U.S. Male (12 page)

Then again, he hadn’t been expecting her to go out.

Joss made her way to the end of the platform. Tweed Jacket was off to whatever adventure he was having next and she was off to the convention center and the meeting with Ray. She turned into the first of the series of tunnels that would lead her through the levels of the Tunnelbana and eventually to the commuter rail station.

The Blue Line that she’d ridden in on was the deepest of the three lines that intersected at Central Station. She worked her way along moving walkways that carried her up gradual rises until she reached the long escalator that would bring her toward the higher platforms.

Here, the walls were plastered with ads for kitchen tools and department-store sales, interspersed with scenic tourist-board photographs of Götland. Joss looked across at the line of matching ads flanking the down escalator opposite her. Idly, she glanced back, down the steep slant of the moving stair.

And saw Tweed Jacket riding the escalator below her.

B
AX BURST INTO
the room at the Royal Viking. It was empty, as he’d expected. As the T-bana station had been empty when he’d raced down the stairs, lungs burning, only to find the train long gone. Over his head, an electronic sign in mocking red had told him to expect a train in four minutes. He hadn’t bothered to wait. With no idea of where Joss was going, there was no point.

Instead, he’d run back to the hotel.

Now, he grabbed the note from the bureau, reading it with a curse. He crumpled it and threw it down, snatching up the cell phone. There was no answer to his call. Small surprise. Joss was probably too far underground to get a signal. If the phone wasn’t ringing, she wasn’t about to answer.

Or maybe she couldn’t.

He refused to give in to the cold crush of fear that filled his gut and instead concentrated on what he could do. The note said she’d gone to the expo. Bax tore off his running clothes and reached for jeans.

T
HE ESCALATOR
moved inexorably upward. Casually, Joss stared at the advertising signs across the way, watching Tweed Jacket with her peripheral vision, her heart pounding. The instant she’d turned to see him, he’d shifted as well, looking downward, making himself innocuous. He
was there, behind her, where he had no business being. She’d walked off the platform behind him, she’d made sure of it, and now he was behind her again.

He had to be one of Silverhielm’s men.

Run. All of her instincts screamed for her to flee as adrenaline flooded her system. It was the wrong thing to do, though. Losing control would only make her a target.

Instead, she made herself stand casually, looking as oblivious as she could manage. The longer she could go with him thinking she hadn’t made him, the more options she would have. His feet made a dull, metallic thud on the escalator steps as he moved closer to her. She had to find a way to ditch him so that he’d stay ditched. The last thing she wanted to do was lead him to Ray.

She emerged onto the platform of the Green Line and found herself amid a crowd of people. Relief surged through her. People were protection, even if they were jostling and pushing to get to the train just coming to a stop in the station. The crowd could offer her camouflage, a chance to get away.

If she hurried.

Joss began to rush, pushing aggressively through the crowd, making him work to follow her. Making him abandon caution. If he were worried about losing her, he’d take chances, he’d make a mistake. She passed the end of the train, just steps from the escalator that would take her up to the level of the train station.

And spun to run back down the platform, dashing through the closing doors of the last subway car.

Tweed Jacket lunged after her, but it was too late. All he could do was stand on the platform and watch the train slide away.

I
T WASN
’
T
a big deal, Joss told herself as she walked into the lobby of the convention center, trying to ignore the residual shakiness in her legs. She’d lost him and she was safe, and that was all that mattered.

The expo hadn’t quite opened yet so she pulled out her cell phone. It was nearly ten o’clock. Time to find Ray. She punched up his number and waited for him to answer. “Ray? Hey, it’s Joss. I’m out in the lobby.” The missed call tone of her phone beeped in her ear but she ignored it.

“Great.” His voice crackled out of the phone. “Get a seat at one of those round tables over by the windows and I’ll be right out.”

“All right.”

