Rogue Angel 51: The Pretender's Gambit (15 page)

Chapter 23

The keys belonged to a silver BMW X3 SUV that sat out in the rental lot of the Odessa International Airport. Annja hesitated when she saw the vehicle, then looked at Klykov. “That’s an expensive car.”

“Then it should be a good one,
da
?”

“The guy at the counter stiffed you, Leonid. We should get a more economical car. You don’t need to spend this much money. I’m going to go in halves on this rental.” They’d already argued over the airplane tickets, Annja insisting on paying for her fare. Klykov had won that round, but Annja was determined to keep herself on equal footing with the old man.

Klykov just kept walking, pulling his carry-on behind him. The wheels groaned and rattled across the pavement. He wore a thick coat against the winter chill that gusted across the parking lot. “It is okay. I asked for this one. The clerk showed me a picture and I said this one. I wish to have the leg room. You are tall. You will appreciate the leg room, too. And I like that the car sits up tall so that I can see everything on the street. This will be a good vehicle for us. Come. You are wasting time that Onoprienko may not be so generous to give us.”

Annja gave in and used the key fob to open the rear door. They stowed their luggage in the rear and got in.

Behind the steering wheel, Annja adjusted the seat and the rearview mirror as the engine warmed. “Where are we going?”

“Have you been to the Seventh-Kilometer Market?”

“No. I’ve seen it a few times as I’ve driven by, but I’ve never gotten to stop there.” The few times Annja had been to Odessa and landed at the airport instead of coming in by ship, she had been in a hurry and hadn’t been able to visit the place.

The Seventh-Kilometer Market lay between the Odessa International Airport and the city itself. The marketplace got its name from the fact that it was seven kilometers outside of Odessa.

“We will be going there today,” Klykov said. “That is where Fedotov is. But first we must make a small stop.”

“Where?”

Klykov waved forward. “Along the highway away from the airport. I will tell you.”

Annja opened the map navigator on the console and punched in the address for the Seventh-Kilometer Market when Klykov gave it to her. The software only took a moment to locate the destination and plan the route.

“Along this way?” she asked.

Klykov nodded. “This way will be fine.”

Annja put the transmission in gear, watched the traffic and put her foot on the accelerator. Klykov took out a cell phone he had purchased inside the terminal, made a call and spoke in rapid-fire Russian. A few minutes later, she’d pulled onto the Odessa-Ovidiopol Highway that would take them to their destination.

* * *

C
ONFIDENT
THAT
HE
wouldn’t lose Annja Creed or the old man getting out of the airport, Rao sat in his rental car and watched them leave. He’d already arranged for a car and his check-in time had been short, allowing him plenty of opportunity to shadow his quarry.

While he’d done that, he’d searched for anyone else that might be following them. No one had acted overly concerned about losing sight of Annja and her companion.

Then he realized that if anyone had been following them on the flight, they could just as easily have had someone waiting at the airport. An overlap of observation would be easy to arrange. His anxiety grew; even though he wanted the elephant, he didn’t want Annja Creed harmed.

He put the car in gear and rolled out of the parking lot toward the access road that would take him toward Odessa. He was tired of always being concerned and in unfamiliar foreign territories. He longed to be back in the museum cataloguing artifacts.

* * *

“O
VER
HERE
.” K
LYKOV
pointed at the side of the highway.

According to the tripometer, they had only gone three miles from the airport. Annja looked at the small bronze sedan parked on the side of the highway as she turned on the signal and stepped lightly on the brake.

“We’re meeting someone?” she asked. The idea of a clandestine meeting by the road didn’t appeal to her. They were too exposed.

“
Da.
A friend. Have no worries, Annja.” Klykov smiled toward the sedan. “Pull in behind him and be at ease.”

Annja did as she was told regarding the parking, kept enough room between the two vehicles to pull away quickly if she needed to, but she did not feel at ease. She left the transmission engaged and her door locked.

Two young men with hard faces opened the sedan doors and got out on either side. One of them was smoking a black cigarette and gray smoke curled from his mouth. Annja spotted the tattoos that showed on their necks and knew they were Russian mafia.

“These are the two people you’re meeting?” she asked.

“
Da.
”

“You know them?”

“No, but they are known to men who know me. A friend of a friend, you might say.”

“What do they want?”

“They want nothing. This is about what I want. Is okay, Annja. Please do not worry. I will be back in a minute.” Klykov opened the door and got out. He called out to the two men and they nodded to him. Neither of them looked overly friendly.

