Fatal Forgeries

by Ritter Ames

  One leap and I was out of the car. One punch and Lincoln Ferguson’s nose was bloody.

  It was only then I noticed a much bigger bruiser lying unconscious on the sidewalk and a rusty metal pipe at Lincoln’s feet.

  Oh, yeah, my attacker had a Cockney accent. Linc’s was middle class London.

  I shoved the strap of the Prada and its extra cargo onto my shoulder and wondered how much trouble I’d gotten myself into this time.

  “I thought I was saving you.” Lincoln’s voice came out distorted, what with his holding back his head and pinching his nose so it wouldn’t continue bleeding all over his white shirt and brown jacket and all.

  “Sorry, I just figured that out a second ago.”

  The doorman and a uniformed police bobby arrived. I gave the officer my side of things and handed him a business card. “I’ll be in later to press charges.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  He took Lincoln’s information as well, but lucky for me the reporter blamed the attempted kidnapper for his bleeding nose.

  “Let’s go to the hotel bar and get you some ice,” I said to Lincoln once the officer hauled the would-be kidnapper away in cuffs. “Or would you like me to take you to a trauma center?”

  “Try ice first. Don’t want to be a bigger story than I am,” he said, following as I led him back toward the Ritz.

  Clive had left the bar behind me, but the same bartender was on duty, and he seemed to know his way around helping a guy with a bloody nose. I guessed even upscale hotels had bar fights on occasion. Some ice, a couple of paracetamol, and a ruined white towel later, Lincoln was ready to take his pound of flesh from me.

  “I guess you know what this means,” he said.

  “I definitely owe you an interview,” I replied.

  “And a dinner too.”

  “Don’t tell me you really want to eat with me tonight after I socked you in the nose,” I said, smiling. “I am sorry, by the way, for confusing you with the bad guy.”

  He nodded, then winced and dabbed a nostril with the towel. “We’ll make it sometime next week. I’ll call you.”

  Despite needing to keep all of this on the light side, I wanted to run away and start searching for Nico. I had no idea where to begin, but sitting in this booth with an injured man who saved my life only because he’d been stalking me for an interview was not my idea of a good use of time.

  Just then, my phone rang and Cassie’s name popped up. Thank god.

  “This is my assistant.” I held up the cell. “She’s out of the country on a work assignment, and I need to talk to her. I’m going to step outside for a better signal, but I promise I’ll be brief.”

  He glared at me. Instead of saying anything, he shifted the ice on his face and waved a hand to kind of shoo me off.

  I answered while walking into the lobby.

  “Hello, Cass? Are you still at Heathrow?”

  “No, we just landed. The plane is still taxiing to the gate.”

  I saw the gray skies outside the huge windows had turned drizzly. “Oh, damn.”

  “What?” she asked.

  I let my gaze sweep over the elegant space. “I’d planned to go outside to take this call, but I left my coat in the bar, and if I go back in there Lincoln might have recovered enough to get nosy about our conversation.”

  “You’re in a bar with Lincoln Ferguson this time of the day? Are you doing the interview finally?”

  “Something like that.” I didn’t dare tell her what had actually occurred until I had a better handle on the details myself. One peep of danger and she would catch the next plane back. Max would fire both of us. But it did remind me that I needed to call Leif. “It’s been crazy this afternoon. Not the least of which is due to my worries about Nico.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  I found a wingback chair near the front windows which offered a modicum of privacy and settled in, keeping a close eye on anyone who might be watching me. “Nico didn’t connect with Clive for the package. Our boy wonder also doesn’t answer his phone, no matter who calls—”

  “Not just you?”

  “Clive said Patricia tried earlier.”

  “On a scale of one to ten, how worried—”

  “A nine while I wait for him to knock on my hotel room door at six. The meter shoots up to a fifteen-plus on the worry scale if he’s a no show.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Talk to Superintendent Whatley,” I said. An older, beefy-built guy seemed to be watching me from the entrance to a hallway. Worth trying to get a picture of him once I ended this call and could walk closer. I leaned back in the chair so my face was mostly hidden by the floral upholstered wing. “Scotland Yard can put out alerts and see if Nico’s passport has been used to exit the country again.”

  “Yeah, since he just arrived back, he probably still had it on him.”

  Which meant if anyone took him, they wouldn’t have to use a phony passport. I didn’t like this, but I wasn’t ready to send out alarms either. I also didn’t like the way the suspicious man here at the Ritz stepped back into the hallway so he was again hidden.

  I hadn’t realized how long I’d been quiet until Cassie said, “Laurel? Are you still there?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. I was watching someone.”

  “Anything else you need me to do?”

  “No.” I shifted slightly to get a better look at the hallway opening. “You’re going to be busy enough.”

  “Okay, call me when you know something.”

  Suddenly I felt like such a ditz. “I’m sorry, you called me and I just loaded you up with my worries. Is there something you need?”

  Cassie sighed. “While I had the time in flight, I’ve been trying to think if there is any way I can help while I’m in Paris. Is there something I can do while I’m here? Beyond looking pretty while I sit next to Max, of course.”

