Mary Dear - Redux Page 17

Her plan had been bubbling away since the Scotland Yard detective had approached her but felt uneasy mentioning it to Elliott even though, as he himself had said, they were friends. Natalia was careful who she confided in regarding her private and business life, but she reasoned, one good turn deserves another. Besides, Elliott was at the centre of her plan.

  ‘The fact is that the police are sort of interested in what I do,’ she said smiling rather sheepishly, ‘to put it bluntly they have me over a barrel, they know about a few deals I’ve done where I’ve sold the odd art treasures that aren’t exactly...well, you know...anyway they implied they could make things pretty hot for me but offered me a way out...’

  ‘Who’s been a naughty girl then?’ He couldn’t resist teasing her.

  ‘It’s serious Elliott. It would break mum and dad’s heart. Dad would not forgive me if he found out, he’s always given me anything I want,’ she said, ‘but you know me, I’ve always wanted to stand on my own two feet. Is that so bad?’

  Elliott could see she was upset, ‘don’t worry princess,’ he said, ‘I’m a fine one to talk. I’m also in a bit of a pickle,’ and he told her about his little problem with Briggs.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got a contact,’ he said, ‘how about giving him a call? Say I want to meet him.’

  She made the call and a meeting was arranged. Three days later, on a particularly dull Monday in May, they met Andrew Renfrew in the Serpentine.

  Elliott had been expecting to meet a detective from the Met and not Scotland Yard’s drugs Tsar, the man in charge of disrupting the drug barons operating in the UK. Renfrew was a powerful man but this was 2007 and his budget was limited. Funds were being diverted to the continuing war on terror. Elliott explained that he was involved in a difficult salvage operation that required substantial funding and technical help.

  Renfrew didn’t need a lot of unnecessary explanations. It was clear that Elliott’s operation was not something he could go to his bank with. In any case, Renfrew was under a lot of pressure to get results. If he was to get more government funds for his department he needed a major drugs bust and he would listen and talk with anyone that might be able to help him. He got right down to business and said that, in exchange for Elliott’s help, he could make his funding problems disappear and, as a bonus, would throw in the logistic support he needed.

  ‘We’re not in the salvage business Mr Shepherd, what you find is between you and the Costa Rican government. We just need to get rid of a large drugs problem so if you help us we’ll help you; it’s that simple.’

  Natalia went on to explain the plan she had already shared with Andrew. Elliott gave a low whistle.

  ‘Natasha, remind me not to cross you,’ he said.

  Elliott thought it over and decided that there was no downside to this offer but it had a definite upside in that, having the law on his side would ensure that his next meeting with Johnny Briggs would be under much more pleasant circumstances. He said yes and shook hands on the deal.

  Andrew Renfrew suggested a meeting to introduce Elliott to the man who would be helping him when he reached Costa Rica, and gave him a date to come to his office at New Scotland Yard in ten days time. Elliott had never been there and welcomed the opportunity to get a closer look at the famous institution, A fortnight later he presented himself for his 10am appointment. He entered the large office, with views over Victoria Street and Westminster Abbey, to be greeted by Renfrew and a young man.

  ‘Good morning Mr Shepherd,’ he said ‘good of you to come. May I introduce you to Tim Martin? He will be your contact in Costa Rica.’

  ‘Good morning Mr Martin, I’m Elliott,’ he said, inviting him to drop the ‘Mister’.

  ‘Pleased to meet you Elliott; I’m looking forward to working with you. It sounds as if it might be quite exciting.’

  ‘I rather think it might, though not too exciting I hope. Do you know Costa Rica?’

  ‘I have been there on a few occasions though not lately I must say. Beautiful country.’

  Renfrew had been listening patiently to the conversation.

  ‘Well you two will have plenty of time to get to know each other better. In the mean time is there anything else that you might need?’ he said turning to Elliott.

  ‘As it happens there is. I need to find a good reliable engineer with specialist knowledge of deep-sea salvage.’

  ‘You need to speak with Helmut Mueller in Zurich,’ Renfrew said, ‘I will arrange it and contact you with the details. You better give me a contact number where you can be reached.’ Elliott gave Renfrew his mobile number and email address.

