by Nick Spill
• • •
“It’s not too late, is it? I just escaped from the Russian woman’s place.” Alexander scanned his surroundings. He was in a phone box off Mount Eden Road, hidden from passing cars.
“And?” The voice sounded neutral and for a moment Alexander thought he had called Grimble instead of Catelin. He must have woken him. It was an apartment he had called, not an office.
“For a start, I’ve had a terrifying night. I won’t go into details, but it was not good.”
“Grimble raided where she worked tonight. But no sign of the painting. We still don’t know where her car is.”
“Because it’s in a garage. And I bet anything the painting is in the car. He must have slipped it in when I was following him.” Alexander gave the address he remembered from Natasha’s noticeboard. “And I didn’t see his Jag parked at the Castle either. He must be hiding out. He wasn’t in the apartment.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. At the Kiwi pub tonight I saw the four Maori who I took photos of at the opening. They were in deep conversation. They knew each other and from their body language they must’ve been close. They have a history. There really were four, as my photos showed. Can you get in touch with the inspector? I can’t reach him.”
“Get some sleep. You did a good night’s work. Brief me in detail later. Call in the morning.”
“Wait, don’t hang up. I was at the top of Mount Eden at about four, and I spotted the two Maori who were outside the gallery. They were sitting in the grass overlooking the Castle, the place I was tonight. I thought it odd.”
“Good. I’ll call Grimble.” Alexander heard a click.
He walked to another red payphone with a door, nearer the shopping center. He dreaded the next call, but he had to make it. He closed the door, took a deep breath and dialed Tsara’s number from memory. The phone rang forever. When she heard his voice, all she said was: “Don’t ever call here again.” She hung up before he could reply.
Alexander stepped out of the phone booth and stamped his feet. He looked around and decided to go back inside. He called the operator and asked for a person-to-person call to Deborah, collect, at her home. If he didn’t call her now, he never would, and he needed to hear a friendly voice after what had just happened to him.
He heard the operator connect him and a muffled voice.
“Hello, Deborah? It’s Alexander. Sorry it’s so late but I had to call you.”
“Alexander? It’s you?” She sounded as if she had woken from a deep sleep.
“I miss your voice and being with you. Should I call later?”
“Mmmm. No, it’s fine.”
“You heard about the painting? Captain Cook has been stolen, and I’m working night and day to get it back. Bit of a nightmare.”
“Yes. Lots of rumors. How are you coping?”
“Could do with a cuddle from you to make me feel better.”
Deborah moaned and Alexander didn’t know if she was yawning or thinking of him.
“What rumors?” he asked in the silence after the moan. “And I’m serious about a cuddle. Lots of cuddles.”
“Oh, you know, it’s a Maori gang who have no intention of swapping it for land. They want to keep it for themselves. My favorite is Muldoon has set the whole thing up himself.”
“Oh god. Really? Still, I miss you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call you. I don’t even have a hotel room. Last night I slept in a van I borrowed.”
“On your own?”
“Yes. And I was freezing cold.”
“Good. When are you coming to see me?”
“Don’t know. Once Captain Cook is found, I hope. I’m working on a lead now. I can’t wait to tell you all about it. I want to see you. Badly.”
He thought he heard her moan again, then all he could hear was heavy breathing. “Deborah? Deborah?”
“Mmmm?”
“Miss you. I’ll call you when I’m flying in. Sleep tight.”
He waited for a response but only heard her breathing. He hung up, dug out Mel’s card with her home phone number and dialed.
“I was wondering when you were going to call or if you were just going to show up unannounced.”
“I was just checking in to see how you were. I’ve been busy, and I just had to hear your voice before I crashed tonight.”
“I was asleep, Alexander.”
“My sense of time is screwed, sorry. I should talk to you tomorrow. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“No, wait. Now I’m awake, you might as well talk to me. Where are you?”
“In a phone box nearby.”
