The Complete Donavan Adventure Series

by Tom Haase

  Gerti repeatedly shook her head. “No way. It’s got too many moving parts. I learned from my father. K-I-S-S. Keep it simple, stupid.”

  Scott looked at her with deep respect, sensing her toughness. Then he placed a call to Matt, as Gerti declined to look at him.

  “What’s new?” Matt asked on answering.

  “Nothing here. Do you have an art dealer yet?”

  “Yes, but I need you now,” Matt said.

  “No way. I’m staying where I am until tomorrow.”

  “You’ll miss the excitement.”

  “What excitement?”

  “Are you coming?” Matt asked.

  “Not this time. Tell me about it when you’re done. I’ve got a marriage to work on tonight,” Scott said and hung up.

  32

  Matt Visits SCAD

  Matt arrived at the administration building of the Savannah College of Art and Design twenty minutes after noon. Upon presenting his credentials, he learned that Tasha Alexandrovitch had an exam ending in a half hour. Also, the receptionist informed him that he arrived on the last day before the summer break.

  This presented Matt with a new problem. If the girl wasn’t enrolled in school, she could go anywhere. That would not be a good thing from his perspective. He didn’t want her going to Russia. His nascent plan required her presence here in the US.

  He arrived at the hall where the girl was currently taking her exam and waited outside. Everything was in English at SCAD, and perhaps that explained the use of the language in the inscription on the back of the photo to her father. The hot weather made him want to remove his jacket, but his holster would be visible. So he suffered the heat and passed the time observing other students as they walked out of the building. Tasha appeared five minutes later.

  “Excuse me. Are you Tasha Alexandrovitch?”

  She stared at him with beautiful blue eyes, and he noticed she had a fully developed woman’s body. After a few seconds, she seemed to make up her mind and nodded her head. “Who are you?”

  “Would you walk with me a minute to get away from the entrance of this building? I’ll show you my identification. But for now, I am a special agent with the FBI.”

  She stopped her initial steps to accompany him. “What have I done?”

  “Let me assure you, I’m here to ask for your help.” Matt’s mind raced. He was making it up as he went along. “Please, let’s go somewhere to talk.”

  They set off toward a coffee shop Matt had seen before on his way to the college, and after half a block, she stopped. “Let me see your ID.”

  He presented his creds, along with a business card, and let her examine them. “If you have any doubts, here’s the number of the office in Washington. Feel free to call and verify my identity.”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a cell. After a short conversation with Liz, she smiled at him. “You seem to be who you say you are. What is it you want from me?”

  Her English was flawless—unaccented and clear. Matt veered off the sidewalk to enter one of the squares that adorned the downtown historic district of Savannah. He guided her to a bench situated on Ellis Square in the City Market area. They found an unoccupied bench and sat.

  “We’re having a major problem with certain Russian warlords—”

  “I don’t know anyone like that,” she injected.

  “I’m not accusing you of that. The assistance I require is with understanding the intercepts we have on their illegal activity.”

  “I would suggest you get my father to help you. He’s a businessman in Russia and would be in a better position to assist than I am.”

  “Is that what your father does? What business is he in?”

  “He has a large import-export firm. I don’t know a lot about it, as he has never included my mother or me in any of his dealings. My mother died two years ago while I was here in school.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Matt said. This was an unexpected turn of events. The girl had no notion of the enterprises her father ran, and trying to get at the internal workings of the arms trade through her would undoubtedly prove useless.

  “Again, I’m willing to help, but I learned one thing from my father—what’s in it for me?”

  Matt looked at her in appreciation of the intelligence he saw. “What do you want?”

  “I want to stay in this country and pursue my art. Once my student visa expires, I must go back to Russia. I dearly want to remain here and work for some time before I have to return home.”

  “I know that you’re out of classes for this year, so let me make you an offer. We found your application to work for a government agency online this summer. I want to offer you summer employment. Come and work with us. We’ve collected large amount of data on the people we’re observing, and we would like you to help us. There’s just one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You will make no contact with anyone in Russia, or with anyone you know here in the US that has any Russian connections. We can’t afford any inadvertent leak of anything we are working on. You will tell no one about the job you’ll be doing. We have a house in Virginia that you’ll use, and the work will be carried out there in secret with the assistance of some of our people.”

  “Not even my father?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Depends on what I get. Besides, sometimes I don’t talk to him for months on end. But don’t you have other Russian experts who can do this?”

  “We do, but this is a special project—it’s like an off-book program. That’s the reason for this secrecy. It’s scheduled to be over in early September and then you can return to your studies.” Matt could sense that she was waiting for him to make her an offer.

  “Give me a minute to talk to someone.” He got up and walked a short distance and called Liz. The conversation lasted a short time.

  “For your help and for your agreement to the conditions, I’ll ensure you that you will obtain a permanent resident visa.”

  “You’re shitting me. You can do that?”

  “I give you my word and the word of the FBI. Do you agree?”

  “When do I start?”

