The Master Craftsman, page 25
“You okay?” Xander asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “It just hit me how amazing this experience is. I can’t believe I’m here.”
Xander looked at her, his eyes studying hers until she looked away, embarrassed.
“Almost there,” she said.
The bridge loomed before them, the first two statues gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Each of the four bronze statues told a different story. They approached the first, and Ava stopped, studying it closely. The athlete was leaning into the horse as it reared back on its hind legs. The look in the horse’s eyes was wild as it bucked against the effort to calm it down.
“You can see the difference in the statues,” Xander said. “The athlete is attempting to tame the beast and failing in just about every effort except for the last one, which is at the other end of the bridge. Look at that one over there.”
They walked across the width of the bridge to the next statue where the athlete lay on the ground, having fallen in his attempt to calm the horse. His hand gripped the rein, and the horse reared back in protest.
“He didn’t want to be tamed,” Ava murmured. “I suppose he wasn’t even meant to be controlled.”
“Yeah. Seems about right.” He looked at her. “This horse was wild at heart from the beginning. But”—he paused, studying the statue carefully—“the athlete eventually broke him, and he and that horse went on to become mighty warriors, working as a pair.”
Ava cocked her head to the side. “How do you figure that?”
Xander gave her a playful wink. “I can make up stories too.”
Ava was quiet as she looked from statue to statue, her thoughts muddled with Nick, the missing treasure, the bustle of the city around them, and Xander. “I like that,” she finally said.
Xander drew in a deep breath, then let it out, a puff of cold air forming a cloud burst that immediately dissipated in front of his face. They continued walking down the bridge toward the other two statues.
“Alright,” he said. “What can we learn about Alma and Fabergé from this bridge?”
Ava stopped and turned slowly in a circle. “Fabergé wouldn’t have had reason to cross this bridge often, would he?” she asked. “If he lived and worked on Bolshaya Morskaya, and his delivery of the Imperial eggs most often took place at the Winter Palace, then he wouldn’t have frequented this bridge.”
“It’s hard to say for sure,” Xander replied. “Perhaps Fabergé liked to take evening walks across the bridge. We know he traveled often because of his international position. And, of course, there was that pesky affair.”
“Yes,” Ava said. “With the Austrian. Seems Fabergé was also a conflicted man.”
“History is rife with them.”
Ava studied him for a brief moment. “And what about you? Are you a conflicted man?”
Xander looked down at her briefly, then looked away. “I suppose I am,” he said.
There was something in his voice that gave Ava pause, an undercurrent that made her wonder if there really was more to Xander than she’d originally imagined.
“It seems like Alma’s meaning in her letter is obvious,” Xander continued. “She was referencing the bridge in order to say that she needed to tame her emotions much like the horses needed to be tamed.”
“Yeah. The symbolism seems kind of obvious there. But what about Fabergé? Why would he write Anichkov on the back of his drawing?”
Ava turned around again, studying the Petersburg skyline from every angle. She stopped and stared off in the distance, then leaned back on the railing of the bridge.
“If Fabergé designed this egg for the people of Russia,” she said, “then could he maybe have come here to study the skyline of the city he so clearly loved? Perhaps his conflict went deeper than simply his family life. Maybe he was desperate to honor his country, with all its fallacies and imperfections.”
“So, you think the egg could have been designed for both the common man and for the crown?” Xander asked.
Ava nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe Fabergé was so desperate for the two halves of the country to come together that he designed an egg that could be interpreted as loyal to both sides.”
They were silent for a long moment as they both contemplated the thought. Finally, Xander broke the silence.
“I think we need to go to Finland,” he said. Ava turned to look at him. He lifted his shoulders, then dropped them again. “It just seems that everything is pointing to Alma having smuggled the egg out of Russia.”