“Why don’t you come over? I’ll make a cup of tea.”
“Best offer I’ve had all day.”
Chapter Fifty-eight
When Natasha switched the reading light on and off three times, her father knew something had gone wrong. He ran up to her apartment. She was at the front door and, mindful of any bugging devices still in her home, whispered, “He ran away. I don’t know why. I think he got scared.”
“Don’t worry. You have the bag?”
“Yes.”
“Stay here. I’ll see if I can catch him.”
Raganovich worked his way up the hill along the track he had taken so often. When he could see the parking lot at the summit, he saw the white van. He jogged across to make sure no one was inside. He couldn’t see any leaks. It was hopeless to pursue the curator on foot. Too much time had elapsed. He ran to where he had parked his Datsun on Castle Drive and started to drive around Mount Eden. He would drive in concentric circles covering every road in the hope of spying a tall young man on foot with a denim jacket and white shirt. He could have taken any number of roads to escape and left his van at the summit for a reason, Raganovich surmised, to speed his exit and not be seen in the van at night.
Chapter Fifty-nine
Inspector Grimble called Cadd as soon as he had finished Under-Secretary Richard Catelin’s phone call. Cadd was at headquarters finishing the paperwork from their earlier unsuccessful raid on Natasha’s work. He instructed Cadd to use the same search warrant and insert the address for the garage Catelin had spelled out for him. “Use the same affidavit of facts, make sure you specify the Mini as well. No good searching the garage and not being able to search the car. In fact, include all vehicles in the garage. Get it signed by the officer in charge—Jarvis should still be there—then go to our favorite magistrate, wake him and get him to sign the warrant. He can’t complain, he knows he’s on call, and it’s of national importance. Tell him. Radio me as soon as you have it signed.”
Cadd acknowledged the order.
“And I don’t have to say don’t come back until you’ve got it. Hurry. I’ll have the command post nearby on the corner of Fox and York.”
Chapter Sixty
“I spent half my life being woken at odd hours or not sleeping on endless shifts, but having a strange man ring my doorbell? What can be going on?”
Mel had kissed Alexander on the lips when she opened the door. She wore a red satin dressing gown. He looked behind him and quickly shut the door, saying, “It’s not that late.” He dropped his camera bag in the hall and followed her into the kitchen where she had brewed tea. He wondered what she was wearing underneath.
“You take it black, no sugar, right?”
“Thank you.”
‘Why are you so jumpy? You’re usually so cool.”
“I am? Cool?”
“God. You are so—”
“Jumpy?”
“Why are you on edge? Was it the Russian?”
“Well, yes. Glad I escaped her. But I’m with you and I think … I think I’m a mess with you. It’s as if I want everything to be perfect but I feel foolish and insecure. Then there’s this other feeling I got that I’m being followed. It’s very odd. Does this make sense?”
Mel nodded and kept still.
Alexander drank his hot tea and looked at Mel in the kitchen light. Without makeup,
she was even more sexy to him. In other circumstances, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself, but he felt off-balance.
“Natasha Windsor is the daughter of the Russian diplomat cum spy Nikolai Raganovich. He wasn’t at the Castle tonight, thank goodness. But she was a handful.”
“Handful as in?” Mel cupped her hands in front of her chest.
“No, we didn’t get that far, thank god. She was rather direct. She took me into the bedroom and pushed me onto the bed. Pounced on me. She promised, well, I never found out what. When she went to the bathroom to do whatever, she took her shoulder bag with her. What woman takes a great big shoulder bag into her own bathroom? It’s as if she didn’t want me to search it.”
“Which you would have.”
“Oh yes. Anyway, I looked up and saw handcuffs bolted to the bedposts. Bloody handcuffs. Ready for me.”
Mel laughed and checked his wrists.
“Always the doctor. I have never run so fast in my life. I left my van at the summit. Seemed like a good place to hide it, in plain sight.”
“You are a spy. My, I am impressed. What now?”
