The Good Thief

by Judith Leon

  She led him out of the bathroom. “I’ve already called K-bar,” she said. “While you were fetching the antiseptic. I couldn’t reach him, but I left a message telling him that I’m sending you home. First thing tomorrow, you should fly back.”

  “Cristo!” He grabbed both her arms. “K-bar will be furious with me. I wasn’t to let you know I’m here.” She twisted from his grip. He shouldn’t have touched her.

  “I can’t help that. I expect he’ll understand when you explain why you barged in. But the bottom line is that I have to be here, and I have to be here alone.” She licked her lips. “I need to concentrate on what I have to do. I can’t have any…distractions.”

  He felt like pounding his fist in frustration, and stopped himself by turning away abruptly to cut loose from the aura of sex and conflict sizzling between them.

  Patience, Marko, he cautioned himself. He grasped at the only exit that popped into his head. “Are you hungry? I think we need to go to dinner. Get a taxi and get away from here.”

  She drew in a long, raspy breath. “We definitely need to go to dinner.” She snatched at the distraction he’d offered, then quickly added, “But it must look like I’m simply thanking you for saving me.”

  No way would he leave Lindsey alone in Prague now, not even if K-bar ordered it.

  Chapter 19

  A single loud knock sounded on the door to Jeremy’s den. Pietro strode in without waiting for Jeremy to say enter. The old-fashioned brass hands of Jeremy’s desk clock read 10:33. Normally he would have gone to bed by now. Too nervous, unable to sleep until the matter of Sylvia Platt was resolved satisfactorily, Jeremy had brewed a concoction of calcium and mucosal protective agents to soothe the raw pain in his stomach. He sat in his night clothes, sipping it.

  “What do you have?” he asked Pietro.

  “Everything I could check out seems in order.”

  “And from A?”

  “A fax came in only minutes ago. All items on Platt came back clean. We wait only for results on the woman’s phone records.”

  “Fine.” Jeremy should feel better. He didn’t.

  Pietro pulled an armchair close to the fire, dropped into the chair and propped his heels on the brass fender.

  “What about the Arnett girl?” Jeremy asked.

  “As you ordered, I stopped feeding her two days ago. She has stopped yelling and banging. I still hear her weeping once in a while. She will be ready.” Pietro folded his hands behind his head and stared at the fire. “So who do you think will come up with the high bid?”

  All the bidders had gathered in Prague now. Jeremy swallowed the last of the potion and the duodenal pain dulled a bit. All but the Platt woman had instructions for where and when they would be picked up for tomorrow’s demonstration. He fingered the printout of the assets of Griffin Pharmaceuticals. “Assuming Platt is genuine, I’d say Griffin Pharmaceuticals might pay the most.” He pictured the other potential bidders. “It isn’t likely to be the scar-faced martinet who represents the Kestonians’ new dictator. Vlados Zelasko is a third-rate petty tyrant. Certifiably insane in my opinion. He and the North Koreans are perfect examples of terrorists who fear the power of the United States and know they can’t fight with conventional weapons. Zelasko’s mouthpiece will, unless I am much in error, try to buy with unstable currency, even though I made it clear to Zelasko that it had to be euros, dollars, or pounds sterling.”

  “I think our high bidder will be the Russian woman,” Pietro said, helping himself to the brandy Jeremy wanted to drink but couldn’t. “A is sure her backer isn’t the research geneticist at MoscowUniversity but the Russian defense laboratory the professor works for. That means government money. Big money. The woman is an expendable front. The bitch probably doesn’t even know who she represents.”

  “Possibly. But even if it is the Russian government, can Russian money compete with a big international pharmaceutical like Griffin if Griffin really wants the buy?”

  Pietro made no comment to that and they sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire.

  Finally Jeremy said, “I do not like Foo Hai.”

  Pietro’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Why? Because he’s tall and handsome?”