“Hey, are you okay? You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m fine.” She was, now. It had taken her several stops after she’d left Central Station on the green line before she’d recovered enough to look at her transit system map and figure out where the heck she was going. Making sense of the tangle of colored lines with her rattled brain took another couple of stops, leaving her barely enough time to work out the sequence of transfers that would get her to the commuter rail without going through Central Station, where Tweed Jacket would doubtlessly be waiting for her.

Now, though, anger was replacing anxiety. Now, the need for action drove her. She didn’t feel shaky, she felt energized and mad as hell. Edgy and tense, Joss found a table and then paced restlessly beside it, staring out at the greenery outside.

The missed call was from Bax, but she didn’t get a response when she rang. Frowning, she switched it to mute and shoved it into her jacket pocket.

“Glad you could make it.”

She turned to see Ray behind her, standing next to a portly man in an expensive suit.

“Good to see you, Ray,” she said, shaking hands with him.

“I’ve got a person here who might be able to help you with your problem.”

Person. Not friend, not colleague. An odd way to put it. “All right.” Joss put her hand out. “I’m—”

Ray shook his head. “No names,” he said brusquely. “You guys talk and see if it gets you anywhere. I’m going into the exhibition.”

The portly man took a seat at the table and looked at her calmly. His name badge was flipped backward so she could only see the name of the convention center and nothing else.

Joss sat down in a chair to face him. “So, are you exhibiting here?”

The man shrugged. “I am just walking the show, meeting with clients,” he said with an accent that sounded vaguely Germanic.

“What do you do?”

“I specialize in reproductions of famous stamps.”

“Forgeries?”

His eyes chilled. “No. Legitimate reproductions. I do not attempt to pass them off as true rarities. They are marked clearly on the back.”

“Do you sell a lot of them?”

“There is a market for reproductions. They are for those who want the thrill of owning a stamp beyond their means.”

“And what if I wanted a reproduction of a famous stamp that wasn’t marked on the back?”

He drew himself up. “I could not, of course, help you. I am a legitimate businessman. I do not contribute to fraud.”

“Of course, if the buyer buys one of your reproductions and pastes it onto an envelope, the mark wouldn’t show,” Joss said thoughtfully. “He could pass it off as authentic, if he wanted to.”

He shrugged. “The world is a perilous place for the gullible. My job is to manufacture and broker properly marked reproductions. What happens to them after the sale is beyond my control.”

All very neat and convenient, she thought. Ray’s treatment of him suddenly made sense. “What if I wanted a version of a famous stamp that I could pass off as the real thing?”

“I am sorry? I do not understand.”

“What if I wanted a pair of extremely good reproductions?” Joss kept her voice low, mindful of the exhibit attendees who were starting to circulate around the convention center lobby. “Something good enough to fool a knowledgeable amateur. They wouldn’t have to pass an expert, but they’d have to be very, very good. Front and back.”

“And what are the stamps of interest?”

“The Post Office Mauritius pair.”

He nodded, digesting this. “It would be difficult,” he said finally. “I myself cannot do such things. As I said, I am a legitimate businessman. I have heard of a man in Amsterdam who perhaps accepts these sorts of commissions, however.”

“How do I reach him?”

The German gave her an oily smile. “I could, perhaps, make inquiries. How soon do you need these…reproductions?”

“Two days, perhaps three.”

“Just a moment, madame.” He rose and crossed the room, pulling out his cell phone to make a call. Minutes went by as Joss watched him.

If he could be trusted, and she wasn’t at all sure he could be, he could help her get the forgeries. There was still the matter of cost, of course, not to mention timing. Late would be as bad as not at all. She wished passionately that Bax was there with her. He would know how to handle the German. Since he wasn’t, though, she’d have to do her best.

The German walked back to the table and settled in his chair. “It is possible I have a way to contract this man in Amsterdam. Of course, such work as you require would take some investment. All the more so for such a rapid turnaround.”

Which included his commission, no doubt. “Can I talk with him directly?”

“Of course, but he is a very cautious man. The nature of his business, you understand.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You must travel to him, meet him at the spot of his choosing. And it must be you alone. Do not attempt to bring another with you.”

