Treasure of Saint-Lazare (19 page)

“Basically nothing. I’ll wrap up in Sarasota tomorrow and go back to Paris the next day and forget the whole thing. If my father could put it out of his mind I should be able to do the same.”

“But what if this was all tied in some way to his death? Or Lauren and Sam’s?”

“Then of course I’ll reconsider,” Eddie replied. “But right now it looks like we have a group of local gangsters with financial problems — my bedmate among them, unfortunately — and they’ll have to answer to the police for Roy’s death. From what Carole told me I wouldn’t be surprised if the FBI paid a call on one of the helpers, a scumbag named Sonny Perry who inherited a bunch of his father’s Nazi loot. Another source told me he’s been selling it through the Russian mafia.”

Icky said, “Perry. I’ve heard the name. In that case I suggest you get back to Paris and avoid the shitstorm that’s bound to hit real soon. Please tell your mother hello for me, and if you see Aurélie tell her I’m still interested.”

“I’ll probably talk to her today. She and some of her academic friends have helped me figure out what’s going on here. They identified the missing painting.”

“Friends like that help a lot.”

“Oh, and one other thing. When this started to get sticky I called in Paul Fitzhugh. He should be waiting for me at Dulles now, and he’ll shadow me quietly from here on. I’ve given him your cell number.”

“Paul. A good man. I’m glad he’s still with you. Tell him to call me any time.”

“Tonight and tomorrow are the most likely,” Eddie said.

“Unfortunately, I can’t take you back to the airport. OK if Stella calls a cab for you? You can have a coffee downstairs until it arrives. It will be a Diamond Cab.”

Icky walked Eddie to the security door then down the stairs to the elevator and shook his hand. “You’ll be OK alone from here. It’s a lot easier to get out of this place than it is to get in.”

He stopped for a minute, then looked Eddie in the eye. “Can I call on you for help again?”

“Not quite yet. Maybe soon, but not quite. Let me get all this out of the way first. But I sure as hell owe you now.”

In the lobby Eddie walked into the tiny coffee shop and ordered a latte. “What size?” the barista asked.

“Venti,” he responded.“Whatever happened to small, medium and large?”

“Then it wouldn’t be Starbucks,” said the barista with a grin.

Eddie bought The Washington Post and sat on a bench to await the taxi. He called Paul, who had been fighting boredom for four hours in the United Airlines passenger lounge, to say they would be returning as scheduled. He laid out the plan for Paul to follow him from the airport in a rental car. 

Then he summarized Carole Westin’s bombshell and said, “the security level obviously has to be higher than I thought. Let’s try to get through the next 48 hours and go home.” And he gave him cell phone numbers for both Thom Anderson and Icky Crane.

Paul was silent a few seconds then said, “Feels like we’re back chasing some really bad guys. I have your back.”

“Leave that,” Dmitri said roughly. He opened the back door. “Get in here and lie on the floor.”

Eddie knew looking around for Paul would tip off Dmitri, so he dropped the bag and did as he was told. Dmitri sat down and put his foot on Eddie’s leg, pressing him to the floor. With his free hand the Russian frisked him efficiently but took only the iPhone from his shirt pocket. He flipped it into the front seat and said, “You won’t need that.” It would be impossible to get up before Dmitri could fire the big pistol.

The driver — Eddie was confident it was Sonny — started immediately. Eddie felt a short right and then a left as they went back out through the same archway he’d driven under less than two minutes before. They turned right and then right again, so he knew they were headed south on the Trail. From there on, they appeared to make random turns at random intervals and he quickly lost track of their location.

Paul had arrived too late to stop the abduction but he saw Eddie’s bag on the ground and sped out of the parking lot less than 30 seconds behind. He had put both Thom’s and Icky’s phone numbers into his speed dialer, and first he tried Thom. Voice mail answered and he left an urgent message. He ended with, “I’m not going to call 911 now because these men are killers. If they’re stopped they might be desperate enough to kill Eddie before anything else can be done.”

He dialed Icky, who was at dinner with Angela and did not sound pleased to be interrupted. His tone changed when Paul introduced himself and explained what had happened, and that he hadn’t been able to reach Thom.

Icky took charge. He told Paul to keep trailing the white car while he started alerting people who could help. “I think I can find the cavalry,” was the way he left it.

Paul did not know Sarasota at all, but the GPS map told him his quarry was working steadily east but backtracking often to keep Eddie confused. Finally they passed under the Interstate on a road the GPS identified as Bee Ridge. A mile to the east, after they’d passed a fire station and the road had narrowed, they turned right onto a narrow lane. To follow them would have been obvious, so Paul passed the turn and parked in the lot of a strip mall. The GPS map told him the kidnappers had turned into a dead-end road, so somewhere on that long block Eddie would be found.

Thom picked up on the second call and confirmed that Sommers lived on the road where the car had turned. “It’s the second driveway on the right,” he said. “The house is a long way from the road, and there’s a barn behind it. Eddie told me the only way in is the front gate, which is opened electrically from inside the house.”

Icky had called and together they were assembling a team of officers from the county sheriff and the FBI. Thom would participate even though it was in the county, where the sheriff’s authority held sway, rather than in the city. “This is going to take a few minutes. Can you keep watch while we put the team together?”

“Sure,” Paul told him. “I’ll walk down and hide in the bushes across the street. I’ll silence my phone but I’ll feel the vibration.”

“OK, but be careful in case they left a lookout on the road. We’ll have to figure out how to get in. Maybe we can come in through the back some way. Let me know what you see.”

