by K. T. Tomb
“That’s… hey, it looks like you’ve got someone on your tail.”
Simon had been in the midst of saying something else when he noticed it. It was a black, Audi A-5; a nice car, but quite indistinctive since there were so many others just like it on the roads in Austria.
“Yeah,” Franz grumbled, “I been hopin’ and prayin’ that would not be the case. This guy just won’t turn off onto another road. Why can’t he just fly off the edge of the cliff and explode, like in one of those action films?”
As soon as he said that, Franz and Simon both heard what they thought were gunshots coming from behind them.
“Well,” Simon said, “give me a second here.” And he began fumbling around in the glove compartment, looking for a map he knew should be there. “Ah ha!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Look, about 3 miles ahead, there should be a spot where the road widens. If you can, pull over there, and turn off your lights. If they do come after us,” Simon smiled schemingly, “they’ll regret it.” And he touched his upper left coat pocket.
“That’s pretty risky,” Franz said. “We’ll be turning ourselves into sitting ducks.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take, but at least this way they won’t be able to run us off the road and kill us.”
There was urgency in Simon’s voice. The scenic lookout point was coming up quickly and they would have to make a decision soon. Franz thought about it a moment longer and then pulled over. The two men got out.
Within a minute or two, they could hear the sound of the sports car on the road; feel the rumble of the tarmac as it made its way toward them. Soon the headlights peeked out from around a bend on the mountain road. The car pulled up and two men in black tactical gear appeared. Simon fired off two rounds, and the men in black took cover. But Franz put a hand on Simon’s arm and lowered the weapon.
Simon looked at him incredulously, and Franz said, “C’mon kid. I don’t want to get shot over some stupid vases.”
Wordlessly, Simon raised the gun in the air, made a big show of removing the magazine, and threw the gun away from them.
They did not say a word, just approached Franz and Simon, and with a quick glance at one another, they raised their silenced automatic pistols and gave both Franz and Simon a hard rap to the temple, rendering both men unconscious. They loaded both bodies into the back of the trailer, and the larger of the two men took off driving the truck, the smaller went back to the Audi and followed closely behind.
Chapter Two
Luxembourg, Present Day
The villa was one of the best kept of the older buildings in Luxembourg. It was located northwest of Wiltz in the hill country of the Osling region. An elderly woman sat in a spacious, over-stuffed armchair, facing a group of three other individuals. She observed that the tall, blonde, attractive woman was clearly the brains behind the outfit that she had invited into her home; the two men with her were as mismatched as teacups from different sets. One was a slight, almost wispy gentleman; the other was tall, fit and well-built. He was lean and toned—the way the elder woman always thought American cowboys might look. He reminded her a bit of Clint Eastwood. She smiled at the thought.
The blonde woman spoke up. “Thank you again, Mrs. Rodange, for having us here, and for the hospitality of your home. You’ve become somewhat acquainted with our associate Savannah Summers, but I am Thyri Ragnarsson and these are my associates Travis Monnahan and Adam Stewart.”
She indicated each man as she said his name.
“Please dear,” Mrs. Rodange replied. “It is my pleasure; I wish I could have invited you here under better circumstances. I’ve heard a lot about your group.”
“Thank you,” Travis replied. “I hope it wasn’t all bad.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Rodange replied. “Ever since the international scandal in Russia and that remarkable interview you gave, I’ve been following the exploits of Alpha Adventurers, Inc. in the news.”
She turned to Thyri and added, “You may not be aware, Miss Ragnarsson, but your father Boris and my husband were business associates on the North Sea oil field construction projects. They were old school friends, you see. Cambridge, I believe.”
“I’m an Oxford man, myself,” Adam chimed in, “but anyone who has had business dealings with Boris Ragnarsson is certainly involved in some very big business ventures. Antiquities are my specialty; I’m both privately and professionally passionate about them. So naturally, I am quite excited to hear about the issues you discussed with Savannah. Swarovski crystal, she said?”
Thyri shot him an enough-is-enough look and Adam stopped dead in his tracks, allowing her to lead the conversation again. She had repeatedly reminded him that he was on his first case with the team since Russia and things had a tendency to go pear-shaped for them when they weren’t careful; especially for poor Travis.
“Tell us a little bit more about the job,” Thyri politely inquired.
“Well, as your colleague here so deftly pointed out, I do have my fingers in many different pies. I am the majority shareholder in a number of international companies, operate a few private contracting firms, and have many individuals that work directly for me, among other things. Two of those workers have recently gone missing while transporting some very valuable cargo and I am very concerned.”
“Tell us about the workers and what you know of what happened to them,” Travis said as he prepared himself to take notes.
“I will,” Mrs. Rodange replied, “but I need to give you the history first.”
She smiled serenely at them and settled deeper into the beautiful wing chair before she picked up a tiny bell from a side table and rang it. A few moments later a neatly dressed young woman came into the room and spoke quietly to her. Mrs. Rodange issued a few simple instructions and as quickly as she had come, the woman left again.
