The Beauty of Bucharest (A Clean Up Crew Thriller Book 1)

by S. J. Varengo

  “I still don’t like it,” Wally said.

  “You don’t have to like it, baby,” said Darlene, leaning toward Wally’s chair. “She’s your boss. She can do whatever the hell she wants to.”

  “Boss?” Dan felt his mind quiver yet again.

  “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Darlene asked. “She assumed control of CUC shortly after returning to active duty. It was a move many years in the making. No one was surprised, least of all the person for whom she took over.”

  “Who was that?” Dan asked.

  Darlene smiled warmly. “Me,” she said. “You need to understand that we’ve long recognized what some people are just now starting to realize. Gender has little bearing on one’s ability to perform a job. That being said, men and women are different, and have different strengths and areas in which they are not as strong.”

  “Both can pull a trigger equally well,” Wally interjected.

  “At this point, I suppose knowing that a woman would head up the organization shouldn’t surprise me at all. In reflection, it doesn’t, although the fact that the woman in charge is Nicole, well, that’s a little tougher... but what the hell, I guess. Right?”

  “What the hell,” Darlene said.

  “What the hell,” echoed Wally and Nicole in unison.

  “Alright, so I guess since the car is... all set?”

  Wally nodded.

  “Since the car is all set, we can get going. We’ve got a trip to plan.”

  They all stood, and Wally opened the door into the outer study. As they passed into the living room, Dan saw that the girls were still engrossed in Gamma Warriors. At that moment, an unseen assailant wounded one of the girls’ characters. An instant later, the other twin’s character was struck as well.

  “The shooter is behind the tool shed to your right,” Dan told them.

  They turned briefly to look at him, both wearing an identical expression of disbelief, but Abby dropped behind a large rock for cover while Vic circled around to take a look behind the decrepit corrugated metal tool shed. There, as Dan had predicted, was an alien sharp shooter. Vic lined up her shot and easily took him out.

  “How’d you know, Mr. Porter?” Abby asked as she high-fived her sister.

  “Mr. Porter’s company makes this game, Ab,” Nicole explained. “He’s the ‘D’ in ‘Dsoft.’”

  The twins looked at one another, then paused the game and ran to where the adults were standing.

  “Can you sign our game case?” Abby asked.

  “Gamma Warriors is the coolest game ever, Mr. Porter. You’re, like, a genius!” Vic added.

  “Easy there, girls.” Dan laughed. “A lot of people worked on that game, me probably least of all, though I did write a little code here and there.”

  The girls continued to fawn and squeal for several minutes, much to Dan’s embarrassment and the others’ delight. Eventually, Wally sent the girls back to their controllers, telling them that the Porters had to go. After extracting a promise from Dan that he come visit again, they acquiesced.

  Walking outside, Wally extended his hand to Dan. “I hope you know what you’re getting into, Dan,” he said. “This is serious, dangerous business.”

  “Wally, I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting into. I’m still a million miles from understanding the totality of what I’ve seen and heard today. But I do know one thing for certain. I love my wife, and if she’s going into a dangerous situation, I’m going to be there with her.”

  Wally looked at Dan for a moment, then laid his hand on his shoulder. “Coley’s the best, Dan. But who knows? Maybe it will make her even better having you there. Good luck.”

  They got into the Lexus, which Wally had pulled up in front of the house for them and, with Nicole once again at the wheel, they left. After several miles driven in silence, Dan reached over to the sound system and restarted the Happy Playlist. It played “I’m So Glad” by Cream. He looked at Nicole. “So what happens now?”

  “We need to get you a couple of new passports. That doesn’t take too long. Our documents person can have them ready for us before we head to the airport tomorrow for Europe. There’ll be one for getting into Romania, and a second for getting out. You never want to be the same person coming and going. I’ll just have to make a call and email a few details to him. And we need to get you on my flight. Again, easily doable.”

  “I can’t even tell if I am coming or going.”

  They drove towards their home, again with the music the only sound in the car. Then Nicole asked, “Are you sure about this, Danny?”