“Now? I feel safe again, with you. I have a terrible feeling though. I can’t put it into words, but someone is out there searching for me. I had chills down the back of my neck.”
“Oh dear. You do need protecting.”
“Yes, I do.”
She walked over to him, stroked his hair, and kissed his forehead. He lifted his head and they kissed. A long sweet tender kiss.
• • •
When Natasha closed the front door to her father, she went to the bathroom and opened her bag. The thick envelope was inside along with her Polaroid camera and the Makarov pistol. At her front door she bent by the chair where her coat lay. She found the white envelope and opened it. She read the handwritten note and smiled. It was just as her father had said it would happen. She set her alarm for six o’clock.
Raganovich had spent over two hours cruising around looking for his suspect spy. He decided to head back to Parnell. When he eased his Datsun around the corner of Fox and York Street he saw what looked like a police van without any markings and a red Honda next to it. He kept driving and zigzagged back to Parnell Road. He had one last task to arrange.
• • •
Alexander woke to feel Mel under the sheets. He thought he was dreaming until he felt her teeth. He was thankful he was not handcuffed to a bed in the Castle.
After she had finished, she snuggled into his neck. “I’ve been thinking about that since yesterday,” she murmured.
“I must return the favor sometime.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Mel, I’m still in shock over you. I mean us. And that, well, that was amazing.” He breathed out. He held her for some time before he spoke again. “You know I’m not impressed with myself. I feel like I barely get through each day. Half the time I have no idea what I’m doing and the other half … “
“Well, I think the other half is functioning very well. You’re not a little boy any more, despite your vulnerability,. You just don’t know you project confidence and what’s the word? Virility.”
“I do. Really?”
“Yes. I’m jumping in the shower. Join me?”
Chapter Sixty-one
Natasha took a little-used track to climb to the top of the lower crater. She was dressed in a black parka, black pants and boots. Her hair was tied in a bun underneath a black watch cap and she had a black shoulder bag at her waist. When she arrived at the main crater she had an excellent view of the trig point, the designated rendezvous, as well as all possible approaches from the winding road to the parking lot and the other walking tracks. She waited for half an hour crouching next to a tree, obscured from view. Her father had told her a long time ago, “Arrive early and kill everyone.” At first she thought he was joking, but he never joked, so she got the point.
Natasha watched the Waitemata harbor become visible. The dark water glistened like molten silver. She heard a tour bus come to the top of the parking lot. The brakes squealed, and doors cranked open. A stream of tourists with cameras came walking around the trig point and down the track to where she was. She heard an older man’s voice directing a group of tourists to her tree and realized it was her father. He wore a tweed jacket and a trilby hat and looked more like an English squire than a Soviet diplomat.
She was surprised when a large Maori loomed over her from out of the crowd of middle-aged tourists and asked if she was the girl from the Kiwi last night. And did she have a package for him?
“Do you have the notebooks?” she asked. Among all the people with cameras was another large Maori at the edge of the lower crater facing in her direction. Tourists were walking around the summit, but Wiremu ignored them. Natasha scanned her immediate surroundings for any other possible threats.
Wiremu put his hand inside his leather jacket and pulled out three medium-sized, black, worn notebooks for Natasha to see. “The money?” he asked.
She reached into her black shoulder bag and he moved a step closer to her. She adjusted her hips and showed him the fat envelope. Her blue eyes bored into him.
“It’s all there?” he asked.
“See for yourself. I presume he’s your lookout?”
“One of them.” Wiremu grabbed the envelope with his left hand, staring at her without blinking. “It’s what you can’t see that you should be afraid of.”
Natasha looked at the crowd and frowned.
Wiremu peeked inside the envelope and thumbed through the three thick bundles. They were not New Zealand dollars. He glared at her, annoyed.
“American dollars,” she said. “We couldn’t get the Kiwi dollars. Besides, no one wants them. Much better for you, $25,000 U.S. currency. All hundred-dollar bills. Count them. And a better rate than you would get. Now, the notebooks?”