“I’ll tell my story while we wait for some refreshments,” she announced, then looked at her guests for a moment as if she wondered what she was supposed to say next. “Oh yes, I was saying that I come from a long line of Rodanges in this country. My father’s great-great-grandfather was a member of a very successful printing and publishing firm that also ran its own newspaper back in the late eighteen-hundreds. He had two business partners, Liebowitz and Gaston. At the height of their success, the three men were wealthier than most of the monarchs of Europe—they had access to everyone and everything, and their paper was read in at least three different countries.”
“Quite a feat for that time,” Adam interjected. “Mass-producing readable material and running a press in that many different languages would have been a headache on a good day. The number of different letters and type needed would have been staggering, as would have been the manpower required for distribution of the newspaper. Not to mention the proofreaders and editors, the type-setters; all would had to have been fluent in those languages as well.”
Adam had impressed Mrs. Rodange; she had not been fully convinced of the reason he was there.
“Yes,” she replied in a pleasantly surprised voice. “Their printing and publishing and newspaper spanned empires. They were based here, though. Eventually, their costs outran their profits, and they had to sell everything off piecemeal to smaller, local operations. But, at the height of their wealth and success, as I was saying, they had access to everyone and everything. So befittingly when they reached their twenty-fifth anniversary of business, it was decided to have three crystal vases cut by Swarovski Crystal to commemorate the milestone. One was cut in a very light blue, one was cut in a very light pink, and one was cut in the clearest crystal that could be found. Each vase on its own would have been worth a large duchy, and together, they very well could have brought enough money for the three men to buy the entire country if they had wanted to.”
“That’s a pretty incredible fortune,” Travis replied. As a university professor, it was hard for Travis to even vaguely conceptualize the amount of money that Mrs. Rodange—and for that matter, Thyri—possessed.
“It is, indeed,” Mrs. Rodange replied, smiling slightly at the incredulous look on Travis’ face. “So when they started selling everything off, Mr. Rodange suggested that the three vases be kept together, as they were part of a one of a kind collection. The other two men agreed, but the story has it that the Liebowitzs were rather reluctant to give up their vase and the three partners engaged in a game of chance. My ancestor won the game, and so the three vases should have come into his possession.”
“What do you mean, ‘should have?’ What happened?” Adam asked.
Thyri already had an inkling of what had transpired. Mrs. Rodange’s last statement had given her a clue, but she remained silent. She glanced over at Travis, and the twinkle in his eye confirmed her theory; once again he had caught on very quickly.
“The story goes that my ancestor went to each of the manors to retrieve the Gaston and the Liebowitz vase and that upon his arrival at the Liebowitz manor, he was told there had been a break in the night before and that a number of valuable pieces of the Liebowitz family treasure had been stolen.”
“Oh no,” Adam gasped. “What happened to the vase, then? Was it lost?”
“No,” Mrs. Rodange replied. “It was not. Liebowitz had decided to renege on the agreement. He staged a break in, paid a few rather distasteful men to take and hold on to a number of his more valuable pieces, and tried to con my ancestor.”
“Well,” Travis replied, “I can’t say I really blame him. If the sale of one of those vases could have made him as rich as you say, it certainly wouldn’t have appealed to him to give up a piece that is probably worth my entire nest egg.”
“It’s worth more, Travis,” Thyri replied. She knew Travis squirrelled away money for that far-off goal of retirement. She also knew what a pitiful sum it was compared to the current value of the vases in question.
“I have acquired antique Swarovski pieces for clients in the past. Pieces that, at their time of manufacture, were rather commonplace but were discontinued after a certain number were made. When limited editions like those turn up at auction, they’ve been known to fetch sums upwards of twenty million dollars. These vases were hand-carved and only three of them were made; this one set. I couldn’t even begin to put a price on what the collection would bring if sold intact.”
“Exactly.” Mrs. Rodange reasserted command of the conversation and began speaking again. “My ancestor was not without his own resources. He had his own men watch the Liebowitz household for a number of weeks. Finally, the night came when a carriage loaded with boxes pulled up to the back door of the house. One of his men knew one of the maids and he asked her to keep an eye out for the vase. After enough bribe money was paid out, she spilled the beans. My ancestor decided not to press charges, even though there was a legal document on his side, and later that week his men broke in, stole the vase, and left a note that read ‘Let the games begin’ announcing to the Liebowitz family and the Gaston family that, if they could, they could try to steal the vases back and he would not press charges. The next day, all three pieces decorated my ancestor’s mantel, in plain view, for the world to see.”
“I would love to see one of those vases,” Adam replied. “I can’t even imagine…” he trailed off, leaving a rather resounding ‘imagine what’ burning in the other people’s minds.
“Therein lies the problem,” Mrs. Rodange said. “My best transporter and his young assistant have vanished off a mountain road while they were transporting the vases to the Swarovski Crystal Expo in Luxembourg City.”
“Oh dear!” was all that Thyri could muster.
Just then, the young maid returned with a large tray of tea things which she set in front of Mrs. Rodange. As she poured the coffee, Travis piped up.
“What about your husband—where is he in all of this?”
