She drew in a long breath before continuing. “Getting it into the country was not as difficult as getting it out. The Soviet Union was still reeling from the cost of the war, both in human and financial terms. The Nazis were no longer a threat, but the leaders were already closing the borders off to the west. For members of the Red Army, however, getting in was not much trouble. So many men had been lost in the battles outside of Moscow that people were just happy to have some of the soldiers returning.”
The story made sense, at least according to what Adriana knew of the time line. She felt fortunate that this woman trusted her enough to reveal all this information. Her instincts were to still question why, but she decided to keep her mouth shut and take the good fortune. She wanted to believe the rest of the search would go so well, but she knew better.
“You don’t happen to know the man’s name who bought the painting, do you?”
She nodded. “Of course. It was one of the secrets my father told me before he died. He made me promise not to tell anyone who came looking for it. His name was Arjen van der Wahl.”
Adriana’s eyebrows knit together. “Why tell me all these secrets? What makes me any different?”
Zaragova laughed. “Because, my dear, there is something about you I trust. I do not know what it is. Your brute honesty. Your energy. Or maybe it is the fact that you are trying to save your father.” A sly grin slid across her face. “And on top of all that, you are the first woman to ever come to my home seeking the Bellini.”
Adriana smiled. “Well, there aren’t many women in my line of work.” She looked at the photograph one last time then back into the older woman’s eyes. “Thank you for your help. I truly appreciate it.”
The Russian held up a dismissive hand. “You are welcome. I am not getting any younger. Sooner or later, I would have to tell someone. A secret like that is not one that should be taken to the grave.” She gave a just-between-us-girls wink.
“This information will be very helpful. I’m sorry, but I really must be going. I only have four days left to track this painting down.”
“I understand. Please, be on your way. I hope you are able to find it in time.” Zaragova paused for three seconds and then spoke again. “If I may ask, what do you plan to do once you have found the painting and taken it to the person who took your father?”
Adriana’s face remained icy cold. “I’m going to kill him.”
6
Allyson watched the Mercedes leave the driveway. As soon as it was out of sight, she pulled her car out from the driveway across the street a hundred feet away. She’d arrived at Zaragova’s home to find the old Russian woman had a visitor. Allyson couldn’t be certain who was there, and she made a split-second decision to retreat, hide, and wait.
From her vantage point on the other side of the road, she’d been unable to see who the driver of the Mercedes was and was now faced with another quick decision. If the driver of the sedan was her competition, going to see the woman could put her exponentially behind. On the other hand, if it was just a family friend, she could waste precious time chasing down the car. By the time she got back to the woman’s home, the other thief could already be there.
She was no stranger to a fight, with guns or otherwise, but Allyson would prefer to outrun the other person if given the option. If it came down to it, she knew how to kill. She’d become quite proficient at it over the years. Beauty on the outside — cold, hard killer on the inside. It was a combination that had caught many victims off guard over the years.
One victim had been, at one point, one of the best secret agents for the American government during his tenure with the ghostlike Axis agency. She’d met Sean Wyatt while tracking down a lead on what she believed would be a massive treasure haul. Frank Shaw heard through his sources that a few Americans were searching for a lost Native American trove of gold worth billions. In the end, Allyson was able to steal a few valuable trophies, things that brought her a hefty price from her employer — but nothing like what he’d expected. He’d been disappointed with his return on investment, but after she explained it was a wild goose chase and that they would be better served pursuing other avenues, he seemed satisfied.
She’d managed to fool Wyatt and his friends, making them believe she was working for the same agency he once worked for. Based on one night of romance, she knew that when she left, he’d been hurt by the whole escapade. In her opinion, Wyatt got off easy. Allyson toyed with the notion of killing him in his sleep, but she figured, why leave a trail of blood if she could just take some of the loot and disappear? With her slew of identities, it was doubtful they would come after her. Besides, she’d left them the majority of the treasure. Just a few items for her time would barely be noticed.
Allyson watched the sedan disappear around the curve and made her decision. She steered her rental car into the driveway and followed the gravel path through the woods. When she reached the house in the clearing, she stopped halfway around the gravel circle and turned the key. The address had been easy enough to find in spite of its obscure location in the countryside.
She didn’t appreciate the fact that Frank had been skimpy on the details as to the whole purpose of this little contest, but from what he’d said, Frank had some kind of wager going on with a peer. Uber-wealthy types like that had an honor system she’d never understand. For men who quite often cheated their way to the top, being honest with something as trivial as some missing paintings seemed ludicrous.
Whatever the reason, she was happy to take on the task. It paid well, and it was exciting.
Allyson let her irritation at Frank die down as she stepped out of the car. He’d been good to her. When she was a poor kid living in an abandoned apartment building in South London, Frank Shaw was the one who’d pulled her out of the gutter and given her life a purpose. Until she met him, she was nothing more than a grimy, teenage pickpocket.
Her parents were low-income factory workers. Their lot in life had been a struggle to just reach the middle class. With most of their debts paid off and things beginning to turn around, it seemed that they would finally achieve their goals of escaping poverty once and for all. Then, at their moment of triumph, they were struck down in a car accident. Allyson’s mother died on impact. Her father lingered in the intensive care unit for a week before he succumbed to his injuries.
They’d moved to London when she was young to build a new life for themselves away from the problems they’d forged in the United States. It was the cruelest form of irony.
With no relatives nearby and no way to get home, Allyson ran away from the authorities and fell into a life on the streets. Now her assets were valued in the millions thanks to the work that Frank Shaw provided — along with some of her own freelancing.
She closed the car door and started toward the front steps but halted when a woman appeared in the doorway above the entryway steps. The woman was older, haggard, and wore a strange combination of colors and fabrics that gave the appearance she’d not be leaving the premises anytime soon.
Allyson spoke a good amount of Russian, enough to have a decent conversation with just about anyone, and greeted the woman with the customary afternoon greeting, “Dobroye ootro.”