The Romanov Ransom

24

The woman, Remi noticed as she weaved her way through the tourists and shoppers admiring the various amber knickknacks, had questionable taste. She tried on a hideous necklace interspersed with plastic gold beads, then a pair of dangling earrings. As she held them to her ears, she checked herself in a handheld amber mirror, undoubtedly searching for Sam and Remi in the reflection.

Sam caught up with Sergei to let him know that they’d meet him at the car. Remi swept past the couple, never giving any indication that she noticed them at all, keeping close to the crowd for safety. She stopped to admire an amber elephant figurine about two inches high. “How much?” she asked the vendor.

“For you, only twenty-five hundred rubles. Genuine Baltic amber. The finest anywhere.”

Whether it was the finest was debatable. It was, however, charming, and she turned it over in her hands, admiring the way the light caught in the inclusions. “Two thousand,” she offered as Sam joined her.

“Twenty-two.” He gave a firm nod.

A little over thirty dollars. Very reasonable. “Twenty-two it is. Sam?”

He took out his wallet and paid the man, who wrapped the elephant in tissue and put it in a small cloth bag, handing it to Remi.

“Spasibo,” she said.

He gave a broad smile in return. “You’re very welcome.”

Remi tucked the bag into her purse as Sam led her back toward the park. “And where are our new friends?” she asked.

“Right behind us.”

She again linked her arm through Sam’s, eyeing the crowd, breathing in the scent of freshly mown grass, as they walked. Other than the people following them, everything seemed normal. Children ran past, laughing as parents called after them to wait. Several teenage girls giggled at a nearby booth as they tried on amber necklaces. Up ahead, armed police officers strolled near the park, keeping a watchful eye on everything around them. That, she realized, was one of the things Sam would be watching for. Less likely for anything serious to happen in an area like this — especially if the pair following them was armed. “Do we have a plan?”

“I’m thinking we go with the up close and personal, didn’t know you were here approach.”

“Like the time in Mykonos?” she clarified since they’d been in a number of scrapes together.

“Exactly,” he said as they strolled along. “Now.”

They turned, saw the man and woman about ten feet away, both suddenly very interested in the items at the booth. The woman placed her purse down on the shelf beside her as Sam and Remi quickly closed the distance between them. When they were nearly on top of the couple, Remi threw up her hands in surprise, stepping between the woman and the booth. “You’re right, Sam. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.” Remi put one hand on the woman’s arm, drawing her attention, while reaching behind her to scoop up her purse. “What on earth are you two doing here?”

Sam moved in, putting his arm around the man’s shoulders. “How are you?” he asked as he and Remi walked alongside, sweeping them in the direction of the two armed police officers. “So, lunch? Dinner? What do you say?”

The pair tried to distance themselves, but Sam and Remi stepped closer. The woman looked around, suddenly worried, as the man said, “We — we don’t know you.”

“Sure you do. Sam Fargo. My wife, Remi. And you are?”

The man hesitated, then said, “Ivan Ivanov.”

“Ivan Ivanov?” Sam stepped back to open a wallet, reading the ID. “I would’ve guessed something like… Ilya Aristov.”

“That’s mine!” He tried to take back his wallet.

“So you’re not Ivan Ivanov?”

The woman turned toward the booth in a panic. “My purse!”

Remi held it up. “You really have to be careful in places like this,” she said, opening the bag, seeing a small handgun next to a wallet. “Leaving it right where anyone could grab it. So careless.”

The woman reached for the bag.

Remi took a quick step back, gripping the weapon, careful to keep it hidden as she aimed it at the couple. “I’d hate to blow a hole through the bottom of a Louis Vuitton. Wait. It’s a knockoff. No worries.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” the woman said.

“Right,” Sam said. “And yet, here you are. Exactly why are you following us?”

The man’s glance strayed toward the police officer, then back at Sam. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Other than his slight Russian accent, his English was impeccable. “As your wife said, you have us mistaken for someone else.”

“Could be,” Sam said, stepping close to Ilya, expertly removing the man’s gun before he even realized what had happened. “Follow us again? We won’t be this nice.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Shoot us?”

“Remi, see if those nice officers are busy.”

“Politsiya!” Remi called out as the man and woman bolted in the opposite direction. “Hmm. You’d think they’d at least accept our lunch invitation.”

“Both names are aliases,” Selma announced later that afternoon. “Their IDs are professional fakes.”

“Who are they?” Sam asked. He’d taken a photo of their IDs before Remi turned over everything to the two officers, reporting their suspicious behavior in a mixture of English and broken Russian. The police declared it a robbery attempt, something Sam and Remi highly doubted.

“According to the information I was able to find,” Selma replied, “your would-be robbers are associated with a Russian crime family run by Tatiana Petrov, who took it over from her father after he was murdered by a rival crime family.”

“What are they known for?” Sam asked.

“According to the newspaper articles I was able to find, drug trafficking, sex trade, the usual.”

“Even I’ve heard of the Petrovs,” Sergei said. “Very bad. I recommend you leave Kaliningrad. They’re worse than your American Mafia.”

“Why us?” Remi asked.

“Because of Durin,” Sam replied. “They have to be part of the group who attacked us at his apartment. It definitely confirms that there are two separate groups after this Romanov Ransom.”

“One more thing,” Selma said. “After going through the bibliography on Andrei’s internet book, I was able to dig up some interesting information on that retired groundskeeper of Königsberg castle. Andrei was right. You’re definitely going to want to interview the man.”