False Impression

He looked at her closely. “I understand, but then I do not understand,” he said, pausing. “You stay here and keep out of sight. All I’ll need is your plane ticket.”

Anna opened her bag again, placed the eighty dollars back in the envelope, and handed over her ticket to London.

Sergei climbed into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine, and waved good-bye.

Anna watched as the car disappeared around the corner with the painting, her luggage, her ticket to London, and twenty dollars. All she had as security was a cheese and tomato roll and a thermos of cold coffee.

Fenston picked up the receiver on the tenth ring.

“I’ve just landed in Bucharest,” she said. “The red crate you’ve been looking for was loaded onto a flight to London, which will be landing at Heathrow around four this afternoon.”

“And the girl?”

“I don’t know what her plans are, but when I do—”

“Just be sure to leave the body in Bucharest.”

The phone went dead.

Krantz walked out of the airport, placed the recently acquired cell phone under the front wheel of an articulated truck, and waited for it to move off before she slipped back into the terminal.

She checked the departures board, but this time she didn’t assume Petrescu would be traveling to London; after all, there was also a flight to New York that morning. If Petrescu was booked on that one, she’d have to kill her at the airport. It wouldn’t be the first time—at this particular airport.

Krantz tucked herself in behind a large drinks machine and waited. She made sure she had an unimpeded view of any taxis dropping off their customers. She was only interested in one taxi and one customer. Petrescu wouldn’t fool her a second time, because on this occasion, she intended to take out some insurance.

After thirty minutes, Anna began to feel anxious. After forty minutes, worried. After fifty, close to panic. An hour after he’d left, Anna even wondered if Sergei worked for Fenston. A few minutes later, an old yellow Mercedes, driven by an even older man, came trundling around the bend.

Sergei smiled. “You look relieved,” he said, as he opened the front door for her and handed back her ticket.

“No, no,” said Anna, feeling guilty.

Sergei smiled. “The package is booked for London, and it’s on the same flight as you,” he said, once he’d climbed back behind the wheel.

“Good,” said Anna. “Then perhaps it’s time for me to be on my way as well.”

“Agreed,” said Sergei, turning the key in the ignition. “But you’ll have to be careful, because the American is already there waiting for you.”

“He’s not interested in me,” said Anna, “only the package.”

“But he saw me take it into the cargo depot, and for another twenty dollars he’ll know exactly where it’s going.”

“I don’t care any longer,” said Anna without explanation.

Sergei looked puzzled but didn’t question her as he eased the Mercedes back onto the highway and continued to follow the signs for the airport.

“I owe you so much,” said Anna.

“Four dollars,” said Sergei, “plus gourmet meal. I’ll settle for five.”

Anna opened her bag, took out Anton’s envelope, removed all but five hundred dollars, and resealed it. When Sergei came to a halt at the taxi rank outside the main terminal, Anna passed him the envelope.

“Five dollars,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied.

“Anna,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek. She didn’t look back, otherwise she would have seen an old soldier crying.

Should he have told her that Colonel Sergei Slatinaru was standing by her father’s side when he was executed?