“Impossible. I’ve got a partner.”

“You must leave the partner behind. Or take the partner with you, but give up your hope for the stamps.”

“It’s a simple business deal.”

“Madame, what you ask is not simple at all.”

She could already imagine what Bax would say, but she didn’t see that there was a choice. “All right, if that’s the way he wants it.”

“He insists, I’m afraid.”

She tilted her head a bit and looked at him. “And what do you get out of all of this?”

“Merely the satisfaction of bringing two interested parties together.”

“Merely?”

“Why, yes. Of course, it is a risk for me to give you this
name. It is a risk for me to be associated with this business at all. I am a—”

“Legitimate businessman,” she finished for him.

“Indeed. However, if you wanted to make the arrangements proceed more smoothly, you might offer a token of your appreciation. After all, I still need to give you the name and location of the Amsterdam contact, and there are meetings to arrange…”

A shakedown, in other words. Joss’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“I will leave that to you, but if your need is great, a thousand kroner would be a small price to pay. For my trouble, you see, and for international telephone calls.”

“A legitimate businessman?” she asked sardonically.

“It is a risky thing I do for you.”

“And I’m sure you’ve never sullied yourself with this sort of business in the past.”

“Certainly not, madame.”

Joss dug in her pocket. “I wasn’t prepared for a shakedown. Would you take,” she fumbled in her pocket, “five hundred?”

“I am not, despite what you think, a greedy man.” The bills disappeared smoothly into his pocket. “And in exchange, the information. Go to Amsterdam on Wednesday morning.”

“He can’t come here?”

“He is a man with very special skills and connections. Such men are very rare. If you wish to do business with them, you must go to where they are.”

“Amsterdam.”

“The choice is yours, madame.” He gave a shrug. “Perhaps your need is not so great.”

She thought of Silverhielm and of the real Blue Mauritius, currently at risk. “What do I do?”

“It is very simple. When you reach the city, call this number.” He handed her a small slip of paper. “When someone answers, ask to speak with Mr. Kant. They will instruct you where to go.”

“How much money does he want?”

“I cannot say for sure. Perhaps two hundred times what you paid me.”

More than twelve thousand dollars, she thought in shock. “For a forgery?”

“Madame, please.” He looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching. “It is no small thing you seek. There is great risk involved.”

Translation, they knew she needed it and they could gouge her. “How can he expect that much?”

“He expects nothing. You are the one who seeks something. If I were you, I would go prepared.”

Joss nodded, thinking quickly. They’d have to fund this from Operation Recovery, as Gwen had called her poker tournament winnings. They had the money and Gwen, of all people, would appreciate anything that reduced risk to the Blue Mauritius. Still, it was hard to think of paying so much for something that had no intrinsic value.

Then again, if it let them get the one-penny Mauritius back, it would be worth it.

“All right. Are you going to let him know I’m coming?”

“He expects you.”

“Can I count on your confidence?”

He shrugged. “Of course. After all, I do not know your name. Also, I do not wish to have my name associated with such questionable activities.”

Although moral qualms certainly hadn’t stopped him from pocketing the money earlier. She had no doubt he’d collect more. “Thank you for your help.”

“I am happy to be of assistance, madame. I wish you a safe journey.”

Show up safely with your money, more like.

He rose. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She stood to watch him go.

And looked up to see Bax staring at her from the entrance, face taut with some emotion she couldn’t name.

A
NGER
. H
E WAS SURE
it was anger whipping through him as she walked out of the glass doors to meet him and he moved to hold her, just hold her. He pressed his face against the soft tumble of her hair, breathing in her scent, absorbing the reality of her against him, healthy and whole. Until that moment, he hadn’t known just how certain he’d been that something had happened to her.

And just how much that would have hurt.

It hit him like the brutal, unforgiving shock of falling into a pool of very cold water. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. She was a client, nothing more. He was too smart to get emotionally caught up in her and lose his focus.