  Insulting little bastard! “I don’t like him, you miscreant, because I don’t understand his motivation. He doesn’t represent a government, like the Russian woman or the little North Korean or the Kestonian. And he’s not affiliated with a business, like the Platt woman. I couldn’t get him to say anything beyond the fact that his buyer is extremely wealthy, will be outbid by no one, and is interested in genetic engineering of humans. If they don’t want the buy for business or for some military, then for what? And all that black clothing.” Jeremy snorted his disgust. “It’s very affected.”

  “Guess he figures he doesn’t need to talk. His money will talk for him.” Pietro’s gaze had been steady and smug, but now it darted from the fire to Jeremy’s face and back.

  Pietro seemed to know something. Jeremy probed. “What did A’s sources say about the pendant?”

  The menacing Asian with the ponytail had worn a pendant around his neck with symbols in gold against a hexagon of black onyx. Pietro had, of course, surreptitiously taken several dozen photos of Foo Hai when Foo Hai came out of the meeting with Jeremy. They’d sent a blowup of the pendant to A.

  “Chinese symbols. They stand for the female name, Kwan-sook. Impossible to know why he would wear a woman’s name. His mother’s? His mistress’s? Maybe it is a business named after a woman. Ask him.”

  Jeremy had started to ask the meaning of the pendant during his meeting with Foo Hai but a sense that he did not want to anger Foo had clamped his mouth shut. “If it’s a business big enough to bid for what I’m selling, why could neither you nor A find any information about it?” A little chill tickled the hairs on the back of his neck just thinking about Foo.

  At a knock on the door, Jeremy called out, “Enter.”

  A young boy Pietro used to run errands entered carrying a fax. He looked from Pietro to Jeremy, then back to Pietro, who gestured that he should take the fax to Jeremy.

  At the top was the familiar spider’s web. The message read:

  Platt phone records check out. This woman is a legitimate buyer. Act accordingly.

  Jeremy drew in a long breath and exhaled. Everything was now in place. Noting that he was now rather looking forward to seeing the sultry Sylvia again, he picked up the receiver to his landline.

  Chapter 20

  T he snow steadily fluttered down in nickel-sized flakes outside the restaurant window all during Lindsey’s dinner with Marko. She had joined him in sharing a pot of traditional potato soup, but their tastes separated over the main course. He went for pork roast with dumplings and sauerkraut, she for salmon and rice.

  He also insisted on dessert—delicate crepes stuffed with strawberry jam—and he didn’t mind when she wanted to share just a bite, a plus on the scorecard she realized she was keeping in spite of the fact that she had absolutely no reason to be keeping score.

  When they stepped out into the snow, he took her arm and with matching steps they waded through new-fallen powder that glistened in the streetlights.

  Marko said softly, “We’re being followed.”

  “I know.” She didn’t add any explanation and decided that when they reached the hotel she would insist that he make no further contact with her and return to Florence ASAP.

  Their hotel lay only half a block from the restaurant, and they were walking up the entry steps when her new cell phone rang, a backup that had also been in the package prepared for her by Sam.

  She stopped. It was late. “I need to take this call, Marko. Please go on in without me. And please do not contact me further. I’ll see you again when I return to Florence.”

  It wasn’t a request and he knew it. His lips thinned. “You’re making a damn big mistake, Lindsey. I could help you.” When she said nothing, he spun around and continued into the lo
bby.

  The phone’s LCD display indicated that the incoming call was not encrypted. “Sylvia Platt,” she said, keeping her voice hard and in charge. She stepped away from the door and to one side.

  “I hope I am not disturbing your sleep,” Jeremy Loschetter said.

  “Not at all. I’m just returning from dinner.”

  “You are dining so late alone?”

  “Actually, no. I had a…a bit of a problem today, and a very capable man came to my assistance. We shared a dinner before he leaves Prague.”

  “I hope your problem wasn’t serious.”

  “I’d rather not talk about it. I’d rather talk about the buy.”

