“Here’s what we have,” Mary said, preparing a cup of coffee for Cillian. “Tyler said they set the paintings for delivery at the Russian embassy for first thing tomorrow morning. It appears his information is good, so we have to be ready to spring into action.”
I had to chuckle at the way Mary had said “spring into action,” as if we were part of a Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon pitted against Boris and Natasha.
“Dalia, you and I,” Cillian said, taking a seat, “are flying up to New York, so you can meet the woman for the exchange. Tyler intercepted the communication, so this woman thinks the paintings she’s exchanging will be passed off to a Russian man and woman. You’ll meet her half a block away, and when you all start toward the embassy, there will be an interference by us.”
“Who’ll be the man with me? You, Cillian?” I asked.
“Need to know,” Mary whispered.
“For God’s sake, Mary.” Cillian shook his head. “It’s Tyler. He’s in New York, already setting up cameras to capture everything. You’ll meet him this afternoon.”
“What? We’re leaving right now?” I asked. “Is Declan part of this, or are we flying under the radar?”
Mary zipped her lips.
“Oh, this feels all Mission Impossible,” I said. I felt a buzz across my skin, like my adrenaline was starting to rush around my body.
“Trust me; it is,” Mary replied with a nod.
“What about money? Surely, she’ll want to see the cash. Where are you going to get a couple of hundred thousand dollars?” I asked.
“We don’t need any money. She thinks this exchange will take place inside the embassy. She’ll expect her money from that end. And it will be a wire transfer, so no money changes hands. To her, you’re just her escorts. I understand you speak some Russian from your days with the DA,” Cillian said.
“I can hold my own.” I smiled.
“Good. We don’t know much about this person, except it’s a woman who will wear a teal coat and purple ankle booties. And don’t look at me sideways. The message was specific—teal coat and purple ankle booties. But we might need you to throw in a Russian phrase or two for effect,” Cillian said.
“Where will you be?” I asked Cillian.
“Across the street, monitoring for any problems. Tyler has a blind spot mapped out that, once she gets to a certain point, his people will snatch her up. It has to be executed precisely. We don’t want Russians starting a war in the street,” Cillian said.
“I suppose, unlike Mission Impossible, there won’t be any practice runs. When do we leave?” I asked.
“Wheels up in three hours. Can you pack now, and we can leave from here?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Mary, if you can help me grab up the toiletries, we can be ready a lot faster.”
“Now, I have these earbuds that translate forty languages,” Mary offered.
“Mary, everyone speaks English,” Cillian said.
“I realize that, but with everyone in the area being Russian, you might pick up information that could help our government,” she said, bringing her bag to her lap to retrieve the earbuds.
“Thanks, but I’m good. I’ve had enough under-the-radar dealing with this case for a lifetime,” I said, waving the buds away.
“Suit yourself. But I always find something interesting when I use them. People seem to revert to their native tongue when they want to gossip. One time—”
Cillian hit the table to get her attention. “Put them away. We are on a time schedule.”
She didn’t have to be told twice.
Twenty minutes later, we were out the door and on our way to LaGuardia Airport.
A few hours later, we settled in our Upper East Side hotel within a two-block walk to the embassy. We walked the distance and stopped at a Starbucks. Now, I wished I had taken Mary’s earbuds. The diversity of languages was overwhelming. I was sure there were lots of stories I needed to eavesdrop on by the number of loud conversations and arms flying about. As Cillian went to get our beverages, a tall man who appeared to be in his twenties took a seat opposite me. He looked vaguely familiar.
“I’m sorry; that seat is reserved for someone,” I said. In New York, you had to be bold, or the message was lost.
“I know—for me,” he said with a slight accent.
I should be flattered. A handsome young man was hitting on me. But, today, that flattery from a handsome young man would be lost; business came first.
Apparently, my message was lost on him, or he was very persistent. He made himself comfortable and took his phone from his jacket. Okay, the guy was stunning, and maybe another time I’d play a flirtatious game with him but not today. I watched in silence as he dialed a number and then handed me the phone. Oh no, he must be the new breed of thieves where one person diverted you and the other grabbed your bag and ran.
“I’m not taking that phone. You think I’m falling for that trick? Think again, buddy,” I said and stood as I hooked my bag on my shoulder.
He hit the Speaker button, still shoving the phone my way. It was then I heard a familiar voice yelling on the phone.
Mary.
At first, I backed away and must have looked at it as though, if I touched it, the thing might explode because he laughed. He kept offering the phone, Mary kept yelling my name, and people were turning our way to see what the commotion was all about. Finally, I snatched the phone from him. I took it off the speaker and sat.
“Dalia, that’s Tyler. He’s your contact,” she said, still yelling.
“Mary, pipe down. I can hear you,” I said in a whisper. “Now what?”
“Give him back his phone. I wanted you to know that he was your contact,” she whispered.
“You could have described him,” I whispered with my hand cupped around the microphone.
She waited a second and then replied, “That’s true. Now, give him back his phone.” And she disconnected.
Well, I’d just made a fool of myself. To his credit, he said nothing. But his smile was smug.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Cillian step forward, and from his posture, he was about to ask Tyler to move along.
