Chapter Eight
Cameron
“Two minutes late. I thought you said, Sasha was punctual,” I jokingly whispered in Tess’s ear as we made our way to the curb.
“I’ve seen men fired, or worse, for less,” Tess replied, and I believed her.
We spent the car ride chatting while in character for the benefit of our driver and the listening devices that were surely installed inside the car. From this point on we had to assume we were being listened to and watched at all times.
“I just thought the Richter piece should have sold for more, that’s all,” I said.
“And you’re wrong, per usual, on the subject,” she countered.
“What do you mean?”
“You overvalue Gehard Richter’s abstract paintings because of how much his work means to you.”
“Overvalue? How is such a thing even possible?” I argued. “You know what? It’s not possible. It’s not humanly possible to overvalue Gehard Richter.”
Tess raised her palm towards me. “See, there you go.”
“What? There you go, what? What did I say?”
“You said it was impossible to overvalue Richter. You didn’t say his abstract paintings. You referenced the man himself. Admit it. You’re a Gehard Richter fan boy.”
“I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in both Fine Arts and Art History. I’m not a fanboy,” I protested.
Tess crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, fanboy.”
God, she was sexy. I’d honestly never been more attracted to a woman than I was to Tess.
Not only physically, but mentally. We were able to banter and ad-lib while in character effortlessly.
Almost telepathically. I’d never experienced anything quite like it and hoped our connection would help sell our cover story.
I just had to stay focused and keep my stallion in the barn until the mission was over.
Any distraction from the mission could cost us both our lives and I could never forgive myself if anything happened to Tess on my watch.
After a thirty-minute drive, we arrived at the residence of Sasha Fedya, or rather we arrived at the gates of the residence of Sasha Fedya.
I’m not talking about those rinky-fuckin’-dink six-foot wrought iron things we install outside of suburban gated communities either.
I’m talking about a ten-foot iron structure.
The kind of gate that said, ‘stay the fuck out’ and meant it.
After being buzzed in by one of Sasha’s many security guards we made our way up a long and winding driveway, ending mere feet away from the main entrance.
After some quick math in my head, I calculated we were now approximately twelve miles from the nearest main road.
At an average walking speed of three miles an hour, over rough, unfamiliar terrain, in the dark, it would take us well over three hours just to reach the road, let alone civilization.
Plus, with his resources, Fedya could have security checkpoints or booby traps set up along the way.
Hell, he could have both. He could have trained goddamned bears with laser-guided submachine guns for all I knew.
“Wow, sure is private,” I said, giving Tess’s hand a squeeze that I hope conveyed, ‘Why the fuck didn’t you warn me that we’d be completely isolated from the rest of the known world?’
The driver opened our door to reveal Sasha Fedya himself, waiting to greet us with open arms. Speaking of arms, there were two men with very large arms, both of whom I assumed were also armed, standing directly to the left and right of him.
“Eleanor, you look beautiful as always,” Sasha said, giving ‘my fiancée’ a kiss on the check before turning his attention to me. “You must be Noah,” he said as he shook my hand. “Welcome to my home.”
I released his hand, fighting the urge to wipe mine on my pant leg. “Thank you for the invitation. It’s nice to finally meet you in person. Eleanor has talked so much about you, I feel like I know you already.”
“Well, I have a few bottles of 1996 Krug Clos d’Ambonnay Blanc de Noirs Champagne chilling as we speak, so I’m sure we’ll get to know each other even better throughout the evening.”
Sasha’s English was perfect and his Russian accent noticeably light.
“I’m a cheap date,” I said. “You won’t have to open many bottles. I’m a notorious lightweight.”
Of course, I was lying. I was raised around bikers and builders and could more than handle my shit, but by saying this, I hoped Sasha would forgive me if I nursed a single glass all evening.
I wanted to stay as sharp as possible and even with my tolerance, good champagne had a way of sneaking up on me.
Sasha invited us to come inside, and it was only then I realized that we were his only guests.
Tess must have surmised the same. “Are we the first to arrive?” she asked, casually.
“I thought we could dine privately as a threesome tonight,” Sasha said. “I didn’t want to have to compete for your attention tonight. Besides, I have a business matter to discuss with you later. But for now, let’s eat, drink, and enjoy each other’s company.”
