“I’m thinking we go with the up close and personal, didn’t know you were here approach.”
“Like the time in Mykonos?” she clarified since they’d been in a number of scrapes together.
“Exactly,” he said as they strolled along. “Now.”
They turned, saw the man and woman about ten feet away, both suddenly very interested in the items at the booth. The woman placed her purse down on the shelf beside her as Sam and Remi quickly closed the distance between them. When they were nearly on top of the couple, Remi threw up her hands in surprise, stepping between the woman and the booth. “You’re right, Sam. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.” Remi put one hand on the woman’s arm, drawing her attention, while reaching behind her to scoop up her purse. “What on earth are you two doing here?”
Sam moved in, putting his arm around the man’s shoulders. “How are you?” he asked as he and Remi walked alongside, sweeping them in the direction of the two armed police officers. “So, lunch? Dinner? What do you say?”
The pair tried to distance themselves, but Sam and Remi stepped closer. The woman looked around, suddenly worried, as the man said, “We — we don’t know you.”
“Sure you do. Sam Fargo. My wife, Remi. And you are?”
The man hesitated, then said, “Ivan Ivanov.”
“Ivan Ivanov?” Sam stepped back to open a wallet, reading the ID. “I would’ve guessed something like… Ilya Aristov.”
“That’s mine!” He tried to take back his wallet.
“So you’re not Ivan Ivanov?”
The woman turned toward the booth in a panic. “My purse!”
Remi held it up. “You really have to be careful in places like this,” she said, opening the bag, seeing a small handgun next to a wallet. “Leaving it right where anyone could grab it. So careless.”
The woman reached for the bag.
Remi took a quick step back, gripping the weapon, careful to keep it hidden as she aimed it at the couple. “I’d hate to blow a hole through the bottom of a Louis Vuitton. Wait. It’s a knockoff. No worries.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” the woman said.
“Right,” Sam said. “And yet, here you are. Exactly why are you following us?”
The man’s glance strayed toward the police officer, then back at Sam. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Other than his slight Russian accent, his English was impeccable. “As your wife said, you have us mistaken for someone else.”
“Could be,” Sam said, stepping close to Ilya, expertly removing the man’s gun before he even realized what had happened. “Follow us again? We won’t be this nice.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Shoot us?”
“Remi, see if those nice officers are busy.”
“Politsiya!” Remi called out as the man and woman bolted in the opposite direction. “Hmm. You’d think they’d at least accept our lunch invitation.”
“Both names are aliases,” Selma announced later that afternoon. “Their IDs are professional fakes.”
“Who are they?” Sam asked. He’d taken a photo of their IDs before Remi turned over everything to the two officers, reporting their suspicious behavior in a mixture of English and broken Russian. The police declared it a robbery attempt, something Sam and Remi highly doubted.
“According to the information I was able to find,” Selma replied, “your would-be robbers are associated with a Russian crime family run by Tatiana Petrov, who took it over from her father after he was murdered by a rival crime family.”
“What are they known for?” Sam asked.
“According to the newspaper articles I was able to find, drug trafficking, sex trade, the usual.”
“Even I’ve heard of the Petrovs,” Sergei said. “Very bad. I recommend you leave Kaliningrad. They’re worse than your American Mafia.”
“Why us?” Remi asked.
“Because of Durin,” Sam replied. “They have to be part of the group who attacked us at his apartment. It definitely confirms that there are two separate groups after this Romanov Ransom.”
“One more thing,” Selma said. “After going through the bibliography on Andrei’s internet book, I was able to dig up some interesting information on that retired groundskeeper of Königsberg castle. Andrei was right. You’re definitely going to want to interview the man.”
25
The once splendid Königsberg castle had completely burned after the Allied bombing in 1944, leaving only the thick walls. After the war ended, Königsberg was annexed by the Soviet Union, renamed Kaliningrad, and the castle remains were leveled by a government that wanted to erase any reminders of its Prussian past.
It was this last fact that made the presence of a groundskeeper a bit of a surprise — at least in Remi’s mind. There wasn’t much left of the grounds to keep, unless one happened to be an archaeologist. The empty rectangular courtyard was now surrounded by gray boards blocking off the area from the public. A large section of the boarded wall had fallen and a temporary chain-link fence stood in its place, allowing a view into the castle property and, at the far end, the recent excavations.
Sam checked his watch as the three stood on the sidewalk, waiting. “He did say meet here near the parking lot?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a taxi pulled up. Remi saw a gray-haired man holding a cane get out, pay the driver, then hobble in their direction. “That’s got to be him.”
“Miron Pushkaryov?” Sam asked as he approached.
“You must be the Fargos,” he said with a thick Russian accent. “And Sergei. Forgive me for being late. I stopped by to see Andrei before I came out here.”
“No worries,” Remi said. “You’re here. That’s what counts.”
“But I do worry. Ever since Andrei wrote that book, he’s had many things go wrong. I wanted to make sure you were who you said you were. Therefore, it was necessary to do so in person.” The man placed both hands on the brass head of his cane, eyeing them. “Andrei mentioned what happened to you at the museum. So you see, they’re still watching him. They’re probably watching me. They may even be watching you.”
Sam scanned the vast parking lot that ran the length of the castle grounds, not seeing anything suspicious. “Were you followed here?”
“I hope not.” He gave Remi a thorough appraisal. “Andrei never mentioned how beautiful you are.”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Pushkaryov.”
“Merely observant. And, please, call me Miron,” he said, then turned to Sam. “What is it you’re looking for, Mr. Fargo?”
“Information.”
“On?”
“The treasures that might have been stored at Königsberg castle.”
“You mean the treasures that were taken from the castle after the bombing?”
“Precisely,” Sam said. “What is it you know?”
“Only what my grandfather told me. The most valuable treasures were kept belowground, out of the public eye. They survived the Allied bombing and remained there up until Hitler ordered their removal.”
“The Amber Room?” Remi asked. “Any chance it survived and was moved?”
“We can always hope. Unfortunately, recent excavations of the subterranean levels have turned up bits of amber…” He nodded toward the castle grounds, his smile bittersweet. “Still, being that my grandfather told me tales of a line of trucks waiting in the courtyard to be loaded at the end of the war, one never knows. Perhaps they got the Amber Room out in time. But I was under the impression that you were interested in something else entirely.”