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The fondue had pieces of beef that rounded out the flavor and made it even more tasty. The gougère were cheese balls rolled in choux pastry. But the crowning achievement was the pochouse, fish stewed in red wine.

Desert was a strawberry-and-mascarpone-cream tart that melted in the mouth.

Later, they gathered in Danilovic’s den in front of a fire that staved off the outside chill of the night. Lourds and Danilovic fired up cigars, and both were surprised when Natasha agreed to smoke one as well. They drank brandy from large glasses.

“You don’t know these men who are pursuing you?” Danilovic asked.

Lourds shook his head. “I think I recognized some of them from Alexandria.”

“So you think they are on the same trail as you?”

“It’s the only answer.” Lourds had settled into a deep easy chair that he found entirely too comfortable. “There’s no reason for them to be interested in me.”

Danilovic leaned forward and patted Lourds on the knee. “I’ve always found you interesting, my dear professor.”

“You’re drunk,” Lourds accused.

“Perhaps a little.” Danilovic looked at Leslie. “But perhaps it was not you, my friend. Perhaps it was our television star.”

“I’m no star,” Leslie said. “And I don’t know anything about history or language or artifacts.”

“You know that they all go together,” Danilovic said. “Most people don’t know that.” He tapped ash into an ashtray as he gazed at her speculatively. “Yet you found the bell in Alexandria.”

“That was quite by accident.”

Danilovic shrugged. “I tend to be a man of faith, dear lady, though I am in a profession that some might feel descried that. These other men, the ones who pursue you, were already looking for this bell—or at least something similar—otherwise, they wouldn’t have come for it.”

“We can figure out who is chasing you,” Natasha stated quietly. “By identifying them, by knowing more about why they want the instruments, we know more about the instruments themselves.”

Danilovic smiled beatifically. “Yes. You see, my friend, whenever I sell a piece that has come into my possession, I have to know who I’m getting it from, who I’m selling it to, and enough about the item to know what makes it valuable to both. Why are you so interested in these items?”

“Because of the language,” Lourds answered immediately.

“That’s your value, but few people would be interested in a dead language that might take years to unravel.”

“I don’t think it will take that long,” Lourds said. “If I can figure out what the instruments pertain to, I should be able to make an educated guess and back that up with facts.”

Danilovic patted Lourds on the shoulder. “I’m sure that you will. However, the materials those instruments are made of are basically worthless. Not gold or silver. Not encrusted with gems. Plain things. With secrets written on them.”

“But the people who swiped those instruments already know what’s written on them,” Gary said. He leaned forward excitedly. “At least, they know whatever’s supposed to be written on them. Like a treasure map or something.”

Lourds considered that. “The people who took the instruments know what they’re looking for. They just don’t have what’s written on the instruments.”

“So where did their knowledge come from?” Leslie asked.

“That’s one of the questions you should be asking,” Danilovic said. “By asking that, you’ve already narrowed the field of who might be chasing you.”

“And why are they still after us?” Gary asked.

“For two reasons,” Natasha announced quietly. “One is that they’re afraid Professor Lourds will crack the language and possibly expose the secrets they’re protecting. And the other is that Professor Lourds has been, by luck or by design, in touch with two of the instruments they’re searching for.”

“We’re going to have to be off to Leipzig as quickly as we can, old friend,” Lourds said to Danilovic.

“And quit my hospitality so soon?” Danilovic looked surprised.

“If it were for any other reason—”

Danilovic held up a hand and smiled. “I take no slight. I understand your pressing need. The matter has already been arranged. Viktor will take you to a ship in the morning that I’ve secured passage on for you.”

“Thank you,” Lourds said.

“For tonight, we should enjoy what’s left of this fine brandy and talk of old times.”

CHAPTER

12

ILLICHIVSK MARITIME TRADE PORT

ODESSA OBLAST, UKRAINE

AUGUST 24, 2009

W

here are you, Natasha?” Ivan Chernovsky sounded calm, but Natasha knew from long association that the man was anything but that.

“In Illichivsk.” Natasha didn’t lie. She thought perhaps he would recognize her lies as easily as she recognized his.

The port area was jammed with business and trade. Twelve miles southwest of Odessa proper and the second largest warmwater seaport in the oblast, Illichivsk sprang up around the port as the home of the Black Sea Shipping Company. Ships of all sizes sat anchored at the docks or moved slowly through the waters. Longshoremen moved freight onto and off the cargo ships.