Sasha was ‘bond villain’ level slick. His smile, which he flashed freely, seemed perfectly rehearsed to me.
This man was dangerous. I could feel it down to my marrow.
His colossal, stately manor was adorned with museum quality antique furniture and decor dating back to the sixteenth century.
Dinner, a four-course feast, was served on Meissen porcelain, recognizable by its famous blue onion pattern.
This was, by far, the most upscale dinner I’d ever attended, and I employed every acting trick I had to seem comfortable and relaxed.
What came easy was feeling connected to Tess. Even within our roles as Noah and Eleanor I felt tethered to her. I felt a kind of psychic connection to her I’d never felt with anyone before.
“Are you enjoying your bone marrow, Noah?” Sasha asked.
“It’s prefect. My compliments to your chef, or did you cook all this yourself?”
“Me? Cook?” Sasha laughed. “I wouldn’t know how to turn the stove on. No, this lovely meal comes to us compliments of Chef Jaque Laurent.”
“The winner of Bounty Hunter Cook-Off?” Tess asked.
“He was the runner up, but don’t bring that up to him.
He’s still a bit sensitive about the judges’ final decision.
Either way, their loss became my personal chef.
Even though the TV show was pure American trash, I could tell Chef Laurent was a culinary genius, and I pride myself in having an eye for talent.
Talents such as the ones your fiancée processes. ”
“I’ll leave if you start gushing about me, I swear I will, Sasha,” Tess said.
“Not only has she made me a lot of money,” Sasha continued. “But she’s also acquired some very meaningful pieces for my private collection. One piece in particular that reveals new things to me every time I look at it.”
“It’s a team effort,” Tess said, extending her hand for me to take.
“And so it is,” Sasha said. “Please, tell me, Noah. How did the two of you meet?”
I scratched the back of my neck. “Well, now that’s kind of an embarrassing story.”
Sasha broke into a devilish grin. “I’m intrigued already.”
My mission brief included a short backstory about Noah meeting Eleanor while attending University, but that was about it.
The rest was up to us. The only problem being that Tess and I hadn’t spent a single second talking about crafting said backstory.
So, it was up to me. Improvise for your life.
Now, there’s a fucking reality show I should pitch to the producers of Bounty Hunter Cook-Off.
“I was at this party, off-campus, at the Alpha Beta Phi house. ABP was a big dumb jock fraternity whose parties I never went to. I was only there because my friend Shuffy told me about this drop-dead-gorgeous girl that was going to be at the party that he knew I’d want to meet.
Shuffy told me ahead of time that he wasn’t going to introduce me to this girl, because I’d know exactly the “chick” he was talking about the moment I laid eyes on her.
He wanted me to go to the party, grab a plastic cup of cheap beer and, in his words, ‘Wander the savannah until you’ve locked eyes with your prey. ’”
“Shuffy was an idiot,” Tess provided.
I chuckled. “Yes. Ol’ Shuffy was a complete and utter moron.
In fact, he only passed admissions because the Shuffenhouser family were filthy rich and donated the funds to build a new state of the art theater on campus.
But, Shuffy was my first college roommate and my friend.
Not to mention, I hadn’t even gone on a date since freshmen orientation week.
So, I showed up to the party, grabbed a red plastic cup, skipped the line for the keg, and meandered around the party awkwardly for about ten minutes before deciding to leave.
However, as I hastily made my way to the front door, I just about ran into the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
She wasn’t a girl or a chick, she was a woman, and she was perfect. She was also holding an empty red cup.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “I had been holding it for all of ten minutes, mind you.”
I nodded. “She looked at me and then my cup, and said, ‘That line for the keg was no bueno, right’?”
“Which was so not like me,” Tess said. “I’m usually shy. But there was something about Noah, you know?”
I grinned. “Well, I was stunned. Mostly by how beautiful she was but also by the fact that Shuffy actually managed to get something so right. Somehow, I managed to regain the ability to form words, and before I knew it—”
“He asked me if I wanted to get a proper drink some place,” Eleanor interrupted. “I thought it was adorable that he used the word ‘proper,’ and he definitely looked like he didn’t want to be at that party any more than I did, so we decided to leave together.”
