Behind Frenemy Lines

by Chele Pedersen Smith

  “We should check a few more before coming to that deduction, but we can't keep destroying their property. We better move fast, c'mon.” He led them up a stairway.

  “I think we should divide and conquer. We'll cover more ground.”

  Lee gave her a doubtful look. “Yeah, like when I was fake searching Viktor?”

  “I said I was sorry. It didn't think that through.”

  “I know, but this time I'm not taking any chances.”

  “Seriously, I mean it. If we want to intercept those maintenance men, it’s our best bet.”

  After careful thought, he relented. “No funny business. It's only to increase our odds.”

  “I promise! I'll go left. You take a right.” To prove her alliance, she initiated a deep kiss before they split.

  “I'll go left. You go right,” he said, not letting her call the shots.

  She watched Lee sprint off and sighed relief. Chalk one up for reverse psychology! She didn't have much time. She raced to a room on the third floor finding the door ajar and Viktor taking a painting off the wall.

  “So, you call this a lair?” Leaning lazily against the doorway, her words startled him. Vik dropped the frame, shattering glass.

  “A good a place as any. It has room service.”

  Gal spied a partial slab of steak on a table behind him. “Yeah, better than that underground bunker in Kungurskaya.” A wistfulness infused her voice. They had been on the run, the danger and excitement exhilarating, and she had lost herself in him. “So when did this turn into Masterpiece Theatre? We’re supposed to release legionella into the White House, not rip-off Rembrandts. By the way, aren't paintings supposed to breathe?”

  “What are you now, a curator? Besides, I never gave a boar's ball about Ukraine. This is more lucrative.”

  “I suppose Kat is calling the shots now?”

  “You know what a cat burglar she is,” he cackled. He bent down to pick off the shards. “So did you ditch the lunk and finally come to your senses?” Harvesting gristle from his teeth with a glass splinter, her repulsion returned. It was then she realized her real enemy was nostalgia.

  “I told you before. I want out. Permanently this time!”

  “I knew you were too soft for this. Always were.” He slipped Martha Washington out of the cheap frame and chuckled, “The closest thing you are to being an assassin is that nice ass.”

  “You're disgusting, Vik. Have you always been this crass or is your lifestyle catching up to you?”

  “Humph, I'm the same. You are the one who changed. Too in love with that imbecile. It's made you weak.”

  “I just stopped him from calling in that stolen painting. No easy task.”

  “Child's play. If you want to prove yourself, shoot him!”

  “That’s a bit drastic,” she faltered, their exchange quickly turning into a game of truth or dare.

  “Ha, just as I thought.”

  Gal whipped her pistol from her breasts, pressing it to his head. “Do you know how many times I've pictured your brains splattered like a Jackson Pollock?”

  Viktor laughed. “You don't have it in you. Could tell when we trained. You're a nurse, not a kill—”

  The gun cocked.

  He swiftly stuck his silencer into her stomach. “We end this now, or you get out of here—Go!”

  Stumbling from the room in tears, she rounded the corner to the elevator, heart pounding. If he hadn't counter-offered, would she have had the guts to oft him?

  Still shaken and a bit out of breath, she caught up with Lee in a nearby stairwell. “Any luck?”

  “Nope, nothing. I checked another planter, turned up empty. How about you?” He studied her carefully. Something or more accurately someone had her rattled.

  Gal could tell he was onto her. Maybe he could see the adrenaline pumping through her veins. “Nada. I had to flag down a delivery man, and he was confrontational, that's all. I managed to sweet-talk my way into getting a peek, but it was just a swap.” She traipsed behind him a few flights, serenity returning. “Well, this feels familiar.”

  “What? You've chased after flower pots before?” he asked, amused.

  “No,” she laughed. “The basement tunnels, the musty spiral steps. Glad this one has plenty of fresh air.”

  “Oh right! That night seems like a million years ago, doesn't it?” They stopped at a landing overlooking the lobby. “That's it, Gal! The White House. The painting was outside Anita's office.”

  “Oh yeah,” she remembered, a vague illustration forming in her mind. “But there must be more than one painting of that girl, right?”