“What are you doing there?” Chernovsky asked.

“I’m looking for my sister’s murderer. I called hoping you could help me.”

“Forensics found an old bullet in the man’s body,” Chernovsky said. “Evidently he’d been shot at some point and hadn’t had access to a medical facility. The wound eventually healed, but the bullet remained.”

“You identified the bullet the way we did when we worked the Karpov murder,” Natasha said.

“Yes. The bullet belonged to the weapon we took off a Mafiya enforcer,” Chernovsky continued. “Once the bullet was identified, I went to see this man.”

Natasha kept her gaze roving. Leslie had returned to Lourds and Gary. But another man stood only a few meters away.

The man was slovenly. He wore a cap pulled low over his eyes and a checked lightweight jacket. A casual observer might have mistaken him for a dockworker. Natasha noted the good boots the man wore and knew he wasn’t used to working on the dock, even though he’d dressed for it. Chernovsky had taught her to watch people’s shoes. They often changed their clothing before or after an illegal activity, but they seldom changed their shoes.

Standing against a container awaiting loading, the man occasionally nodded to other dockhands and sipped from a Styrofoam cup. He also spoke on a cell phone. Not many of the longshoremen could afford or carry a cell phone.

“This man identified the dead man as part of a crew that attempted to steal a load of illegal Iraqi antiques that came in during the American war. I talked with some of the street dealers that traffic in such things. I also flashed the dead man’s picture. His name was Yuri Kartsev.”

“His name means nothing to me.” Natasha knew Chernovsky was waiting for a response.

“Perhaps it might to the professor.”

“I’ll ask him.” She also knew that was Chernovsky’s way of confirming they were still traveling together.

“This Kartsev was known to work with a man named—” Pages rustled as Chernovsky checked his notes. “—Gallardo. Patrizio Gallardo.”

“I don’t know that name either.”

“Well, that name comes with a history.” Chernovsky took a deep breath.

The man watching Lourds and his group put his phone back into his pocket and lit a cigarette. Natasha’s stomach unclenched a little at that. Whoever he was waiting for wasn’t yet in the area.

Natasha watched the watcher but spoke quickly to Chernovsky. “I know you want to keep me hanging on as long as you can, Ivan. If I were in your shoes, I’d do the same thing. The problem is that we are exposed. And I think that the men chasing us are closing in even as we speak. So perhaps you could tell me what you know.”

Chernovsky hesitated. Natasha suspected their supervisor might even be listening to the phone call.

“Patrizio Gallardo is a very bad man, Natasha,” Chernovsky said. “He’s a thief and a killer. Not a man to trust.”

“Does he work for himself or someone else?”

“Both. He does piecework. He specializes in illegal antique acquisitions.”

“Who does he work for?”

“He owes no allegiance that I have discovered yet. I will keep looking.”

“Please,” Natasha said. “I will be in touch again as I am able.”

“Where should I next expect you to call from?”

“I will let you know. We’re going to be moving a lot. Thank you, Ivan.”

“Keep yourself safe, Natasha. I would see you home again soon.”

Natasha cradled the phone and headed across the street. It was time to do something about the watcher.

Patrizio Gallardo bulled through the port as he folded and pocketed his cell phone. He picked up the pace as he spotted the freighter, Winding Star, lying at anchorage about three hundred meters away.

According to his informant’s report, Lourds and his party were nearby.

Four of his men walked with him. All of them had weapons tucked beneath their coats.

A police car pulled into the street beside Gallardo. Two uniformed policemen sat up front. A man in plainclothes sat in the back.

Gallardo’s personal radar for policemen jangled. Instinctively, he turned toward a side street. They’d left a hell of a mess in Moscow, and he had to wonder if it was coming back to haunt him.

Brakes squeaked out on the street. A motor changed pitch.

“The police car is coming after us,” one of the men said.

“Break off,” Gallardo directed. “Cover me if they pick me up.” He kept walking, but he listened intently as the tires of the approaching car crunched across loose gravel.

A voice addressed Gallardo in Russian. He ignored it. A lot of the sailors who came to the port didn’t speak Russian.

“Sir,” a man called out in English this time.

Gallardo continued without pause. Some sailors didn’t speak English.

Car doors opened. Footsteps ran after him.

Calmly, Gallardo reached through the opening in his coat pocket for the 9 mm pistol holstered on his hip. If the police were looking for him, they weren’t just going to ask him a few questions.

