Rogue Angel 51: The Pretender's Gambit (16 page)

Chapter 25

“Leonid, my old friend! It is so good to see you again!” Viktor Fedotov greeted Klykov exuberantly and wrapped him in an immense bear hug. Big as a bear himself, Fedotov lifted the smaller man from his feet and kissed him roughly on both cheeks, laughing joyously the whole time. Shaggy gray hair fell to the fence’s broad shoulders and his beard hung to his chest. He wore round-lensed granny glasses, a faded red sweatshirt and blue sweatpants. He also wore pink bunny slippers that had drooping ears and googly eyes.

Fedotov continued speaking in rapid Russian as he returned Klykov to the ground. Two young women stood behind counters on either side of the shop. Both of them were dressed in skinny jeans, blouses opened to a provocative degree and way too much eyeliner. They stared at Fedotov’s display of affection with bemused interest.

The tough guy at the back of the shop cast a more prurient eye on the proceedings. His hand never strayed far from the pistol on his right hip almost out of sight under a blue windbreaker.

Annja’s Russian was good enough to follow the introductory burst of enthusiastic welcome, but she couldn’t grasp the rest of the dialogue. Given the fact that Klykov had volunteered information that he and Fedotov were not good friends, the effusive display of affection was surprising. Then she reconsidered. Both men were on the verge of doing business together. Everyone wore a happy face till they got to the bottom line.

“Viktor,” Klykov protested as he rearranged his coat. “English, please. Out of respect for my friend, Annja, who does not speak our language so well.”

“
Da
,
of course, of course.” Fedotov turned to Annja and lumbered toward her. “Annja Creed, star of
Chasing History’s Monsters, da.
You I know, and never did I think I would ever see such as you in my shop.” He picked her up in a bone-crushing embrace, then set her carefully down. “I am so honored by your presence in my humble business.”

The shop was anything but humble. Annja had been expecting a small place on the order of a pawn shop, something shadowy and mysterious tucked in an out-of-the-way spot. She’d had in mind a business with dim lighting that featured a smorgasbord of worthless items out front for show while the illicit sales were done out of the back room.

Instead, the Mad Russian’s Emporium of Nice Things was a gala affair in a prominent place in the market and was filled with flashing lights, including a string of bright red jalapeno peppers that were incongruous in present surroundings. Spinner racks held paperback books in a dozen different languages. Electronics, statues and ceramics from many different cultures, Russian icons in a half-dozen different sizes, ships in bottles that ranged from Clipper ships to nuclear submarines and rifles and shotguns occupied locked display cases. Festive helium balloons announcing “specials” wafted on the breeze. A hidden PA system blared songs by the Beatles.

“Tanya.” Fedotov addressed the red-haired young woman manning the counter that displayed jewelry and expensive watches. He spoke quickly and she ducked behind the counter for a moment, then reappeared with a gray-and-silver bottle of vodka. The young woman set up six shot glasses and poured out drinks in a long stream as quick as an LA bartender on a Friday night.

“Come, come.” Fedotov motioned to Annja and Klykov, then to the other young woman and his obvious security guard. “Galina. Emil. Come. Join me in a toast to my old friend, Leonid Klykov.”

They drank and Klykov and Fedotov slammed their shot glasses back on the counter almost at the same time. Annja finished up shortly after them and the vodka burned all the way down.

Tanya resupplied the glasses without being told to do so.

“And now,” Fedotov said, “a toast to my new friend, Annja Creed. Drink!” He hammered the second shot down.

This time the vodka brought tears to Annja’s eyes and she choked back a ragged cough. A momentary disconnect flashed through her senses, then quickly faded, but she’d had warning enough. The vodka was not something she wanted to mess around with.

“And now a drink to the business we are about to do,” Fedotov announced, and pointed to Tanya to pour yet another drink.

“I surrender,” Annja said, holding her hands up and laughing. “Two is my limit.”

“Ah, you Americans.” Fedotov grinned broadly at her, exposing a lot of gold dental work. “So weak when it comes to drinking. You lack the true sadness that lurks in the Russian soul.”

Annja didn’t argue. She watched as the others slammed back another shot and didn’t appear to be any worse for wear.

“And now,” Fedotov announced, “we should get down to business,
da
?”

“
Da
,” Klykov agreed.