  Herr Mueller, a softly spoken man in his thirties, lived in a second floor apartment in Hohlstrasse, near the three-star Hotel Regina. His English had a faint accent Elliott couldn’t quite place. Mueller ushered him into his office and, after offering Elliott a cold beer, asked: ‘How can I help you Mr Shepherd?’

  Elliott explained that the problem consisted in recovering a large heavy box from the seabed and raising it to the surface. He would have the help of another man in accomplishing the task but he didn’t know the exact size of box he’d be dealing with.

  ‘Interesting, said Mueller, ‘You don’t know the exact size of the box...that is an important consideration.’ The engineer seemed distracted as if he were already considering possible solutions. ‘Still, you will be two in the water and that makes life much easier. I have worked on similar problems but I will need time to come up with the best answer. When do you need this by?’

  ‘Would a month be sufficient?’

  ‘A little longer, say second week in July, if that’s acceptable?’

  Elliott agreed and then asked for an idea of what the price would be but Herr Mueller said that he was on a retainer from Mr Renfrew who’d told him to give Mr Elliott whatever he required and bill him instead. Elliott was more than happy with that arrangement. He checked out of the Regina, and took a taxi to the airport, satisfied with the result of his short visit to Zurich.

  Elliott contacted Andrew Renfrew to thank him for the introduction and to tell him the time schedule he had agreed with Mueller. Renfrew said that was fine, but advised him that his travels around Europe were not quite over yet. He needed him to visit Florence in order to commission a very special work; it was a task that he needed Elliott to undertake as the need for secrecy was paramount. Renfrew could not go himself as he could not take a chance of leaking their plan to the cartel. In an organization the size of The Yard there was always that risk.

  Elliott landed at Galileo Galilei international airport in Pisa onboard a BA flight, cleared customs and got a taxi to Piazza Santo Spirito in Florence. Renfrew had arranged for him to meet Giovanni Puglia at Caffè Ricchi. Signor Giovanni was in his sixties; he was wiry, tanned with strong hands that were used to handling the tools of his trade. Elliott stood outside the caffè studying the faces of the clientele and was soon able to recognize him from a photograph that Renfrew had provided. After introducing himself Signor Giovanni suggested that they go on to his workshop near Piazza Di Cestello.

  Elliott left the studio having entrusted Renfrew’s very special project into the capable hands of this master craftsman. Halfway through completion of the work, Signor Puglia contacted Andrew Renfrew who arranged for a second visit by a specialist whose expertise was required before the task could be completed.

  Six weeks later, Elliott paid another visit to Zurich and was able verify that Herr Mueller was as excellent an engineer as Renfrew had claimed. His order was crated and dispatched to a secure warehouse in Wandsworth owned by Scotland Yard.

  Elliott did not need to travel to Florence again but when he visited the Yard’s special warehouse and set eyes on the work he had commissioned he was most impressed by the skill and craftsmanship of Signor Puglia.

  Chapter Fourteen

  New York 2007

  A special auction of 16th century Russian icons was due to take place in Sotheby’s, in Manhattan at the corner of 72nd Street and Y
ork Avenue, in a week’s time.

  Esteban Blanco’s special invitation had arrived a month previously and he had had his personal assistant reserve his usual suite at The Carlyle Hotel. Blanco was a regular guest when visiting The Big Apple and liked the hotel’s location on the Upper East Side, one block from the Whitney Museum of American Art and Central Park. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was just five blocks away, and the Guggenheim and Lincoln Center were within a mile. In other words, it was the ideal hotel for a patron of the arts.

  The President & Managing Director of The Carlyle had provided something special for each guest: a complimentary copy of the latest Sotheby's catalogue with a Sotheby's bookmark, and a direct telephone link to the famous auctioneers from the hotel room telephone as well as complimentary invitations to all their auctions and previews.

  Blanco phoned The Pierre and asked to be put through to Natalia Dzhabrailova. After three rings she answered the call.

