by Robert Brown
“I suppose there’s no point in telling you to give up,” Heinrich said.
The only response he got was a right hook to the head with a meaty fist. Heinrich ducked back, dodging it easily. Less easily, he dodged the follow-through with the left. Unibrow kept his fists up to defend his head, so Heinrich’s counterattack was a swift jab to the ribs.
It connected, but instead of making Unibrow curl up on the ground into a moaning ball of agony, the guy only let out a grunt and kicked Heinrich in the shin.
Heinrich hadn’t been expecting that, and it put him off balance. Unibrow’s next attack was a right cross that could have broken Heinrich’s jaw. However, his boxer reflexes got his fists up in time so that the man’s fist slammed hard into his own. Heinrich rolled with the force of the blow and stumbled to the side, his shoulder smacking onto the concrete wall.
Heinrich lashed out with his left as the murderer drove in for the kill. The guy ducked back with a quarter of a second to spare.
Heinrich used that window of opportunity to retreat farther and get back into a fighting stance. His opponent did the same. Unibrow darted a glance over Heinrich’s shoulder, reminding Heinrich that he had seen an exit sign in the moment before he’d gotten into a fight with a complete stranger.
“Tick-tick,” Heinrich said with a grin. “Security is coming soon.”
The guy swung out with a roundhouse kick. Heinrich backed off. He didn’t know how to deal with that in any other way. He did boxing, not kickboxing. Unibrow tried again. As soon as he finished, Heinrich darted forward to swing at him, only to get his punch blocked.
This asshole’s military, Heinrich realized. But which military?
He gave the guy a quick jab to the face. It landed but didn’t do much damage. Heinrich got one in return.
Then came another of those roundhouse kicks. Heinrich backed off plenty this time, buying himself enough space to spare a glance over his shoulder. Yes, the hallway ran another twenty feet before ending in an emergency exit. There was no other way out except for back into the convention center, where a whole crowd must have been wondering who had murdered someone with an ancient statue.
Unibrow paused, sizing up Heinrich and no doubt thinking what Heinrich was thinking—that they were evenly matched, and that this fight could go on long enough to keep him from making a getaway. They heard shouts and commotion coming from the convention hall. The whole place must have been in an uproar by now.
Where the hell was security?
It came a couple of seconds later in the form of a pot-bellied middle-aged man with a bad comb-over and a brown polyester uniform. At least the idiot had the wits to come huffing down the hallway with his nightstick in hand.
“Stop right there!” he wheezed.
Unibrow spun on him, blocked a weak swing with the nightstick by hitting the guy hard in the forearm, and buried his other fist in the loser’s paunch. The security guy folded like he’d eaten a poisoned donut.
Unibrow spun back to face Heinrich before he had a chance to move in. Now he held the security man’s nightstick.
“Aw, shit.”
Heinrich ducked just in time to avoid getting his brains spilled onto the floor. The nightstick clacked against the concrete wall. Heinrich punched his opponent in the ribs, but it was a weak strike because he was too busy getting the hell out of the reach of a back swing that would have knocked him out cold.
They ended up facing each other from several paces away. This time, it was Unibrow who was closer to the emergency exit.
The murderer grinned, turned, and bolted for the exit. Heinrich followed, but not so close as to get tagged in an ambush. They went through the emergency door, setting off the alarm, and ran down a staircase and out a back exit. Unibrow sprinted to an idling car parked next to a service dock. The driver hit the gas, peeling out and coming straight for Heinrich.
He leaped out of the way with half a second to spare. The vehicle skidded around the corner and was gone.
But not before Heinrich had scoped the license plate.
He got on his cell phone and called the cops as he walked back inside. Someone else had already called 911, of course, but at least he could add the license number and a physical description of the perp. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver except for the fact that he looked like a hulky Mediterranean guy too.
By the time Heinrich got back to the main floor of the convention center, the polyester donut boys had cordoned off the area and were interviewing various witnesses. He spotted the woman he had been trying to pick up. She was just turning away from one of the security men, who had been writing down what she said. She came face to face with Heinrich.
“You didn’t catch him,” she said. It came out as a statement and not a question.
“No I did not, but I got a good look at his face and license plate. I already told the cops. They should be here any minute.”
She shook her head, her raven tresses falling around her shoulders, her eyes brimming with tears. Yet her voice was steady as she said, “The police won’t find them. They always get away. I have no doubt they stole that car they used. They’ll be in another one by now.”
“And who is ‘they’?”
The woman studied him for a moment, then let out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”
Heinrich pulled out his identification, which showed he was a private detective.
“You can trust me.”
She studied him again, clearly considering whether or not she could. After a moment she said, “Professor Lukas Christodolou and I are archaeologists. We were investigating a large collection of artifacts that an organized criminal gang had stolen from regional museums and excavations in Greece.”
“And that gang decided to shut Lukas up?” Heinrich glanced at the body, which lay about ten yards away. One of the donut boys had enough presence of mind to cover it with a sheet. The dumbass had used a white sheet, though, and the top half was soaked crimson. He also hadn’t removed the statue. It made a clear, jagged hump on the man’s chest.
