by Tom Haase
“You expect me to believe that a priest stole it?”
“Yes. That was his mission and why he was helping us. His objective was to recover the bible for the Vatican. He took it that last night in Washington,” Bridget paused and waited for this to sink in.
“I don’t care. You are the one who cashed my check and stole the money as far as I’m concerned. You’ll be the one to pay.”
He walked toward her, pulled an automatic pistol from a shoulder holster, and pointed it at her head.
“Now it’s your time to die.”
6
Pella, Greece
Gerti attempted to roll over in order to see Scott. She remembered the screams he let out as the men pounced on him. She heard the SUV’s roar away with the abducted Bridget. A rock jarred her spine when she did roll over. Damn that hurt.
She couldn’t talk with her mouth taped over and now lay on her hands trapped under the small of her back. She rolled herself over to get closer to Scott, her black hair now totally filled with dust and dirt. She could hear him breathing. At least he lived, but now she must get free. A table with the tools Bridget used for the dig rested about thirty feet from her. She attempted to get up and hop, but her initial efforts to accomplish standing only resulted in slamming back to the ground. With a supreme effort, she started rolling like tumbleweed in spite of the small stones almost piercing her front and backsides, finally reaching the table.
With her hands around a leg of the table, she shimmied up to a standing position. She rested. On the table, she saw a hammer, a chisel, some small brushes, and a small excavation knife. The knife became her target. She scooted over to its location on the tabletop and bent backwards to grasp it. Sweat poured down her forehead and now stung her eyes, then ran onto her ample breasts. Exhausted, she stopped for a minute.
With the knife in her hands, she maneuvered it to a position where she could cut the plastic binds. It took her a good twenty minutes to cut them using the minute strokes she applied with her hands behind her back. Finally, the plastic snapped. She ripped the tape off her mouth and then cut the ties on her legs. Once freed from the bindings, she rushed over to the supine Scott.
“Scott. Come on, wake up,” she gently slapped him on the cheek. He didn’t move. She ran back to the table to recover the cell phone she left there on her arrival from the bakery. Not there. She returned to Scott and searched his shirt pockets and pants for his cell, also missing. The attackers must have taken them. She looked at the single vehicle left after the help and the tough-talking guard absconded. Two of the tires on it were flat.
She started to drag Scott toward the vehicle. At least it could run on two tires until she found help. After she dragged him a few feet, Scott started to move and moan. She released him.
“Scott, are you okay?” What a dumb question, she thought.
He moaned again. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He looked at her with a weird expression.
“Sorry,” she said and remembered she needed to cut him free and remove the tape. In all her rush to get him to a doctor or some type of help, she hadn’t removed them. She rapidly cut him free and ripped off the tape.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. Then using both of her hands she pulled him up. He wobbled a little and leaned against her shoulder.
“Who the hell were they? Where’s Bridget?” Scott asked.
“They took Bridget. Everybody is gone but us, and we have a car with only two tires. Come on, let me get the first aid kit from the car and treat your bloody nose. Anything else hurt bad?” Gerti asked.
“No, but my right side feels like I might have some bruised ribs from the kicks those bastards gave me.”
Gerti attended to his injuries in the car. While doing this, she reflected on the events of the morning. Somehow the attackers knew exactly where they were and staged the event to get Bridget and no one else. She said this out loud to Scott as she worked to clean the blood from his face.
“I noticed they didn’t rough you up in any manner. Why?” he asked.
“I think I have an answer. It’s not one you want to hear.”
“Go on, out with it.”
“I wasn’t hurt in any way. I conclude my father gave those orders. He’s behind this,” she said. She put away the medical kit and looked at her handiwork. “You look much better.”
“So what does that mean? Tell a befuddled me after I had my brain rattled. Explain,” he said, as he looked into her eyes.
“You said you didn’t know where Bridget was after she delivered the bible to my father. She left the next day without telling you where she headed. I believed you, and I think father did too. He blames Bridget for the whole thing. I hate to say this, but I know my father. He can’t let an injustice done to him go unpunished even after your sister saved his life.”
“You think he plans to kill Bridget?” Scott almost shouted this.
“I’m afraid that’s not out of the question. I hate to say it, but you may never see your sister again and there’ll be no connection to my father for you to investigate or speculate about.”
“We have to do something.”
“I’m thinking about how he found us. Perhaps, after she left he somehow put a tracker in your phone or in mine. Both our phones are missing. I only texted him yesterday and said we’re vacationing in the Mediterranean. I didn’t tell him we’re in Greece.”
“Where would he take her?”
“I have no idea.” Gerti stared out the window. “Wait, just wait a minute. Maybe I do. Think about it. He can’t drag her through an airport, even a private airport operations building. Too many people and too many questions in a foreign country. As a kid, I remember my father brought us to Athens for holidays in the early spring. He owned a house in Kaffisia. It’s a wealthy suburb of Athens. Yes, I remember it now. I know where it is.”
