The Final Fabergé (44 page)

“Jack told me that two men and a woman came in from St. Petersburg during the last two days. He said that when we catch up with them that I'll recognize one of them. The guy's Estonian, not Russian, as if that mattered. But if he's in the terminal tonight it's because he wants to follow Jack to wherever he's staying. I'm not too keen on that because Jack's staying with Helen and me.”

Outside the terminal, in a rented car close to the taxi line, was Galina. She had given in to Deryabin's orders to team with the Estonian, happy she had relented because while the airport was familiar territory, she had not imagined the vastness of it, nor the impossibility of freely moving about whether by private car or taxi. Without Trivimi's help, she could not possibly trail Oxby from the customs hall to the street, retrieve her own car, and follow him. While Trivimi Laar was stiff and unpleasant, he was wily and resourceful. And though she had gained a level of confidence during her recent experience in New York, the circumstances were now vastly changed.

She pulled off the dark wig and ran her fingers through her blond hair. The wig was hot and she rolled it up and jammed it into her purse. Trivimi would be angry, but that would be his problem. She inspected herself in the rearview mirror. She wiped off the gray eye shadow and applied the red lipstick she loved. Nothing more was needed. Her hand reached inside her purse and found the Semmerling pistol. She rubbed the stub barrel, then gripped it, her finger against the trigger. Her eyes closed, and she smiled.

Trivimi Laar leaned against the side of an advertising kiosk, trying to shrink his tall body, but at the same time be able to see over the heads of a milling congregation waiting to greet a friend or relative. As passengers from Air France flight 8 began appearing, Trivimi retreated a step and all but disappeared behind a brazen advertisement extolling the joys of a weekend at the Trump Casino in Atlantic City.

“Meet Ed Parente, Jack. He waves magic wands around here and genies pop out of the luggage carousels.”

“I've heard about you,” Oxby said, “courtesy of Alex.” He put out his hand. “Thanks for the help.”

“Happy to do it,” Parente said. He put himself between Oxby and Tobias and took each by the arm. “Got any other bags?”

“Just this.” Oxby hoisted up a carryall.

“Good. We'll take a shortcut.”

Oxby tugged on Tobias's arm. “Did you tell Ed there might be a small welcoming committee looking for me?”

“We're all set for you,” Parente said. “I've got a man at customs and another waiting in a car out front. Right now we're going to see a miracle worker who will waive all the red tape. Let me have your passport.”

They went through a door that had a number on it, down a narrow passageway to a second door, and into a small office where two men sat at a table staring at a wall covered with rows of closed-circuit television monitors. Parente opened yet another door and led Oxby to a uniformed woman seated behind a desk and in the act of completing a phone call.

She looked crisp and efficient, then on seeing Parente gave a warm greeting. “Hi Ed. What brings you here?”

“One of Scotland Yard's finest.” He handed over the passport. “Meet Detective Chief Inspector Jack Oxby.”

The woman stood and offered her hand. “I'm Kathy Harris. Welcome to the land of the crazy. You know you're in fast company?”

“I know,” Oxby grinned. “I rather like it.”

Agent Harris was black, efficient, and could read a stranger like an old, familiar book. She flipped through Oxby's passport, pausing on the page with stamps from St. Petersburg and Paris. She said, her eyebrows
arched, “Didn't I read where everyone's going to St. Petersburg this time of year and here you are coming away from there?”

Oxby said, “My business suddenly became urgent. I mean no offense to New York, but at this time of year, I'd far prefer to be in St. Petersburg.”

“You don't offend me,” she said, putting a stamp in the passport and handing it back to Oxby. “If you think there's anything I can help you with, give me a call.”

Oxby smiled appreciatively. “I collect cards from anyone who offers to help. Do you have one?”

She took one from a card wallet. “You got it.”

“Thanks, Kathy,” Parente said. “Okay if Inspector Oxby takes a look at the television monitors? He's expecting someone.”

They returned to the room with the wall of television screens. Parente asked for the pictures coming from the cameras positioned outside the customs hall. One of the agents hit a few buttons and pointed at monitors 7 and 9. Oxby stared at one screen, then the other. The cameras were in a fixed position and were trained on what had become a large crowd of family, friends, and limo drivers holding up homemade signs with names written on them. One camera was aimed at the passengers exiting customs, the other caught them as they proceeded into the terminal. It was the picture coming from the second camera that interested Oxby.

The images were in black and white, the foreground pale and overexposed, the figures in the rear of the picture in shadow. “Look, there, Alex, next to the advertising sign. Who do you see?”

“Trivimi Laar.”

“You guys agree?” Parente said.

Oxby nodded

Parente moved close to the screen. He opened his cell phone and dialed the detective sergeant posted in the area outside customs. He was out of camera range, but Parente described the figure near the kiosk. Then Parente nodded. “Let's go,” he said.

An elderly woman shuffled alongside a porter and the Estonian feared she was the last straggler from the Air France flight. New faces came to meet new arriving passengers, the old ones gone with whoever
had come to meet them. Had Oxby slipped past him? He edged slowly away from his shelter, a frown of disappointment on his face. Then he spied Oxby, alone and walking briskly, his folded carryall slung over his shoulder like a golf bag. Trivimi fell in behind and trailed him through the terminal and out to the taxis. As Oxby waited, Trivimi searched for Galina, then found her moving ahead slowly in a line of cars picking up new arrivals. He ran to the car and got into it.

“Did you lose him?” Galina said accusingly.

Trivimi pointed. “He's there, waiting for a taxi.”

She pulled out of line, then slowly advanced until they saw Oxby get into a cab. She continued, holding her distance. At the first exit sign the taxi turned. Galina followed.

“This is good,” Trivimi said. “Not so many cars that we lose him, but enough to hide us.”

“Don't crow so soon. It is a long drive to the city.”

A half mile before they would leave the airport road, red and blue flashing lights appeared beside them. Then a siren and a signal to pull to the side of the road.

“What is this?” Galina said. The intimidating lights, bright and relentless, flooded into the car, reflecting off glass and chrome and Galina's hands that tightly gripped the steering wheel. She had no choice except to turn off the road and stop. The cruiser came in behind her, its lights continuing to flash. Both she and the Estonian looked ahead to watch Oxby's taxi sail smoothly away from them.

Oxby watched the flashing lights through the rear window, and when he could no longer see them, he instructed the driver to pull off the road and stop. The man at the wheel was not a homegrown product, as was suggested by the maroon fez on his head and the chains around his neck. His working knowledge of English was apparently limited to ordering gasoline and asking for his fare. He hunched his shoulders and held both hands up in the gesture that said he didn't understand Oxby's request. He continued on.

Oxby abbreviated his request: “Turn! Stop! There!” he bellowed, pointing for emphasis.

The driver hesitated, then followed instructions. As he was getting from the cab, Oxby dropped several bills on the seat next to the driver.
He closed the door and stepped back. The taxi lurched forward and was immediately replaced by a gray Accord.

“Want a lift?” Tobias said.

Oxby tossed his carryall in the back and climbed in. “Everything come off as planned?”

“Without a hitch.”

“I'm confused by one detail,” Oxby said. “Trivimi Laar was waiting for me in the terminal and it's not possible that he could have followed me alone. Am I right?”

Tobias had pulled back onto the road. “You are. There were two of them. A woman was driving.”

“Did you see her?”

“A glimpse. I can't describe her. Parente will have all that.”

“I saw them get pulled over.”

Tobias smiled. “Ed will work them over pretty good. He knows just how far he can go. He'll get them out of the car, then one of his guys in the cruiser will get a dozen shots on high-speed film. Be nice if they got some video but don't count on it.”