One of them looked at Annja suspiciously, then returned his attention to Klykov.

Cars whipped by on the highway and the wind buffeted the SUV, rocking it on its tires. Annja kept her eyes on Klykov.

* * *

R
AO
HADN
’
T
BEEN
prepared for Annja Creed to stop alongside the highway. He knew he could not pull off the road and wait behind her because that would have alerted her to his presence. Thankfully a petrol station lay just a mile and a half ahead or so and the ground was level enough that he could see the SUV from there.

He drove into the petrol station and parked near the outside curb, trusting that if Annja Creed had noticed him that she would only think he was a person who needed to check a map or make a phone call. Then he waited and watched.

No other cars seemed overly concerned that Annja had stopped.

Rao wondered about the feeling of being watched aboard the jet. Perhaps that had merely been an effect of not enough sleep and rising tension regarding his involvement with the chase for the elephant. He hoped that was so, but he still felt strongly that his initial instincts were correct. They usually were.

* * *

A
NNJA
’
S
PHONE
RANG
and she answered it, spotting Bart’s name in the viewscreen. “Hello?”

“You should be on the ground by now, right?” Bart sounded grim and professional.

“I am.”

“I’ve got some more interesting news for you. You remember the guy who approached us in the diner?”

“Nguyen Rao.”

“That’s him. As it turns out, he also took a flight out of New York yesterday about the same time you did. I just confirmed that. He’s traveling under another name, but he popped up on facial recognition when I asked my buddies at Interpol to run him.” Bart gave her the flight number.

“That’s the plane Leonid and I flew in on.”

“You didn’t see Nguyen?”

“Leonid put us in first class. We boarded later and I worked on my computer until takeoff.” Annja thought back, trying to remember seeing Nguyen Rao. She couldn’t place the man, though. “If he was there, I missed him.”

“He was there. My friend at Interpol confirmed Nguyen’s arrival in Odessa less than an hour ago. He’s around somewhere, Annja.”

“I’ll watch for him.”

“I’ve also turned up more news on him.”

“Nguyen has a criminal record?” That didn’t jibe with Annja’s immediate assessment of the man. Nguyen Rao had reacted quickly, and he had been trained how to take care of himself, but he hadn’t struck her as a violent person. He had approached them to talk, not with a weapon.

“Not a criminal record, but he has been a person of interest in a couple of incidents involving artifacts. Evidently he crossed paths with a guy named Gerald Cleary. Have you heard of that guy?”

“Cleary is from Belgrade. He’s a professional grave robber. The last I heard, he was working in Iraq, taking antiquities from there during the confusion.”

“You know Cleary?”

“I’ve met him. Archaeology can be a small world, depending on what you’re looking for. Cleary usually finds a client who wants something, sets up a buy, then goes after a piece or a collection of pieces.”

“That’s what Interpol says about him.” Bart sounded a little nonplussed. “We have really got to talk more about what you do. Why haven’t you ever told me this before?”

“Because you’re not interested in history unless it pertains to one of your cases.”

“That may be true…”

“It is.”

“…but you should mention someone like Cleary.”

“And have you worry more? Do you tell me about every dangerous felon you’re chasing? Do I ask?”

Bart remained silent.

“Exactly,” Annja said. “We do our jobs, Bart. That’s what we’re supposed to do. We do friend things together, and I like the ability to step away from the job for a while every now and again with you. I’m sure you appreciate the break, too. That’s why we don’t discuss your caseload.”

“Yeah.” The admittance was grudging, but honest.

“Is Cleary a part of this?” Annja so did not need another group involved in the elephant hunt.

“Not as far as I know. The report says Nguyen had an altercation with Cleary over in Kosambi, India. I’ve never heard of the place.”

“Kosambi is a district in the Uttar Pradesh state. India isn’t just India.”

“Geography, too? I don’t know how your head doesn’t explode with all the stuff you have packed in there.”

Annja grinned, glad that they were back to an easier, more relaxed relationship. “It’s all stuff I enjoy. So what happened between Nguyen and Cleary?”

“They were after the same artifact. Things got violent. Cleary ended up with a broken arm and a broken leg, and Nguyen got the artifact.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“Something to do with the Buddha. That’s all I know.”

Annja tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, watching Klykov continue to talk to the two men, and putting her thoughts in order. Piecing the puzzle together was a welcome diversion to thinking about what was going on with Klykov. “Maybe Nguyen is after religious artifacts.” That added a whole new dimension to why the man might be after the elephant.

