“Are youserious?”
I nodded. “Really good ones. We employed forgery artists who use period correct canvases and handmade paints that would fool ninety-nine out of one hundred experts. Some of them cost damn nearly the same as the original.”
“What about computer analysis?” he asked.
“The pieces will stand up to everything shy of radiocarbon dating, but they don’t have to.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I sell the hell out of every acquisition,” I replied. “One time I even orchestrated fake news reports regarding a stolen Matisse which ended up in Sasha’s collection that very week. He thinks I’m a miracle worker.”
“You’d better hope he never has those paintings closely examined.”
I shrugged. “He’ll have to have them examined from whatever dark hole the company sticks him in. I’ve got more than enough evidence to put Sasha and his crew away for life not only in the US, but in Russia and Ukraine.”
“What about Zivon Petrakov?” Officer Wallace asked. “I was told he was hiding out in Moscow.”
“Then you were misinformed. Zivon is Sasha’s best friend. He’s been hiding out at Sasha’s house for weeks. Anything else you need cleared up?”
“You know, I didn’t ask for this job.”
“Men never have to,” I countered.
“Hold on. Just so I’ve got this straight.” He pressed a palm to his eye socket. “Are you pissed off at me because I’m here or because I have a penis?”
“No, I’m pissed because both the Company and Sasha want you here for the same reason.”
“Which is?”
“Because a woman can’t possibly accomplish anything without the assistance of a man.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.
“I told you the gangsters over here are very religious. The Russian mob is a Jewish outfit even if all members aren’t Jewish per-se, and the Petrakov family have roots in the Catholic church dating back to when Jesus was in junior high school. They are also very traditional. For instance, when Sasha and I were introduced through a contact I’d made in St. Petersburg, he refused to even consider doing business with a woman. I had to convince him that I work with a male partner back in the states, thus the Noah Beck identity was created. We set up a dummy company, and a state-side officer played his part whenever I needed his ‘input.’”
“If the role has already been cast, what am I doing here?” Wallace asked.
“Because two weeks ago, Sasha invited me overfor a cocktail party in order to introduce me to some of his wealthy friends. He wanted to show his appreciation for how hard I’d been working for him by connecting me with possible clientele. Of course, I accepted the invitation, but when I arrived at the party I knew right away what was really going on. Sasha’s guests were all single, rich, old men and I was to be placed on the auction block.”
“Holy Christ,” Wallace hissed. “I mean, holy shit. I mean, regular shit.”
I laughed, surprised by the involuntary reaction. As pissed off as I was about his presence, it wasn’t Officer Wallace’s fault he’d been sent here. In fact, he seemed like an okay guy, and he certainly wasn’t hard to look at or smell. In fact, I was not dreading the chore of playing fake fiancé with him, I just hoped this rookie didn’t get us both killed.
“So how did you avoid becoming the Russian Bachelorette?”
“I had to lie, and tell Sasha that Noah was not only my business partner but that we were engaged to be married.”
“What did he do?”
“Called off the party, immediately. He apologized to his guests, then to me, promising he’d find a way to make up for such a huge mistake. He also insisted on apologizing to both of us, face-to-face at his home in St. Petersburg.”
“Quick thinking on your part. It obviously worked,” Wallace said. “So, why didn’t Noah Beck version 1.0 come to Moscow?”
“Because the officer playing him back at homewas paralyzed from the waist down three months ago after an accident on his kid’s backyard trampoline,” I said, pulling into my parking space and killing the engine.
“Andrew Larkin?” he asked.
“You know Officer Larkin?”
