by Robert Brown
That smile faltered as he thought about the Skype call to the halfway house. He’d sent Jan a couple of text messages and mailed the Spitfire model via FedEx that morning. Jan would get the model tomorrow at the latest. That should help improve his mood.
Yet Heinrich couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all going bad. With the time difference, Jan would have had his morning screen time that all the kids got. He’d have seen Heinrich’s messages. But there had been no response. Jan always responded. Maybe he’d gotten in trouble and lost his phone time? That had happened before. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like replying. Maybe he was already forgetting his father figure from across the sea.
Shit, it was all so uncertain. And Heinrich couldn’t just keep sending emails if they weren’t welcome. He couldn’t even promise to visit.
Damn it. The only thing he could do was push forward on this case and get it solved to Montaine’s liking.
He reviewed what he knew about Charles Montaine. The guy had gotten his start early, doing a stint in the Army as a military policeman. From there he had worked for a detective firm, earning a reputation for meticulous investigative work and a high rate of success. Soon he had risen to partner, then bought out the other partners. From there he had expanded, making his company the biggest detective agency on the East Coast. He had absorbed several smaller agencies, often by poaching their clients and giving the agencies offers they couldn’t afford to refuse. After a few years he had renamed his business the Executive International Security Corporation.
And it was an international corporation. It had branches in twelve American cities, Canada, and Mexico. Just that year, Montaine had opened offices in Australia and Japan. His company had become the largest detective agency in the Western world, perhaps the largest anywhere. Now it looked like he wanted to move into Europe.
While Montaine had a good reputation in the business for getting the job done, no one liked him much. His semi-hostile takeovers in the early days and the way he edged out the competition had left a bitter taste in many people’s mouths. Heinrich’s own detective agency had never been bothered because, as a shoestring, one-man operation, he had been beneath Montaine’s notice. Heinrich supposed he had shown up on the guy’s radar after the Nazi gold train job, and had probably been watched ever since. Retrieving that kidnapped girl from Amsterdam a few months ago had probably solidified his reputation. Heinrich had been applying for a job without even realizing it.
But did he want that job? Montaine had a reputation as a taskmaster, no doubt a leftover from his military days. Things had to be done his way, and he made it crystal clear that he – and no one else – was in charge.
Heinrich didn’t want to work for someone like that. For his entire professional career, he had worked for himself. Lots of detective agencies and corporate firms had tried to hire him. Hell, even City University wanted to hire him as a campus cop, but he had turned them all down. He didn’t want to kowtow to the petty tyrants or the daddy’s boys or the drunks or all the other losers who ended up running their own businesses. He valued his freedom. Besides, he knew he wasn’t the easiest guy to get along with. He had a short temper and a generally bad attitude. If people weren’t such assholes all the time, maybe he’d have a better worldview. However, stuck as he was with a world of losers, cons, poseurs, and freaks, he couldn’t change the way he treated the general population. Real people were thin on the ground, and Montaine wasn’t “real people.” He’d never help a kid in need or smoke cigars and drink Scotch with the guys while listening to scratchy, hundred-year-old recordings.
But what could he do? He had to take Montaine’s offer. It was the only way to help Jan. Would that offer even come through, though? Montaine had dangled the European job in front of Heinrich’s nose because he knew Heinrich would say yes. Once Heinrich cracked the case and gave Montaine what he wanted, who was to say that the corporate bastard would keep his end of the bargain? There were a hundred better candidates for a job like that. High-class suck-ups with people skills, or investigators who were already based in Europe and knew the territory.
Damn, was he even going to get to see Jan again?
Hell, yeah, Heinrich decided. He’d bust this case, impress the hell out of Montaine, and make him offer that job. Then Heinrich would bite the bullet and work under the guy while setting up his European operations. At least he’d be with Jan. At least he’d be doing something useful with his life.