“That could be, because one of the things that was in the report I got through Interpol is that Nguyen isn’t just a professor and a curator. He’s also a monk for a temple in Phnom Penh that I can’t even pronounce.”

Annja thought about that. An old-school temple monk would be trained in martial arts, the defense systems were taught as a means for a monk to gain control over his body and his mind. But what would make the elephant so important?

“Annja?” Bart asked.

“I’m still here. Considering scenarios.”

“I know this isn’t really my field, but if you ask me, this is all getting weird.”

“Interestingly enough, the weirder it gets, the more finite it gets. Once the weirdness passes the point of no return, it kind of isolates everything that’s going on and makes things easier to sort out.”

“What do you think you’re after?”

“At this point, an elephant. I’ll know more when I find it.”

Klykov finished his talk and one of the men handed him a thick box that he tucked under his arm. The old gangster thanked the men, shook hands with both and came back toward the SUV.

“I have to go,” Annja said. “We’re getting back on the road.”

“To where?”

“To the world’s biggest flea market. I’ll pick you up a souvenir if I find something really cool. I’ll talk to you when I can.” Annja said goodbye and pocketed the phone.

Chapter 24

Klykov opened the door and hoisted himself inside the SUV. Holding the box in his lap, he opened it and took out a pistol that looked almost like a sleek slab of black metal.

“What is that?” Annja asked.

“This is an OTs-33 Pernach. It is a very good pistol. Military grade. The designers created it to replace the Stechkin APS, another very good pistol, but it was chambered in 7.62mm, not the more attainable 9mm. The Stechkin also had a problem with recoil. With such a powerful cartridge, that was to be expected. In the hands of an expert, that was manageable. I am such an expert.” Klykov chortled. “I bet you did not know this.”

“No, but I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“Munitions are a very big business.” Klykov shrugged. “I have interest. I dabble.” He slapped one of the dozen or so magazines into the butt of the weapon and racked the slide to chamber a round. “I think if we get into trouble, perhaps we need superior firepower.”

“I’d rather we didn’t get into any trouble.”

“As would I. Unfortunately, given the situations we have encountered up to this point, and how violent a man like Onoprienko can be, we may not have that luxury. I will not suffer to see you hurt.” Klykov pulled his coat off, then took a shoulder holster from the box and pulled it on, fitting it around his arm almost as easily as pulling on a sock. Two pouches on the other side of the shoulder holster provided spaces for extra magazines. He filled those, then dumped still more into his coat pockets. “Those men told me that Kaneev has family in the area and they have learned of our arrival, and sworn a vendetta against us for killing Kaneev.” He glanced at Annja. “Their unwanted attentions may complicate our efforts to get your prize.”

Annja just stared at him for a moment, trying to comprehend it all. Possibly Fernando Sequeira and an unknown assassin, for certain Nguyen Rao a Buddhist monk, and Onoprienko were all involved in searching for the elephant. And now there was a contingent of Russian mafia looking for her and Klykov?

“I didn’t kill Kaneev.”

Klykov shrugged. “It is what it is, Annja. These people blame who they want and kill who they can.” He paused. “We can turn around if you would like. Leave the elephant to whoever gets it. That would be much safer, perhaps.”

That possibility didn’t linger in Annja’s mind. The mystery of the elephant had grown stronger and she felt she was getting closer. She wasn’t about to willingly give up the pursuit. Even if the elephant led nowhere, Onoprienko needed to pay for killing Benyovszky. “No. We’re not doing that.”

“Good.” Klykov smiled. “I would hate to walk away from what could be my last adventure.”

“Your last?”

He shrugged an acceptance. “I’m an old man. There are only so many adventures allotted to men. I am grateful for the ones I have had, and I am grateful for this one.”

“This isn’t going to be your last adventure,” Annja said. “We’re going to be careful.” She checked the highway traffic and pulled back onto the road.

“I thought about getting you a pistol as well, but I did not think you would wish for one.”

“I don’t like to carry guns. But I do know how to use them.” Annja pressed harder on the accelerator, feeling the pressure winding up inside her.

* * *

S
EVENTH
-K
ILOMETER
M
ARKET
was a collection of long aisles created by cargo containers stacked two deep. Many of those cargo containers were painted bright colors, even hot pink. The market looked like someone had been turned loose with an inexhaustible supply of toy blocks and told to create intricate mazes.

Annja drove slowly, following Klykov’s directions while feeling she was getting more and more lost. There was so much visual spectacle that she was almost overcome. White lines marked parking areas and pedestrians were everywhere. Signage was mostly in Russian, but here and there other subsets of signs were in English and French and German for tourists. Many of them also featured Chinese and Japanese translations.

