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“Kaliningrad? What are you waiting for? It’s a destination I’ve always dreamed about.”
20
The phone Tatiana held discreetly in her lap buzzed with an incoming text, and she glanced down at it, reading the one word on the screen: Call.
Finally, she thought as Rolfe perused the wine menu. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” she asked, slipping her phone into her clutch, also on her lap, then sliding her chair out. “I should have stopped by the ladies’ room on my way in.”
He made a cursory rise from his chair as she stood.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then turned toward the lobby. Once in the ladies’ room, she pushed open each toilet stall door to make sure it was empty before calling Viktor. Her foot tapped a cadence on the polished marble floor as the phone rang.
Eventually, Viktor picked up. “I have the update you wanted,” he said.
“A bit late, don’t you think?”
“A few complications. The police towed the rental cars, and one of our men was injured in a shooting. I needed to tie up some loose ends so that nothing comes back to you.”
“What happened?” she asked.
Viktor hesitated, which in her experience always meant bad news. “Someone got to the apartment first,” he said at last. “We think it was the Fargos.”
“And?”
“The pouch was gone when we got there. Either they got it or someone did before them.”
The only other people who even knew the thing existed were Rolfe and his men, Durin being one of them. Who would’ve guessed that when she paid Durin to bring the courier pouch to her instead of Rolfe, he was double-crossing all of them? She should’ve known better. That, however, mattered little. He was dead, and she still didn’t have the courier bag. “Do me a favor. See if you can learn any more about the Fargos. I’d like to know what they’re up to.”
&n
bsp; “That’s what I was calling about. The Fargos arrived in Kaliningrad. This morning.”
“What on earth are they doing there?” Tatiana asked.
“There’s only one reason I can think of. They’re looking for information on the Romanov Ransom. They had to have recovered the courier bag from Durin.”
“Interesting. If anyone had it, I would’ve guessed Rolfe.”
“It’s possible that he got it from the Fargos. Regardless, the timing of their visit shows they have some knowledge of what that bag contained or they wouldn’t be here. I’m not sure how much you know about them, but they have the expertise and the wealth to self-fund their search.”
She took a moment to absorb that information. “How hard would it be to follow them?”
“With the men I have working for me? Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. I want to know everything the Fargos are doing while they’re in Kaliningrad. Between their search and Rolfe’s, maybe all we’ll have to do is sit back and let them do the work.”
“Understood. I’ll set it up.”
After he disconnected, she dropped her cell phone into her purse, checked her makeup in the mirror, then returned to the table in the restaurant where Rolfe was waiting. “You ordered already?” she said, noticing a bottle of Argentinian Loscano Private Reserve Torrontés chilling in an ice bucket.
“I hope you don’t mind. Unfortunately, I have to catch a plane.”
She gave a small pout, hoping it was convincing enough. “And here I thought we’d be able to meet for dinner. You were supposed to take me to the medina.”
“Something came up,” he said.
A courier pouch, no doubt. “And where are you off to this time?”
“Home. Business matters that need attending to.”
