“And the rest of it?” Sirkal asked.
Golov took one last look at the vast treasure.
“Have your men set the charges.”
“Ten minutes?”
Golov nodded. “That should give us plenty of time to get away.”
Sirkal pointed to where they should place the explosives to produce the maximum damage to the treasure. They had enough C-4 to reduce the hoard to fragments. O’Connor and Jablonski grumbled about destroying that much gold, but they did as they were told.
Not only would the Russians fail to get their lost treasure back but the devastation would seem to be the result of the natural gas explosion they’d been sent here to prevent. By the time anyone suspected differently, Golov and his men would be long gone.
FIFTY-ONE
When Trono brought the boat to a halt under the bridge closest to the Vilnius Cathedral, water was falling from the sky in sheets, making the late-afternoon light even more dim. According to the forecast, it wouldn’t let up for another hour. Juan, in his rain jacket, leaped out of the boat with a line, looping it around the bridge support and tying it off.
A wide concrete path, with grass growing in its crevices, bordered the river for those who wanted to stroll along the Neris or drop in a fishing line on a lazy afternoon. Today, the heavy downpour kept the path empty. A large tour boat docked farther up the river was also dark.
“I don’t think anyone will mess with the boat on a day like today,” Trono said as he hopped off. Linda, MacD, and Gretchen followed him.
“We won’t be gone long,” Juan said. “I’ll meet with whoever is in charge of the church and find out if anyone has been interested in the catacombs recently. Or, worse, if the catacombs have already been ransacked. Gretchen, we may need to bring Interpol’s weight down on this one.”
She nodded. “Assuming that the catacombs are still undisturbed, we can request that the Lithuanian authorities have them inspected for any possible hidden cavities.”
“The other possibility is that they are in the cathedral right now,” Juan said. “Without any intel, going in there will be risky, but we may also be able to catch them by surprise since they think we’re still scouring the river for the treasure. We’ll have to improvise. Anyone who thinks we should hold off speak now.”
They were lightly armed with pistols only. However, Juan wasn’t surprised when everyone remained silent.
“If Ah catch any of them myself, Chairman,” MacD said, checking his weapon before replacing it in his waistband under his jacket, “Ah will make sure they give us our money back, unless they want firsthand knowledge of what happens to a gelding.”
Trono winced. “I saw it done once. It’s not pretty.”
“I’m just glad you’re on my side,” Juan said to MacD. “Let’s go.”
They climbed the stairs leading up through the steep, grassy embankment separating the riverside path from the city street level above.
Linda pointed down the street. “The church is a hundred yards that way.”
A thick stand of trees made it impossible to see the cathedral from this distance. They started walking, and when they were within half a block, Juan could see an ornate white church with a circular tower out front.
He also saw a utility van parked in the square near a police car. Two officers were posted outside the entrance.
They stopped walking.
“What do you think that’s about?” Linda wondered aloud.
“It can’t be a coincidence,” Juan replied.
“Only one way to find out,” Gretchen said, putting her arm through Juan’s. “Let’s ask.”
Juan shrugged. “Tourists?”
“That’s what I had in mind.”
“All right.” He turned to Linda, Trono, and MacD. “The three of you, wait here.”
“Wait a sec,” Trono said. “That might not be the real police.”
“Mike’s right,” MacD said. “They could be pulling off the same trick he and Ah did in Malta.”
“If that’s the case,” Linda said, “they might recognize the two of you.”
Juan frowned. They had a point. With all of their rain hoods pulled down, no ID was possible from this distance. But up close, Juan and Gretchen would be readily identifiable. “You have another idea?”
“No,” Linda said, grabbing Trono’s hand. “Same idea, different people. Be back in a minute.”
Trono smiled at MacD before Linda led him away. Soon they were talking and laughing like a newlywed couple.
MacD looked at Juan with a sardonic grin. “She picked him instead of me? Ah will never hear the end of it.”
—
Linda wasn’t as experienced as the Chairman in deceptive practices, but she thought this would be an easy task. She was just worried about Trono. She’d chosen him because MacD might lay it on too thick, especially with that accent of his. Trono seemed more like a normal, unassuming boyfriend.
But now that they were walking, she was having second thoughts.
“What should I say?” Trono worried even as he was fake-laughing like she told him to. “I can parachute out of helicopters. I can dive down to three hundred feet. Acting isn’t really my thing, although I make a good fake drunk on occasion.”
“We’ll work on that when we get back to the Oregon,” she said, patting his arm. “For now, just stay sober and follow my lead.” He sounded more concerned than she was. Besides, it was too late to turn around. The police officers had already spotted them. It wasn’t hard, since the downpour ensured they were the only tourists on the plaza.
The officers, who’d been chatting and laughing, turned to the obvious foreigners when Linda and Trono reached the dry portico.
“Church closed,” one of the policeman said in halting English.
“We just want to take a look inside for a minute,” Linda said. “We’ve heard a lot about this cathedral.”
Trono smiled awkwardly and nodded but said nothing.