“I will call our friend Onoprienko and tell him I am ready to make a deal for his bauble, that I have his money. He should arrive here in a short while. I have sensed he is both greedy and in a hurry. In the meantime, my new friend Annja, perhaps you could do me a small favor.”

“If I can,” Annja replied.

Fedotov walked to the back of the shop and took up a box from the floor, then carried it over to her. Inside were stacks of
Chasing History’s Monsters
DVDs.

“If you could autograph these, I would be thankful.”

Annja did a quick estimate of discs in the case. There had to be over a hundred copies. “Sure. What would you like me to put on them?”

“I would like you to put, ‘Special bargain from the Mad Russian Emporium of Nice Things,’ but we do not have time for such niceties. Onoprienko is very desperate for cash. He will be here in short order and I call him. Unless you wish to wait so you can do proper job.”

“No. No waiting.”

Fedotov nodded in understanding and handed her a black Sharpie. “So just put, ‘With love, Annja Creed.’”

“All right.”

Fedotov took her to a back room office on the second-floor cargo container and sat her at a messy desk. Framed posters of science fiction movies hung on the walls. He escorted her to the executive chair behind the desk. The interior of the area had been refinished with Sheetrock and painted bright blue.

“Please be comfortable. There is security camera to show front of shop.” Fedotov indicated the CCTV screen hanging on the wall near the door. “There is facilities.” He pointed to a small cubicle in the corner of the cargo container near a set of circular stairs that led up to the second floor.

Annja was amazed at how homey the cargo containers had turned out.

Klykov sat in the chair on the other side of the desk while Fedotov called Onoprienko. Annja grew anxious when the call was not immediately answered, but then she could hear Onoprienko’s gravelly voice come on the line.

The conversation between Fedotov and Onoprienko was short and to the point. Fedotov had the money, Onoprienko was on his way.

Finished, Fedotov returned his phone to his sweatpants pocket. “He will be here soon. Then we will have him.”

* * *

“S
TOP
HERE
,” F
ERNANDO
S
EQUEIRA
ordered his driver.

The luxury sedan glided to a halt next to the narrow aisle of containers. Only a hundred feet away, the Mad Russian’s Emporium of Nice Things stood out from the other shops around it. Lines of multicolored triangular flags snapped in the breeze.

There was no sign of Annja Creed or the Russian who was supposed to have the elephant.

Sequeira texted Brisa for an update.
I AM HERE. WHERE IS ANNJA CREED?

SHE IS INSIDE THE SHOP
, Brisa responded.

YOU SAW HER?

THE TRACKING DEVICE I PUT ON HER AT THE AIRPORT SHOWS THAT SHE IS THERE.

Sequeira relaxed a little. He would relax more when the elephant was in his hands, and be a happy man when he knew for certain what he was dealing with.

IS THE ELEPHANT INSIDE?

NO. THEY ARE WAITING ON THE RUSSIAN.

Impatience chafed at Sequeira.
WHERE IS THE RUSSIAN?

THAT I DO NOT KNOW. WE TRACKED ANNJA CREED, NOT THE RUSSIAN. HAVE PATIENCE. SHE IS NOT GOING TO WAIT AROUND HERE FOR NOTHING. THIS IS WHERE THE ELEPHANT WILL BE.

Time passed and finally Sequeira’s phone screen lit up again.

THE RUSSIAN IS HERE.

Staring out the windshield, Sequeira spotted the lanky Russian walking along the line of shops toward the Mad Russian’s Emporium of Nice Things. Some of the bruising still showed on Onoprienko’s thin face. Sequeira had heard about the beating the man had taken. Onoprienko wore sunglasses to disguise some of the damage. A long coat covered his cheap suit.

There was nothing else, no sign of a box or a bag.

Frantic, Sequeira tapped out a message on the phone.
HE IS NOT CARRYING A PACKAGE!

HE IS A CAREFUL MAN. WAIT A LITTLE LONGER. THE MAN HE IS DEALING WITH WILL NOT GIVE HIM THE MONEY HE WANTS UNTIL HE HAS THE ELEPHANT. NEITHER OF THESE MEN ARE TRUSTING PEOPLE. THE ELEPHANT WILL BE HERE SOON.