“Let me save you the trouble,” I said. “Tyler, this is Cillian.”
“I know,” Tyler responded with a smirk.
Cillian’s look of surprise made it all worthwhile. God, we must look like a bunch of bumblers from Mayberry.
“Sorry. You caught me off guard. We weren’t supposed to meet until dinner,” Cillian said.
“Close enough. The timetable has been moved up. I don’t know if she’s being cautious, but we’re meeting the woman at eight o’clock tonight. My cameras have night vision, and we’re ready on my end. The question is, are you ready?” Tyler asked.
“Yes,” I stammered.
He didn’t look convinced. Maybe it was because I wasn’t sure what I was doing.
“I thought we’d use this time to look at the landmarks,” he said.
“Cillian, you will be stationary here, at Starbucks, and, Dalia, you and I will be diagonal to this shop. See that gate? That’s where we’ll wait.”
“Have you got any information about the woman delivering the paintings? Is it one of our suspects?” I asked.
“Nada. I know nothing. This has been a tight operation. I was lucky to plant a worm through a back door someone had been careless and left open,” Tyler said.
“Their misfortune is our good fortune,” I said.
“My guys will be close. My people have the plan mapped out, and once we make contact, they’ll be ready to spring into action. We’ll have her in the truck before you blink,” Tyler said.
“Won’t someone think it’s a kidnapping and call the cops?” I asked.
“It is a kidnapping, and most likely, the police will be called. But this is Russian territory. There’s an unspoken law that the police don’t step into this territory, and they are rewarded for their respect,” Tyler said.
That was probably
true. Few prosecutable crimes reached my desk from this district.
“I have to put this out there,” I said. “What if we are being set up? Mary told you about that woman Marissa Adams who was sitting next to a pile of the paintings. We were putting her together as the woman accomplice to Alex Clarke being the mastermind.”
“Yes, she told me. She could have set this whole thing in motion, and her partner turned on her. From all accounts, we still don’t know all the players,” Tyler responded. His voice was measured and his body language relaxed.
I guessed, when you were used to hunting terrorists, this was small potatoes.
“Well, you have to have nerves of steel to kill someone, and twenty-four hours later, you’re completing phase one of a deal,” I said. “I mean, what type of person are we dealing with here? It doesn’t feel like Alex could pull this off alone. He’s sleazy. And let’s call a spade a shovel; he’s a lowlife. But he doesn’t give the psychopath vibe. And who is the woman we’re meeting? Is she a dupe or another potential accomplice?”
“I agree with your assessment he doesn’t have a killer vibe,” Tyler said, crossing his leg. “But I don’t think the ransom note has anything to do with our exchange tonight. I think these are two separate games in motion.”
“Please explain,” Cillian said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“I don’t have a complete handle on it yet, but I think this is an operation totally separate from the ransom. Are we sure these are part of the original collection? Or maybe your thief sold them to someone who is reselling them.
“When we blew up the picture with the paintings Bill had sent us, it looked as if two were missing. Of course, they could have been behind the rest, but it’s something we had to factor in. Also whoever killed that woman would have to dispose of that body quickly, or the god-awful stench of decomposition would set in. What’re the chances of someone wanting to leave paintings and a dead body to fly to New York? Not to mention, leaving the paintings in a room with a decomposing body might foul the paintings if they absorbed the smell,” Tyler said.
He had a very good point.
“Okay, what’s the plan?” I asked.
“My people will pick you up at your hotel at seven thirty. Be waiting outside,” he said.
“Will do,” Cillian replied.
“Whatever questions you want to ask this woman, you’ll need to ask after we transport her to the warehouse. This can be a catch-and-release mission, or we might have stumbled upon an organized crime ring, and it might require a little more persuasion. We’ll play it by ear,” he said.
“Now, look here, we can’t sanction any violence,” Cillian said.
“We are gentle people, Cillian. Ask Mary.” He smiled.
“Believe me, I’ve tried to pry the information from her about how you met. That’s never going to happen.” Cillian smiled.
Tyler nodded and returned a smile. He would remain a ghost in Mary’s world. Some people had “a guy” to do household repairs. Mary seemed to have “a guy” to monitor and clean up crimes.
As promised, a black SUV picked us up at the hotel. By seven fifty, everyone was in place and waiting to spring the trap.
“Take my lead, look relaxed, and stay a little behind me in case anything goes wrong,” Tyler said.
“Right about now, I could use my own Mary’s bag of weapons,” I said half in truth.
Tyler smiled a knowing smile.
At seven fifty-five, we saw a young girl in a teal coat and purple booties walk toward us. She appeared relaxed and gave a short wave when she saw us. Was someone messing with us?
She stopped and let us approach.
Tyler took a few steps toward her and gazed to the artist portfolio gripped tightly in her right hand.
“The paintings in there?” he asked with a disarming smile. That smile must be well practiced because it could fool me.
“They are.” She smiled back and patted the leather case.