“We have received death threats before,” the woman said.
“Someone would kill for a few old artifacts?”
“Someone will kill for several million euros.”
“Oh. I see.”
The police arrived, and there was a long string of questions. Heinrich learned that the woman was named Thalia Georgiades and taught Classics at Columbia University. Professor Lukas Christodolou had worked for the Greek Antiquities Ministry and had come on government business, hiring Thalia as a local expert.
The guys from the club showed up and asked almost as many questions as the cops. Heinrich gave them his records for safekeeping and told them in the nicest way possible to beat it. He sensed a case coming on.
With the death of her colleague, Thalia’s dismissive attitude had disappeared. She accepted a ride in Heinrich’s car to her home, a modest place in Brooklyn. She collected a few things while he stood watch. Then, using his credit card, he helped her check into a hotel. She paid him back with cash.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked once she was settled in.
“I’ll be all right.”
“I didn’t mean, you know…”
Thalia managed a tired smile. “I know you are a decent man. I don’t see how they could track me here. Thank you for allowing me to use your credit card.”
That had been her idea. This was a woman who thought things through. This was a woman who lived in a world where she had to think things through. Heinrich wondered about these international antiquities thieves. If they had killed so gruesomely, so publicly, they were obviously telling the world to get off their turf.
Reluctantly, he left Thalia at the hotel. He could tell that he was standing at the brink of an interesting case and he didn’t like walking off just as things were getting started.
But it wasn’t his business. Thalia had the Greek government at her back, and probably Interpol and now the NYPD. She didn�
��t need any more help.
Heinrich drove across town to his little apartment in Manhattan, popped open a beer, and had just sat down when the phone rang.
CHAPTER THREE
“Hello, is this Heinrich Muller?” asked the suave voice on the other end of the line.
“Speaking.”
“I am Charles Montaine of the Executive International Security Corporation.”
“How can I help you, Mr. Montaine?” Heinrich had heard of this outfit. Everyone in the business had. They ran the biggest international detective agency in the Western world.
“We’re on the Lukas Christodolou case. Can you come in tomorrow morning at nine o’clock? We could use your help.”
Heinrich showed up as requested. The case, and the woman, had sparked his interest. He didn’t like seeing some innocent old academic get killed before his eyes, and he had a feeling that the woman would be next. Besides, going there would probably mean he’d get to see her again.
He was right. When he arrived at the offices of Executive International Security Corporation, which took up the entire twenty-fifth floor of a glittering Lower Manhattan high rise, he found her in the waiting room.
Calling it a “waiting room” was like calling The Four Seasons a cafeteria. It looked more like the lounge of a five-star hotel in Paris—elegantly tooled leather seats, crystal chandelier, orchids on the table, a hot secretary serving tea in fine china, and he swore that was a real Matisse hanging on the wall. The room was so well designed, he almost couldn’t spot the security cameras.
Thalia rose to meet him.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Fine, thank you. Still a bit shaken. Professor Christodolou was a good man.”
“If you need some more nights in that hotel, I don’t mind putting it on my card.”
“I’m heading to Greece soon. I’m hoping you will be too.”
Heinrich cocked an eyebrow. “Apparently you’ve already spoken with Mr. Montaine.”
Thalia nodded. “We retained their services just a couple of days ago.”
“They don’t seem to have done a very good job,” Heinrich said, raising his voice a little so the microphone that he felt sure was hidden somewhere in the room would pick up his words.
“They’re following several good leads. It was they who found evidence that some of the artifacts would be sold at the collectors fair. They didn’t suspect that the gang would give such a bloody warning, though.”
“They should have,” Heinrich said, suddenly angry. “That’s why I’ve always been independent. Big organizations like this always fall into bureaucracy. Their operatives get tied up in red tape and the corporate hierarchy and are too scared to stick out their necks.”
An oak-paneled door opened softly on well-oiled hinges. A man in a conservative business suit stood in the doorway. He had salt-and-pepper hair, well-bred features, and sharp blue eyes that matched his expensive and obviously tailored suit.
“Mr. Muller, perhaps you would prefer to insult my organization personally rather than speaking into the mic?”
“Flower arrangement or crystal chandelier?” Heinrich asked.
Montaine allowed a ghost of a smile. “Neither. Come.”
Heinrich didn’t like the fact that the words came out as an order. Still, the chick was walking over to Montaine, and her ass was nice enough for him to follow.
The executive led them through a hushed, richly appointed office and past several closed doors to a small meeting room. Heinrich settled into a high-backed leather chair as an astonishingly beautiful executive assistant offered him coffee.
“Thanks, babe. I take it black, but after what I said about Mr. Montaine’s business here, he probably spat in it.”
Thalia gave him a curious stare. “Are you always like this?”
“He is,” Montaine said, holding his hands behind his back and standing at the head of the table like a schoolmaster in some high-end British boarding school. “He’s infamous in the business for his crudeness and lack of respect for others, but he yields some remarkable results.”