  “Maybe, although I think most art there is one of a kind. How do you suppose they got it out without anyone noticing?”

  “Hmm, I don't know. With all that security, it had to be professional.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Could only mean one thing— your Kat.”

  “Yes, but she's not my Kat. She's yours…and, you know who.”

  “Right! And like fools, we left the painting unattended! I bet that’s the whole ruse; it’s a pickup!” Panic flew him down flights of stairs, racing him to the room. They burst inside.

  Everything looked fine until he spied the wicker vessel tipped over, dirt clumps spilling on the rosebud carpet. He paced, running his hands through his hair in despair.

  He spun around, angrily pinning her to the wall, so close their noses touched. “You!” For a split second, he wanted to kiss her. “You've been in on it all along! I should've followed my gut. You kept me from turning over evidence, and like an idiot, I let you. Geoff will have my head. I could be fired. No, I should be!”

  “Calm down, James Bond, and thanks for the vote of confidence. I knocked the planter over when I tossed my shoes. And I put the painting in the safe for good measure.”

  He loosened the grip on her shoulder and backed away, ashamed.

  She walked over, pulled the canvas from the room safe and threw it on the bed. “Paranoid much?”

  Picking up the parcel, he apologized. “Now Viktor's presence is weirding me out.”

  “Yeah, welcome to my world.”

  “We better lock this up and report it. Wait a minute...” Flipping the package over in his hands, he made a startling discovery. “This isn't the same painting!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I n the murky realm of watercolors running like melting clocks, Lee unwrapped the mock masterpiece. “It's not even close. The exaggerated bow and wrong shade of pink gives it away, not to mention the primitive smiley face. And this is much smaller, fits easily in the safe. The original was much too big. In fact, the whole painting is off, like an abstract Picasso or…a bad dream.” He held it out, expecting an explanation.

  “That’s weird. I honestly put it in the safe. It did fit,” she mumbled.

  “You did no such thing, did you? We left it on the bed. You never touched it.”

  “You got me,” she conceded with no place to go, aiming her handgun at him. “I'm sorry to spoil our romantic evening. It really was perfect!” A tear slid down her cheek.

  “So you've been on his side the whole time,” Lee challenged, gun out, heart ripped to shreds.

  “Vik took my key at the ice machine. Shortly before we left the ballroom, a text arrived from his team saying our room would be the dead drop for the smuggled paintings, demanding to know what floor. I was to perform my part from there. It would have been a piece of cake if I hadn't ripped the planter.”

  “So it was no accident you were by the elevator. You were so determined to get your purse. I knew something seemed off. Wait—you said you didn't find him earlier, but you failed to mention he contacted you! Never mind, why do I believe anything when you sent me on a snipe hunt? How many paintings are there? Are they in every guest room?”

  “I only know of three. The most valuable ones, less noticeable that way. And yes, when I thought I saw him at the end of our dance, I went looking but didn't find him. I didn't even know he was in town. Ho
nest! He rarely gets his hands dirty these days. But when we split up, his men started harassing me with texts, insisting I give them information I didn't have. I didn't know we had a room until just before we left, and that’s when I did the only thing I had time to do without you noticing—quickly text ‘2’ behind my back. I was instructed earlier to leave my bag.”

  “He still had your cell number? You said there weren't any tracers.”

  “No, I…I had my number changed, but he must have swapped my phone, which is why I caught a glimpse of him. Yes, I gave you a bogus lead. I couldn't let you follow me, and I couldn’t tell you about the message.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you told me, you wanted to see if you still had feelings for the scoundrel. Blah, blah, blah. Well boohoo, Gal and surprise! I saw your secret Soviet phone in your special drawer. I bugged it. And downstairs, I followed you instead of splitting up. You were texting someone. You seemed agitated then and later at the ice machine. I knew it had to be the infamous V because again, you were upset.”

  “Great, so you broke into my desk! I guess that makes us even. What great partners we are, huh?” A hybrid sound bubbled up her throat, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. “But wiring was a waste of time because he only sends texts, self-destructing ones at that. We hadn't spoken in over a year.”