So he loosened his hold on her and stepped away. “What were you thinking, going off like that?”

Joss blinked at him. “Ray called and wanted to see me. You were gone. I left you a note.”

“I saw it. That doesn’t answer my question. What was so important that you couldn’t wait?” he demanded.

She walked past him into the semicircular entrance area with its cul-de-sac and line of taxis. “This isn’t the place to talk,” she hissed.

He stalked after her, staying several paces away to remove himself from the temptation of touching her again. To forget the metallic taste of fear that had filled his throat
when he’d reached the empty T-bana station. “You took a damn fool risk,” he ground out once they were on the shaded pathway that led to the commuter rail station up the hill.

“I took a calculated risk,” she countered. “I wasn’t meeting Markus again. I was meeting someone we knew and it had to happen now. And I tried to reach you. You didn’t take your phone, you didn’t say when you’d be back. Am I supposed to read your mind?” She stalked away from him and turned back in frustration. “Why don’t you just admit that you’re no better at this working together thing than I am?”

And that quickly his anger ebbed away.

“Look.” Joss took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I scared you. I knew you wouldn’t like it but I thought you would understand.”

“You had a tail. I saw him as you were walking down the street.”

“You saw? How? Where were you?”

“Markus stopped me after my run. I was walking back from the
torg
when I saw you. I couldn’t catch you before you walked into the station.” And he remembered watching helplessly as she disappeared into the station with the tail behind her.

“I thought I heard something as I was getting on the train but I wasn’t sure. That was you? It made me turn, and then I saw the same guy who’d been in the hotel lobby.”

Bax raked a hand through his hair. “It scared the hell out of me, getting to the station and finding it empty,” he said unwillingly. “I didn’t know what had happened to you.”

“It kind of threw me for a loop, too,” she confessed. “But I figured out a way to ditch him. Left him standing on a platform in Central Station,” she said in a proud tone.

“No kidding?” Despite himself, he was impressed. “So you made it here without being followed?”

“I’m pretty sure. I saw that I missed your call while I was on the T-bana but I couldn’t get an answer.”

“It’s okay,” he told her, realizing that for the moment, anyway, it was. “So what did Ray have to say?”

Joss moved away to sit on a nearby bench. “Actually, he mostly wanted to introduce me to a friend. Or not a friend, but someone he knows. I don’t think he thinks very highly of him, quite frankly.”

“The one who was walking away when I came in?”

“Yes. He makes reproductions of famous stamps.”

“Forgeries?”

“Reproductions marked on the back. Legal forgeries, I suppose, but they’re not good enough for what we want. He knows someone, though.”

“What’s it going to cost us?”

“A lot,” she said, and told him. “It’s not so much that we can’t afford it. I’ll call Gwen and have her wire it.”

“When’s the handoff?”

Joss hesitated and his radar went up. “A couple of days. It’s not exactly a handoff. We’ve got to go pick them up.”

“Where?”

“Amsterdam.”

He considered it. “You’re looking at a one hour flight. It’s not the end of the earth. We can do it the same day.”

Joss looked down at the ground. “It’s not that simple,” she told him.

He had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to like it, not a bit. “What’s the catch?”

“I’m the one who’s got to go get them.”

“A
BSOLUTELY NOT
,” Bax thundered.

Joss stared at him. A moment before, he’d seemed like
he was releasing the whole control thing. Now, he was back to telling her what she could and couldn’t do. “I’ve got to go. We’ve don’t have a choice.”

“You’re talking about walking into God knows where with a fistful of cash. You don’t know these people, you’ve got nothing to trust but the word of a man Ray Halliday doesn’t like very much. What if they try to rob you? What if it’s all a scam? You don’t have the experience and training to deal with it.”

“I dealt with being tailed, didn’t I?” she retorted. “And you taught me self-defense.”

“I taught you a few emergency moves. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can deal with a professional. I don’t want to see you get hurt,” he said abruptly.