“Do you think he’ll take her there?” asked Scott.
Without another word, she put the vehicle in drive and floored the accelerator. She wanted to get to the main road as quick as possible — the tires and their rims be damned. From the highway they could get a ride to Thessaloniki and then a plane.
“We have to get to Athens fast. That is our best hope to save your sister.”
7
Savannah, Georgia
The sun eased over the western horizon as Mike crossed the Talmadge Bridge and arrived in downtown Savannah. He didn’t take notice of the beautiful so-called Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks on the tree-lined center sections of the city streets. Nor did he recognize the detailed city planning by the founder coming up on three hundred years ago. He had become distracted when trying to figure out what went wrong on the weapons exchange. After the long drive, he felt he had to make changes in the way he conducted his business. He turned right on Abercorn Street and at Lafayette Square he drove his BMW Z7 into the underground parking spot in his rented condo.
After the firefight at the farmhouse, he stopped on the road about a mile away. The homegrown terrorist already fled, but the men who sprung the ambush must still be there and so also his precious icon remained in the building, an object that he could never abandon. He chastised himself for endangering it and swore to change his care of it in the future. After a half hour, another vehicle sped past him going to the farmhouse and in a few minutes returned with another person in the car. He took this opportunity to go back to the scene and recover his icon with the place deserted. He thanked the Almighty his prize remained where he left it and he departed with it once again in his possession.
It took exactly eight hours to drive from Roanoke to Savannah. He delayed his departure until after he heard the local news about the shoot-out. It appeared that most of the terrorists were killed. Once Ashil handed him the money for the weapons they were technically no longer his and he made sure the money was in his rented Hummer as soon as the shooting started. After returning the rental to the airport, he recovered his BMW from the long-term parking and left Roan
oke at noon.
Mike went up to his third-story apartment in the condo building and headed straight to his small bar. He immediately poured a double vodka and quickly downed the libation. He poured another. The lights of the city were coming on and the lamppost outside the building emitted its muted rays through the trees below. He looked out the window and saw the towers of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist not a hundred yards away.
Things had gone well until that FBI agent shouted from the hillside. The entire operation comprised of a million-dollar windfall. He now possessed six years experience in this business and never encountered any major problems before. Someone assuredly had talked.
He looked at the suitcase with half a million dollars in it. It was the second half of his money. They delivered the first before the arms were put on the truck for delivery at the drop-off point near Roanoke. His system had always been foolproof.
He opened the suitcase and took out his icon and placed it in its special place on his fireplace mantel and secured the glass case covering it. He said a small prayer of thanks for getting out of the ambush alive and blessed himself in the Orthodox manner.
The cell phone rang. This call came on the phone he only used with the buyers of his arms. No one else knew the number. He’d learned long ago to keep a separate phone for this business and not to mix anything to do with the arms sales on his other cell.
“You owe us some weapons,” came the familiar voice of Ashil who delivered the money to him at the farmhouse.
“I believe not. You handed me the money, which I accepted and you took possession of the weapons. Remember, you started to load your weapons on your truck. They were yours at that time, not mine. The fact you lost them after that is your responsibility.” He determined to make sure the blame wasn’t his.
“Mr. Alexandro, I do not think you want to make an enemy of us. Do you hear me?”
“Are you threatening me? I acted in good faith with you on every one of these transactions. You know I control the entire East Coast. If you want weapons, you have to go through me. Somebody talked and since I’m the only person on my team, it wasn’t me. Therefore, one of your minions betrayed you.”
“I’ll concede you that point. We’re looking into it as we speak. We do need the weapons. You have been our only source and a good one. We wish to continue with that arrangement. I regret you think I threatened you. Please accept my apology.”
The bastard has no one else who can deliver the goods, thought Mike. If he threatened him again, it would be war with these jihadists, actually homegrown terrorists, and he held the means to inflict great damage on their organization. He now knew almost every location and every leader in the movement east of the Mississippi.
Mike moved to Savannah because of the port facilities, the third largest port on the East Coast. The paramount reason for this location centered on the road and rail networks that served the port of Savannah. Within a few minutes of unloading from a ship and clearing customs, the freight could be on the interstate system going north, south, or west with no inner city traffic to contend with, unlike the other ports on the east coast.
Over the past five years, Mike built up an intricate system for bringing in the weapons from Russia. He perfected the custom clearance procedures where there existed virtually no chance a container would be opened and if it were to be only a cursory inspection they would find crates of imported Russian dolls. The agents had never unloaded the container to see all the crates, thus missing the weapons. He ran a legitimate cover operation front with his import/export business.
“Due to your loss and our continued friendship and business ventures, I believe I can offer a substantial discount on your next order. But it is good for only one order and you must assure me the traitor is no longer with you.”
“Most kind. We’ll be in touch. Please arrange for a replacement of the exact shipment that we recently lost.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.” Mike smiled and he hung up the phone. Another three quarter of a million just went into his pocket.