Ava hesitated only a moment. “I think you’re right.” She looked around the city again, the colors and sights washing over her. “Oh!” Her hand flew up to her collar and her fingers gripped her camera. “We forgot to turn these back on.” She fumbled with the pin, then looked up at Xander. “Can you switch it on for me? I want Zak and my mom to see all this.”
Xander reached out, his hand closing over hers. Ava met his gaze, startled at the change in his eyes.
“Ava, I—” Xander stopped short as a black car sped up next to them, screeching to a stop. The window rolled down and Anatoly peered up at them.
“Get in,” he said, his voice tight. “We go now.”
Zak leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
Carol watched him sympathetically. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She looked back at the monitor. “Xander still hasn’t turned on his lapel camera or earpiece?”
Zak shook his head. “And I’m not getting a feed from Ava either.”
“Oh well,” Carol said. “It’s probably not a big deal. They aren’t likely to find much on the bridge.”
Zak nodded. He jumped as his cell phone buzzed on the table next to him. “It’s Nick,” he said. He picked it up and swiped. “Nick? Hello? Yes, of course.”
Zak put the phone down and turned on the speaker. “Carol and I are here, Nick.”
“Where are Ava and Xander?” Nick asked.
Something in his voice made Carol sit up a little straighter. “They walked to the Anichkov Bridge,” she said. “They found something today at Fabergé’s apartment.”
“Who went with them to the bridge, Carol? Do you know?”
“Nobody, Nick,” she said. “They walked. What’s going on?”
“So, Anatoly didn’t go with them?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Carol said, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. “Nick, what’s wrong?”
“I got a call about ten minutes ago from Anatoly,” Nick said. There was an undercurrent of panic and anger running through his voice.
“Okay,” Carol said. “And?”
“And Anatoly is in New York right now visiting his daughter and her family. He was calling to let me know he was in the States and wondered if he could come down to see me.”
“Wait . . . what? I don’t understand.” Carol and Zak looked at one another, Zak’s eyes widening.
“You mean the man who’s been acting as our driver is not the Anatoly you know and trust?” Zak asked.
“That’s exactly what I mean, Zak,” Nick replied. “I don’t know who that man is, but he hasn’t been vetted by me. What the hell was Xander thinking?”
Carol stood up. “Nick, Ava and Xander left a half hour ago. Neither one of their lapel cameras are on right now. We don’t know where they are.”
Nick cursed. He drew in a breath, then started coughing, a wet, hacking sound that burst through the phone’s speaker. Carol closed her eyes, clasping her hands under her chin. Zak stood up and put an arm around her shoulders. A moment later another voice came through the phone.
“Carol?”
“Sylvie!” Carol grabbed the phone and held it in her palm. “Sylvie, what do I do? I don’t know what to do.”
“Give me a minute, Carol. Stay on the line. I’m going to get Nicky calmed down so he can help. He’s worked up.”
“Okay. Okay.” Carol blinked back tears. She turned to look at Zak. “What do we do?” she asked.
He took a step back. “I’m going to the bridge,” he said. “I’ll run over and tell them that Nick’s on the phone and wants to talk. It’ll be fine.”
Carol wrung her hands at her waist and gave him a nod. “Okay, yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s a good idea. You go get them, and then we’ll deal with this.”
She closed her eyes as Zak raced out of the room. She could still hear Nick coughing on the other line, and Sylvie speaking softly to him to calm him down.
“Carol?” Nick’s voice came out as a scratchy whisper, his vocal cords sounding as though they’d been sanded down.
“Nick?” Carol blinked back tears. “Nick, what is going on?”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to figure it out. Where’s Zak?”
“He went to find Ava and Xander.”
Nick let out a long sigh. “Okay . . . that’s not ideal, but it’s the best we’ve got for now. Why weren’t they wearing their cameras?”
Carol shrugged. “I thought they were,” she said. “They put on their same outfits from this morning.” She blinked back tears. “Nick,” she continued, her voice tight. “If something happens to her . . .”
“I know,” he said.
They were silent for a few minutes as Carol paced back and forth in the room.
