by Lila Dubois
Neither one of them had mentioned it.
“Absolon,” Alexander said slowly, “is a thief?”
“Yes. And he might be funding terrorism.”
Alexander’s eyes closed. Alena reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers in his. “Where do you want me to start the story—chronologically with what Interpol knows, or where I come in?”
Alexander squeezed her hand and opened his eyes. “Tell me how you came to be involved.”
“Well, that starts, as all good stories do, with a dagger, a ruby, and a five million dollar bounty.”
Chapter 3
Alexander relaxed as Alena started to speak. She was enchanting when she smiled. He wanted to release every reservation he held, forget all the reasons he had not to trust her, and simply enjoy this.
Pretend that they were just two people in love.
When she’d hugged him, many of those dark feelings had faded away, but they weren’t entirely gone. Yesterday had been a single day that contained enough emotion and change that he felt as if weeks had passed, instead of only twenty-four hours.
Yesterday morning she’d been naked in his play room.
This morning he’d woken up in bed beside her.
In both cases, she wore his collar.
“The ruby is held in the mouth of an intricate and beautifully detailed leopard head. The big cat head is the pommel of a decorated dagger from late 18th century India. Mughal Empire. And this particular dagger went missing from a private collection in the UAE four months ago.”
“Wagner Global doesn’t operate in or around the Arabian Gulf.”
“True, but I tracked this particular dagger from the UAE to Georgia, where it changed hands.”
Georgia, located on the eastern end of the Black Sea, had several Wagner Global operated ports.
Alena waited as if giving him time to comment, but his thoughts were far too jumbled for him to risk speaking.
“I went to retrieve the dagger from its crate. Inside a Wagner Global sorting site.”
“You stole it.” He arched a brow. “From one of my warehouses.”
“Yes, but since I’m on the side of truth and justice, I get to say ‘retrieve’ rather than ‘steal’.”
“Dangerous.”
“Highly.”
Alexander frowned. He didn’t like the idea of her in danger.
“But the risk is worth the reward.”
“A five-percent finder’s fee, out of the five million dollars?” he guessed.
“The five million dollars is my percent. And it’s ten percent. The dagger was insured for fifty million.”
“You get ten percent?” That genuinely shocked him. Given the cost of art, and the kinds of pieces that were even worth bothering to retrieve, having to pay out ten percent for recovery would be a huge financial burden for an insurance company. That she was able to charge that much meant she was very, very good at what she did.
“I may not be a billionaire…” Alena winked. “But I always fly first class.”
“First class commercial,” Alexander said with a sniff.
She chuckled but reached out and shoved his leg before continuing with her story.
“I found a few other items in that particular crate. I had expected just the dagger—given the size, it should have been only the dagger in that particular box, but there were other things tucked in the packaging.
“Usually I take the art, and either leave an empty box, or replace the original with a replica. That way no alarms are sounded until the item reaches its destination.
“But in this case, I decided to take the whole thing. I didn’t have a lot of time, or the materials to safely transport anything but the dagger. I needed the carefully, if over-packed box. I damaged a few other crates on my way out to give the impression the dagger box had been lost in transport.”
“Making my company seem irresponsible.”
“A bit, yes. So sorry.” She grinned at him.
“What else was in the box?”
“Here’s where it gets interesting. The other pieces weren’t stolen from private collections. One was the cuneiform tablet, last seen in the Iraqi National Museum.”
Alexander’s jaw clenched. “Reported looted after the U.S. invasion?”
“Exactly.”
“The last was a small statue with no known records. If I just pulled it out of the box, I might have wondered if I missed a piece—only the bottom two-thirds of a standing male figure remained, but again there was cuneiform writing around the bottom.
“I took it to a friend at the Smithsonian. Her best guess was that it was from the city of Ur. It was probably looted from the archaeological dig in 2003 around the same time that the museum was being robbed.”
“An Indian dagger stolen from a private collection doesn’t seem to have a connection to looted Iraqi artifacts.”
“That’s what I thought also. The dagger was returned to its owner, I collected my fee from Beijing Global so that was done, but now I was technically in possession of stolen goods. Those I took to my friends at Interpol.”
“Friends.”
“They’ve hired me a time or two for help with art crime.”
“You steal things for governments.”
“Excuse you. I retrieve them.”
“Of course.”
“When I walked into the art crimes office in Paris, I unknowingly provided a break in an ongoing case.”
“A case against me?”
“Against Wagner Global. You’re powerful enough that they didn’t dare do anything that might attract the attention of your legal team. Not until they were very sure.”
“What does Absolon have to do with this? And terrorism?”
“The box I took, along with four others, had a flag on their shipping manifest. Hand carry.”
“It’s something we offer for a few select clients who have specific needs.”
“Just say it’s how you transport diamonds.”
“No. Diamonds go into a briefcase and travel with a courier. ‘Hand carry’ is for larger but equally high-value items.”
