The Romanov Ransom

43

The door,” Tatiana said to Tomasz, her tone one of authority. He quickly closed it as she turned to Sam and Remi, “You’ll have to forgive our rather unorthodox method of contacting you, but, as the good lieutenant undoubtedly explained, we were worried about your safety.”

She walked toward them, pausing to pick up Sam’s backpack. “I’m sure you must have questions. I know I do, particularly about what you found in the tunnel. So,” she said, holding the pack out to him, “I propose we go inside the jet and discuss — assuming you don’t mind?”

Sam exchanged glances with Remi, then took the pack. “What about my crew?” Sam asked.

“Give us a few minutes of privacy and then bring them aboard?”

Sam glanced over at them. “You’re okay out here?”

They nodded in return.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

Tatiana motioned the man in fatigues to follow them up the stairs while the couple from Kaliningrad remained behind.

Once on board, Sam led them to the table, dropping his pack on the top. Before he even had a chance to ask what was going on, she said, “Again, my apologies for delaying your departure, but I didn’t know how else to get you alone without any possibility of someone overseeing us.”

“Why would that be an issue?” Sam asked.

“Because your hunt for the Romanov Ransom has brought the attention of Rolfe Wernher, who will do anything to get it, including killing you and your wife. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”

“What about them?” Sam asked, nodding out the window toward the man and woman from Kaliningrad. “What’s their part in all this?”

“They were supposed to follow you to determine why you were in Kaliningrad.”

“They shot at us.”

“It wasn’t them,” the man behind her said. “The group who came after you were part of the Wolf Guard, sent by Rolfe Wernher.” He glanced at Tatiana, then back at Sam, saying, “We were, however, responsible for the shooting at the apartment in Marrakesh. That was before we realized who you were. For that, we apologize.”

“And you are?” Sam asked.

Tatiana glanced behind her, then back at Sam. “My partner, Viktor Surkov.”

“Partner?” Remi said. “I wasn’t aware that was a rank in the military.”

Exactly what Sam was thinking.

The woman had a pained smile. “The subterfuge of my… exalted rank was necessary in order to receive the help we needed from the Polish government. They’re not exactly going to roll out the red carpet for a couple of police investigators, especially when they find out we’re using the cultural property as our—”

“Investigators?” Sam said. “For which agency?”

“FSB,” she clarified. “Viktor and I have been working undercover for the last six months, cultivating contacts with Rolfe as part of our investigation. No one out there can know.”

“You have identification?” Sam asked.

“Not with us. We were, after all, in the middle of an operation, so you can imagine what might happen if someone ran across it.”

Sam’s gaze flicked toward her so-called partner, who certainly held himself in a manner of someone with military training. But he’d also seen ex-military who were employed by criminals. “There has to be some way of verifying it.”

“There isn’t,” she said. “If an inquiry is made through any law enforcement branches, it signals an alert. In fact, we’re breaking protocol just by talking to you. What I need, what I’m hoping for, is your trust.”

“Trust,” Remi said, “isn’t something we give too easily. Especially considering you’re not giving us any way to check.”

“It has to be that way,” she said. “We don’t know if Rolfe or the Wolf Guard have anyone working on the inside of any of these agencies.”

“Why come to us?” Sam asked.

“There’s no delicate way to put it, except to say that you’ve stumbled into the middle of what had been a meticulously planned operation. As a result, your lives are in danger.”

“From whom?”

“Rolfe Wernher and another, larger organization called the Wolf Guard. They’re working together.”

“Operation Werewolf.”

“You’ve heard of them. No doubt from your friend Gustaw here in Poland and Miron in Kaliningrad.”

“Miron?” Remi asked. “We haven’t been able to reach him since we’ve left. You’ve been in touch?”

Tatiana nodded. “Right after you fled Kaliningrad, the Wolf Guard picked him up on the orders of Rolfe. They were in the midst of beating him to find out what he’d told you. A little subterfuge on our part — along with his cooperation — we were able to track you to Poland. He’s fine, by the way. In hiding until we can be assured of his safety.”

Sam wanted to believe them if only because her story answered a lot of questions. Even so, he wasn’t about to risk the lives of Remi and his flight crew on the say-so of one woman he’d never met until today. “What’s your opinion, Remi?”

“I think I’d like a little more proof. If I’m not mistaken, Sergei mentioned that he’d heard of this Petrov crime family. Why is that?”

“Good question,” Sam said. “Come to think of it, Selma told us about your crime boss father being murdered by a rival gang. Can you explain that?”

“Very simple,” Viktor replied. “We created that crime family as part of Tatiana’s cover story. We knew Rolfe Wernher wouldn’t trust her unless she had a pedigree that matched his own. We ran a few well-placed articles in the newspapers and on the internet.” He pointed to Remi’s tablet on the table. “If you look it up, you’ll see that Tatiana Petrov recently stepped into the role of her notorious crime boss father, Boris Petrov, known for his drug running and arms dealing.”

Remi reached for the tablet and started searching. “Here it is,” she said, showing Sam. He scanned the search results and saw a number of headlines detailing the crime family.

“My so-called father’s name,” Tatiana said, “was used in a previous operation several years earlier, and, as you can see, older articles already existed. Search further and you’ll find arrest records, property records, and a few blurry photos. Rather than come up with a new legend, we piggybacked off the old one.”

The story was entirely plausible. What they didn’t have was a way to verify it. And yet, Sam’s instinct was that they were telling the truth. “Isn’t Rolfe Wernher a German national? Why the complicated game to get him?”

“To start,” she replied, “he’s trying to expand his operation of drugs and firearms into Russia. We have enough of that going on as it is. The last thing we need is more of the same.”

“His gang,” Viktor said, “killed two Russian citizens during a robbery of a jewelry store in Germany.”

“We cultivated our first informant from that case,” Tatiana added. “Durin Kahrs.”

Sam glanced at Remi, saying, “He tried to kill our friends. He’s—”

“Dead,” Tatiana said. “We know. But before his unfortunate run-in with the other end of your weapon, he was… How do you say it?” She looked at Viktor.

“Double-crossing?” he said.

“That’s it. Double-crossing Rolfe for money.”

“The courier bag?” Sam said.

“Exactly. When we learned that he’d possibly found it, we approached him and offered double what Rolfe was paying for it. Unfortunately, your friend Zakaria was kidnapped, and we lost the bag.” She turned, nodding toward her partner. “That’s where Viktor’s expertise comes in. He’s worked extensively with Interpol in recovering stolen art. When my agency found out that there was a possibility of the Romanov Ransom actually being found, we brought Viktor on board to pose as my personal bodyguard.”

Sam eyed the man. “Interpol?”

He nodded.

“His connections,” Tatiana said, “allow us access to some less-than-orthodox methods, such as the one we used this afternoon, turning my rank into a commander who has need of a private hangar.”

“Interesting,” Sam said. “I have a friend who did a lot of work with Interpol back when he was in the FBI. Runs a security firm these days.”

“Donovan Archer?” Viktor said.

“You know him?”

“Very well.”

“Then you won’t mind if I verify your story with him?”