  * * *

  “Higgins, what the hell are you doing?” Liz queried when Matt redialed her.

  “I need to get her on board. She might be of great value in getting Dmitri out of Russia. She doesn’t know about his crimes, but from the little we know, he must love the girl. Besides, we’ve been looking for a Russian specialist. Now we got one.”

  “So you essentially put her in protective custody to keep her away from her father?”

  “Sort of,” Matt said.

  “Sort of, my butt. You metaphorically kidnapped her.”

  “Well, maybe, if you want to look at it that way.”

  The director opened her door and stuck his head in. “I’m off for my trip. Keep Matt under control this time. Did you tell him yet?”

  “No.”

  “When?”

  “Much later. I don’t want him distracted.”

  “Little harsh.” He shut the door.

  33

  Art Auction

  Matt occupied a seat in the rear of the room on the second floor of the Sotheby’s office. He had arrived early and observed with great interest the men and women entering the room. The majority appeared to be businesspeople arriving from their downtown offices after the workday. He didn’t notice anyone who attracted his particular attention or raised any concerns as he scanned each person who came into the room.

  Liz arrived a few minutes before seven, the scheduled start time. He spoke into his mike. “See you, hear me?”

  She nodded and walked forward to a seat in the center of a row halfway back, a placard with the number 33 gripped in her right hand. Matt assumed she had completed the registration and provided the identity check required for a bidder in order to obtain her paddle for bidding.

  About a half hour into the auction, the painting they wanted
appeared on the platform. He stood up in the back of the room. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Liz nodded without answering.

  The auctioneer did his usual and initiated the bidding at two hundred thousand. Liz immediately held up her sign. Others started to raise the bid. Matt tried to move closer to Liz, but people had filled the side aisles when all the seats were taken.

  This back-and-forth haggling went on for a few minutes as the auctioneer pushed and cajoled the price higher. Liz continued to bid until there seemed to be only one other person bidding for the prize, and he outbid her. The man sat almost directly behind Liz’s seat. Matt heard the auctioneer blare out the next price increase, but Liz didn’t respond to this higher amount. She didn’t raise her paddle. Matt strained to see her, waiting in vain for her to act.

  Nothing. No placard rose.

  The auctioneer called the high price of four hundred fifty thousand. He repeated it three times and then sold the painting to the man sitting behind Liz.

  “Liz, why didn’t you bid?” He saw no movement and received no reply over their comms.

  Matt saw the man stand and go to the back to pay. He hurried to Liz’s location.

  He plowed his way through the crowd occupying the side aisle and, with difficulty, approached the row where Liz sat in the center. She didn’t look at him. In fact, she didn’t move. He’d caused a commotion from the seated patrons as he pushed his way down the row of seats toward her. When he reached her chair, she didn’t stir; no reaction to his approach.

  Matt cupped her face. Her eyes didn’t focus on him. He tried to get her to stand up, but she didn’t attempt to help him. He put his hand on her neck and felt a strong pulse, but she didn’t respond to his pleas to open her eyes. Panic set in as he pulled her up off the chair. He heard the click of something hitting the floor. Looking down, he saw a hypodermic needle.

  Gently, he lowered her back to the chair.

  He looked around for the man who’d sat behind Liz. At the back of the room, he spotted him heading toward the cashier’s cage. He needed to get that man.

  Matt tried to run after him, leaving Liz behind, but the chairs and people around him now impeded his pursuit. Liz slowly toppled to the floor without Matt’s help in staying upright. Someone near her shouted, “Murderer!” on seeing Liz dropping over as Matt scurried after his target. The room turned into some kind of induced pandemonium by the shouts of the nearby people.

  The way to the cashier proved to be packed with obstacles as the people in the back of the room headed toward the window where he could pick up his painting or leave instructions for its delivery. As Matt shoved his way toward the window, he saw the man heading toward the exit, having already paid for the painting.

  “Stop that man,” he shouted, pushing people out of his way. As he was about to get his hands on the object of his pursuit, a strong arm spun him around and put him in a body lock.

  “Stand still, I’m detaining you until the police arrive.”

  With great effort, Matt rotated to face the security guard in a light blue shirt with a badge.

  “You were assaulting people and two people tumbled to the ground because of your pushing. We’ll wait for the cops.”

  “I am a cop. FBI. I’m chasing a criminal who is now getting away. Let me get my creds out.” He could feel the man release him from his grip. He reached into his pocket and produced his creds for the security man.

  “Sorry, man. What can I do to help?”

  As he looked around, Matt noticed the purchaser of the painting now attempting to go through the exit. The man hurried at a medium pace and carried a large black bag over his shoulder, which Matt presumed contained the object he sought. The winner hadn’t waited for the auction house to crate it, but must have insisted that as he owned it he could take it immediately.

  After the security man released him and backed off, Matt swiftly moved away as if he had important business elsewhere.