Wiremu handed her the three books and counted with both hands one stack of hundreds. He estimated what the other two contained.
Natasha flipped through the notebooks. They went into her leather bag and she kept her right hand inside. “Now walk away,” she said, “ and I never want to see you again.”
• • •
Wiremu retreated behind a group of photographers and watched her walk away. When she reached the first grass terrace she raised both hands in the air as if stretching. Wiremu looked around to try to see who she was signaling to and saw Raganovich standing right by the trig point. Wiremu turned to Rawiri and waved the all-clear. Rawiri repeated the sign to two other Maori who were out of sight of Wiremu and the Soviet.
“I think our next stop is to our Mr. Crispfeldt. We have an investment to make.” Wiremu showed Rawiri the open envelope of U.S. $100 notes and slid it inside his leather jacket as they made their way to Mount Eden Road. “It’s going to burn a hole in my pocket.”
Chapter Sixty-two
“I’m not sure what’s going to happen today. Can I see you again tonight?” Alexander was eating marmalade on toast and drinking coffee Mel had prepared.
“Yes, of course. I talked to Henry last night. He called me from Dunedin. I think he’s returning today but I’m not sure. He said he’s going to the States. If he stays here he can sleep in the spare room until he leaves. He’s not sharing my bed again.”
“Ouch! Harsh. I’d never leave the country if I was with you. Correction. I hope to be with you. I have no idea what is going on between us. All I know is I love being with you. And if I did anything to piss you off, I’d work damn hard to make things right again.” Alexander ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know how to say what I want to say.”
“I have to go. We’ll talk tonight. I’ll see you at the dojo at seven?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Alexander hiked to the summit parking lot. It was easier in daylight as he could see the track he had plunged down the night before. He checked the van’s doors and windows before slipping into the driver’s seat. For a moment he panick
ed, until he remembered he had left his camera bag at Mel’s.
The van wouldn’t start. The engine was cold. He tried the choke but thought he had flooded the carburetor. On his fifth try he managed to get the motor to turn over, and on the seventh it started. He let go of the hand brake and reversed out of the space. He kept the van in second as he descended the narrow one-way road. The engine whined as he shifted into third. He was dying to know if the painting had been recovered from the address he had given Catelin last night.
He picked up speed as he headed down the summit road and came to the roundabout. He began to brake but the van didn’t slow. The brake pedal hit the floor. He pumped the pedal but could feel no pressure, so he tried to jam the gear down to second. The cogs made a loud grating sound. Alexander remembered to double declutch to ease into second. He had enough time to look both ways on Mount Eden Road and saw no immediate oncoming traffic as he cut across. He accelerated, forgetting about his brakes and weaved between slower cars in the morning rush hour.
The van felt odd, pulling to the left. He kept having to steer to the right. He was lucky to make it through a series of green lights until he came to the Karangahape and Grafton Road intersection. In the middle lane he tried pumping the brakes and the van slowed, but not enough as he edged closer to the car in front of him. He yanked the hand brake and tried an emergency stop. The van skidded and almost side-swiped the car in front. He looked down and saw he was a couple of inches from the car’s bumper. Other drivers were honking their horns. He ignored them. When the light turned green he straightened out the van and continued, careful to keep in second gear.
Alexander did not want to pull over, he was so close to the gallery. He continued down to the Wellesley Street turn-off and eased into third gear. The engine was revving high, and a thumping noise was coming from his front tire. The traffic light turned red and he was going too fast to stop. He saw no cars directly in front of him in his turn lane, so he accelerated as he veered left. Oncoming cars screeched to a halt or swerved to avoid the white van as it came around the corner on three wheels, one of which was losing its grip. He could see the Auckland City Art Gallery coming up on his right at the corner of Kitchener Street as he tried to pump the foot brake and wrestle with the stiff steering wheel.
