fly’ list.” Bunin laughed.
Reluctantly, Sadat had corresponded with Sergei via an Alternative Auctions email account hosted on a Russian server controlled by one of Bunin’s companies. The one lead Sergei had passed on about a reliquary in Argentina was worthless, and Sadat had written him off his list of profitable relationships.
Sergei, realizing the low opinion that Sadat had of him, had called Bunin directly to tell him about a reliquary possibly located in Charleston. Bunin called Sadat, presenting the opportunity as a quick way for Sadat to make some money. All he had to do was create a diversion, and steal a reliquary from a hospital. Bunin had asked, “You have people for that, right?” Sadat did. Bunin had given Sadat only three hours to make this event happen, so Sadat called men he had worked with before—men who would not ask questions—and asked them to meet him at a strip club in North Charleston.
Sadat had shown his henchmen a picture of the reliquary that Bunin had texted him. While they were all standing in the strip bar, the morning’s featured attraction, Trixie, walked unsteadily to the pole in the middle of the bar. When one of the men saw the image of the reliquary, he had actually crossed himself before leering at Trixie, who was taking off her sequined bra. All three men had surreptitiously stared at the stripper while Sadat gave instructions about planting a small explosion at the Huguenot Church to go off first, instructions that clearly had not registered with the men.
Sadat pulled back onto Hwy 17 and glanced at the GPS. He had no other choice. He’d continue to Myrtle Beach, where Anton had instructed him to leave the reliquary in a prepaid box at a UPS Store. Bunin would arrange for him to get out of the country. The beach town was filled with enterprising criminals who could create new identification for him.
There was little traffic going north, but he decided he’d divert left to a side road into Francis Marion Forest and listen to the radio for any stories that a manhunt was underway before continuing to Myrtle Beach. He cursed at Anton Bunin as he drove slowly over the bumpy road into the forest, the branches and leaves scraping against his car.
At that moment, Sadat heard the whirling sounds of a helicopter. He pulled the vehicle under a tree, wondering if he’d been quick enough to avoid being seen. There was no pretending that the FBI and police would not know who they were looking for. Why had he used his own car?
He got out of the driver’s seat and sat on the ground, looking up at the sky through the leaves of the live oak. Sadat made a sound, a cross between a laugh and a scream and remembered what Samuel had told him.
“You are not a criminal, brother; you are just greedy. Be very careful or your greed will pull you to the other side. I will not be able to help you.”
Sadat thought that he definitely was on the other side now.
Chapter 70
Thompson strode back to the Bed and Breakfast, his head down. Sergei was the leak. He mentally reviewed every conversation, email, and document that he had sent his boss. As he approached the old house, Jack ran down the stairs and grabbed Thompson in a bear hug. “Kate’s safe. They found her.”
Thompson stepped back. “What? Who found her? How?” Had the FBI decided to go to Istanbul anyway? Following Jack up the stairs into the B&B, he watched Sara run to her father, the two of them holding each other. Amarintha and Ava sat on the stairs to the second floor, beaming as well.
Fannie walked into the hall with a tray of coffee and sandwiches, followed by Richard, who was carrying a pitcher of tea. “Let’s go into the parlor,” Richard said.
The group followed her into a small room with comfortable chairs around a tea table. Fannie put the tray down and sat, as did the others.
“So what happened?” asked Thompson.
Jack rubbed his head. “Detective Edson called me. The embassy in Istanbul found her on the front lawn this morning. Two employees took her to an Istanbul hospital.” Jack looked off. “A woman from the embass
y is at the hospital, and she will call us when Kate can talk. Thank God, she had some identification on her. She’s not physically hurt—just drugged. Sara and I are going back to Charleston as soon as the FBI opens the airport to take a flight to New York and then on to Istanbul.”
Thompson leaned over the table. “Let me talk to Detective Edson, and to Brook Reynolds. Someone should go with you.”
“Reynolds?” said Jack, frowning. “She tried to arrest me earlier today when I went near the scene at MUSC. She seems to think I’m involved in the bombing. I don’t understand it.”
Thompson looked down at his hands and then said, “Jack, your wife’s kidnapping is connected to the bombing. All three of you need some protection.”
Jack stood up suddenly, and Thompson couldn’t tell whether he was angry or scared. “Why? Why would Kate need protection now that they’ve let her go?”
Thompson gazed around the little room at the six people looking at him, waiting for him to answer. Jack sat down and took his daughter’s hand.
“Adam Chalk, the dean in Kate’s department, persuaded her to go to Istanbul. He was involved with a group called Authentic Auctions that paid academics to provide phony provenances. I was working with the FBI to close it down. As part of my job, I had to investigate Kate, and I cleared her.” Thompson looked at Jack. “CPD told me that Kate’s disappearance was domestic, so I had no need to look into her absence any further.”
Jack’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
“No one, including me, thought Kate was involved in this ring. Then we got the tip from Interpol. The tip said she was being held by a man named Anton Bunin, the individual who runs Authentic Auctions.”
Thompson went on, “At that point, the FBI received information—and I can’t tell you how, so don’t ask—that Bunin was likely looking for biological material they could use in a weapon.”
The Huguenot Thief Page 26