In minutes Paul found a stump nestled into the bushes across the narrow road from Sommers’s house. He sat on it and hoped most of the mosquitoes had gone in for the night but soon realized enough of them would still be around to torment him. He could see the house clearly, plus about two-thirds of the barn behind it. Lights were on in the house, on the left side. From Eddie’s description Paul thought he was seeing the living room.

The barn appeared to be dark, but after a few minutes one side of the garage door opened and he could see the white sedan inside. A tall thin man came out of the door and closed it quickly, then disappeared behind the house.

He tried to sit very still, which was becoming more and more difficult as insects chewed on his arms and climbed up his ankles. “At least these are our own bugs,” he thought ruefully. “In Kuwait they were real nasty desert bugs. I can live with these.”

He carefully called Thom, keeping the screen of his iPhone covered with his hand so its light wouldn’t be visible, and whispering. “The car is in the barn and I saw one man come out, so there’s probably still a man in there with Eddie. I don’t see any guard on the front, but it would take a while to get to the house and barn even if you can force the gate open. There seems to be a fence behind the barn. Can you come in that way?”

“We’re looking at that. Stay in touch,” Thom responded. “We’re only about 15 minutes away.”

Inside the barn, Eddie would have been happy to have only bugs on his mind.

Dmitri had fastened his wrists together behind him with plastic flexcuffs while he was pinned to the floor of the car.  The only thing of interest he’d seen on the drive from the airport was a dark stain on the inside of the door, which he suspected was Deus’s blood. He’d been at Sommers’s home when Deus was killed, and Sonny was there at the same time, so he must be riding in the back seat with the killer — no surprise. It did not make
him confident, although he was certain he could take Dmitri in a fight. That is, if his hands weren’t cuffed behind him and the other guy didn’t have the gun.

The car slowed and made a right turn, then followed a winding route until it stopped and the driver got out. He heard the sound of a gate or a garage door being opened. He’d heard the driver make a call on his cell phone and say only “gate,” which he’d figured was meant to have the roadside gate open when he turned through it. So now they must be on the Sommers property and were probably entering the barn.

The driver returned and drove another two or three car lengths, then got out again. Eddie heard a wooden door slam, and then saw bright lights come on outside the car. Dmitri took his foot off Eddie’s leg and walked around the car to open the door at his head. He grabbed Eddie’s arm and said, “Get up,” and yanked him to his feet. For sure, Eddie thought, this guy is strong enough to be very dangerous, even without that gun.

He blinked in the bright light. Sonny had been on his best behavior when Eddie met him the first time, but now his blank face signalled that he was a killer, and might kill even here on his home turf, even though it would be harder to escape the consequences. Be careful. Go slow, Eddie told himself.

He shifted his weight from side to side to relieve a cramp in his left leg. He stood before Sonny and Dmitri, who reminded him of the two Germans he’d seen in Paris, Mutt and Jeff.

Sonny spoke first. “You stuck your nose in where you shouldn’t have and now you’re deep in the shit. It’s up to the boss, but if it was my call I’d shoot you and drop your body in the Gulf.”

He turned to Dmitri and told him gruffly, “the pit.” Then he opened one side of the garage door and walked out, closing it softly behind him. Eddie hoped Paul was watching the door at that moment.

Dmitri took his arm tightly and moved him toward the front of the car, where he opened a door into a darkened room. When he flipped the light switch Eddie could see a steel trap door set into the concrete floor and secured with a padlock. Dmitri pushed Eddie backwards onto a bench against the wall, then took a key from a nail above the steel door and opened the padlock. He pulled the heavy door up, then motioned for Eddie to walk down a narrow concrete staircase.

“Once you’re down there you can make all the noise you want and nobody will hear you,” he said with a sneer. “Have a nice day.”

The steel door slammed too close for comfort as he worked his way down the steep and narrow stairs, hampered by the tight flexcuffs. He counted the steps to the bottom — 14, which meant the wet and dirty floor he finally reached was about 12 feet below ground. The only light was the little that leaked through the cracks around the trap door, and Eddie knew that would disappear as soon as Dmitri turned off the room light. He willed his eyes to adjust quickly.

He had maybe 30 seconds, enough to tell he was in a room the size of a Parisian bedroom, with a dome at the top of the far end, the old entrance to the fallout shelter. The wall to his left appeared to hold several narrow shelves containing cups and other small objects, probably the loot Woody had mentioned. If the shelves had originally been full, then Sommers’s stolen fortune was indeed dwindling dangerously toward nothing.

He took a step toward the shelves and tripped, falling hard over a long object lying on the dirt-caked concrete floor. The object moaned and moved, and Eddie realized he had fallen over a second prisoner — he looked into the battered and bruised face of Woody Matthews.

“Jesus, Woody, how did you get here? I thought these guys were friends of yours,” he asked. At that moment Dmitri turned out the light and the old shelter went dark.

Woody was silent a moment, then moaned again. “Is that you, Mr. Grant?”

“It’s me. What are you doing here?”

“They found out I talked to you. I didn’t tell anyone. They came to Hemingway’s today and told me Mr. Sommers had some work for me, would I come with them. I couldn’t refuse those guys. They didn’t even take me to Sommers. They drove straight into that garage, opened the trap door and threw me down the steps. That was after they beat me up pretty good. I think they used a piece of garden hose.”

“Woody, you said you’d been down here before. Do you remember if there’s electricity? Are there lights?”

“Yeah, the light was on when I landed here, I think. I got knocked out when I hit bottom. But I remember they turned on some lights when they brought me some filthy chicken soup to eat. What time is it now?”

“About 10.”