A hand fell onto Gallardo’s shoulder.

“Sir,” the policeman said.

Gallardo stopped suddenly and turned. The movement caught the policeman off guard. Gallardo had his pistol against the policeman’s stomach before the man knew what was going on. Holding his left hand behind the man’s head so he could use him as a shield, Gallardo fired three times in quick succession. He would have fired at least one more time, but the pistol’s action jammed on the folds of the coat.

The harsh cracks of the pistol filled the alley.

The policeman staggered and slumped against Gallardo. The young man’s features went wide with shock.

The plainclothes inspector and the policeman tried to get out of the car with their weapons drawn. DiBenedetto walked up behind the police inspector almost casually, put a pistol to the back of the man’s head, and blew his brains out.

Realizing the danger he was in, the driver tried to turn around. DiBenedetto shot the policeman in the face twice and kicked him to the ground.

When Gallardo pushed the dead man away from him, the corpse hit the ground. A rectangle of plastic on the man’s left sleeve caught Gallardo’s eyes. He knelt for a closer look.

The rectangle contained a photograph of him. It was the same kind of setup they’d used to get the Russian professor.

“Patrizio,” DiBenedetto called. He held up the plainclothes inspector’s arm. Blood covered much of it, but the plastic rectangle was visible.

They knew who he was.

The cold realization twisted in Gallardo’s stomach. He didn’t know how they had identified him. He’d been careful most of his life, but the police had jailed him a couple of times.

He dropped the dead man’s arm and stood. He opened his coat and freed the pistol. Working quickly, he slipped the magazine free and replaced the spent cartridges.

“We have to get out of here,” DiBenedetto said. “The shots will draw more police, and they’re already searching for you.”

Gallardo nodded and pushed his breath out. “I know. Let’s see if we can find the professor first.”

“Where’s Natasha?” Leslie asked.

Turning his attention from the big ships out in the harbor, Lourds looked at the small store where Natasha had been standing only moments ago. She wasn’t there now.

“She was at the phone,” Gary said. He’d been filming the harbor.

“Well she’s not there now.” Leslie looked at her watch. “When are we supposed to meet with the ship’s captain?”

“At ten thirty,” Viktor said. He looked calm and confident.

Worry gnawed at Lourds’s thoughts. If Natasha had gotten a clue to her sister’s killers, would she tell them? Or would she simply act and leave them? He was pretty sure she would act independently. Natasha obviously didn’t care about the history involved.

“There she is,” Gary said. He pointed at a building just across the street.

Lourds looked and saw Natasha chatting with a middle-aged man who looked rather shabby. Lourds guessed that the man was probably a dock-worker, but didn’t know why the man would be loitering when there was work to be done.

The man gave Natasha a cigarette. She leaned in for a light from the lighter cupped in his hands. Without warning, she stiff-armed the man in the throat and sent him to his knees. A spinning sidekick dropped the man to the ground.

“Bollocks,” Leslie said. “What the bloody hell did she do that for?”

Lourds ran over to Natasha as she crouched down and started going through the man’s pockets.

“What are you doing?” Lourds demanded.

Natasha took a cell phone from the man’s pocket and tossed it to Lourds. “He’s been keeping you under observation.”

The implication staggered Lourds. There was so much about the fugitive lifestyle that he didn’t know. And he had precious little time to learn.

He stared around at the street. Several pedestrians crossed the street to avoid the scene.

“Maybe you could have waited for a more public area to pull your ambush,” Leslie said.

“He was talking to someone on the phone.” Natasha took out a wallet, shoved it into her coat pocket, and then found a packet of pictures in his shirt pocket. When she fanned them out like playing cards, Lourds’s, Leslie’s, and Natasha’s photographs were there.

“He was definitely looking for you,” Viktor said. He waved his hands. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

Natasha abandoned the unconscious man. “Do you know him?” she asked.

Viktor shook his head and took off down an alley.

Before Lourds could move, gunshots rang out only a short distance away. A short time after that, police Klaxons blared to strident life. By then Lourds and the others were moving swiftly through the dockyards.

Winding Star hailed out of South America. A lot of pirate ships did, Lourds knew. Modern-day pirates flew flags of convenience, and it was mostly convenient to fly flags out of South America. It had been amusing to note how many landlocked South American countries hosted veritable navies out around the world.