Heinrich nodded. “I always get my man, or woman, or gender-fluid freak show.”
“He’s the detective who found that World War Two Nazi train in Poland,” Montaine said.
Thalia’s eyes lit up. “I read about that. Fascinating!”
Heinrich gave her his winning smile. “It didn’t take much. Just some good detective work, infiltrating a neo-Nazi group, and shooting a few goose steppers.”
Thalia rolled her eyes. “Modest, I see.”
“It ain’t bragging if you can do it,” Heinrich replied.
Montaine cleared his throat. “Modesty wouldn’t be a bad trait to acquire, Mr. Muller. But that is beside the point. The man you chased yesterday is part of a Greek antiquities gang. We suspect some of their enforcers are former Greek military.”
“That would explain why I didn’t kick his ass in the first five seconds,” Heinrich said.
Montaine continued as if he hadn’t heard. “They bribe employees in regional museums and excavations, or sometimes conduct night-time digs themselves in promising areas. With the current economic situation in Greece, it’s easy for them to get away with this. There’s always someone with a personal financial crisis who can be corrupted, and law enforcement doesn’t have the means to police every archaeological site. Sadly, this isn’t the first murder at their hands. They also killed a dig director near Delphi who came across them looting his site, and a local police detective in Thessaloniki who came too close to uncovering their shipping operation.”
“Where do I come in?”
“You are the only person who saw the killer’s face.”
“CCTV?”
Montaine shook his head in disgust and started pacing at the front of the room. “It wasn’t working on that floor. No, it hadn’t been interfered with, it simply was offline. As you know, many of these big buildings have cameras only to reduce their insurance premiums. They don’t maintain them nearly well enough.”
“The security guard saw the perp as well, but I guess you don’t want to send him to Europe on your dime, do you?”
Montaine smiled. “No, this is a job for a professional.”
“I work alone.”
“Not on this job you don’t, and if you’re acting coy just to raise your rates, have no fear. You’ll get twice your usual rate—four hundred dollars a day plus expenses. Biniam will get the same if you need his help.”
Biniam was a hacker Heinrich had used on many cases. The guy was a techie genius and covered his tracks well.
“Don’t tell me your computer guys have been able to hack Biniam because I don’t believe it.”
“No, we got his name from your phone.”
Heinrich glowered at the man. “I don’t like people hacking my phone.”
Montaine bowed his head slightly. “My apologies. We needed to know whom we were working with. Everyone knows of your reputation, but it doesn’t fit with your success rate. You’re quite the interesting person, Mr. Muller—boxer, hyperpolyglot, world traveler, and volunteer stepfather.”
Heinrich’s coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth. “Don’t bring Jan into this.”
“Why not? It says good things about you that you’re helping that teen street thug get back on his feet. And we’d like to help you help him. We need someone based in Europe to facilitate our expansion into the region. That could be you. We’d let you operate as independently as our corporate structure would allow. You’d get a generous pay and benefits package, and you could live anywhere you like. Warsaw, for example.”
That got Heinrich’s attention. After his last case, his client had given him a bonus that had allowed him to stay in Warsaw for two months and see Jan almost every day. The change in the kid had been profound. His grades had gone from Ds to Bs, and he’d gotten in a lot less trouble at the halfway house. The number of times he’d talked back to the staff hit new lows and he hadn’t gotten i
n a fight during the last month at all.
But that had all collapsed when Heinrich had to return to the States. Jan had gotten used to Heinrich being there, and hadn’t understood why he had to go back to New York City. He had moaned and sulked all that last week. The day Heinrich left, Jan had sworn at one of the monitors and gotten a demerit. The next day he’d punched some kid who teased him.
“How are you going to deal with the work visa?” Heinrich asked.
“We can arrange that. But of course you must know you’re eligible for German citizenship thanks to your grandfather. That gets you into the European Union.”
“That’s enough about that,” Heinrich snarled. Yes, his grandfather had been a German citizen. He had been an SS officer too. Of course, Montaine would know all about that. There was even a Wikipedia page on the bastard.
“So, are you interested in the case?” Montaine asked in a way that showed he already knew the answer.
“All right, but five hundred a day, not four hundred.”
“You’re quite expensive, Mr. Muller.”
“I’ll get your case done quick. I got things to do.”
“So I’ve heard,” Montaine said. Heinrich felt irritated that he was showing off how much he knew. “Set things right in Greece and then you can set things right in Warsaw. You’re hired as of today. My assistant will give you the paperwork. You’ll leave tomorrow. Shall I hire you a Greek tutor for the day?”
Heinrich shook his head. “No. I’ll download some apps. Thalia can be my tutor.”
Thalia gave him an amused look. “You’re going to learn Greek? Just like that?”
“I did with Polish, and I already know ancient Greek thanks to the fact that I wanted to read Thucydides and Xenophon in the original.”
“Ancient Greek is as different from modern Greek as Old English is from what we’re speaking right now.”
Heinrich cocked his head and gave her his best winning smile. “Then I guess we’ll be spending the day together.”