  “I look forward to meeting you again. I’m sure you will understand that I require a certain amount of secrecy. You will be picked up tomorrow evening in front of Betlem Chapel at 6:00 p.m. Your hotel concierge can direct you. It is not far from your own hotel but in a quieter, more private, neighborhood. Please do not be distressed, but my man will blindfold you.”

  He needed to feel she was no pushover. With sarcasm she said, “I’m already distressed,” with heavy emphasis on the distressed. “Is that really necessary?”

  “I set the terms for this sale.”

  “Yes. I suppose you do.”

  “There is something else. You will experience a firsthand demonstration of psychic ability.”

  She inhaled deeply, flushed with a surge of triumph that she struggled to keep in control. A firsthand demonstration could only mean that Teal would be present at the demonstration. “I have no problem with that.”

  “If you wish, you may bring one other person with you. I would suggest someone who is psychic. Someone, obviously, whom you trust completely.”

  “What the hell! How can I fetch a psychic here in time?”

  “It’s the best that I can offer. You have joined us very late. Perhaps you don’t have sufficient resources to make this purchase. That is your problem, not mine.”

  “Then let’s finish this conversation. I have to make inquiries immediately.”

  “You will recognize my man because he will have a red-and-black checkered scarf at his neck.”

  She hung up. A psychic? Did she really need one? She hurried into the lobby and fidgeted during a much-too-long wait for the elevator. In her room, she immediately called Sam.

  “What else can it mean,” Sam said, “but that he has Teal and he will show her off? This is fantastically good news. I’ll pass it along immediately. Now about this psychic thing?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “I’ll check that out with Christine, but I’m going to say yes for now. If she also feels it’s essential, I’m sure she can use her influence to scramble up such a person. Believe it or not, there was a time when the Eastern European secret services thought that having a psychic on hand would solve their intelligence problems. Our government even spent a lot of money to determine the potential. Turned out, in most instances, the gift was too hit-and-miss to work for espionage.”

  “Maybe that will change. Girls like Teal may be the future.”

  “Maybe so. For now, I’ll talk to Christine. Other European stations might have someone who could reach Prague in time. The genuine benefit would be that you’d have company. I hate to think of you alone with Jeremy in his nasty little den of thieves. And if we could actually find a trained operative, all the better.”

  “I was certainly hoping for some backup. If it turns out that this is, in fact, where they have Teal, I’m going to need an extraction team immediately.”

  “I doubt CIA can be any help there. But I asked for and received time off. Christine and Allison both anticipated that you’d need some backup. So, I’ll be coming myself. I hope to reach Prague before the demonstration, but to be honest, it’s a long shot. For the demonstration you will likely be on your own.”

  “It is what it is. I can handle it, but I’ll be extremely happy to have you here.” She checked the clock on the computer. “It’s now after eleven my time, and I’m exhausted.”

  “Go to bed. Get what rest you can. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

  Lindsey thought of something else. “I have a man following me. Probably one of Jeremy’s henchmen. I’ll have to ditch him tomorrow early.”

  Sam paused.

  “’Night, Sam.”

  “Anything else I need to know?”

  She thought about confessing that her father had put Marko onto her but decided there was no need to mention it. He was now out of the picture. “No. Nothing.”

  Her body craved sleep, but first she must make one more call. She dialed.

  “Pronto,” she heard Tito growl.

  She’d met Tito eight years ago when Tito still worked for K-bar. The burly muscleman was one of NSI’s best security enforcers, a tough talker with a sapphire stud in one pierced ear. Lindsey had discovered he was, in secret, an art lover and amateur painter. After that, they hit it off famously. Then six years ago Tito left NSI to start his own private company. NSI took on security for corporate clients. Tito provided crack security teams for rich private parties who needed someone top-notch to guard an expensive transport or to find and rescue a kidnapped loved one. Most of Tito’s business was in Africa, with occasional jobs in the Middle East. He helped Lindsey with the art buybacks out of friendship, not for the money.

  “Are you in bed?” she asked.

  “Lindsey?”

  “I need help, Tito. Big time. And it has to be kept ultrasecret.”

