“Likewise.”
She waited in the shadowed doorway, her Sig aimed toward the brightly lit building, looking for any open windows where someone might be hiding, waiting to take a shot at them. Sam opened the car door, remaining in the driver’s seat as he let the car idle forward before stopping it in the middle of the road. Without getting out, he leaned over, setting two water bottles on the ground, one empty, one full—and, next to them, the courier bag, flap open, with the letters and map partially showing. Driver’s door open, he backed up the car, angling it so the engine block was between him and the building, then glanced in Remi’s direction. She eyed the setup. “Perfect,” she said.
“I’m calling now.” He turned back toward the building, and she heard the ringing from the three-way call.
A moment later, someone answered, “Fargo?”
“Who’s this?”
“Gere.”
“Gere. Send out Zakaria if you want the courier bag.”
The man laughed. “You want to see your friend? You bring it in.”
“Not going to happen,” Sam said. “Let me tell you how this works. Send out Zakaria. When he’s safely in my car, we drive off, you get the bag.”
“We could shoot you right there.”
“You could. But your courier bag and everything in it will burn.”
“My men are watching you right now. You think you can get it before we get you?”
“Look out your window. Let me know when you’re there.”
From the corner of her eye, Remi saw movement in an upper window, then heard Gere saying, “What of it?”
“Notice the courier bag and two bottles,” Sam said, putting a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it. The drizzle turned to fat raindrops as he sat in the driver’s seat, the door still open. He puffed on the cigarette a couple of times until the end glowed bright orange. When he tossed it, sparks bounced up as it hit the street, then rolled about a foot in front of the courier bag. “Watch the empty bottle on the left.”
Remi fired. The bottle flew forward, bouncing toward the curb.
“That other bottle,” Sam said, “is full of gasoline. The laws of physics say it’s not going as far as that empty bottle. In fact, I’d lay odds it lands on top of that pouch, soaking your map, then spreading out to that lit cigarette. We know what happens when gas and fire meet. Your choice is this. Send out Zakaria or we destroy the map.”
18
Remi held her breath as scattered raindrops hit the pavement, somehow missing the lit cigarette. A muffled discussion followed, some of it sounded like German, at least from the bit that Remi heard, then, “How do I know everything’s there?”
“You have my word,” Sam replied. “Everything we found is there. A map, two letters, and an old tin with a typewriter ribbon.”
Another muffled discussion, then Gere saying, “He’s coming out the front door.”
The skies let loose, soaking the pavement. Remi hoped they weren’t paying attention. Finally, the door opened. She pressed slightly on the trigger, ready. When a man stepped out, his hands up, Sam said, “It’s Zakaria.”
She moved her finger from the trigger but kept aim on the doorway, scanning the windows above, as Zakaria walked toward Sam’s car, then ran the rest of the way, into the front passenger seat. Sam shifted the car into reverse, then backed toward Remi.
Gun out, she sidestepped to the car and got in the backseat. Sam hit the gas, tires squealing as he backed away. Just before he turned the corner, Remi caught sight of two men running through the pouring rain, one with a gun pointed their direction, the other going straight to the courier bag.
Sam looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Nice shooting, Mrs. Fargo.”
“You think they’ll be upset when they discover it’s really iced tea in that bottle?”
“I guess that depends on whether they try to light it or drink it.” Sam glanced at Zakaria. “You okay, my friend?”
He nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come for me.”
Though the inside of their car was dark, Remi could tell his lower lip was swollen, and there was dried blood below his nose and mouth.
“I’m curious,” Sam said. “How’d all this happen, to begin with?”
Remi, noticing Zakaria taking a shaky breath, said, “Why don’t we get him back to his cousin’s house, give him a chance to rest up a bit, before we start grilling him.”
—
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Sam paced the courtyard, looking at his watch. “How much sleep does a guy need before he gets up?”
“Considering what he went through,” Remi said, “we can forgive him for sleeping in.” She was seated on a bench beneath the palm, enjoying the morning sun that angled into the courtyard over the eastern roof, lighting up the fountain in the center.
Lina walked in, her smile kind when she addressed Sam. “Zakaria asked me to give his apologies and to let you know he’s on his way down.”
When he showed a few minutes later, his face still bruised, his lower lip slightly less swollen than last night, Sam stopped his pacing. “You’re up.”
Zakaria smiled, then winced at the pain it caused him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No worries,” Remi said as Sam took a seat next to her. “It’s not like we have anything going on this morning.”
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yes.” Zakaria pulled up a wrought iron chair and sat across from them. “I know I already thanked you, but—”
“No thanks needed,” Sam interjected. “We’re glad we could help.”
Lina excused herself so that they could talk in private.
Zakaria glanced back, checking to make sure they were alone, before saying, “This is my fault. I realize that now. After I saw you had found Karl and Brand, I texted Durin to let him know the search was successful. I told him that you were on your way back.” He gave a deep sigh. “I swear, I had no idea what he was up to or I’d never have let him know anything.”