  “Absolutely. I’m going with you.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Well then, lastly, you need to pack a suitcase.”

  4

  Arrival in Romania

  The first leg of their journey took them via Lufthansa from Denver to Munich, leaving Denver International Airport at 4:15 p.m. The flight took ten hours. Dan slept most of the overnight leg, while Nicole spent most of it reading a book on her Kindle. Once or twice, he woke up with a start, then looking around, and seeing Nicole’s smile, he remembered that they were on a plane and that everything was fine. Or rather nothing was fine, but he was with her and that made it at least bearable.

  After a four-and-a-half-hour layover, they boarded Lufthansa flight number 1654 for the last hop into Romania, which took just under two hours. Their total travel time was less than seventeen hours, though thanks to time zone crossing, they would arrive in Bucharest at 5:45 p.m. local time. By the time the plane began its descent toward Henri Coandă International Airport, the busiest in all of Romania, he had managed to begin gathering his belongings and checked the inside pocket of his jacket for his new documents. Even these mundane tasks seemed to have a patina of unfamiliarity to them now.

  As Nicole had promised, the passports had been ready in plenty of time to be picked up in the parking lot across from a Russell’s Convenience Store on Sherman Street in downtown Denver. The fellow who was waiting for them in a brown Saab was a twenty-something African-American who Cole had called David. As they were driving to DIA, she explained that David was not the documents man. Dan heard the word “forger” in his head every time she used the term, but he kept the mental autocorrect to himself. Rather, David was a courier and not officially in the direct employ of “the outfit.” Separation of duties kept those not assigned to the front line a bit more secure, and those, like David, ignorant of most details and thereby insulated from queasy situations.

  Dan was not as well traveled as Nicole. The business had certainly put him in various places to broker distribution deals and he’d taken a personal hand in headhunting talent at critical times in Dsoft’s history. The Denver to Tokyo run was one with which he had a great deal of familiarity, but Bucharest was new. As he looked out of the window at the rapidly approaching city, he chuckled at the thought. A city first mentioned in historical documents in 1459 could hardly be called new. He’d read that factoid online and had joked with Nicole that the first mention had probably been a Yelp review. She had laughed far more enthusiastically than the joke had merited, and he realized she was overcompensating for unhinging his world.

  The airport was actually located about ten miles to the north of the city center, in a town called Otopeni. With its 14,000 or so inhabitants, it was just a burg compared to Bucharest with around two million. The plane touched down smoothly, and Nicole and Dan gathered their carry-ons, waiting as the more impatient travelers filed past them toward the exit.

  “Aren’t you in a hurry?” Dan asked as Nicole repeatedly waved people along with a smile.

  “There are a couple of things you should never hurry.”

  “Love, according to Phil Collins.”

  “Please. According to the Supremes.”

  “I stand corrected. About Motown. By a woman still waiting to be born when the Supremes were a thing.”

  “Cool knows no age boundaries. Another thing you can’t hurry is cleaning.”

  “Y
ou’re really committed to that phrase, aren’t you,” Dan said as the last passenger passed them and they stepped into the aisle.

  “It’s what I do, Danny, plain and simple. I clean up messes.”

  “Of course. Fine. By the way, I forgot to ask. Is this your first time here?”

  She pulled her passport from the outside zipper of her rolling bag, and with a smile said, “First time as Alicia Pruitt.”

  Dan rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

  “Thank you for flying with us,” said the flight attendant, a young man with a brush cut. Rather conservative, Dan thought.

  Nicole quickly glanced at his name badge, then looked him directly in the eyes and said, “Thank you, Alexandru,” she said, her pronunciation of the Romanian name impeccable. She went on in the native language, “Fie ca ziua ta să fie binecuvântată.”

  Dan leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Thank you. You’ve answered my question. Now I have another. What did you just say?”

  “‘Have a nice day,’ basically, with a little local flavor.”