  “Until tonight's gabfest that is. Yeah, that's right, the bug is also a tracking device. I followed you to his room too.”

  “Then you heard me quit.”

  “Personally, I was rooting for you to pull the trigger.”

  “Please understand how complicated this all is. I hate lying to you, but I was forced to keep you away. Viktor threatened to kill my father if you tagged along.” She gulped back tears. Had it come down to this, bullying each other with bullets?

  “Why would Viktor murder your father if I showed up? Talk about overkill.”

  Anguish contorted her pretty face. “Because he would know then that I traded sides. His organization has my dad hostage, along with several teams from DWB. I had no choice. But when Vik stepped off the elevator tonight, I knew I wanted out completely. Somehow I had to break his chains of leverage, even if it cost me everything.”

  “Ah, the bleeding heart move. Well played as usual, but I don't believe anything you say anymore.”

  “Believe me then.” Viktor barged in, brash and repugnant. He threw the original package on top of the tangled bedding, then added the latest canvas, folded and tucked into a Sunday edition of the Washington Post. “You like the new painting?” he crowed, pointing to the replacement.

  Lee's face squared, not amused.

  “My five-year-old drew it,” he chortled, entertained by his own cleverness. “Or should I say our darling daughter?” He stroked Gal's hair as she flinched.

  Well! If this new information was true, it definitely explained a few things. But if Viktor was expecting a gaping mouth reaction, Lee refused to give him the satisfaction. “Then why are you holding her grandfather hostage?”

  “They're not that close.” Viktor motioned his weapon at Lee and the closet. “You can hang around while we gather our effects.”

  “I'm not going anywhere,” Lee stated. “But you are.”

  That gave Viktor a gruff belly laugh. He turned to Gal. “With everything great you say about him, I guess he's no mathematician.”

  Manhandling Lee by the arm, he shoved him toward the empty clothes rack, but Lee's muscular build stood tall, overshadowing him. Vik's voice escalated in anger. “Get in there so we can call it a night!” He squeezed Gal's caboose and snickered, “We have some catching up to do.”

  Lee noticed Gal about to vomit. Maybe she was telling the truth. On the other hand, she did have a lot of champagne. He caught her eye and nodded, not even sure they were on the same page.

  While Viktor's womanizing pupils drooled down her cleavage, Gal drove a bullet deep into his hand, causing him to drop the firearm. Vik howled, stunned, the sting severe at close range.

  Lee lunged for it, quickly becoming a two-fisted bandit. “Hey, I was supposed to do that,” he complained, beaming with admiration.

  “Well, now you won't have to.” Head held high, she tried concealing a smile.

  “Where are the paintings? How did they get out of the White House?”

  Viktor, even while cornered, didn't back down. “Ha, you want a brainy back story. But no do. I don't rat my team.” They watched as he unbuttoned his shirt with his good hand, bracing themselves for a retaliating arsenal. But instead, sliding it off and utilizing grungy teeth, he tore a strip of cloth to wrap around his mitt.

  “Surely, this is the work of a grand art thief. Nothing you can pull off, Vik,” Lee baited. “Where's your wife, the great Katjarina? I'd love to say hello for old time's sake.”

  “She is my wife!” he barked, a sharp nod toward Gal.

  Lee's left eyebrow shot up in surprise, never having considered this possibility. His head was spinning. Of course, he would know she was not the same woman unless she was also a master shapeshifter.

  “You’re a delusional two-timer, Viktor,” she spat back. “You called off our engagement for Kat.”

  “Don't lie in front of your boyfriend, Galaxia.” He looked at Lee. “She is Katja! Pull off the wig and see.”

  “Lee, no, he's a pathological liar,” she sputtered, holding onto her tresses.

  He tensed, the vein in his neck throbbing. The surreal scene wasn't adding up. But suddenly Andle's words made complete sense. One of the samples is synthetic. He took a step toward Gal, then stopped.

  “You know what, it doesn't matter. I don't care who's hitched to whom or whose hand rocked the cradle. This is an international crime, not the Jerry Springer show.”

