The Final Fabergé
Page 35
“Think again, Mike. I told you that your father paid a heavy price for a murder Deryabin committed. If you refuse to take the egg, does that mean you want Deryabin to have it?”
He shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know what I want.”
“I have a suggestion,” Kip said. “Suppose you don’t return the egg to Deryabin and suppose also that you don’t take it. Suppose further that we have it appraised by three experts and average the prices. I will pay you that amount plus five percent. The money will be placed in an escrow account which you will designate. It can then be apportioned out to your family, to a charity, or for whatever purpose you choose.”
“That’s fair all around,” Oxby said. “How does it sit with you, Mike?”
Mike cradled the egg. He looked squarely at Oxby and said, “How many people are dead because of this?”
“I counted six, though I suspect there were more.”
Kip Forbes was no stranger to the outpouring of decorative arts from the workshops of Peter Carl Fabergé. He had moved to his desk where he was evaluating the egg; studying each of its precious stones, the basket with its flowers made of small but beautiful jewels, and the brilliant blue enamel surface. He made accurate copies of the engraved marks on the bottom of the egg, and the scratched markings that had been incised into a silver band that encircled the egg.
Oxby was making his own evaluation of Kip Forbes’s office, admiring a unique collection of paintings, portrait busts, and Staffordshire pottery figures, all portraying Napoleon III or members of his family. The furniture, including Empire and Biedermeier, was from the same period. Opposite the large painting of Empress Eugénie was a life-size portrait of Napoleon III. Oxby was in front of it.
“You’re a fan of Louis Napoleon. How did you choose him?”
Kip grinned. “I discovered long ago that old Louis hadn’t been shown the respect I thought he deserved, so I began to build a little collection around him. Like it?”
“I do.” He spun to face the Empress and her ladies. “Especially Eugénie.”
“I like her, too,” Kip said, then turned his attention back to the Imperial egg.
“What do you think of it?” Oxby asked.
“That it’s an authentic Fabergé, dated 1916, the last year Fabergé made an Imperial egg. I predict that when this one is catalogued it will be known as the Final Fabergé. The workmasters made peculiar scratches on certain items. Like these—” He showed Oxby the marks he had duplicated. “These scratches were like a code and were copied into Fabergé’s record book. One of the marks might tell us if Rasputin commissioned the egg.”
“Where’s the record book?” Oxby asked.
Kip laughed. “Sorry. It’s been missing since the communists closed the Fabergé shops in 1918.”
“Any other surprises?”
“If you’re asking if there’s a surprise compartment, I’m sure there is.”
“I’ll be in St. Petersburg during the second week in September,” Oxby said. “Yakov assures me the weather will be pleasant. Any chance either of you can meet me there?”
Mike had been quiet, preferring to listen. He responded enthusiastically. “I’ve decided to go.”
“And you, Kip?” Oxby asked.
“I’ve got an impossible schedule coming up, but I’ll try. If I can make it, where do I reach you?”
Oxby flipped through his notepad for one of his cards. The piece of paper containing the numbers fell out. He put it in front of Kip.
“I copied these numbers from the note that was left behind by the old woman in Schaffhausen. The translation doesn’t explain what these numbers mean. Got an idea?”
Kip Forbes glanced at the piece of paper. “Two—eleven—nine.” He shook his head slowly. “They don’t mean a thing to me. Not now.”
“Hold on to it.” Oxby gave one of his knowing, warm grins. “I have a hunch they might mean something important.”
When they reached the lobby of the Forbes Building, Mike turned to Oxby. “I owe you something for all you’ve done for me. Trouble is—”
“You don’t owe me a thing,” Oxby said. “I’ve been paid doubly with memories and new friendships.”
“Except for you, Deryabin would still have the egg.”
“And if I hadn’t meddled, your father might still be alive.”
Mike pressed Oxby’s arm. “You can’t blame yourself for that. From what I’ve learned, my father was a dead man breathing.”
Oxby smiled at Mike’s eerie oxymoron. “I very much want Yakov to find your mother.”
“Not more than I do.”
“I’ll show you St. Petersburg,” Oxby said with a perfectly straight face. “I’m practically a native.”
“Okay, you’re hired.” They shook hands, each acknowledging the beginning of a friendship.
“Can I drop you somewhere?” Mike said.
“Thanks, but I want to see the collection Kip helped put together. I’ll call before I leave.”
There was an awkward pause. “So long,” Mike said, sounding as American as the flag he walked past on his way out to Fifth Avenue.
Oxby watched until he was gone from sight. Then he crossed the lobby and went into the Fabergé Galleries. He had just reached the first display case when a familiar voice came from behind him.
“How’d it go?”
Oxby turned and faced Alex Tobias. “You’re a bloody scoundrel,” he blurted out. “It went splendidly, but I wanted you with me.”
“I couldn’t. I had two Russians to baby-sit.”
“Correction. One Russian, one Estonian.”
“They’re all the same to me.”
“How’s Deryabin?”
“Better than he deserves. He tried getting help from the Russian cunsul’s office, but they weren’t interested.”
“And Trivimi?”
“The DA’s cooperating, but they can’t hold him for more than a couple of days.”
“Would Lenny Sulzberger like to interview Deryabin?”
“Why would he want to?”
“Because it would make a bloody good story. There’s a good chance it would be picked up in St. Petersburg. The procurator’s office might get interested and suddenly Deryabin would have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Lenny will do anything to extract his pound of flesh.”
“Then arrange a meeting. Lenny’s the only one in this mess I haven’t met.”
“I’ll do it.” Tobias took a newspaper clipping from his shirt. “I meant to tell you about this. Interested?”
Oxby was reading about an art auction scheduled for that evening in the Sotheby Galleries.
“Want to go?”