From the corner of my left eye, I saw the car pick up Cillian and make a left turn toward us. Within seconds, Tyler had taken the portfolio from the girl, and the car was next to us. A man who had been introduced as Adam jumped from the passenger side and hustled her into the back seat. She slid to the middle. Tyler dashed around the car and entered the opposite side on her left. I jumped into the front passenger side, and I could see Cillian in the back behind the second row. Before she even had time to react, we were off.
“Hey, what’s up? Are you trying to rob me?” she asked, squirming between the two men.
“More like, you’re trying to rob someone else. So, be quiet, or I’ll have to do something to make you be quiet,” Tyler said. His voice had enough menace in it that she complied.
We drove about ten miles in silence until we arrived at a warehouse and parked. It was here I thought the excitement of the abduction would continue. But I was deflated by the calmness of everyone smoothly exiting the car and strolling to the building. There was no hustling or bustling of the woman to the door, just a casual saunter.
As Cillian flanked the woman on the left, she suddenly yelled, “Cillian.”
They both stopped, and she launched herself at him.
Although stunned, he must have sensed a familiarity as his arms reflexively grabbed around her waist. As he hugged her, he broke into a smile. “Diana? What the hell?”
I thought nothing could throw Tyler off his game, but he clearly was at a loss.
“This way,” Tyler said, herding the group toward the building and through the steel door. His hand was at Diana’s back to keep her moving forward.
We followed him down a hall and into a room with a conference table and eight executive leather chairs. The sideboard had a large coffee urn and sandwiches wrapped in cellophane. I supposed he thought we’d be doing some type of long-term interrogation of our prisoner.
Tyler placed the artist’s portfolio marked with something in Russian on the table. He unzipped it open, gave it a brief inspection, and then closed the flap.
“Okay, someone had better start talking,” Tyler said, gesturing we should sit.
“Everyone, this is Diana Chen. Diana, that’s Tyler, Adam, and Dalia. These are my teammates, and we are here to intercept some stolen paintings that you have in your possession.
“Let me get everyone on the same page. Emma and I knew Diana from Maine when we were involved in an art forgery case. It was a horrible mess, and Diana lost both her parents. Now, Diana, bring me up to speed. I thought you were in Witness Protection,” Cillian asked.
By the softness of his expression, I could tell he had a soft spot for the girl. And, if what you saw was what you got, I could tell why. She was a very attractive girl with a touch of Asian in her, and from the little I could tell of her personality, she appeared to be warm and open.
“First, it’s great to see you, Cillian, and we need to catch up about everyone. To answer your question, when I got out of WITSEC, I tried to track you down through the FBI, but all they would tell me was that you had left. Yes, I was in WITSEC with a foster family in Nebraska for three years, and they were wonderful to me. Just after I turned eighteen my … well, I guess you’d call him my handler—he advised me that the threat was over after those monsters who had made my life hell died in jail. WITSEC offered me the opportunity to opt out, and I took it. I’ve been enrolled in the Fine Arts college here, in New York, for a year now,” she said. She removed her coat, and it became clear that she was a slip of a girl and young.
“Are you studying art history or painting there at FA?” Cillian asked.
“Both. I’m taking lots of hands-on classes. But I’m also taking business courses, so I can manage my art production.” She smiled.
I studied her closer, and she was a striking girl at pixie height. Her short, feather-cut dark hair highlighted her attractive features. I watched as Tyler studied her as well and could not tell if it was a professional assessment or a sexual one.
“Well, with your involvem
ent in art, it begs the question, what are you doing here, transporting stolen property?” Tyler asked, tapping the pouch.
“Stolen property? Where?” she asked, expressing confusion and looking at the leather bag.
“In this portfolio, which is marked as a Russian diplomatic pouch,” Tyler said, leaning forward into her personal space. His voice was stern, and he wasn’t giving her any wiggle room.
“Oh no. You’re confused,” she said, accepting a mug of coffee from Adam.
Tyler crossed his arms and leaned back. “Enlighten me as to how I’m confused.”
She took a sip of the coffee and placed it down. As she did, she met him in her personal space and leaned almost nose-to-nose with him. I liked this girl. She had some spunk.
“Look, I don’t mean to be insulting, but you can’t be much older than me. Tell me who put you in charge here,” she said, raising her brow.
A stare-off ensued, and it was Cillian who intercepted what had been turning into an unnecessary, increasingly tense situation.
“Diana, you are now in the middle of our case, and we need an answer. If you don’t want to answer Tyler, then answer me. How did you come into possession of those paintings?” Cillian asked, pulling his chair closer to her.
She sat back and turned to him. “I painted them,” she replied with a shrug.
The room went silent. A pin could drop, and I knew we would hear it hit the floor if it were real.
“Why?” he asked, not liking that answer.
“A friend of mine said the Russian embassy commissioned the paintings and asked if I would paint them from a picture he had. I could use a few bucks, so I said, sure, why not?” she said, getting up to retrieve a sandwich.
“Well, maybe, oh, because forgery is a crime,” Tyler snapped.
“Forgery. If I were forging something, yes. The only signature on there is mine. The painting is a mere replication of a painting, and that’s perfectly legal. People like to keep the real deal in a vault and hang a replica in the office. Again, not illegal. Right, Cillian?” she said.
Facing A Twisted Judgment Page 14