  “Come on, Lee, we both know what he said isn't true.”

  “Whatever, Gal. As long as the cows are in the barn at sunset, it's all the same day's work.” Their eyes met painfully. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to end. “All I care about are the artifacts. Where are they?”

  Viktor smirked, pleased to unnerve the dynamic duo. “It's not that easy, lover boy. She doesn't know, and I won't tell.”

  “Viktor, the van is loaded and waiting, oh boy—” A wiry man burst into the room, nearly knocking Gal off her feet. He skidded to a halt when he saw the agent pointing two guns at his grumpy boss.

  “Fitzy?” Lee and Gal asked in unison.

  “If you call jinx, the next person who speaks owes you a soda.”

  “You're in on this?” Lee, dumbfounded, ignored his suggestion.

  “I'm the master thief,” he said in grandeur, his chest inflating along with his ego.

  Laughter escaped the agents, including Viktor despite his discomfort. None of them could picture this wimp the wizard behind the curtain. Could it be the least suspected suspect was under their nose the whole time?

  “You don't b-believe me!” he scowled, cheeks flaring. “It-it was the perfect s-set up. I distract the White House, throw a t-tantrum, and demand my rights. Every t-time I met with Anita, I was casing the place, on the look-out for the best art, the ones easily replaced without t-tipping a red f-flag.”

  “Clever,” Lee kudo'ed. “But what was replacing them? Certainly not these preschool scribbles?”

  “Counterfeit copies, one at a time. Once we popped a painting from the frame, we stashed them inside tree planters hanging in plain sight as hotel art. We stockpiled all week until breaking them out for the get-away.” Fitz paced importantly, pointing out their genius plan.

  “How many?” Lee asked, wanting a number once and for all, knowing Fitz was the guy to give it.

  “Seven. One each day,” he boasted.

  “And Tom helped you sneak around,” Galaxy guessed, remembering the bugged calls.

  “He was the only one to believe my story. And when no one would help me, I convinced him to let me take valuable artwork for compensation.”

  “No, Tom showed me around. I’m the master thief!” The clicking of
fingernails on the doorjamb got their attention as a vivacious woman entered. “Looks like you forgot to invite me to the party.” She appraised the room, pouring herself a flute of bubbly. “Not nice taking credit for my career, Gerald. After all, I don't go around claiming to be a dog walker.”

  He looked like his deflated self again. The women exchanged looks of disdain.

  Lee scrutinized her face. “But you do go around pretending to be my girlfriend and a librarian, don't you, Kate?”

  Addressing him in puppy speak, a sad reminiscent smile turned her pouty lips as she caressed his chest. “Ah, Clancy. Did you miss me? No, never an old spinster librarian, not me,” she purred, showcasing her figure in a gold leopard print dress, flipping her platinum bob. “But an intern, yes, at the L.O.C. That’s where I met Gerry's mother, Johanna. She knew where to find the architectural blueprints, so we schemed up the lost Kennedy.” She crowed at their cunningness. Then she stopped laughing and shot an infuriated scowl at Fitz. “She was always yakking my ear off about the Kennedys like they were Tsars or something. If you ask me, they were just a bunch of privileged khuligans.”

  So Kat was Kate! Gal had only guessed before. Connecting the dots seemed likely, and she enjoyed giving Lee a hard time about it, not really believing it until now. She had a sinking feeling she couldn't shake—sympathy for Lee, jealousy perhaps? Definitely annoyance at this apparition always plaguing her side.

  “At first, the idea was supposed to be believable, keeping them busy looking into it. But they refused me from the start, and I got mad, so that seemed to work better.” Fitz was a chatterbox, gloating like a child staying up past his bedtime.

  “Why would his mother get involved and risk her job?” Lee asked Kat. He realized he was still aiming the handguns at Viktor, but only Galaxy was pointing anything at him.

  “Sour grapes, I guess,” Kat sneered. “Not my problem. We need to get a move on, chop, chop!” She clapped her hands to corral the others, creeping toward the door.

  “Just a minute, Katja. I have some questions.” Gal stepped over, blocking the way.