  As they moved into the terminal, Dan was impressed at its modern, well-lit appearance, as the walls were lined with large glass panels that let in plenty of sunshine, and for a cool December day, sunshine was just the ticket. Dan thrived on it, and in Denver, the sun did its best to make an appearance most days of the year; three hundred, according to the Metro Denver Economic Development Corporation. (Dan doubted the accuracy of the claim but had never tested it himself.) Bucharest, according to the same website from which he’d learned about the first documented mention of the nation, averaged about two hundred fifty sunny days. And this was one of them.

  Nicole walked quickly and efficiently to the baggage claim area, another clue for Dan that this was by no means her first visit, and after they’d collected their one additional suitcase each, she moved to a nearby kiosk.

  “What’s that for?” Dan asked.

  “That’s how you order a taxi here. They did it because there used to be a lot of shysters in the cab biz. There still are in the city, but the airport has pretty much eliminated them. We could have also ordered an Uber, but I prefer the cabbies. They’re... colorful.”

  Three minutes later, their cab pulled into the pick-up area, and Dan immediately saw what she meant. Their driver was impossibly obese, with long brown hair that appeared to have been freshly permed, both by the tightness of the curls and the distinctive scent of the chemicals used to form them. He looked like he belonged in an eighties hair band, and at the same time, he looked like he’d eaten one.

  “Unde sa?” he asked through the window as he popped the trunk for them. Dan began to move to the rear with the suitcases, then had a flashback to the last trunk he’d looked into. With a hard swallow, he regained his composure and placed the bags inside, slamming the trunk down.

  “Ușor!” the driver growled.

  “Huh?” Dan asked as he moved toward the open door.

  “He said ‘take it easy.’ I guess he thought you closed the trunk too hard.”

  “Oh. How do you say I’m sorry?”

  “Imi pare rau,” she said, buckling her seatbelt.

  Dan repeated the phrase with much less aplomb, but the driver seemed satisfied, and repeated his first question. “Unde sa?”

  “Anthanee Palace Hilton,” she said.

  “Ah, yes,” he said in a thick accent that immediately made Dan think of Dracula, much to his private embarrassment, as that was exactly how he’d imagined everyone would sound. “On Strada Episcopiei. Very nice.” And without another word, he lurched into traffic, which was heavy near the terminal but thinned out as they passed south through Otopeni toward the city, where it picked up again.

  “I take you shortest; you give big tip, yes?” the huge man asked as they approached the hotel.

  “Sfat uriaș.” Nicole laughed as she drew several 10-lei notes and handed them to her husband. She whispered to Dan, “I promised him a huge tip.”

  “How huge?” Dan whispered, taking the bills, which were a vaguely pink color (the correct name for which Nicole would no doubt know) and featured a balding man with a moustache and goatee, the identity of whom was a complete mystery to Dan. He was asking strictly out of curiosity. He had no problem over-tipping a helpful cabbie, but he also had no concept of Romanian currency.

  “I’d give him fifty lei, which is less than fifteen bucks. He’ll think it’s Christmas.”

  “It almost is.” Dan laughed as he handed over the money and the man reacted exactly as Nicole said he would.

  “Mulţumesc, miliardarilor americani!” the man said as he popped the trunk for Dan to retrieve the luggage.

  “If he’d gotten out and helped, I would have given him the whole fifteen dollars,” Dan said, grunting as he extracted the bags. Once again, the sight of the trunk caused him a cold chill. He wondered if he’d ever be able to use one again without thinking of the family-killer with the bullet hole head decoration.

  Nicole laughed and handed the man another five lei. “He said, ‘Thank you, American billionaires.’”

  “Not quite, buddy,” Dan said, nodding a farewell toward the man as he pulled away from the hotel.

  “In his frame of reference, we’re rich beyond belief.”

  They were met at the door of the classically styled, century-old hotel by a concierge whose English, unlike the cab driver’s, was impeccable. “Good day, and welcome to the Anthanee Palace Hilton Hotel! I am Razvan. Your satisfaction is my goal. May I have the guests’ names?” he asked.

  Nicole was about to answer, when Dan blurted, “Rick and Alicia Pruitt, from Milwaukee!”