  ‘Good afternoon Natalia,’ he said, ‘it’s Esteban Blanco. I’ve just arrived in New York and wanted to thank you personally for all your help in securing that rather special icon last month.’

  ‘Esteban. Hello, I’m glad you’re happy,’ she said, ‘but that’s not necessary, it’s what I get paid for isn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly, but I am a considerate man you know, I believe in the personal touch,’ he joked.

  ‘I know you are, but as I said, there’s really—’

  ‘I’m staying in my usual hotel,’ he cut in, ‘why don’t you come up to my suite? We can have a drink and discuss a new acquisition I’d like you to handle for me. Let’s say in an hour?’

  There was no point arguing, ‘I’ll be there,’ she said.

  Andrew Renfrew came over to where she was standing, still holding the receiver.

  ‘All right Natalia, now we bait the hook and hope our big fish is hungry.’

  She was booked in a Superior Room and Renfrew had the one next door. The connecting door stood open. ‘From now on best don’t open your door to anyone without checking with me first,’ Renfrew said, ‘just knock once and I’ll be with you in a second.’

  She was apprehensive about her meeting. She wondered what Blanco might know and wasn’t keen on the idea of walking into the lion’s den, but Renfrew reassured her he would not be far from her at anytime during her meeting. Still, up till now all her meetings with Blanco had been in public places, hotel rooms hadn’t been part of any deal. She took the lift down to the lobby and walked straight out the front door where the doorman got her a cab from the waiting rank. She tipped him and got in the taxi while the doorman leaned down to tell the driver to take her to The Carlyle, leaving The Pierre with Renfrew following at a safe distance in another yellow cab. Natalia was still uneasy about her forthcoming encounter with Blanco.

  She was smartly dressed in a Donna Karan black and white print jacket and black wool trousers. She was not wearing a wire; it could be potentially dangerous, Renfrew had said. Instead he had given her a stylish ring that she wore on her middle finger. It had a hidden button that would send a signal Renfrew would pick up from the Hotel Lobby—a sort of panic alarm that she hoped she would not need.

  Natalia entered the Carlyle and went to the reception desk. She asked for Mr Blanco and gave the receptionist her name. She didn’t look around. The receptionist punched a few numbers on the house phone and waited; when someone answered, she announced the visitor and was told to send her up. Natalia left to take the elevator to the 5th floor.

  She approached two giant men posted on either side of the door to rooms 515–17. They both wore tailored suits and had Bluetooth earpieces. Natalia guessed from the bulges on their jackets that they concealed weapons the hotel management would not have approved of.

  She was shown into a large Art Deco one-bedroom suite with over 1,200 square feet of space, a king bed, a large dining area, kitchenette and two full bathrooms, including one four-fixture bathroom containing a separate soaking tub. She’d heard about the tub and hoped Esteban would not ask her to share a soak in it.

  She found Blanco in a triple-sized living room with a state-of-the-art entertainment system, standing in front of the plasma screen fiddling with the remote. He switched it off, put the remote down on the coffee table and came over to greet her.

  ‘Natalia, preciosa you look wonderful. As always,’ he said stepping forward to welcome her, his mouth smiling. He was not her type, quite the opposite in fact, but she greeted him with a friendly smile and he kissed her on both cheeks.

  Esteban Blanco was forty-nine years old; five foot seven inches tall, clean-shaven, black hair combed back and held in place with brilliantine. His temples had started to turn grey. His face was Latin and angular with cruel black eyes, a nose that had been broken more than once and a mouth that seemed permanently set in a twisted grin. Blanco’s body was dark skinned, fit and smelled strongly of expensive cologne. He wore a light grey sharkskin single-breasted Brioni suit, black silk shirt open at the neck revealing the heavy gold chain and crucifix that he always wore. The gold Rolex Oyster Perpetual was just visible under the French cuffs of his shirt. Natalia took all this in and thought he looked the perfect James Bond villain.