That was it, she realized. He was scared for her. It was just coming out as anger.

“Then tell me what to do. Get me as prepared as possible. If you stay here, or if you go out, even, Silverhielm’s men will be busy watching you. It’ll be easier for me to slip out alone than if we were together. You’ve got to let me do this,” she pleaded. “If I don’t, it’ll screw everything up.”

It took fighting every instinct he had for him to say yes, she could see that. The fact that he nodded, finally, meant that he put an enormous amount of trust in her.

Now all she had to do was pull it off.

P
ELIKAN WAS
warm and dark, a hall lit with overhead clusters of luminous globes. It wasn’t a restaurant so much as a beer hall, with heavy, square pillars that held up the twenty-foot ceiling. The walls above the walnut wainscoting were dark gold, some of them painted with jungle scenes, some merely darkened with a patina of age. Parquet tile covered the floor, making the room ring with a hubbub of sound.

Bax scanned the crowd, looking across the ranks of tables. “He’s not here.”

“What about the bar?”

On the other side of the wall lay Kristallen, the bar part of Pelikan. The two shared an entrance, but little else. Crowded Kristallen focused on electronic DJ music for the hip crowd. Cigarette smoke spiraled upward toward the ceiling. A shout of laughter erupted at the far corner and Bax looked over to see Oskar.

The young boat mate scrubbed at his hair as he leaned over to whisper to a pretty blond girl next to him. She turned in mock anger and punched him in the shoulder. He laughed again, and murmuring to her, he leaned in to steal a kiss. A flush stole over her cheeks.

Bax could tell the minute Oskar saw him, his gaze sharpening as he set down his beer mug. He said something to his friends and rose to walk down the bar toward them. The blond girl followed him with her eyes.

“
Hej.
So you have come to enjoy Pelikan. Welcome. Come have a drink with us.”

Bax shook his head. “We were hoping to talk. Can we buy you a beer?”

“Of course.” Oskar glanced down the crowded bar. “Let’s go next door and get a table. It will be easier to hear.”

They were able to get a table, that much was true. If anything, though, it was harder to hear in the echoing hall of the main room. Then again, Joss thought as the waitress led them to a table in the corner of the restaurant, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. A blanket of sound made it difficult for anyone else to hear what they had to say.

It was a cozy spot. Bax immediately pulled a chair around so that they could sit, heads together. Expertly, he
flipped a five hundred kroner bill onto the table in Oskar’s direction. “We need to talk and we need to know it won’t go further. Are we agreed?”

Oskar moved his hand away from the bill without touching it. “It is a question of what the talk is about. I don’t break the law.”

“This is not about breaking the law.”

He relaxed fractionally. “What is it about?”

“Will it remain between us?”

Oskar gave Bax a long, searching look. Bax looked back at him impassively, seeking neither to convince or to intimidate. Finally, Oskar gave a slow nod. “It will.”

“Good. We need a boat.”

Oskar laughed. “All this secrecy over a boat?”

“There’s more but we can start with that.”

The waitress appeared and they ordered beer.

“We need a speedboat,” Bax resumed, “one that can do sixty or seventy kilometers per hour.”

“Such speed can be dangerous. Do you know anything about piloting such a boat?”

“I’ve got experience and I know how to navigate. I don’t know the archipelago, though, so I’ll need charts.”

“Where are you going?”

“A private island.”

“Ah, yes, I remember. Beyond Bullerö. Which one?”

“It’s called Silverholmen.”

For a moment, Oskar was perfectly still, then he leaned back and studied Bax. “So you want to go to Silverholmen. Are you invited?”

“We are, though I want to go out there a day or two before our invitation to check out the area.”

“Karl Silverhielm is a formidable man.”

“How do you know that it is Silverhielm’s island?”

“I have heard stories. And are you a friend of his?”

“Would I be renting a boat to spy on a friend?” Bax asked softly.

“No.”