“Such as?” Alena asked.
Alexander paused before answering just to watch her squirm with impatience.
“Custom Lamborghini engines, one-of-a-kind pieces of jewelry, often watches.”
“I assume someone actually can’t carry a Lamborghini engine.”
“I believe there was a cart involved, but the assigned staff would have never left its side.”
Alexander rubbed against the tree trunk, scratching an itch on his back. “They already suspected me before you walked in?”
“Again not you, but Wagner Global. A year ago, during a spot inspection at a Romanian port, the customs agent took a picture of the contents of a box which came off of one of your ships and was being transported via this hand carry VIP shipping method. The paperwork for the art inside was complete and legal—as far as the agent was able to tell. All that happened was a record, containing the pictures, was created.
“Three months later, Interpol’s art crimes division raided a facility in Bulgaria. They’d traced dark web auction listings of stolen art pieces to this particular building. The group responsible had ties to Christian extremists in the Middle East and Southeast Asia. In their storage, among the items that hadn’t yet been listed for auction, were these two statues the customs agent had photographed.”
Alexander took a moment to think through everything she’d said. “Looted items from the Middle East, with falsified provenance and shipping records, were transported via my company’s hand carry service across the Black Sea to Romania before eventually making their way to a Bulgarian extremist group.”
“Yes.”
“Why focus on Wagner Global?” he asked. “How the items were shipped seems far less important than who the buyers and sellers were.”
“Interpol agreed. Another reason they hadn’t approached you, even to just request additional information about who paid fo
r that particular shipping service.” Alena's lips tipped up in a half smile. “They were too nervous to go after the all-powerful Alexander Wagner.”
He snorted.
“Then I walked in with stolen artifacts, the box bearing the Wagner Global seal, and a copy of the shipping manifest. A shipping manifest with no payment record, only an authorization signature from your curator.”
Alexander’s hands curled into fists. “They should have come to me. I would not have allowed—”
“It wouldn’t have just been about you, would it? You have a Board of Directors, legal counsel, PR and marketing departments, companies…”
Alexander saw where this was going and started to shake his head.
Alena propped herself up on the heel of her hand. “What do you think your lawyers would have advised? What about what your PR person would say? Can you imagine the news stories?”
She did a good impression of a BBC News anchor, the words clipped and precise, no outrage in her voice. “Tonight, a story out of Vienna, Austria. A member of Wagner Global CEO Alexander Wagner’s personal household staff caught using Wagner Global’s VIP shipping service to transport stolen art, which in turn was used to fund terrorism.”
“Shit,” he snarled.
“To be quite frank, Alexander, the fact that you do not seem to be a connoisseur of the arts is what kept you above suspicion.”
“I enjoy art,” he said rather defensively.
“I know that, suga’. Especially after seeing the beautiful pieces that you have here. Pieces you picked out because they were beautiful, not because they were valuable.”
“Ah.” Again he saw where this was going. “The rest of my family’s collection is more geared towards investment.”
“Exactly. Collectors usually have several art types, time periods, or regions where they focus their purchasing. You don’t. Your collection is valuable but so diverse someone uncharitable might say it’s not so much a curated collection, as a piecemeal investment portfolio.”
“I have a curator. The collection is, by definition, curated.”
“Are you mad that you’re not a suspect?”
“No.” Maybe.
Alena grinned. “You are. You’re mad that you’re not a suspect because it means Interpol thinks you have shitty taste in art.”
“Finish the story.”
“Is that an order?”
Unbidden, his gaze dropped to the collar around her neck. A collar he had yet to remove. And she hadn’t asked him to.
“A request,” he said softly.
“The next logical step would be to track the shipment. First, look at all the hand carry shipments going from Georgia or Turkey, really anywhere on the eastern edge of the Black Sea, to Romania and Bulgaria, which were, according to their manifests, art or artifacts.”
“Like the very first shipment,” Alexander said. “The one the customs agent took a photo of.”
“Exactly. Second, find out if there were any other shipments authorized by Absolon directly.”
“Like the one you stole.”
“Not stole.”
“Like the one you retrieved.”
“Exactly.”
“And the best way to do that would be to have the complete record of every single thing my company has shipped in the last year or so.”
“Mmm hmm. And you can see why Interpol wouldn’t go directly to Wagner Global with this request.”
“We would never have released those kinds of records. And if I knew Absolon was doing something like that…”
“You might fire him, which would alert both him, and the people he was working with or for, that they were exposed.”
Alexander snarled a few choice phrases in German and thunked his head back against the tree. Everything she’d said was right. If it had been some low-level employee, or even someone higher up, but based in a different country, the ramifications wouldn’t have been the same. Absolon was employed by his family, by him not by Wagner Global, but that wouldn’t have mattered in the court of public opinion. Would anyone really believe he had no idea what was going on, or would they assume he knew? Absolon could claim he was acting on Alexander’s orders. It wouldn’t have destroyed his business, at least not right away, as they were simply too big, and too necessary. But would the various governments he worked with renew their contract with him if he were suspected of something so heinous as funding terrorism?