  Matt careened his way down the steps, to the consternation of the people he roughly pushed out of his way. Reaching the main floor, he headed for the front exit. After rushing through the door, he scanned the area. He saw the man with the case attempting to reach a limo that approached him. The car came at a fast pace and slammed on the brakes close to the man. The bidder must have called for the ride as soon as he’d secured the painting in his possession. Matt raced to within fifty feet and shouted, “Freeze, FBI. Don’t move.”

  The man stopped, but he didn’t freeze.

  The painting slammed to the ground. This served as a brief distraction to Matt, but he recovered in time to see the man twirling toward him. The man’s left hand came out from behind his suit coat, and the gun appeared with a speed that surprised Matt.

  Art dealers, my butt, he thought as he dove forward. The first bullet impacted the car directly behind where he stood. Matt’s weapon appeared in his right hand on the way to the ground. He landed, with his left shoulder impacting first. He rolled, acquired the target, and fired. The round went wide and the man returned fire.

  Damn, this is bad. He needed to get off his next shot first. He used his training and fired without taking a sight picture on the target. He pulled the trigger a second time. His bullet hit the man, who careened against the limo and then tumbled to the ground near the painting.

  Matt took a few seconds to regain his strength. He slowly pushed himself to his knees. Standing erect, he heard a car door open. Over the top of the limo, he could see the head of a man. Then he saw the weapon aimed at him. Being completely exposed with nowhere to hide, Matt knew his number was up. He could try to hit the small bull’s-eye of the attacker’s head presented over the roof of the car, but the odds were against him. The man simply needed to pull the trigger. Matt closed his eyes and brought up a mental picture of Bridget. He wanted his last thoughts to be of the woman he loved.

  Two shots rang out and Matt waited for the pain as he knelt down. He waited. Nothing.

  “Higgins, are you going to kneel there all night?” The voice of an angel—Liz’s voice—now reached his brain.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  He got to his feet and looked around. He felt alive and uninjured. A quick examination of his body proved it. He holstered his weapon. The painting lay beside the man he killed, and he retrieved it.

  “Come around here,” Liz said.

  He rounded the back of the limo, where he saw the prone man who had had him dead to rights. He approached and bent down to turn the man over.

  “What took you so long?” He smiled at Liz. “How did you get here?”

  “That drug wore off, and all the shouting and pushing helped me recover. It must have only been to keep me quiet for a few minutes to silence my bid.”

  Matt and Liz looked down at the dead man.

  “Holy shit,” they both exclaimed on seeing his face.

  34

  Libby Confronted

  An hour after the shooting outside the auction house, they arrived at Libby’s apartment in the District of Columbia. She answered the door after taking a look through the peephole. In her pajamas, she appeared to be ready to go to bed.

  “Come in. What brings the two of you here?” She invited them in with a hand gesture. “Please excuse my appearance. I wouldn’t normally have opened the door this late, but I saw it was you. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. We have a few questions.” Matt moved in very close to her. “We noticed the other day that you went to lunch with a man.”

  “Yes, Victor, but he’s not here now. He went out of town on business tonight.”

  “Does he live here?” Liz asked.

  “Some of the time.” She blushed. “Why all the questions?”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute, but right now I need you to tell me if you ever discussed with him what you created for Liz to act as an art dealer.”

  Libby looked away and down. “Not really.” She rubbed her hands together rapidly.

  “What does th
at mean?” Liz asked.

  “The other night over drinks, I mentioned something about creating an art ID for an agent to buy a painting. I didn’t give any names. Only small talk. You know.”

  “Did you happen to mention the date of the auction Liz told you about? The one you used to help craft the background for her?”

  “I might have,” she answered in a plaintive voice. Tears started to roll down her cheeks. “What have I done? Tell me. What is this all about?”

  They informed her that Victor, who had posed as a limo driver, had attempted to kill them a short time ago. They had run his fingerprints and had confirmed his criminal past and his background as a member of the Russian mafia.

  Libby looked as if she might faint. Her shock at the news appeared genuine.

  The next day, after finding out from Libby the location of Victor’s apartment, which wasn’t the one listed on his driver’s license, the FBI secured his computer. The recovered emails clearly showed Victor to be the one who had informed the known Russian arms dealer about the FBI’s involvement in the sting operation at the auction.

  Matt believed that somehow, through some Russian mafia connections, the word had gotten to Dmitri. Matt logically concluded that Dmitri still wanted the painting in spite of the warning, or possibly to test the validity of the information. Consequently, he remained willing to sacrifice some minions to check out the veracity of the source. Victor, someone he might not even have known, had paid with his life. All Libby’s clearances were suspended pending final disposition of her case by the Office of Professional Responsibility.

  35

  Karim in Business

  Matt sat in Liz’s office, hanging his head. He didn’t want to think of the future right then. Their plan to utilize the painting had now been relegated to the trash can. Nothing ever appeared to turn in his favor. He was no closer to getting Dmitri now than before they had gone to St. Petersburg. Nothing he did seemed to work. The art would have been the easy way; now he contemplated the hard way.