That explained the timing of it all, Remi thought, as Sam asked, “What happened?”
“Maybe a half hour after I texted, Durin and this other man, Gere, drove up. For them to arrive that quickly meant that they must have been well on their way at the time they got my text.”
Remi glanced toward Sam, certain he had to be thinking the same thing she was. That Durin had intended to ambush them all along. Probably to protect his secret, that he’d already been out to the plane and found the courier bag.
Zakaria absently touched his bruised cheek as he continued his story. “Durin’s friend had an assault rifle slung across his back. I saw another rifle in the car. I—I was shocked. Confused . . . And Durin had this wild look in his eye, and I realized I had to get out of there. But he caught up to me. The next thing I knew, he’s smashing me across my face. He kept asking what we’d found in the plane. When I told him I hadn’t gone out there with you, he accused me of lying, and his friend tied my hands behind my back, forcing me into their car.”
“Did you hear any of their conversation?” Sam asked.
“Some. They were speaking mostly German. Too fast for me to understand more than a few words here and there. One I kept hearing was Lösegeld.”
“Ransom,” Remi translated.
He nodded. “That must be it. Durin told me they were going to hold me for ransom.”
“What about who they worked for?” Sam asked. “Can you tell us anything about the people he was involved with?”
“I heard a name . . . Rol . . . Rolfe . . .” He stared off into the distance a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’m certain that’s the name I heard. I think he’s the one who came in and tried to get Durin’s address from me. And demanded to know where the courier bag was. Big, bald man in a fancy suit. That’s all I can tell you about him.”
/> Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at a text message on the screen. “We need to get going,” he said to Zakaria. “You’re sure you’ll be okay here?”
“Definitely. Kadin might look harmless, but he’s not. No one’s getting past the front door.”
He walked them out, thanking them again for coming to his aid, and promised to call if he remembered anything else that might be useful.
Remi waited until they were at the car to ask Sam about the text.
“It’s from Selma,” he said. “She thinks that one of the two letters found in the pouch might be in code.”
“She give you any idea what it said?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
19
Definitely an interesting mix,” Selma said when they called her back.
Remi raised the volume on her iPhone so that they could hear over the road noise. The Toyota wasn’t exactly the quietest vehicle they’d ever rented. “Interesting how?”
“A German plane carrying a letter dated half a year after the war ended.”
“Coded?” Sam said, intrigued. “War-related?”
“Not exactly. The only thing we’ve been able to glean from it is a mention of Königsberg and a date from the war, mentioned in the body of the letter,” she said as Sam’s phone buzzed in the center console.
“Hold on, Selma,” he said. “Another call coming in.”
Remi picked up his phone. “It’s Rube,” she said, putting him on speakerphone as well.
“Hi, Rube,” they said together, Sam adding, “What news?”
“Got a hit on your name—assuming Zakaria heard correctly,” he said. “Rolfe may be Rolfe Wernher. His criminal history goes back a few decades, but nothing too serious. Mostly minor stuff like a few drug violations, and a burglary charge that was dropped to petty theft. It’s the stuff they weren’t able to prosecute him on that worries me. Money laundering, tax evasion, drug trafficking, conspiracy, et cetera, et cetera. There seems to be a lack of direct witnesses who can be found. The few who have stepped forward end up missing.”
“Well, now you can add kidnapping to his list of charges,” Sam said.
“Assuming we can keep Zakaria safe and tie Rolfe to it.”
“Anything on the men who hit Durin’s apartment?”
“One of my Moroccan contacts tells me that the plates on the two cars abandoned at Kahrs’s apartment came back as rentals. The interesting thing is, the credit card used to rent them. They seem to belong to a fictitious business in Russia.”
“The kidnapper said he didn’t know who was shooting at me,” Sam said. “It’d be nice to know who’s behind this fictitious business. Even nicer to know if there really is more than one group involved.”
“I’ll see what I can find out. Anything else you can tell us about the group who came after you at the apartment?”
“I’m not certain, but I think they were speaking Russian. That’s about it.”
“Not much, but it’s a start.”
After Rube disconnected, Sam said, “Sorry, Selma. Thought it’d be quicker. You catch all that?”
“I suppose it explains the bullet holes in your rental car. Not sure I’d want to be the poor guy checking in the returns,” she said over a rustling of papers on her end. “I have a few notes here on what we’ve been able to come up with so far. Like I said, we have a date and a city. Königsberg, the eighth of April, nineteen forty-five. Beyond that, we’re not sure. Yet.”
“Is the date significant?” Sam asked.
“The Russians invaded Königsberg right around that time, rousting the Nazis. So, it could be. Beyond the general knowledge that Hitler ordered the removal of all the looted art and treasures stored there, we know they got some of the art out.”
“Please,” Remi said, “follow that up with a confirmation that the Amber Room was on that list of what they got out.”