“I’ll guess your next question.” Alena went back to laying on her side, cheek propped on her hand. “How did I get from Interpol’s Paris office to here?” She gestured to the blanket.
He was tired of playing the fool, and based on their conversations yesterday, he thought he could piece together the answers. “Interpol’s hands were tied. They couldn’t get the information they needed from my company.”
“They actually had a few hackers make attempts, but they didn’t get everything they needed.”
“That seems highly illegal,” Alexander said mildly. “But, given the circumstances, understandable.”
Alena watched him with that little smile playing around her lips. But this time it didn’t make her seem remote. It was as if she were just waiting for him to join her so they could share in the joke.
“Somehow, you found out that one of our off-site backups is in my residence.”
“That’s the piece of information the hackers got.”
“I see. Based on that you… I believe you mentioned bribes?”
“Six figures worth of bribes actually.”
“You bribed individuals until you knew about my home security and my schedule?”
“Yes. I had several plans, including waiting for you to host a large event or gathering, and securing an invitation. That wouldn’t have been ideal due to the heightened security that would have been present, but using a fancy gala as cover for theft is a time-honored tradition.”
“You’re willing to call it theft in this case?”
“Sadly there’s really no other word for it, is there?”
“No.” Alexander couldn’t help it, he smiled. She was unrepentant.
“You’re getting everything right; by all means, keep going,” she said.
“You used my travel schedule to figure out that the Orchid Club existed. You weren’t lying about having been a submissive in the past, and were able to leverage that into a membership.”
Alena nodded.
“You came to the event with a plan to attract my attention, and succeeded.”
“Not right away,” she said softly. “The first month I just watched you, the second you never even looked my direction. You prefer blondes.”
Alexander nodded; there was no point in denying that.
“I considered dying my hair, but opted for the cloak.”
“The woman in the red cloak. Intriguing.” He looked out over the water.
Alena sat up and scooted closer to him, laying her hand on his raised knee. “I meant every word I said. About us. I had no intention of being physically intimate with you beyond the intimacy of a good BDSM scene. The way you make me feel, it… it changed things for me.”
Things changed for him too, that night in Vienna after she'd gone to her own room and he did admit to himself that he was falling in love. The joy and terror of that had been too quickly replaced by the cold anger when he saw what she was doing.
“I’m sorry, Alexander. I’m sorry because I had no right to hurt you, and that’s what I ended up doing.”
“And I hurt you.” He didn’t look at her, even when she put her hand on his cheek and tried to urge him to face her.
“I knew that changing my checklist was a terrible idea, and I did it because I wanted you. Because you made me feel things that I…”
“Things like pain.” The words were sharp when he meant them to be.
“Things like peace that I had forgotten how to feel. You’re an amazing Dom, a wonderful man.” Alena stumbled to a stop.
“Yesterday you told me you
loved me.” They were the words he’d been hesitant to say.
Alena laid her cheek on his knee. “And I meant them. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Alexander closed his eyes but it wasn’t joy he felt, it was pain.
“No, you don’t.”
“Excuse me?” She raised her head, eyes narrowing. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”
“I do, because I abused you. I kept you isolated and in pain. What I did to you…”
“It was just a game.”
“Yesterday you said it wasn’t just a game.”
“I meant emotionally it wasn’t a game. The BDSM stuff that happened was just play.”
Finally he looked back at her. “If you believed that, why didn’t you use your safe word?”
Alena pushed to her feet and dusted at her skirt, ignoring him.
“Because you didn’t, you could, couldn’t.” Damn it, it was always when his words mattered the most that he couldn’t get them out of his mouth. “You didn’t think I’d honor it.”
Alena flinched.
“You asked me, that first night, after I used you. After I treated you like a sex toy instead of a person.” Alexander pushed to his feet.
“We don’t need to talk about this,” Alena said quietly.
“We do.”
“Half the time you won’t give more than one word answers but this you want to talk about?”
Alexander pressed on, masochistically forcing a conversation that he knew would hurt. “You asked if there was anything you could have said to stop me, and I didn’t answer you.”
“Because you were angry with me. Understandably.”
“The fact that you think that justifies my behavior proves my point.”
“And what is your point, Alexander?” Her words cracked out, echoing off the water. When she blinked, a tear fell. “That I’m a sick and twisted masochist? Yes, fine, I admit that.”
“My point is you don’t really love me, or trust me.”
“Fuck you for trying to tell me how I feel.”
“I fucked you, Alena. Not just physically. Mentally. I broke you and now—”
“Yesterday you insisted I broke you.”
“—you think you feel something for me, but it’s not real. Some part of you is still thinking of me as your Dom. As your Master.”
