False Impression

Anna also had a restless night, finding it hard to sleep while the red box was under her bed. She was beginning to have doubts about Anton taking on such an unnecessary risk to assist her in her plan, even if it was only for a few days. They’d agreed to meet at the academy at eight o’clock, an hour no self-respecting student would admit existed.

When she stepped out of the hotel, the first thing she saw was Sergei in his old Mercedes parked by the entrance. She wondered how long he’d been waiting for her. Sergei jumped out of the car.

“Good morning, madam,” he said, as he loaded the red box back into the trunk.

“Good morning, Sergei,” Anna replied. “I would like to go back to the academy, where I’ll be leaving the crate.” Sergei nodded, and opened the back door for her.

On the journey over to the Piata Universitatii, Anna learnt that Sergei had a wife, that they had been married for over thirty years, and had a son who was serving in the army. Anna was about to ask if he’d ever met her father, when she spotted Anton, standing on the bottom step of the academy, looking anxious and fidgeting.

Sergei brought the car to a halt, jumped out, and unloaded the crate from the trunk.

“Is that it?” asked Anton, viewing the red box suspiciously. Anna nodded. Anton joined Sergei as he carried the crate up the steps. Anton opened the front door for him, and they both disappeared inside the building.

Anna kept checking her watch every few moments and looking back up the steps toward the entrance. They were only away for a few minutes, but she never felt alone. Was Fenston’s stalker watching her even now? Had he worked out where the Van Gogh was? The two men finally reappeared carrying another wooden box. Although it was exactly the same size, the plain slats of timber were unmarked in any way. Sergei placed the new crate in the trunk of the Mercedes, slammed the lid down, and climbed back behind the wheel.

“Thank you,” said Anna, before kissing Anton on both cheeks.

“I won’t be getting much sleep while you’re away,” Anton mumbled.

“I’ll be back, three, four days at the most,” Anna promised, “when I’ll happily take the painting off your hands and no one will be any the wiser.” She climbed into the back of the car.

As Sergei drove away, she stared through the rear window at the forlorn figure of Anton, who was standing on the bottom step of the academy, looking worried. Was he up to the job? she wondered.

Jack didn’t look back, but once he’d covered the first mile, he slipped into a large supermarket and disappeared behind a pillar. He waited for her to walk by. She didn’t. An amateur would have strolled past and been unable to resist glancing in, and might even have been tempted to enter the building. He didn’t hang around for too long, knowing it would make her suspicious. He bought a bacon and egg baguette and walked back onto the road. As he munched his breakfast, he tried to work out why he was being followed. Who did she represent? What was her brief? Was she hoping he would lead her to Anna, was he a selected target for countersurveillance—the unspoken fear of every FBI agent—or was he just paranoid?

Once he was out of the city center, Jack stopped to study the map. He decided to grab a taxi, as he doubted he’d be able to pick one up in the Berceni district, when he might need to make a speedy exit. Jumping into a taxi might also make it easier for him to lose his tail, as a yellow cab would be more conspicuous once they were no longer in the city center. He rechecked his map, turned left at the next corner, and didn’t look back or even glance into the shop window with its large plate-glass pane. If she was a pro, it would be a dead giveaway. He hailed a cab.

Anna asked her driver—as she now thought of Sergei—to take her back to the same block of flats they’d visited the previous day. Anna would have liked to call and warn her mother what time to expect her, but it wasn’t possible because Elsa Petrescu didn’t approve of phones. They were like elevators, she’d once told her daughter: when they break down, no one comes to repair them, and in any case they create unnecessary bills. Anna knew her mother would have risen by six to be sure everything in her already spotless flat had been dusted and polished for a third time.

When Sergei parked at the end of the weed-strewn path of the Piazza Resitei, Anna told him that she expected to be about an hour, and then wanted to go to Otopeni airport. Sergei nodded.

A taxi drew up beside him. Jack strolled round to the driver’s side and motioned for him to wind down the window.

“Do you speak English?”

“A little,” said the driver hesitantly.

Jack opened his map and pointed to Piazza Resitei, before taking a seat behind the driver. The taxi driver grimaced in disbelief and looked up at Jack to double-check. Jack nodded. The driver shrugged his shoulders and set out on a journey no tourist had ever requested before.

The taxi slipped out into the middle lane and both of them checked the rearview mirror. Another taxi was following them. There was no sign of any passenger, but then she wouldn’t have sat in the front. Had he lost her, or was she in one of three taxis he could now see in the rearview mirror? She was a pro; she’d be in one of those taxis, and he had the feeling she knew exactly where he was going.

Jack knew that every major city has its run-down districts, but he had never experienced anything quite like Berceni, with its grim, high-rise concrete blocks that littered every corner of what could only be described as a desolate slum. Even the graffiti would have been frowned on in Harlem.

The taxi was already slowing down when Jack spotted another yellow Mercedes parked by the curb a few yards ahead of them, in a street that hadn’t seen two taxis in the same year.

“Drive on,” he said sharply, but the taxi continued to slow. Jack tapped the driver firmly on the shoulder and waved frantically forward to suggest he should keep going.

“But this is place you ask for,” insisted the driver.

“Keep moving,” shouted Jack.

The puzzled driver shrugged his shoulders and accelerated past the stationary taxi.

“Turn at the next corner,” said Jack, pointing left. The driver nodded, now looking even more perplexed. He awaited his next instruction. “Turn back around,” Jack said slowly, “and stop at the end of the road.”

The driver carried out his new instruction, continually glancing back at Jack, the perplexed expression never leaving his face.

Once he’d parked, Jack got out of the car and walked slowly to the corner, cursing his unforced error. He wondered where the woman was, because she clearly hadn’t made the same mistake. He should have anticipated that Anna might already be there, and her only form of transport was likely to be a taxi.