In the 1960s, the market had opened for business as an outdoor shopping area. Early entrepreneurs had purchased cargo containers and had them delivered to the site. They’d operated right out of those containers, and only refurbished them into something more stylish in appearance after they’d become successful. Only open on Sundays in the beginning, the booming trade inspired still more budding capitalists to step into the business of knockoff clothing, jewelry, accessories, electronics and everything else that could be manufactured that was currently in vogue.

“You are not speaking,” Klykov said.

“I’m trying to take it all in.”

Klykov laughed. “So perhaps you have not become a jaded traveler after all.”

“No.”

“Then let me teach you. I am sure you know of the history of this place, probably more than I do. But let me tell you what you are truly looking at. This is free trade, Annja. The merchants here wheel and deal to make a profit. Give and take, buyer and seller. It is one of the oldest stories there is, no?”

“It’s a…bazaar. A
huge
bazaar.”

“Exactly. And the people who really make the money are the container owners.”

“Those places are rented out?” Annja nodded toward the long lines of cargo containers that made up the market and the expansive perimeter.

“Yes. The real estate here, as you would guess, is quite expensive. Seventh-Kilometer Market will never leave this place. People will always come here to trade.”

Annja slowed to allow a man carrying a boxed flat-screen television to cross the street. His two children tagged along excitedly after him. On either side of her, groups of women, couples and families wandered along rows of container businesses. Vendors accosted them in a variety of languages, always smiling, but always pressuring them to come see their wares. Most of the cargo containers had large display windows cut into them as well as doorways. The fronts of many of them also shared similar designs, giving them an appearance of belonging to the same company.

“Some people believe that almost twenty million dollars’ worth of merchandise is sold here every day,” Klykov said.

Every. Day.
Annja couldn’t believe that amount, but she knew Klykov had no reason to lie to her.

“There are free health clinics, modern toilets, a fire department and a security staff that are provided for by profits taken from these businesses. It’s a small city. This place is the area’s largest provider of jobs. Over sixteen thousand merchants flock here to do business, and they have to have a staff of over twelve hundred people to operate the shops. I am told that over one hundred and fifty thousand people come here daily.”

“You seem to know a lot about this place.”

“I should. I own six of these containers myself. These are legitimate businesses. More or less.” Klykov pointed. “Park up there. Fedotov’s shop is not far from here.”

Annja found a spot and parked. She cut off the engine and pocketed the keys. “Are you sure we’re not going to get arrested because you’re carrying a concealed weapon?”

“I am positive. I have brought money to take care of any
inconveniences
. Some policemen prefer to be paid in cash. As long as I don’t try to hurt the patrons of this place no one else cares. Come along.”

Annja got out of the vehicle, opened the rear door to get to her backpack and shrugged into it. Then she followed after Klykov, stepping into the dizzying world of the marketplace.

* * *

R
AO
DROVE
PAST
Annja Creed and the old man, but he kept them in view in his side mirrors. He was lucky that the market was so busy because it made him easier to blend in.

He pulled into a parking spot and watched in the rearview mirror as Annja walked past his position. Then he got out and locked the car behind him. The chill air was bracing. He pulled his long coat more tightly around him and took a woolen cap from his pocket to cover his head. The cap helped keep him warm and provided some disguise. He put on a pair of sunglasses to further change his features and followed Annja and the old man.

He also kept an eye out for anyone else who might be interested in him. That feeling of being watched again scratched at his shoulder blades.

A man stepped out of a nearby cargo container and grabbed Rao’s arm. Instinctively, Rao gripped the man’s arm in return, pulled him a step forward, and locked the arm in a painful hold that wouldn’t have taken much to snap.

The man groaned in pain, then spoke in a flurry of languages, finally getting to English. “Please! Please no hurt me! I mean no offense!”

Rao quickly released the man. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

“No, no. Is okay.” The man massaged his arm and grimaced slightly, but he was unwilling to forego a potential sale. “Only try to get attention. Show you many things. Many wonderful things.” He waved toward the cargo container of pop culture T-shirts featuring television shows and superheroes. “Do you want buy shirt? Make you look cool.”

Some of the shirts were for
Chasing History’s Monsters
. That would have brought a smile to Rao’s lips had things not been so serious.

In the end, in part because he felt badly about unintentionally hurting the man and because carrying a package would add another layer to his disguise, Rao purchased a T-shirt and continued on his way, bag in hand.

Then he realized he had lost Annja Creed.