Thalia murmured in her sleep and shifted her weight. Heinrich realized that he had unconsciously squared his shoulders, waking her up.
Her eyes fluttered open, then widened as she saw where her head was resting.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, shifting her head to rest on the seat.
“Don’t mention it. It’s my pleasure,” he said, but she had already fallen asleep.
By the time they landed in Athens, Heinrich was red-eyed and irritable. Between worrying about Jan and this case, he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. As they hit the tarmac, Thalia yawned. She stretched as if showing off her figure and then opened her eyes.
“We there already?” she asked.
“You got a full night’s sleep,” he grumbled.
“I always do on planes. How did you sleep?”
“Like a baby. Let’s go kill some antiquities thieves.”
“Let’s get a hotel first. Your credit card.”
Heinrich grinned. “Why not? We’re on expenses.”
“The Ministry of Antiquities is on a shoestring budget these days. I’ll show you someplace cheap.”
“Killjoy.”
They ended up at a spare, functional hotel just off Athens’ main square. As the taxi passed them on the road skirting the edge of the square, Heinrich saw a gathering of several hundred people. A number of banners proclaimed something about the unity of the Greek people. A long line of mostly elderly individuals stood in front of what looked like a food stall.
“Those are farmers who come in from the surrounding countryside,” Thalia explained. “They distribute food to anyone who needs it. They’ve been here every day since the crisis hit.”
“Looks like they’re helping mostly pensioners.”
Thalia nodded. “They were the hardest hit. The pensions were slashed and utilities went way up. A lot of these old people would be on the street if it wasn’t for these farmers.”
They checked into separate rooms and Heinrich connected his laptop to the Wi-Fi. Still no response from Jan.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
After a shower and a strong coffee, he knocked on Thalia’s door. She answered looking rested and beautiful. Despite all his stress, Heinrich felt a stirring of desire. That was cut off quickly when Thalia got down to business.
“I’ve spoken with the antiquities collector,” she told him. “His name is Kristian Lambros. We can meet him at his place in an hour.”
Ah well, he thought. I was going to suggest a walk around town, but getting this case solved is more important.
The collector lived in a rambling two-story stone house with a sweeping view of the Parthenon. The neighborhood was a zigzag of little lanes. To Heinrich, it appeared to be one of those historic neighborhoods that had gone to seed for a time and then been snapped up by real estate developers. The homes all looked newly refurbished. Whitewashed walls and red roof tiles shone in the Mediterranean sun. Heinrich noticed a lot of security cameras and spike-topped cast iron fences enclosing the verdant yards.
“Looks like the crisis hasn’t hit everyone,” he said.
“These people always seem immune,” Thalia grumbled.
A squat Eastern European maid with a kerchief around her head answered the door and greeted them in heavily accented Greek. Heinrich thought the accent sounded Polish so he took a chance and wished her good morning in that language.
The maid looked surprised. “Are you Polish?” she asked in her own language.
“Not exactly. I have … family there.”
“Com
e in! Would you like some coffee? Tea?” She seemed ecstatic. Heinrich figured being a foreigner and working a menial job for a local rich guy probably made for a lonely life.
And this guy sure was rich. They passed through a marble front hall lined with medieval Orthodox icons, the dark faces of Jesus and the saints seeming to float out at them from backgrounds of gold paint. The living room – bright from skylights and from a sliding glass door that led to a broad stretch of garden – was richly appointed with stylish Scandinavian furniture. Several Greek statues stood in various spots around the room, and along one wall was a long glass case with several shelves. Statuettes, dozens of coins, a helmet, and a sword were on display. All looked to be in good condition.
“This stuff looks as good as the stuff we saw in the Met,” Heinrich said as the maid bustled off to get her employer.
“And every one of them appears genuine,” Thalia said, peering through the glass. “Mr. Lambros has a good eye.”
“I thank you, Professor Georgiades.”
