She lifted her wineglass, taking a sip, looking at him over the rim, deciding that once again she was going to have to take the direct approach. “Any luck on your plane?”
He gave a neutral smile. “Unfortunately, the person I hired to find it was recently killed.”
“Oh. So that’s it, then? You’re giving up?”
“I didn’t say that. Just that I’m pursuing different avenues at this point.”
“What do you suppose is in it?”
“The plane?” He gave a slight shrug. “I suspect the usual World War Two regalia that’s so prized by collectors.”
“Nothing extraordinary about this particular regalia?”
“That’s what I hope to find out,” he said, then looked at his watch. “You’ll forgive me if I cut our time short. The bill is paid. So, please, enjoy your wine. I really do need to get going.” He stood, moving to her side, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Good-bye, Tatiana.”
With a perfunctory smile, he departed.
She sat there a moment, eyeing her wineglass, wondering if he really did have to leave or if she’d pushed him too far. A waiter, apparently noticing Rolfe’s departure, approached, asking if she was ready to order.
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
21
Originally known as Königsberg, the oblast of Kaliningrad became part of the Soviet Union at the end of World War II. When the Soviet Union collapsed, Kaliningrad remained part of the Russian Federation even though it was physically separated from Russia by Lithuania, Poland, and the Baltic Sea. Sometime in the 1990s, it went from being a closed state that restricted access of any foreigners to an open state that now allowed tourists to visit—as long as they had the proper visas. Sam and Remi, being semi-frequent visitors to Russia for various philanthropic events, kept current Russian visas and flew into Kaliningrad Khrabrovo Airport the following night.
Although Remi was fluent in a number of languages, Russian was not at the top of the list. As usual, the ever-efficient Selma made arrangements for a translator. “Sergei Vasyev,” she told them over the phone after they checked into their hotel.
“Vasyev?” Sam asked. “Any relation to Leonid?”
“His second cousin, if I’m not mistaken.” Leonid Vasyev, a Russian archaeologist, had worked with them on an expedition to the Solomon Islands. “Leonid informs me that Sergei is highly reliable, and, based on what Leonid knows about your . . . I believe he said ‘propensity for trouble,’ there’s no one else he’d recommend.”
“Then we look forward to meeting him.”
—
SERGEI WAS WAITING for them in the lobby of the hotel the next morning. There was a slight family resemblance to Leonid. Sergei was a bit taller, with dark hair, and blue eyes, and was much younger—closer to Sam’s age. His face lit up when he saw them step off the elevator and walk toward him. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s ours,” Sam said. “And, please, Sam and Remi.”
“Sam and Remi, then,” he said, shaking their hands. “Leonid’s told me so much about you and your sponsorship of his expeditions. I look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise,” Sam said, noting his accent was almost nonexistent. “Your English is excellent. Where’d you grow up?”
“Name the country. My parents worked for the Russian embassy, and we moved around a lot. They insisted I learn the language of each country we lived in. I also went to graduate school in California. UCLA.”
“Majoring in?” Remi asked.
“Archaeology. Leonid was a big influence. I wanted to be able to travel like he does.”
As they pushed through the lobby doors, Sam said, “We have a rental car.”
“I can drive.” Sergei held up his keys. “Easier that way, since I know the streets. You have names of who you need to talk to?”
“Selma said she’d forward the information to us as soon as she found someone,” Remi said, checking to see if there were any updates on her phone. There weren’t. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who can talk to us about Königsberg castle.”
“What are you looking for there?”
“Some of the more obscure history of the castle during World War Two,” she said. “Preferably, a local historian who might know something about what the Germans stored there before it was bombed. Or someone who could give us anecdotes that didn’t make it into the textbooks or internet lore.”