“Wish I could, Mrs. Fargo. Whether or not they were able to disassemble and move the Amber Room in time has been a hot topic of debate ever since. Lazlo’s fairly certain the letter refers to something else entirely. He just needs a little more time to verify his preliminary findings. Hold on. He’s right here.”
“Quite the find, these letters,” Lazlo said, his English accent evident. “I’m not sure about this first letter. In fact, it’s so banal I wonder why someone would even bother to mail it, considering how much airmail cost back then. That led me to take another look after trying to read the second letter. At first, I thought it may be the key to break the code. But that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. I’m not even sure either letter is really in code. More, that it’s all purposefully written out of order for some odd reason. Just no order I can discern.”
Lazlo rarely got right to the point, and, as expected, today was no different. “Long story short . . . ?”
“One of the letters has a pencil notation circled on the top. Not in the letter writer’s hand but in a script that matches the logbook, or, rather, the R’s that appear in the words Romanov Ransom, scrawled in the margin of the logbook that you found on the plane. I’m waiting on better photos of the pages from Karl and Brand. The cell phone photos they sent—”
“Back up a bit,” Sam said. “Romanov Ransom?”
Remi added, “As in the murdered royal Romanovs?”
“The only Romanovs I can think of.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a ransom involved,” she replied.
“Neither were we. There aren’t any historical references to any ransom being paid by, or on behalf of, the Romanov family. At least not that we’ve been able to find. That’ll take a tad more research.”
“What about the map?” Sam asked. “What do you make of it?”
“The map,” Selma said, “indicates you need to make Königsberg your next stop. Or, to be more precise, Kaliningrad, as it’s now called.”
“What do you think?” Sam asked Remi. “A quick detour?”
“Kaliningrad? What are you waiting for? It’s a destination I’ve always dreamed about.”
20
The phone Tatiana held discreetly in her lap buzzed with an incoming text, and she glanced down at it, reading the one word on the screen: Call.
Finally, she thought as Rolfe perused the wine menu. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” she asked, slipping her phone into her clutch, also on her lap, then sliding her chair out. “I should have stopped by the ladies’ room on my way in.”
He made a cursory rise from his chair as she stood.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then turned toward the lobby. Once in the ladies’ room, she pushed open each toilet stall door to make sure it was empty before calling Viktor. Her foot tapped a cadence on the polished marble floor as the phone rang.
Eventually, Viktor picked up. “I have the update you wanted,” he said.
“A bit late, don’t you think?”
“A few complications. The police towed the rental cars, and one of our men was injured in a shooting. I needed to tie up some loose ends so that nothing comes back to you.”
“What happened?” she asked.
Viktor hesitated, which in her experience always meant bad news. “Someone got to the apartment first,” he said at last. “We think it was the Fargos.”
“And?”
“The pouch was gone when we got there. Either they got it or someone did before them.”
The only other people who even knew the thing existed were Rolfe and his men, Durin being one of them. Who would’ve guessed that when she paid Durin to bring the courier pouch to her instead of Rolfe, he was double-crossing all of them? She should’ve known better. That, however, mattered little. He was dead, and she still didn’t have the courier bag. “Do me a favor. See if you can learn any more about the Fargos. I’d like to know what they’re up to.”
&n
bsp; “That’s what I was calling about. The Fargos arrived in Kaliningrad. This morning.”
“What on earth are they doing there?” Tatiana asked.
“There’s only one reason I can think of. They’re looking for information on the Romanov Ransom. They had to have recovered the courier bag from Durin.”
“Interesting. If anyone had it, I would’ve guessed Rolfe.”
“It’s possible that he got it from the Fargos. Regardless, the timing of their visit shows they have some knowledge of what that bag contained or they wouldn’t be here. I’m not sure how much you know about them, but they have the expertise and the wealth to self-fund their search.”
She took a moment to absorb that information. “How hard would it be to follow them?”
“With the men I have working for me? Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. I want to know everything the Fargos are doing while they’re in Kaliningrad. Between their search and Rolfe’s, maybe all we’ll have to do is sit back and let them do the work.”
“Understood. I’ll set it up.”
After he disconnected, she dropped her cell phone into her purse, checked her makeup in the mirror, then returned to the table in the restaurant where Rolfe was waiting. “You ordered already?” she said, noticing a bottle of Argentinian Loscano Private Reserve Torrontés chilling in an ice bucket.
“I hope you don’t mind. Unfortunately, I have to catch a plane.”
She gave a small pout, hoping it was convincing enough. “And here I thought we’d be able to meet for dinner. You were supposed to take me to the medina.”
“Something came up,” he said.
A courier pouch, no doubt. “And where are you off to this time?”
“Home. Business matters that need attending to.”
She lifted her wineglass, taking a sip, looking at him over the rim, deciding that once again she was going to have to take the direct approach. “Any luck on your plane?”
The Romanov Ransom Page 9