They turned and saw Kristian Lambros walking through a side door. He was younger than Heinrich had expected, perhaps in his early forties, and had the content, florid face of a rich man who enjoyed life. This was not a self-made man who had struggled and clawed his way into wealth, like Charles Montaine had. Heinrich figured that Lambros had inherited his wealth, although he did look intelligent enough to not dissipate it. Lambros looked out of shape, with thin arms and the beginnings of a belly, but he stood erect and confident, master of his little domain. Heinrich hated him on sight.
Lambros shook each of their hands with a professional yet cursory grip. Heinrich had the feeling that the grip would have been stronger and more sustained if he and Thalia had been fellow businessmen instead of the help.
Their host turned to the case.
“As you say, Professor Georgiades, these are all genuine, and they have all been cleared by the Ministry of Antiquities,” Lambros said in fluent English for Heinrich’s benefit. Heinrich decided not to reveal that he was learning Greek. Often people let things slip in their own language when they thought others couldn’t understand. That had helped him on more than one occasion.
The maid brought tea and coffee, smiled at Heinrich, and hurried off. They sat down.
“Would you prefer something stronger?” Lambros asked, moving to a wet bar at one side of the room. Heinrich glanced at his watch. It was 11:30 in the morning.
“No, thanks.”
Lambros gave the wet bar a mournful look, moved over to an easy chair, and took a cup of coffee.
“I have good news,” he announced. “I think I have made contact with this gang of thieves. Because I am a leading collector, many people come to me unsolicited. I’m known for some large purchases of the highest quality items in the past and everyone wants to do business with me.”
Wow, he’s an arrogant bastard, Heinrich thought. But he’s probably right. Some of this stuff looks like it’s worth a fortune.
Lambros went on. “Since I became aware of this violent criminal gang, I’ve been keeping a close eye on the stolen artifacts registry. Unfortunately, no one has offered me any stolen items. Word has gotten around that I never buy unprovenanced artifacts. However, a dealer I had never heard of approached me last month with some wonderful Byzantine mosaic fragments. As you must have noticed from my collection, I have an interest in all eras of our history. Because I am a faithful member of the Greek Orthodox Church, I am especially fond of Byzantine religious art.” Lambros paused to sip his coffee.
“The registration papers looked real enough, but something about the dealer was a bit off,” he continued. “He seemed to have only a superficial knowledge of the subject. He also tried to interest me in some Corinthian ware. Mr. Muller, you probably don’t know, but this is a distinctive type of pottery found in Classical times in the city-state of Corinth. No other city-state made it, so it’s easy to place geographically. This set off alarm bells in my head because I had heard there had been some illegal digging at Corinth.”
“You checked the papers for those too?” Heinrich asked.
“Yes, and they were all in order. If they were forged, they are excellent forgeries.”
“Isn’t there some sort of national database for this stuff?”
“There is,” Thalia said. “But they could have someone on the inside.”
“How’s their online security?”
Thalia and the businessman looked at each other, at a loss.
“That’s what I thought. I have a hacker who can look into that. What did you do about your suspicions, Mr. Lambros?”
“I contacted Professor Christodolou, God rest his soul. He got me in contact with the detective assigned to this case here in Athens. Adonis Stavros of the organized crime unit.”
“He’s actually named Adonis?” Heinrich said with a snort.
“It’s quite a common name here,” Thalia explained.
“I bet he’s a hunchback with a wart on his nose,” Heinrich said.
Thalia got a dreamy look on her face. “Oh no. I’ve met him. He lives up to the name.”
Great.
“He will be joining us shortly,” Lambros went on. “I was advised to show interest in the artifacts but to delay any purchases while the detective made some inquiries. He had reason to suspect that the dealer who contacted me is connected with this gang. The name the dealer gave me turned out to be false.”
“Sounds like a good lead,” Heinrich conceded. “So what does dear old Adonis suggest we do?”