The waitress appeared with their drinks. For a moment, they were occupied with the ceremony of beer mats and distributing mugs, but finally she was gone. Oskar gave Bax a frank look. “Are you sure you understand who you are dealing with?”

“I think so.”

“He kills those who interfere with him.”

Bax took a drink of his ale. “I’ll take that chance.”

“Are you willing to risk Josie, too?”

“I’m not his to risk,” Joss spoke up. “It’s my choice and I’m ready to do it.”

“You don’t understand what he’s like. He is dangerous.”

“You seem to know him awfully well,” Joss observed, looking at the tense lines of Oskar’s body.

Oskar stared at them. “You say I am not to talk of this conversation. What of you? What is your interest in Silverhielm?”

“He has something of ours, something we want to get back.”

“And you’re willing to cross him for it?”

“I’m eager to cross him,” Joss said. “I want to get it back and I want it to hurt him.”

Oskar shook his head. “You are both crazy, you know?” He circled his finger by his temple. “My advice to you is go home. Do not do this.”

“That’s not an option,” Joss returned.

Oskar stared at them both moodily. “Let me tell you a story and see if you are still of this mind. I worked for Silverhielm, or rather I worked for a delivery company that brought goods to him. For a while.”

“How was that?”

There was no humor in Oskar’s smile. “It worked out as you would expect. Silverhielm was the barracuda and we were the herring. In the beginning, we delivered once a week, groceries, mostly. Some fuel for his generators. Then he offered to invest in the business, to help it grow, he said. A service for the archipelago. My boss was so eager, falling down to say yes.” Oskar shook his head, an expression of pity mingled with contempt on his face. “You don’t give a man like Silverhielm anything. My boss did not understand that. Not so smart, you understand? Or maybe too greedy.”

Bax knew what happened to small, greedy players when they got involved with the Silverhielms of the world. “When was this?”

“About three years ago. At first, everything was just as Silverhielm said. My boss bought more boats, advertised to hire more pilots.” He looked from Joss to Bax. “But you can guess, I am sure, what happened. Silverhielm sent over some people. Hire them, he said, and hire my dispatcher. Soon, we were making many more deliveries…and pickups.”

“Smuggling.” Joss said aloud. “They were smuggling.”

“Congratulations. You are very fast. My boss did not believe for six months, until he saw one of the pilots hand off a package. He complained to Silverhielm, told him to stop or he would go to the police. They found him a week later in Lake Mälaren.”

“Silverhielm?” Bax asked.

Oskar shrugged. “No proof. No proof of the smuggling, no proof of the murder. People saw him that night with a stranger in a bar. The bartender said he had only one drink but the police said that tests of the body showed he was very drunk. Maybe he stumbled into the water, po
lice said.” Oskar took a swallow of his beer. “Maybe not. Silverhielm bought the rest of the business.”

“Didn’t you tell them what you knew?”

“I had left the company by then. My statements were not enough to help, they said.”

“Why did you leave?” Joss asked.

He gave them an opaque glance. “In the beginning, I made the deliveries to Silverholmen.”

It was the foot in the door Bax had been hoping for. “Did you get into the house?”

“Not at first. His people came to the dock and took everything.” Oskar moved his mug in small circles on the table, making little patterns on the scarred wood. “After a couple of months, though, they gave me a handcart and had me take the boxes up to the house.”

“How much did you see?” This was what they needed, a layout of the house and the island. They needed to know what they were walking into.

“Mostly the kitchen, but sometimes I had to bring office supplies.”

“Silverhielm has a home office?”

“With a desk the size of Gamla Stan. There is a fax, computer, copier, everything.”

“A safe?” Joss asked.

“Probably, but I never saw it.”

“Did you ever see him?”

“Oh yes. On the day I quit.”

It was there in his voice. This wasn’t the story he’d set out to tell them, but it had become the story they needed urgently to hear. “Why did you quit?” Bax asked.

For a moment, he was silent. A noisy group of students at the table behind them clanked glasses and shouted in a boisterous toast.