“Gas leak,” the officer said. “Very dangerous.”
Trono cleared his throat. “How long will it be closed?”
“Closed all day. Maybe tomorrow.”
Linda took out her phone. “There’s no way we could just get a few pictures?”
The officer was unmoved by her plea. His face remained a paragon of stoicism. “Maybe tomorrow,” he repeated.
“So I’m thinking we need to come back tomorrow,” Trono said to Linda.
“I’m getting that as well,” she replied. To the officers she said, “Well, thanks anyway.”
The officer nodded, tacitly sending them on their way.
“Come on,” Linda said to Trono, leading him away and pointing to the bell tower. “I have an idea.”
“We’re not going back to the others to tell them what’s going on?”
“In a minute.”
Linda stopped near the utility van, which was parked next to the tower.
“Do you really think there’s a gas leak in there?” she asked him.
“Not a chance,” he said.
“I agree.” She pulled Trono close to her and held up the phone like she was taking a selfie. “Smile, Mike. Remember, we’re a happy couple.”
They took a few photos, and then Linda said, “Stay here. Pretend like I’m going to take your picture in front of the tower.”
As she backed up, Trono said, “Pretend how?”
“I don’t know,” she said as she put the van between her and the policemen. “Strike different poses. Wow me.”
While Trono chose ridiculous body positions like the world’s worst supermodel, Linda bent down, unscrewed the cap on the front tire’s inflation valve, and used a pen to press on the valve’s stem. When the tire was completely flat, she screwed the cap on and went back to Trono.
“How was that?” he a
sked as they walked back toward the rest of the team.
“David Beckham has nothing to worry about.”
They walked casually back to where the Chairman, Gretchen, and MacD were waiting out of view.
“They seemed like real police to me,” Linda said.
“Why are they posted out front?” Gretchen asked.
“They told us there’s a gas leak inside.”
The Chairman nodded in appreciation. “I would have done something similar. Keeps everybody out of the building while they’re doing the ‘inspection.’ How long have they been in there?”
“All day,” Trono said. “And they might still be here tomorrow.”
“Good. Then maybe they haven’t found the treasure yet. Linda, wait here and keep the front entrance under observation.”
Trono smiled at Linda. “If anyone comes out, it’ll take them a while to get anywhere. Linda had the bright idea to flatten one of the van tires.”
“Nice work,” the Chairman said to her.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“We’ll find another way in,” he said. “Churches aren’t exactly known for their high security. I want to see if there’s a way to ambush them inside. Outside, there’s too much distance to cover before they’d see us, not to mention that they may have the cops in their pockets. Give me a call if you see anything that needs attention.”
Linda didn’t like being left out, but she had to admit that she was the one with the least combat training. “I’ll keep you on speed dial.”
The three of them left to circle around to the back of the church while Linda crept farther forward until she could see the front entrance from behind one of the trees.
Three minutes later, the police turned in unison toward the door of the church as if someone were speaking to them. The Chairman and the others could have made it inside by now, but certainly they wouldn’t have called over to the police. Someone else had to have gotten their attention.
On further prompting, the officers strolled through the door and disappeared. For a few moments, there was no movement at all. Linda quickly texted the Chairman.
Be aware. Police coming inside.
As soon as she finished sending the message, three different men came out of the cathedral. The three uniformed utility workers were hauling an antique trunk.
FIFTY-TWO
After leaving Linda and finding a side door that was easily jimmied, Juan and the others were inside the Vilnius Cathedral, looking at the dead body of a beefy man sporting sideburns down to his jaw. He was lying at the top of the stairs leading down to the catacombs.
Juan searched the corpse and found a card identifying him as Robertas Kulpa, an employee of the local energy utility. He found Kulpa’s phone, but this one didn’t have a thumbprint reader, like Marie Marceau’s did, so he couldn’t unlock it. They’d have to try to crack it for clues later.
“Now we know how they staged this,” Gretchen said in a low voice.
Juan’s phone vibrated. He quickly pocketed Kulpa’s phone before he read the text from Linda on his own that said Police coming inside. Another came only seconds later: Three men carrying trunk coming out. One fits your description of Golov.
So the captain of the Achilles himself was here. Juan realized this might be the perfect opportunity to stop their scheme in one shot. And with the van crippled with a flat, now would be the time to strike. Juan peeked into the cathedral nave, where he saw two more bodies lying on the floor at the far end. Both were wearing police uniforms, and blood was pooling on the marble tile.
The sound of two sets of footsteps approached from the catacombs below. Juan motioned for Gretchen, MacD, and Trono to press themselves against the wall opposite Kulpa’s corpse, their pistols at the ready.
One of the men coming from the catacombs was speaking into a radio. “Jablonski and I are done setting the charges,” he said in English. “Nine minutes, and counting, before the treasure is toast. What should we do with Kulpa?”
A voice Juan recognized as Golov’s replied, “Put him in the chamber. We’ll take the policemen down there, too. It’ll look like an accident long enough for us to get away.”