  Chapter 21

  O ld Prague in the morning, when Lindsey stepped out of her hotel, was a city of Romanesque red-tile roofs, steep Gothic gables, towers and, of course, spires, a city awakening under a crystal-clear sky and a blanket of fresh snow. She again wore the simple blue sweater and black slacks. The doorman greeted her, and, encouraged by the strong possibility that by this evening she might actually have found Teal, she gave him a warm smile.

  She had called the concierge earlier and asked that a taxi be waiting and that the driver must speak English or Italian. As the doorman held open the rear passenger door, Lindsey knocked on the cabbie’s window. He rolled it down. “Yes, madam,” he said in English.

  “Just checking.” She climbed in.

  She had glanced around to see if she could spy Jeremy’s man, but if he was still on her, it wasn’t immediately obvious. The doorman closed the door.

  Her driver asked, “Where do you wish to go?”

  “I have a destination in mind. I want to purchase something for my husband. But a man, an ex-boyfriend, has been following me. Do you think you could lose him? I will pay you extra.”

  The man turned and smiled broadly. She guessed him to be in his late fifties and one front tooth had been capped with silver. “You are a beautiful woman. It does not surprise me that a man would hate to lose you.”

  “Can you help me?”

  “Just you watch. And no need to pay extra. Only what the meter says.” He flipped up a flag on the taxi’s meter, checked his rearview and side mirrors, and briskly pulled away from the hotel into the business traffic on

  Vaclavské Boulevard

  .

  Claire turned around to watch behind. The first vehicle to join the stream of traffic was a truck, obviously not the transport choice of a shadow. The next to pull into the traffic was a dull brown Opel, and behind the Opel, a Silver Renault Clio. Her driver made a left turn.

  He maneuvered skillfully west toward the VltavaRiver. Again she looked behind to find that all three vehicles were still behind them. Shortly they passed the Betlem Chapel, the place where Jeremy’s man would pick her up this evening, and as she checked behind again, the truck turned off. Both the Opel and Renault hung with them. The Renault was too far back to get a good look at the driver, but the man in the Opel was covered much as Marko had been, with a fur hat, sunglasses, and a coat pulled up around his neck.

  “Two cars I have seen to follow,” the driver said. “I test them now.”

&nbs
p; They turned off the main street into a quiet side street behind the Betlem Chapel. Both cars followed.

  “More than one man follows you?” the driver asked.

  “No. Just my ex.” She did not want this helpful man to think she’d lied to him. Escaping one man could fit into his view of life. Running from two would trigger doubts and questions.

  They made two more turns, and both cars hung with them. She had the irritating thought that maybe Marko had not followed her instructions and left Prague. That thought was followed by another, equally irritating because it suggested she had possibly made a miscalculation. Perhaps she’d acted too hastily when she insisted he go home.

  “Now I lose them both,” the driver said. He gunned the motor and they shot forward into the southbound traffic on the main boulevard running north and south along the east side of the river.

  He zigged and zagged through the traffic with impressive skill and turned right onto a bridge that took them flying across the river. Once on the other side, she looked behind. She saw only the Opel, and it was well behind them, boxed in by two large vans.

  “I think you’re doing it,” she said.

  The driver checked his rearview. “I make sure.”

  Coming off the bridge they turned left and then soon right and then another right. They were heading north, toward Lesser Town. For perhaps ten minutes they threaded their way through narrow streets with no sign of any car behind them while she considered her situation vis-à-vis backup for the demonstration tonight. Perhaps Marko had not left Prague. And maybe that was a good thing. Tito was assembling a team and equipment, but he couldn’t possibly be here by this evening. He hadn’t been certain at all when he would arrive. She could not, however, risk calling Marko on her unsecured cell phone.

  They emerged onto

  Nerudova street

  . At the sight of the white exterior of the baroque gem, St. Nicholas Church, she knew where she was again and she felt confident she had lost both tails, assuming that the Renault had actually been following.