  I laughed. “I know how frustrated you feel, Cass, but just keep your eyes open. Also, familiarize yourself with the background on the Caravaggio painting when you have the chance. Because of its stolen status, there are files on the foundation server that might include info not readily available in public databases. I’m not sure when I’m going to turn the work over to Max, but in case it becomes a way to spring you from this short-term Paris sentence, it could be important for one of us to know the background well.”

  “Will do.”

  The man in the hallway and a second man, this one much younger and taller, stepped into the lobby and walked out the front door. My paranoia level reset to zero. I tuned back in to the phone call. “Actually, there’s something else I want you to do in the meantime. At least until we hear from our wandering Italian geek. You know those bulletin boards Nico uses to contact his hacker friends when he needs ideas about something?”

  “Sure, he showed me a couple, but I doubt I know all of them.”

  “That’s okay.” The plan was forming in my mind. “Whenever you have a chance, scan the ones he’s shown you. If there is a problem and he wants to contact us and can’t do it directly, he might try sending a message through one of those. I’m still holding out on this all being Nico wanting private time for some reason, but I’d like to stay ahead of the game in case he’s been abducted like in Rome. He and I have used some code words through the years, and I’m thinking if he’s been taken by someone, and they let him use a computer, he might try sneaking something through that way.”

  “So he’s been kidnapped?” Stress made her voice rise in pitch.

  I went super calm. “I’m just taking precautionary measures. I have no reason to think kidnapping, but you know as well as I do that precedent was set the day after New Year’s, and we still don’t know who took him then or why. On the off chance we need to get help and move quickly, I want to stay prepared. I won’t lie to you. There
’s no reason yet for worry, but I can’t discount it.”

  “Tell me what you’re really thinking, Laurel.”

  She was getting as difficult to fool as Jack. “I don’t want to set off any alarms. Remember, I tend to think in more of the abstract in these kinds of things and then determine how they might all fit together.”

  “Talk abstract to me then.”

  One long breath later, I began, “When he was taken in Rome, he realized the kidnappers didn’t want him hurt. That’s why he faked having a concussion, so they left him hidden until Jack and I found him. But they came back for him as soon as they could. They wanted Nico for some reason, and when they kidnapped him they took both our favorite geek and his equipment.”

  The younger man returned to the hotel, glanced at me as he stepped into the lobby, then quickly looked away and hurried back into the haunted hallway. Nothing special about his appearance and no time to get a picture, but he did look to see if I was still there. Alarm bells in my head were clanging louder.

  “Laurel? Laurel, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, Cassie, sorry. Had someone who seemed too interested.” I stood and walked to the corner of the lobby. “I’ve moved. I’ll see what happens now.”

  “Tell me the rest of what you’re thinking.”

  Remembering Jack’s talk in Germany about directional mics, I spoke quieter into the phone. “Whoever Simon truly worked for, he knew how important Nico was to me in completing every assignment.”

  “You think Simon had one of them kidnap him in Italy, and Moran or Colle has maybe done the same today?”

  “It’s just something I’ve been worrying about since I can’t reach him. But remember, Nico could be simply acting like his prickly self,” I reasoned. “After all, he did hang up on us when Jack started questioning him.”

  “And you and I laughed.”

  “Because it was typical Nico. Which is why I’m refusing to get alarmed unless I don’t see him tonight at my hotel. Just taking the precaution of having you watch the bulletin boards.”

  “I’ll start looking through them, going back until about noon today,” she said. “Then I’ll check for current listings throughout the evening.”

  “Perfect. Call me if you find anything that might be relevant. But don’t overthink this. That’s my job.”

  She laughed. “Will do. Anything even remotely connected to him though, and I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lincoln Ferguson walked out of the bar and headed for the front door. My champagne-colored leather coat was slung over one arm. He looked like a walking crime scene with the blood down the front of his shirt and jacket.

  “Cassie, I have to go. But I’ll leave my phone on. Stay alert.”

  “You, too.”

  I hung up, then called out, “Lincoln, are you looking for me?”

  He nodded and wandered my way. “When I saw you’d left your coat behind, I thought you’d be freezing, so I was bringing it out.”

  “Thanks. I realized I’d forgotten it and stayed here by the windows for better reception instead.” He held my coat to help me put it on. The warmth felt good.

  Little lines of pain showed around his eyes.

  “You look like you could use some rest,” I said.

  “Brilliant observation,” he replied, offering a weak smile. “I’m grabbing a cab and going home. Can I drop you someplace?”

  Slipping my arm through the crook of his elbow, I said, “The cab is on me. I’m betting the doorman will make sure he gets us safely into a vehicle this time.”

  “But you’re okay, right?” he asked. “About almost getting kidnapped, I mean. You aren’t scared?”

  Unfortunately, I was getting used to things like that happening, but I couldn’t tell Linc. I tried a flip answer instead and laughed, but the sound was even brittle to my ears. “Probably someone thinking because I came out of the Ritz my family would pay a ransom. Too bad the fool didn’t know my family is broke.”