The businessman smiled. “He suggested we waste no time. He wants to lay a trap.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
CHAPTER SIX
The doorbell chimed and the maid hurried to answer it. She let in one of the prettiest pretty boys Heinrich had ever seen. He had no doubt that this was Detective Adonis Whatshisname.
The man looked to be in his late twenties – quite young to be a full detective. He had a slim and athletic figure, curly black hair that fell down to his shoulders (was that regulation?), and the kind of darling face that women swooned over but that to Heinrich looked like the face of a fifteen-year-old boy who was just realizing that he was gay. Not that Heinrich had anything against gay guys; he just didn’t understand why women found them so attractive. At least he didn’t mince. Heinrich hated the mincing types. There was a gay guy named Otis at Heinrich’s boxing gym who threw a killer left hook. Otis did not mince.
Oh, and Adonis was a perfect dresser, as was everyone else in the room. Heinrich felt like a college kid in his t-shirt and jeans.
Heinrich cut off the rich guy to be the first to shake the hand of the real-life Adonis.
“I’m Heinrich Muller. I’ve been hired to help with this case.” He said this in perfect Greek and added, “I’m still learning your language, so go easy on me.”
Heinrich realized he had just revealed the fact that he spoke some Greek, though he had previously been hiding this information. His rush to impress and one-up this guy had overstepped his natural caution.
Adonis arched a perfect brow and replied in Greek, “You speak our language very well. Mr. Montaine told me you are a hyperpolyglot.”
Heinrich had to guess at the meaning of the last word. Luckily the word in English had a Greek origin so it came out almost the same.
“I speak German, Italian, French, Spanish, Latin, and ancient Greek fluently. Xenophon is awesome. I know a few hundred words and basic grammar in several more languages.”
“Including our own. We’ll have to get you fluent,” the detective said with a smile. The smile tightened. “So why are you here?”
Heinrich detected a delicate conversation approaching, so he switched to English. In his travels, he found it was rude to ask intelligent, educated people if they spoke English. They almost always did and took exception to being asked. Only Americans were mostly monolingual.
“I’m sure Mr. Montaine told you I had been assigned to the case.
I witnessed the murder of Professor Christodolou and I’m the only one who can identify the murderer.”
“Then you’ll be of some use,” Adonis replied. “Good to have you on my team.”
The four of them sat. The conversation continued in English. Heinrich wasn’t offended. This was work and everything had to be clear to everyone involved. What did annoy him was the way Thalia stared at the detective like some schoolgirl who had come face to face with her favorite boy band.
“So here’s the plan,” the detective said. “It’s quite straightforward. Mr. Lambros has agreed to visit their storehouse this evening. He’ll be wired, and I’ll be waiting with two municipal police officers. Mr. Lambros has received photos of several wanted criminals whom we suspect to be in the gang. If any of them show their faces, he’ll give us a code phrase. He’ll say, ‘This one is a masterpiece.’ Then he’ll proceed as normal, buy something to avoid suspicion, and get out. As soon as he’s safely away, we’ll pounce.”
“What if no one he recognizes shows up?” Heinrich asked.
“He’ll buy some of the Corinthian pieces and we’ll try to trace them.”
“But if they stole them out of the ground, you can’t.”
“We can check the paperwork and see if the database has been tampered with. It’s not a sure thing, but it’s a lead.”
“None of this sounds like a sure thing,” Heinrich grumbled.
The detective gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s the best we have under the circumstances. The gang rarely sells in Greece. It’s safer to get the material out of the country first. The fact that they have approached our friend here shows they are desperate for some quick cash. We’re not sure why.”
“Assuming this is even the right gang.”
Adonis was unable to hide his irritation. “My gut instinct tells me it is. I’ve spent a lot of time in police work and I’ve learned to trust my gut.”
Buddy, I was doing detective work when you were still in high school, Heinrich thought. Out loud he said, “Well, I guess there’s no choice but to go for it. Mr. Lambros, may I see those photos?”