He had noted her wedding rings earlier, but as soon as the last syllable dropped from his lips, he noticed Thyri visibly flinch, and Travis knew he had missed something. Too late, though. The words were already out of his mouth.
“My husband is deceased,” Mrs. Rodange replied, without missing a beat. Thyri visibly relaxed. “I reverted to using my maiden name after he passed. The reason I asked you here is because I hope you can help me locate my drivers, and in doing so, locate and repossess my vases.”
“Has anything like this ever happened in the history of the feud? Has it ever gotten… violent?” Thyri asked, tactfully preparing Mrs. Rodange for a potentially difficult question.
“No,” Mrs. Rodange replied confidently. “Nothing of the sort; up until now, of course.” She finished her statement with much less confidence than she originally displayed to the group.
“Tell me more about the people working for you,” Travis said.
“The two men with which I trusted the transportation of the vases are Franz Faber and Simon Boucher. They were supposed to have checked in by now. The expo is still a week away, but I wanted the vases to arrive at the exhibition’s curator well in advance so as to secure the best placement in the show. It was he who alerted me that they did not arrive on time.”
“Did anyone else know what they were transporting?” Adam asked.
“The other families are still located around here. The Gastons are further south, close to Luxembourg City. The Liebowitzs own a number of properties across the country, but the main family estate is in the countryside west of the city. They knew I had the vases,” she stated. “They are also sure to know about the expo coming up, but I doubt they credit me enough to put my pieces on display in so public a place.”
“Mrs. Rodange,” Thyri said, “what about the scene of the disappearance? Do you know about anything which may have happened there?”
“The police told me that it seemed the truck was forced to pull over to the side of the road and both men alighted, possibly to confront their pursuer. There were shots fired. Bullet casings were found in many places, but who fired at whom, the police do not know. The men and the merchandise were taken from the truck and disappeared into thin air.”
“I see. Do you have the names of the detectives who are working on the case?”
“Indeed, Miss Ragnarsson. I have made copies of everything I have for you. Millie will give you the envelope on your way out.”
It was the subtlest of hints. Only a born and bred socialite would pick up on it. Thyri briskly patted the knee of both men seated beside her and stood to leave. Travis and Adam, though confused, followed her lead.
“Thank you very much for your time this evening,” Thyri said. “I’m hoping that we can get back to you over the next few days with some answers.”
“And the same to you, my dears,” Mrs. Rodange replied. “I appreciate that you may need me, from time to time, for information. However, I would prefer if you would leave me out of the investigation. Things have never gotten… dark… in all my years of contact with the other families, and I would hate to have too much information.”
Outside the drawing room door, Millie, Mrs. Rodange’s maid, was waiting for them. She handed Thyri a thick manila envelope and signaled to the group to follow her up the stairs.
“Mrs. Rodange’s rooms are on the first floor. No one is allowed past those doors without her express invitation,” Millie announced with a wave of her hand, indicating the ornate opening to a grand reception room.
She proceeded up another flight to the second floor and stood in the middle of a seating area.
“To your left are the gentlemen’s bedrooms and to the right is the lady’s bedroom. Also off the corridor to your right is a study which has been converted temporarily into somewhat of a conference room,” Millie stated. “The entire house has an excellent Wi-Fi network. Any questions?”
“What do you…” Adam started to ask, but Millie continued as if she hadn’t heard him.
“Well, I will leave you to it,” Millie said, and excused herself.
“Okay guys,” Travis said. “Get settled, get unpacked, and we’ll meet in the confere
nce room in say, an hour?”
Both Thyri and Adam agreed. They reconvened in the study and found that a pot of sweet, dark Italian coffee, a jug of cream, and various sweeteners had been laid out in their absence. There were also platters piled high with the fixings for sandwiches; cold cuts, tomatoes, leafy greens and a variety of condiments. Fresh loaves of bread from the local market were displayed, all sliced perfectly. All three served themselves, then sat and ate in relative silence.
“What do you guys think?” Adam asked.
“I think,” Travis said, “that our first course of action needs to be to dig a little deeper into these other families; Gaston and Liebowitz.”
“Agreed,” Thyri said. “And we probably shouldn’t count the drivers out of this yet, either. Maybe one, or both, was employed by one of the other families to double-cross Mrs. Rodange.”
“She said that the two men worked for her on contract, but where do they work when they aren’t working for her?” Travis thought out loud.
“She mentioned that they work for a private security and transportation firm,” Thyri said.
“We should look into their background there, then. Maybe this isn’t the first time something like this has happened with those drivers.”
“Yeah,” Adam interjected excitedly.
The group was just about to decide who would tackle which investigative assignments when Travis’ phone rang. He answered, excitedly seeing Savannah’s number pop up. She was about to board her plane in Paris. As Travis was speaking rapidly to Savannah about the case, what they knew and who they would be looking into, the intercom in the center of the table buzzed to life.
The group heard Mrs. Rodange say, “I just received a call from Lucas Gaston—the Gaston family heir. He heard about the missing drivers and the missing vases, and he wants to help recover them.”
Thyri, Adam and Travis all looked at each other in surprise and suspicion. According to Mrs. Rodange, no one should have known that the vases had gone missing.