“Got it. How long to fix the flat?”
“Sirkal and O’Connor are changing the tire now. We’ll be back inside in two minutes.”
Their radio conversation ended, Jablonski and his comrade marched up the stairs, discussing what they were going to have for dinner as if they were on any ordinary job. Juan couldn’t believe his luck. With a pair of ambushes, they could capture Golov and his men in one fell swoop, quietly and bloodlessly.
That plan lasted all of six seconds. Just one ding ruined it.
While reading Linda’s text, Juan had forgotten to turn off the ringer on Kulpa’s phone. He didn’t know if the utility worker’s cell had received a text or just announced a calendar reminder, but it didn’t matter. The problem was that the phone—the only one that should have been there—was no longer on the same side of the room as its owner’s body. One of the men coming up the stairs must have realized that because he stopped dead.
“What is it?” Jablonski asked.
“Something’s wrong,” the radio guy replied.
“What do you mean . . . Wait, wasn’t Kulpa on—”
The surprise was gone. Juan couldn’t wait. He dived to the floor at the top of the stairs, his pistol aimed where he’d heard the closer voice.
Two athletic ex-military types were side by side on the stairs. The man on the right held a radio in one hand and already had his gun raised in the other. Juan’s sudden appearance on the floor caused him to snap off a shot before he could adjust his aim. Juan put a round through his forehead and the man dropped like a rag doll.
The blond man to the left had to be Jablonski. He was pulling his own weapon from its holster when Juan’s barrel shifted to point at his face. Jablonski froze mid-draw.
“Drop it!” Juan yelled.
Jablonski complied and the gun clattered as it tumbled down the stairs.
Juan kept his gun on the man as MacD brought him up the steps and Trono retrieved the dropped weapon.
“Golov had to have heard those shots,” Gretchen said.
“And it won’t take long for them to figure out what happened,” Juan said. “These two might not be important enough to wait for.”
His phone buzzed. Linda was calling. At the same time, the radio came to life.
“Monroe, are you there? What happened?”
Juan picked up the radio, gave it to Jablonski, and pointed his pistol at the blond’s temple. “Tell him that one of the policemen wasn’t dead. He shot Monroe and you need help carrying him out.”
Jablonski stared at Juan for a moment, then nodded and spoke into the radio. “This is Jablonski. One of the cops was still alive. He got Monroe, but I killed him. Monroe’s still breathing, but I need help bringing him out.”
“Okay, give us a minute.”
“I doubt that,” Juan said under his breath before answering Linda’s call. “We’re okay. What’s Golov doing?”
“Those shots kicked them into high gear. They’re scrambling to get the spare on. They’ll be done in a minute or two.”
“Can you hit them?”
“It’d be luck from this distance in the rain.”
“Get ready to shoot anyway,” Juan said. “We’re coming out.” He hung up and turned to Jablonski. “What’s in the trunk?”
“Papers.”
“What kind of papers?”
Jablonski shrugged. “I just work here, man.”
“And you just love your job, don’t you?” MacD said sarcastically, nodding at Kulpa’s body. “What about the explosives, Chairman?”
“Make Jablonski show you where they are and disarm them. Gretchen, Trono—you’re with me. Golov is here because of u
s. We can’t let him get away.”
“If they drive off, we can’t follow them,” Gretchen said. “We don’t have a car.”
“No,” Juan said, “but the policemen do.”
FIFTY-THREE
Sitting in the driver’s seat, Golov kept his pistol trained on the cathedral’s front door while Sirkal and O’Connor flung the flat tire aside and slammed the spare onto the hub. He knew that neither of the gunshots could have come from the policemen inside. No one survives a slit throat.
The square was deserted. It was unlikely that any passersby had heard the muffled shots or knew they represented gunfire. Still, whoever was inside with Jablonski could have called the police, meaning their window for escape could be growing narrower by the second.
“What’s taking so long?” Golov shouted.
“It took us a while to get the flat tire off!” O’Connor yelled back. “Some of the lugs were screwed on too tight!”
“Well, hurry up!”
“Two on, three to go!” Sirkal called out with a grunt as he spun the wrench.
As Golov expected, someone pulled the church’s large wooden door back. Golov aimed down the sight, ready to nail anyone who came through.
But at that moment, Golov was distracted by motion out of the corner of his eye by the side of the church. Rapid gunshots rang out as bullets burst through the van’s windshield.
More shots blasted from the trees near the park, peppering the rear quarter of the van, where Sirkal and O’Connor were hunched over. They dropped their tools and dived inside the utility vehicle for cover.
Golov started the van, threw it into gear, and mashed the accelerator. Even more shots came from the front of the church, causing Golov to slew the van around and head in the direction of the river.
He could already tell that the spare tire was poorly attached to the van. The steering wheel threatened to tear itself from his hand as the tire wobbled on its hub. All he had to do was get a mile away, where they could ditch the van and steal another car so they could make their escape out of the country with the trunk of papers.
The Emperor's Revenge (The Oregon Files) Page 29