Cha-ching!
* * *
Just before he fell sleep, the phone rang.
"Hello, Michael Alexander Alexandrovitch. I hear you had a slight difficulty recently."
“Damn, Uncle Dmitri, word sure travels fast. Remember, no one in this country knows me by that name. No record exists here connecting me with that name. Please don’t use it over the phone.” In America, he only used the name Mike Alexandro. Everyone knew him by one name and his polished American accent generally disguised his Russian birth to all but a trained ear.
“Okay, but your other name sounds false to me,” Dmitri said.
“I need a replacement shipment and a new security man. When can you have them to me?" Mike asked. His bearded security man died at the farmhouse.
"They'll be on the way by the end of the week to arrive in a few weeks. Also, I’ll send you a new security man. Please try to keep this one alive. I'll confirm to you the time. Can you meet me at my resort house? Say, this weekend?”
Mike didn’t want to go to Vancouver but this didn’t come as a suggestion from his uncle. The actual location of the meeting place was in Squamish, B.C. and Mike would make the travel arrangements in the morning
“Of course,” he replied.
“Good night, dear nephew," Dmitri said and the line went dead.
"More guns, more money," Mike said and then rolled over and went to sleep.
8
Athens, Greece
"Stop," Gerti shouted as she ran into the room.
Her father stared at her in utter amazement at the sight of his daughter. "How’d you get here?"
"Don't hurt her. She didn't double-cross you,” Gerti said emphasizing each word. “I know she didn’t."
Mr. Schultz slowly lowered the gun away from Bridget’s head. "I think she did."
Scott rushed over to his sister and untied her.
"Stop that," Schultz ordered. He pointed the gun at Scott.
Gerti swiftly moved between her father and Scott. She put her hands on her hips and defiantly glared at him. She waited, not saying a word. It rested with him now to make the first gesture.
"Damn it Gertrude, she has to pay for stealing the money from us. I know I owed her something for saving my life, but I paid her back by getting into a business deal with her for five million dollars. That arrangement hinged on her giving me an original Bible of Constantine. She, however, deceived me with a fake," Schultz said.
"Father,” Gerti said, “Bridget didn't even know about that until we arrived here in Greece. We informed her the bible she gave you wasn’t the original. Your men arrived and whisked her away before we had any time to work out a plan of how to get this information to you. I can tell you she received an absolute shock when I told her what happened."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Bridget spoke in a soft tone.
“Father, she tried to figure out some way to make this right once we told her. I believe she thinks she might be onto a major find in Pella. She said to me yesterday she wanted to do whatever it took to get the money back to you and make this right."
"Mr. Shultz, I have used quite a bit of the money in my exploration of Pella. I may be onto something there. It’s focused on the mosaic of the Amazon Battle. I think there might be more to that mosaic than previously thought. We’ll continue the effort to discover something as we previously agreed when I turned over the bible. We’ll find something, if you’ll let us," Bridget said.
"She's telling the truth," Scott added.
Schultz put the gun back in his holster. He walked over and sat down next to his daughter.
She remained silent and he noticed she used a waving hand signal to tell the others to do the same. Gerti obviously knew her father possessed millions of dollars from his trading and selling of artifacts to museums all over the world. But his real money, the multi-millions in foreign accounts, came from the marketing, laundering, and surreptitious distr
ibution of stolen or purloined rare artifacts.
He watched as Bridget stood up. Scott gave her a hug and they moved over and stood beside Gerti.
"I can see my daughter and her friends are all on the same page. I’m still not pleased. Since you admit that you owe me the money and there was no deception on your part, I’ll give you one week to get the money back to me."
"One week?" Gerti, Scott and Bridget said in disbelief at the same time.
"Two months at least," Bridget insisted. "I can't get it done in one week."
"That’s not my problem. It's yours." Schultz took a sip of his coffee.
"Father, I’ll go with them. I'll look out for our investment since it is my money, too. Don't send anyone after them, as I’ll be there and report to you on our progress. Since I'm co-owner of the company, I’ll extend their time frame based on what I observe. Is that satisfactory?" Gerti asked.
"Hell, no." Shultz shook his head. Then he looked down and mumbled, "Dammit, I know when I'm licked."
Gerti gave a quick smile to Bridget and Scott before she ran over and embraced her father. "You're doing the right thing. It's what's best for our company now and in the future."
"You’ve secured a reprieve for them, not a pardon,” Schultz said. He looked at his daughter with admiration. Her jet-black hair, the light olive-toned skin, and her beautifully sculpted body always reminded him of his Egyptian wife, her mother. He had guided Gertrude through the proper formative girls' schools and paid to get her into Yale to obtain her physics degree and later a masters in art and antiquities. Her friends called her Gerti. She ran the business as his right arm, knew almost all the secrets, and she resided in his penthouse.