  “Ah! Milwaukee! Laverne and Shirley.”

  “That’s right. Laverne and Shirley and the Pruitts!”

  Nicole gave Dan a look that he couldn’t quite interpret. It was either respect for his obvious command of their cover identities or shock that he was being such a blithering idiot about it. Likely a combination, Dan reasoned. Either way, Razvan pulled out a whistle, with which he sounded two short tones. A moment later, a bellhop appeared from the hotel and took Dan and Nicole’s luggage inside the elegant lobby. Razvan led them to the front desk, where an attractive young woman watched the couple approach with a non-wavering smile that came across to Dan as a little creepy and painted on.

  “Anca, these are the Pruitts. They are from Milwaukee.”

  “Ah, Laverne and Shirley,” Anca said, typing their names into her computer.

  “Wow, L and S are big here,” Dan whispered to Nicole.

  “American TV is big here, although they may be a couple of years away from getting the latest shows.”

  “Your room, I’m embarrassed to say, is not quite ready. Would you please accept our apology in the form of a complimentary drink at the bar?”

  “It’s a little early...” Dan began, but Nicole quickly cut him off.

  “We’d be delighted!” she said.

  Dan looked at her with obvious shock. Nicole wasn’t a big drinker, and she had injected her acceptance with much more enthusiasm than he expected. One more thing he didn’t know about her, he wondered.

  As Razvan led them to the hotel bar, she leaned toward Dan and said, “It would be considered very rude to decline an offer like that. It would mean we were rejecting their apology, and we’d be starting off on a bad foot.”

  “We are starting badly,” Dan said. “Our room isn’t ready.”

  “A minor inconvenience. I can tell you right now, this is one of the best hotels in Bucharest, but even here, we’re going to experience things that would seem unusual or, to snobs like us, unacceptable in the States. It’s a different culture. Sometimes you have to wait a little. Waiting is not seen as a problem here. It’s seen as an opportunity to enjoy another form of hospitality, in this case, a free drink. Lighten up, Rick.”

  “I’m not a snob, but whatever you say, Alicia.”

  “Would you prefer to sit at a table or at the bar?” Razvan asked.


  “You’re a snob maybe,” Dan muttered in her ear, earning a mild elbow to the ribs. He deferred to his wife in answering the concierge’s question, remembering from some movie or another that in the world of international espionage, there were hard rules about where one sat in a public venue.

  “At a table, if that’s possible, Razvan. Preferably facing the entrance to the bar?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Pruitt. I have a perfect spot for you over here.” He indicated a two-top in a dimly lit corner at the rear of the bar. Dan realized that this was probably exactly the spot Nicole had hoped for. Being in the back corner meant no one could come up behind them, and they had a clear view of the door, allowing them to see anyone who came in. In a little while the bar would be busier as the guests stopped in for an after-dinner nip, but for now they had the place almost to themselves. The concierge asked what they wanted and went to the bar to place their order.

  What Nicole did not tell Dan was that a tiny shift in the concierge’s facial expression when she’d voiced her table preference had triggered a warning light in her head. Did he somehow recognize this trade-craft-based request for what it was? Maybe he reads a lot of spy novels, she thought, filing the observation away.

  “This is the best table in the place, especially considering I’m not carrying any protection.”

  “Protection? Am I going to get lucky?”

  “You’re already lucky, and that’s not the kind of protection I’m talking about, pig.” Dan smiled. If she was calling him a pig, it meant she thought his naughty comment was cute. “I’m talking about the kind of protection that makes unfriendly people fall down on the floor, never to rise again.”

  Dan blanched. “You don’t have a gun?”

  “Shh! Jesus Christ. Most of the hotel employees speak at least a little English. You have to be very careful about what you say, far too loudly in this case, by the way. You can’t assume you’re not being understood.” She looked around to see if anyone had reacted to Dan’s stage whisper and saw that there was no one close enough to overhear. “Of course I don’t. We just came from the airport, and they’re not real keen on passengers carrying them. It’s kind of a thing.”