“It’s all modern,” Oxby remonstrated.
“There’ll be some good stuff. Motherwell. Calder. Andy Warhol.”
“Should be an interesting crowd.”
“Lots of young people with plenty of money.”
“I’d like to see the Warhols. Anything interesting?”
“His Orange Marilyn, for one,” Tobias said. “Know it?”
“Oh, indeed.” Oxby grinned. “As you Americans say—that one is Big Time!”
Glossary
Russian English
Ahngleeyskee English
Asstergaisya! Beware!
bahbooshkah grandmother
blagoslovennyi blessed
Bolshoi Dom KGB office (literally “large building”)
byki bodyguard
charka small drinking bowl
choodoo miracle
Choodyehsniy! Wonderful! Great!
choy sweetened tea
dacha country cottage
dah yes
dah sveedahneeyah good-bye
davay chokhnymsya toast requiring the touching of glasses
demokratiya democracy
Derrzhi! Stop him!
Dobrah eh ootrah. Good morning.
Dobriy deyehn. Good afternoon.
Dobriy vehcheer. Good evening.
dollarhri dollar
Govn’uk! Bastard!
Kak dela? How’s life? (informal greeting)
kapitan leytenant lieutenant commander (Navy)
kapitan tretyego ranga commander (Navy)
koleso wheel
kovsh ceremonial drinking cup
krysha protection mafiya style (literally “roof ”)
kvartyra apartment
mafiya Russian crime operator or organized crime ring
matryoshka nested dolls
meelah pretty woman
mladshiy leytenant ensign (Navy)
moy zadanie my assignment
mudozvon obscenity meaning one is talking nonsense
nyeht no
Nyehzahshtah. You’re welcome.
pakan crime boss
plov rice and boiled meat (traditional Uzbek dish)
pozhaluista please
privyet hi (friendly, informal greeting)
prospekt avenue
shalava bitch, prostitute
Skola? How much?
Spahseebah (bahlshoeh). Thank you (very much).
sum Uzbek currency
ulitsa street
Vahsheh zdahroveh! To your health!
Vor v zakanye Godfather of crime gang
yab tvoyo mat vile obscenity
zdanie building
Acknowledgments
To Christopher Forbes I extend a special thanks, not only for generously sharing his knowledge of Fabergé and the incredible Imperial eggs, but for allowing me to include him as an essential character in the story. I salute Margaret Kelly Trombly and Robyn Tromeur of the Forbes Magazine Collection for their invaluable assistance. Gerard Hill of Sotheby’s also shared his extensive knowledge of Fabergé and Russian art and icons.
My wife, Barbara, and I were in the home of Joseph and Marina Wolfson in Moscow and that of Nelly and Viktor Obukhova in St. Petersburg. We were warmly received and learned firsthand about the wrenching difficulties the Russian people face as they make the move toward a capitalistic society.
Jane Lombard provided additional insights into modern-day Russia, and Laryssa Lysniak proved to be expert at choosing Russian phrases. To Laryssa I owe a special spahseebah !
Nina and Leonid Bazilevich, native to St. Petersburg, read the manuscript and shared their intimate knowledge of the culture and traditions of the people. I was lucky to spend time with Iouna Zeck in the State Hermitage Museum.
Carl and Ann Klemme were the accurate eyes and ears for Tashkent, Uzbekistan.
My thanks to Dick Welch for his great knowledge of guns, and for John D’Andrea’s equally informative knowledge of personal knives.
Always generous with their time were library researchers Barbara Simmonds and Barry Devlin.
FBI Supervisory Special Agent Raymond Kerr and Special Agent Joseph Valiquette revealed the inner workings of Russian crime in the New York area.
I am indebted to Stuart Stearns for describing biological agents and his compelling explanations for the reasons we must keep all such lethal toxins tightly sealed. And to Jim Coyne for his medical acumen.
Helping me understand the little mysteries surrounding the preparation and forwarding of automobiles from America to foreign ports were John Rozema, Sam Salzano, Robert Forsyth, and Brian Maher. Also my thanks to Officer Pat Caputo for showing me some, but not all, of the ways our U.S. Customs Service prevents stolen vehicles from leaving port.
As always, I thank Pete Wood for his dedication and unswerving loyalty. He remains my favorite reader and uncompromising critic.
About the Author
Thomas Swan chose art crime and thievery as the backdrop for his three highly praised thrillers featuring Inspector Jack Oxby:
The Da Vinci Deception, The Cézanne Chase, and The Final Fabergé. Swan was director of the national board of the Mystery Writers of America and past president of its New York chapter. His novels have all been Book of the Month Club selections and been translated into French, German, Greek, Japanese, Turkish, Russian, Polish, Spanish, and Portuguese.
Copyright
Copyright © 1999 by Thomas Swan
This book is published in the United States of America.
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, in whole, or in part, in any form, without written permission. Inquiries should be emailed to permissions@newmarketpress.com; or write to Permissions Department, Newmarket Press, 18 East 48th Street, New York,
NY 10017; or fax (212)832-3629.
First Newmarket Paperback Edition
eISBN : 9781557049797
Version 10172012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Swan, Thomas.
The final Fabergé / Thomas Swan.
p. cm.
“A novel of suspense.”
I. Title.
PR6069.W344F5 1999
823’ .914—dc21 99-34408
CIP
QUANTITY PURCHASES
Companies, professional groups, clubs, and other organizations may qualify for special terms when ordering quantities of this title. For information, e-mail sales@newmarketpress.com; write to Special Sales Department, Newmarket Press, 18 East 48th Street, New York, NY 10017; call (212) 832-3575 ext. 19 or 1-800-669-3903; or fax (212) 832-3629.
Manufactured in the United States of America.
www.newmarketpress.com