“But not until Shuffy showed up with a freshman Psych major named Ronica,” I said. “A perfectly delightful young lady sporting both a bright pink cowboy hat, and a tiara atop her bleach blonde hair extensions, wearing a white T-shirt with the word PUSSY spelled out in rhinestones.”
“I’ll never forget the look on Shuffy’s face,” Eleanor said, breaking into a fit of laughter. “And then he said…and then he said…”
“Dude, where are you going? You haven’t met Ronica yet. I told her you guys would be totally perfect together.”
“He didn’t?” Sasha asked.
“He sure did,” I replied. “The whole time I’m looking at Eleanor, thinking she’s so perfect that Shuffy needed to start a matchmaking service. But in the end, he was the dumbass we knew and loved.”
“But, if you think about it, Shuffy is responsible for us meeting. If he hadn’t invited you, you never would have gone.”
“Eleanor has a good point,” Sasha said. “Maybe it’s not too late to get into the matchmaking racket with your friend, Shuffy. Do you happen to have his phone number handy?”
Over the next two hours, we ate until we were stuffed, drank four-thousand-dollar champagne, and talked about art before Sasha asked if we’d like to see his private collection.
Of course, we said yes.
Sasha’s private gallery rivaled some of the world’s best museums. Masterwork paintings and old-world tapestries adorned every wall while sculptures and installations were placed strategically throughout the space.
The monetary value of the collection was rivalled only by its historical significance.
Clearly, Sasha’s growing criminal enterprise was lucrative enough for him to indulge in his passion.
I wondered how he was going to fare in an eight by nine-foot cell with only blank grey walls to stare at.
“What do you think of my humble little collection?” Sasha asked.
“I’ve never seen one that compares to it,” I said, being completely honest for the first time all night. “It’s truly magnificent.”
“You should recognize a few of the pieces,” Sasha said. “Your betrothed sold them to me.”
I tipped my champagne flute to him. “And we’ll be thinking of you while flying private on our honeymoon.”
“She’s a miracle worker, our Eleanor,” Sasha said.
“Stop it, both of you,” Tess protested. “I can’t stand compliments and you both know it.
I’m just happy these aren’t in some high traffic, corporate, tourist trap, board of trustees run, museum in Cleveland or something.
This artwork belongs here where it can truly be appreciated by the few who have the privilege to see it. ”
“Access to pieces such as these is the greatest benefit in my line of work.”
“Thank you for sharing it with us,” I said, raising my glass once again to our host.
It was then I noticed something inside the room that made my blood run cold. It was on the floor, out of the way, up against a wall, plugged into a nearby socket. It was a power supply to a very specific piece of gear. It was easy to miss, and I did my best to pretend I hadn’t spotted it.
“This one is magnificent,” I said, drawing Sasha’s attention to a Seurat piece hanging on the opposite wall. “I never thought I’d get to see Ruines à Grandcamp up close and in person.”
“That was my all-time favorite,” he replied. “Until of course, La Servante arrived.” Sasha pointed to his newly acquired masterpiece. “I told Eleanor that I wanted a Matisse in my collection that would rival any other. I still can’t believe she was able to acquire it.”
“Like you said,” I replied, my palms beginning to sweat. “Eleanor’s a little miracle worker.”
I pulled Tess close to me, quickly whispering in her ear, “We’re in trouble, follow my lead.”
Sasha laughed. A dead, dry, humorless laugh that made the hair on the back of my neck stand at full attention.
“Miracles or machinery,” he said. “You know, throughout the history of mankind, even up until today, most cultures have a difficult time distinguishing between the two.”
“I suppose that’s so,” I replied.
“Oh, it’s most certainly true. For instance, the paintings that surround us all started out as blank canvases and paint on a palettes. Then, miraculously, artists transformed these materials into masterpieces. Each one its own little miracle.”
“That’s a beautiful way of looking at art,” I replied.
“Of course, if one were to take a photograph of Starry Night back in time to Provence, France, 1889 and show it to an orderly at the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole lunatic asylum, they’d believe Van Gogh had created two identical paintings in his room.
Without the knowledge of photography or printmaking, a person of that time would view an exact duplicate of such a thing as a miracle, whereas you and I both know technology was responsible for the creation of what one could call a forgery. ”
That was the moment I knew there was a very good chance I was going to die in St. Petersburg, Russia.