  EIGHT

  As soon as I entered my hotel room, I called Superintendent Whatley of Scotland Yard. He’d been my first call and chief liaison for a couple of other crimes lately. I wasn’t sure how much he knew about the larger ramifications of our mission, as I’d left Jack to decide and disclose information to authorities. But between my attempted abduction today and nothing coming from Nico, initiating a conversation with a branch of law enforcement who already knew me felt like a good next step. I called his mobile number.

  “Whatley,” he answered.

  “Hello, Superintendent, it’s Laurel Beacham.”

  “Hello, Miss Beacham. How are you this evening?”

  “It’s been a little busy.” I briefly outlined the attack in the afternoon outside the luxury hotel, and how the perpetrator was caught and taken away by a Metropolitan policeman. “I gave my statement and a business card to the Met officer, and there was another witness who corroborated what happened.”

  “Just a minute,” he said. I heard computer keys clicking and realized he was still at the Yard. After hearing him “hmm” a couple of times, he spoke up again. “I need to speak to someone on this. Please hold for a moment.” He set down the cell phone, but I could hear bits of conversation from Whatley’s end while he talked on another phone. When he mentioned the Ritz, I assumed he was talking to the officer in charge of the arrest. He came back on the line with me. “Yes, the man, an Alfred Halborn, has been charged with assault against a newspaper reporter, and with an assault and attempted kidnapping of you. The car was towed in for the crew to work over, and a solicitor already appeared saying he’s been retained for Halborn. Despite the fact the perpetrator hadn’t been fully processed nor had the opportunity to make a phone call himself.”

  “Sounds interesting to me.”

  “To me as well.” I heard a chair squeak. He asked, “Was Ferguson with you before the incident?”

  Tamping down my irritation about the way the reporter popped up around every corner lately, I kept the story simple. “He recognized me and was luckily coming from a nearby location. When I was grabbed, those at the hotel knew Halborn had a knife to my throat and were afraid to do anything that might risk injury to me. Ferguson witnessed him shove me into the backseat of the car and used a piece of pipe he found nearby to knock out Halborn.”

  “Lucky he was there at that moment.”

  You’ll never know, I thought. Aloud, I said, “But this leads me to why I called, and your information about the solicitor adds to my concerns. I was told to come in to the Met precinct station to give my official written statement and formally press charges. However, my fear is—”

  “Someone might make another kidnapping attempt when you leave.”

  “Exactly.”

  His voice turned brisk. “Your fears are well founded. I’ll get in touch with the necessary people at the Met to get this taken care of properly. It looks like the reporter has already made an appointment to come in tomorrow morning. His assault should be enough to hold Halborn, but your charge is the stronger of the two. Despite that being so, there is a clear and present danger in letting you come in on your own.”

  “Could the Met record a Skype interview with me? Would that be enough in the short term?”

  “I’ll make the suggestion. When they do need you in person I’ll escort you myself.”

  “Thank you so much, Superintendent.”

  “You’re quite welcome. Is there anything else?”

  I looked at my face in the full-length mirror hiding the closet. Worry lines traced around my mouth and forehead. Until I knew for sure Nico wasn’t showing up, I couldn’t risk saying anything. “No, that’s all, but I’ll be sure to call if anything changes.”

  “And Hawkes is handling your protection detail?”

  Another thing to remember—I had to call Leif. “No, he
’s presently away on assignment, but he’s set me up with someone to handle those duties.”

  “Very good.”

  “Thanks so much, Superintendent. You’ve been most helpful, as expected.”

  “Anytime.”

  I hung up the call and immediately dialed Leif. The call rang five times, then went to voicemail. My message was brief. Less than a minute later, he called me back, his Nordic accent strong as he said, “Hello, Laurel. Sorry. I am juggling my luggage and could not reach my phone.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I am already here. My mother’s birthday is this weekend. Since you canceled your classes for the rest of the week, I rearranged my schedule and caught an earlier flight. There is no problem, is there?”

  Great. Another option down the tubes. “No, Leif, just making sure you got my message this morning since it was so early and voicemail and all. Meant to connect with you sooner, but the day’s gotten away from me. Have a great time. Give your mother my best wishes on her birthday.”

  He laughed. “I will do that. And I will see you on Tuesday morning. I have a couple of new moves to teach you.”

  I caught myself a second before I said the old moves had worked quite nicely already. Any conversation along those lines might alert him to the real reason I’d phoned. “Terrific. Can’t wait. Enjoy your weekend.”

  “You as well, Laurel.”

  I hung up the phone feeling itchy with anxiety. All alternative plans had been exhausted.

  By six o’clock I was endlessly pacing my hotel room. By six fifteen I’d moved to the small front lobby, where I paced the carpeted area with the chairs and fireplace. The dark-haired man on the sofa was now reading an evening edition of The Guardian and gave me a series of puzzled looks. I’d already made the desk clerk swear he’d call immediately if someone tried to reach me through the hotel switchboard. My cell phone may as well have been glued to my left hand.

  At 6:23, Cassie called.

  “Are you in your hotel room?” she asked.

  “I’m in the lobby staring out the front windows.”