Underneath there was a short biography, detailing his academic and professional careers. He had graduated from Stanford with a degree in history but never worked in that field. Instead, he had taken control of his family’s fortune, which had been amassed during the gold rush of the 1800s, and multiplied it many times over in the banking business. According to this website, he had retired a few years ago to pursue outside interests, although none were listed.
“Let me guess,” Payne said. “His hobbies include traveling, antiques, and Greece.”
“Is it just me, or does he look like a catalogue model?”
Payne smiled and handed the computer back to Jones. “Enough with the fluff. Why don’t you get some dirt on this guy? Anything that might suggest criminal activities. I want to know as much as possible before he calls again.”
As if on cue, Payne’s phone started to ring on the nearby table.
“Speak of the devil.”
“Don’t answer it,” Jones shouted as he scrambled for his laptop bag. He quickly unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a short black cord that he plugged into the back of his computer. “Give me your phone.”
Payne did as he was told and watched Jones attach it to the cord. This would allow them to listen through the laptop’s speakers while recording the call as a digital file.
Meanwhile, the phone kept ringing. Three rings, then four.
“Are we good?” Payne asked.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
Payne took a deep breath and answered the call. “Hello?”
A loud blast of static filled the room. Jones leaned forward and lowered the volume on his computer. It helped with the sound level but didn’t help with the clarity. Static still filled the line.
“Hello?” Payne repeated.
There was a two-second pause before they heard a response.
“Hello,” said the voice. It was soft and meek and feminine.
Payne glanced at the number. It was restricted, just as before. “Who is this?”
She ignored his question. After another pause, she said, “Is this Jonathon?”
“Yes. This is Jon. Who is this?”
Static filled the line for a few seconds. Followed by a gasp and a sob.
“Are you all right?” Payne asked, keeping his tone as calm as possible.
“Is this Jonathon?” she repeated.
“Yes. This is Jonathon. Who is this?”
A slight delay, then an answer: “This is Allison.”
“Allison who?”
“Taylor.”
Payne looked at Jones, who shrugged. Neither of them knew who she was.
“Allison, where are you calling from?”
A few seconds of static. “Russia. I’m calling from Russia.”
“Are you with Richard?”
She let out a soft wail. No talking, just crying.
“Allison, where’s Richard?”
A slight pause, then a thunderbolt. “Richard’s dead.”
“What?” Payne said, stunned. “What do you mean?”
“They killed him. They killed Richard.”
“Who is they?”
“I don’t know. But they killed him.”
Payne paused, not sure what to ask. “Allison, how did you know Richard?”
Static for a few seconds. “I was helping him.”
“With what?”
“His trip.”
“And you’re sure he’s dead?”
“They shot him in the head. He fell in the fountain.”
“Allison, where are you in Russia?”
“Saint Petersburg.”
“Are you an American?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s good. Then I want you to go to the consulate. There’s an American consulate in Saint Petersburg. If you go there, they’ll protect you.”
She sobbed. “I can’t. Richard said we couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. But he said we couldn’t go there. He said if anything happened to him that I was supposed to call. He bought me a phone just so I could call you. He programmed your number into the phone. It’s the only number I’ve got.”
Payne swore under his breath, not sure what to do. Byrd was dead. Allison was freaking out. And she refused to go to the only safe place he could think of. Back in the day, he used to know several places around the city where operatives could hide in an emergency, but he hadn’t been to any of them in years. So there was no way of knowing if they were still in play.
“Jon,” Jones whispered, “if they killed Byrd, Petr could be in trouble.”
Payne covered the phone. “Explain.”
“Byrd went to the Ulster Archives on several occasions to do research. Who knows what he found there. If these people are thorough, they might go there next.”
Payne nodded in understanding. Suddenly, they had little choice in the matter. They had to get involved to protect their friend.
“Allison,” he said with a firm voice, “listen to me. Everything is going to be fine. Do you believe me when I say that?”
“They killed him,” she said meekly.
“I know that, Allison. It must be tough for you. But let me tell you a secret. Do you know why Richard told you to call me? He knew if you needed my help, I would give it to you. And trust me when I say this, I’m a very helpful guy.”
Static filled the line. Several seconds’ worth.
“Allison? Are you still there?”
Another lengthy pause. Finally, she asked, “How can you help me?”
“It’s pretty simple. I’m coming to get you out.”
14
While Andropoulos sealed the videotapes in evidence bags, Dial strolled into the main chapel and searched for the second camera. He spotted it in the rear of the church, right above the donation box.
Trying not to draw attention to himself, Dial casually leaned against the back wall and glanced upward. The wire was attached to a wooden beam in the same fashion as in the gift shop. Except in this case, the viewing angle was slightly more favorable.
With a little luck, they might actually have footage of the killers.
Ideally, Dial would have viewed the videos right away, but considering their current location, that was an impossibility. Instead, they would have to wait until they drove to the station house in Kalampáka or got to a secondary location like Dial’s hotel. The truth was Dial didn’t care where he watched it, as long as he got to see the recordings as soon as possible.
A few minutes later, Andropoulos walked into the church and approached a uniformed officer who looked even younger than he did. The kid snapped to attention and listened intently as Andropoulos handed him the tapes and gave him a series of orders in Greek. When their conversation ended, the kid hustled through the same door Andropoulos had entered.
Dial smiled, watching all of this from afar. “Marcus!”
He spotted Dial near the back table and walked toward him. “Yes, sir?”
“What was that all about?”
Andropoulos blushed. “Did I do something wrong?”
“That depends. What in the hell did you just do?”
“I thought someone should view the tapes immediately. And since I can’t leave here yet, I asked another officer to look at them.”
“That’s what I thought you did.”
“Did I mess up?”
Dial shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, that’s the most impressive thing you’ve done all night. You just put justice ahead of your own ambition. That’s pretty rare in a case like this.”
Andropoulos breathed a sigh of relief. “So I didn’t mess up?”
Dial laughed. “Let’s walk outside. I want to discuss the crime scene.”
Dial didn’t speak again until they were outside, far away from the other officers. At this stage of the game, he still wasn’t allowed to investigate the scene-since he lacked proof that multiple member states were involved-and would be forced to leave if he overstepped his bounds. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. Turf wars were common in his business, one where egos were easily bruised and jurisdictions were guarded like jealous lovers.