  Esteban took her jacket revealing the light grey cashmere sweater she wore underneath that hugged her body tightly. He showed Natalia to a comfortable chair in the large sitting room and sat opposite her. Natalia could feel his gaze, roaming slowly around her body, settle finally on her face. ‘Natalia, I’ve missed you,’ he said, ‘you really should take me up on my offer and come to Colombia. I’d make sure you have a very good time!’ The voice soft as velvet, the meaning clear, she’d looked away, eyes searching for something, anything other than his face. ‘Vodka Martini?’ He was asking and she turned to nod a thank you.

  A few minutes later a large man arrived carrying a tray with their drinks, and setting them on the large coffee table, looked at his boss for a hint of further instructions. Esteban gave him a curt look and the man left. Esteban handed Natalia a glass and took his own, a highball filled with his favourite whisky; holding it up to toast, he said, ‘Salud!’

  Esteban took a sip and swirled it round his mouth savouring it before swallowing, once more his eyes on hers.

  ‘I have been most impressed with the service you’ve provided so far,’ he said, ‘the three icons you have recommended will be valuable additions to my collection and I trust you to get them for me in tomorrow’s auction.’

  Waiting for Blanco to continue, Natalia said nothing, her face attentive. He paused to consider what he wanted to say. ‘I know that you have helped important people acquire precious works of art, before they are offered to the rest of the world at public auctions...’ he looked at Natasha in a way that conveyed that he knew what she did for her special customers. She was composed, calm but her heart was racing. He went on, ‘I hope you know that, as a serious collector, I am always in the market for something special and would hope to be kept informed...’ he let the words hang giving Natalia time to consider what he was saying.

  Here it comes she thought, will he take the bait? She had to be careful, make it sound normal, matter of fact.

  ‘I know your interest lies with Russian icons,’ she said, ‘I hadn’t thought to mention the special projects that interest my other clients.’ Natalia said inviting his reaction, which she got immediately.

  ‘I am a man who appreciates hearing things first Natalia.’ He was leaning forward, uncomfortably close; the smell of his cologne making her dizzy. ‘How can I make a decision if I am not in possession of the facts?’ His eyes seemed to be reinforcing the point he’d just made.

  ‘Is there a special project that you are involved with that I should know about?’

  She waited, seeming to consider what she was about to say. ‘I’m not sure if this would be of interest—’ she begun.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that, please,’ he cut in.

  ‘Very well,’ she said slowly and almost reluctantly.


  At first she told the tale of a search for a treasure and a valuable relic. When she finished Blanco looked at her for what appeared to be an eternity, his hands clasped while he considered what she’d just told him. She was feeling distinctly uneasy and slightly flushed, wondering if the air conditioning was not working when he said:

  ‘You are an extraordinary person Natalia. I mean it. If things are as you say, and I have no reason to doubt you, I am most certainly interested in your current venture. I will make it worth your while to ensure that this “find” ends up in my collection and no one else’s.’

  Blanco had taken the bait. It was clear from the shine in his eyes and his body language. Natalia realized she’d been holding her breath and she let it out slowly.

  ‘Señor Blanco,’ she begun, ‘you have been very good to me I must say, but there are other interested parties I would have to...’ Blanco held up his hand and beckoned one of his men over. He spoke to him softly in Spanish. When the man left he said:

  ‘Natalia, I think I know a little about life. And, in my experience money talks.’ His man was back carrying a silver metal briefcase that he gave to his boss before leaving. Blanco had placed the case on his lap and was tapping it gently with his hand.

  ‘Inside this case is $100,000,’ he said, his eyes studying her looking for a reaction, ‘consider it a small down payment against what you will get when I am in possession of the gold Virgin,’ and he gave her the case that Natalia accepted with just the right amount of reluctance, quickly brushed aside by Blanco with a wave of his hand. He thought, now, she’s mine.

  Blanco waited for Natalia to leave the suite and called one of his men.

  ‘Vinni, come here.’

  Vinni entered the room to where his boss sat. Tony Vinni was a small weasel of a man. A Puerto Rican immigrant, dark skinned with black shifty eyes beneath bushy eyebrows, he moved as if he were trying to hide from something. He was a natty dresser who favoured Armani and Canali; today was the turn of Canali.