Sequeira glanced at the two mercenaries he had in the car with him, then over his shoulder at the five in the car behind him. He pushed an earpiece into his ear and opened the radio channel they would be using.

“All right, when this goes down, remember that I want the elephant.
Unbroken and in one piece
! I don’t care how many other people you have to kill to get it, but I do not wish to lose that statue.”

Monitoring the front of the shop, Sequeira hated the fact that he had to rely somewhat on the mercenaries he’d hired. He trusted Brisa implicitly.

* * *

A
NNJA
HAD
BARELY
finished autographing the box of DVDs when the red-haired woman, Tanya, stepped into the room and announced, “The man you are waiting for is here. Viktor will bring him back to you once he is certain the man has what you seek.”

“Thank you.” Annja put the last DVD in the box beside the desk. She got up and walked around the desk, seeing immediately that there was a problem.

Onoprienko hadn’t come alone. Two burly men trailed after him a few minutes post his arrival. Both of the newcomers looked like they had handled plenty of trouble in their lives.

On the CCTV screen, Fedotov waited behind the counter where the red-haired girl had been. A hidden microphone picked up the conversation and broadcast it into the office.

Nervously, Onoprienko glanced around, then focused on Fedotov and spoke. Klykov provided a running translation because they spoke in Russian.

“Do you have the money?” Onoprienko asked.

“Of course.” Fedotov spread his hands. “I am a businessman. My word is the only thing I have to sell. If I started breaking trust, I would be out of business overnight.”

“Where is the money?”

Fedotov’s face turned to stone and he leaned over the counter a little, threatening Onoprienko’s private space. “Where is the elephant?”

“It will be here.”

“Then bring it and let us conclude our business. I am not here for tomfoolery.” That last word was actually delivered in English. It must have been one of Fedotov’s pet words.

Onoprienko hesitated. “I want to renegotiate our deal. I want more money.”

A tremor of uncertainty shivered through Annja as she realized that she might not have the elephant after all. She tried to console herself with Onoprienko. At least they would have him. If Bart’s friends had made it possible to extradite Onoprienko, Benyovszky’s murder would be resolved.

“Then,” Fedotov said in an icy voice, “I suggest you peddle your elephant elsewhere. I have it on good authority that you are wanted for murder back in New York City, from which you just fled, and that this thing you offer to sell me is something that law enforcement agencies will know. If I get caught with it, I will be tied to that murder. That makes it very unattractive to me now. You understand this?”

“I gave you a list of names you could sell that piece to,” Onoprienko argued. “You do not have to hang on to this thing so very long.”

“Bah!” Fedotov spat. “Names I can get. People who look for something like this, they can be found. Selling an object that is linked to a murder doesn’t allow me to move the piece quite so much in the open. I have to take care that I am not caught up in your problems.”

“Do not think it is so simple.”

“I don’t! In fact, I have to wonder how many of those people on the list that you gave me will still want the elephant now that it is a known stolen item. You may have undercut my opportunities to sell the thing, and I have no wish to own the elephant.”

“It is a very important thing.”

“In what way?”

Onoprienko held his gaze steady for a time, then cursed. “I have not had time to ascertain that.”

“Then you see my point.”

Onoprienko cursed again and walked back toward the door.

Annja started to go after him, afraid that Onoprienko was going to leave and she’d never see him again, much less find the elephant.

Klykov caught her arm, his eyes still on the screen. “Give the situation a moment to develop, Annja. Please. If Fedotov had not started haggling with Onoprienko over the price, the man might have gotten suspicious. There are not many places Onoprienko can go to get the price he is asking. And he wants to move quickly. He will not pass up on Fedotov’s deal. He knows Fedotov is good for cash and carry. Wait and see.”

Annja remained stationary, but it was difficult doing nothing when it seemed like everything was about to go wrong.

At the doorway to the shop, Onoprienko hesitated. Then, with an angry look, he turned back to Fedotov. “You will give me the price I asked for?”

Fedotov crossed his arms and nodded. “Against my better judgment, and only then because I myself have been in bad situations before, I will. I trust you will not tell others of my generosity toward you.”

“Then we have deal.”

“Not till I see the elephant.”

Onoprienko took a phone from his pocket and spoke briefly. “It will be here in short order.” He gazed around the shelves, taking in the stock. He pointed to a Bluetooth watch and phone set. “I want that.”