“I hate having nothing to do,” she said.
“I hate being stuck in this bed,” Nick replied. “But Sylvie’s on her phone with the real Anatoly right now. Hold on, let me talk with him.”
“Don’t hang up!” Carol said. “I want to hear your conversation.”
“I’ll put him on speaker.”
Carol sat on the edge of the chair in front of the table, leaning in toward the phone.
“Anatoly?” Nick said. “I’m here, and I have you on speaker so Carol can hear you too. She’s in St. Petersburg right now.”
“Is okay,” Anatoly said, his voice faint and crackling through the line so that Carol had to strain to make out his words. “I am very angry, Nick,” he continued, his pronunciation of Nick’s name coming out as “Neek.” His voice was warm and deep, and Carol immediately liked the sound of him.
“Me too, my friend,” Nick said in his garbled whisper. “That’s my kid out there.”
“How could you not know it wasn’t me?” Anatoly asked.
Nick sighed. “I took Xander’s word for it. He knew you. He’s Jack’s kid. I trusted him.”
“Is sloppy work, Neek.”
There was a long pause, the phone line crackling with static as Carol rubbed her eyes. She glanced at the door periodically, willing it to open and Ava to walk through.
“I know, man,” Nick said, his voice weary. “I know.”
Anatoly sighed. “Is okay. We figure this out. Where is your daughter now?”
Carol spoke up. “She and Xander walked to the Anichkov Bridge about an hour ago. Zak left to go look for them.”
“Who is this Zak?” Anatoly asked.
“He’s the tech guy,” Nick replied, his voice tight. “He’s great with computers, smart kid. But he’s no muscle.”
“And this Zak,” Anatoly continued. “He has a device for communication?”
Carol shook her head, fresh tears springing to the corners of her eyes. “No,” she said. “He left in a rush. I’m speaking to you on his cell phone.”
“Okay,” Anatoly said. “Give me few minutes to make some calls. I will connect with my guys in Petersburg and have them start working on finding Ava and Xander. When we get them back safe, we deal with Xander and this fake Anatoly. Nobody pretend to be me like that.”
Carol could tell by Anatoly’s voice that he was a big man, and not to be messed with. But there was an undercurrent of gentleness in his words that calmed her. She trusted him.
“What do I do?” Carol asked.
“You have to wait there, Carol,” Nick said. “I’m so sorry. I know that’s hard, but someone needs to be there when they get back, and I need you close to the phone. Keep monitoring the computer and see if the cameras get turned on, okay?”
Carol turned to the computer where a black screen reminded her of just how disconnected she was from her only child. “I feel so useless,” she muttered, a single tear trickling down her cheek.
“You’re not, Carol. You’ve never been useless.” Nick spoke the words softly. There was a swelling pause that filled the room around Carol. Anatoly interrupted it.
“I will go now,” he said. “I call you back when I speak to my comrades.”
“Okay, Anatoly. Thank you, my friend. I’m sorry about this,” Nick said.
The line went quiet. Carol could hear Nick breathing on the other end.
“So, I guess we just wait now?” she asked.
“We wait,” Nick said. “Can I wait on the line with you?”
Carol was silent. Her mind drifted back to the Nick she had known so many years ago. Tall and strong, and impossibly handsome, Nick Laine had been the picture of confidence. He strode into a room and owned it. Carol had never known him to be at a loss for words, and charm seeped from his pores in a way that instantly made him the center of attention. She had loved being the one on his arm. She adored the way he looked down at her, eyes twinkling and full of adventure and mischief. She’d wanted to stand by his side for the rest of her life.
She never imagined the great Nick Laine confined to a bed, sapped of energy, defeated, broken, and scared. A lump formed in her throat as a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. Time and pride had stolen so much.
“Nick?” she choked out.
“Yes?”
“You know I never stopped waiting for you. I waited for twenty-three years. Why didn’t you come back?” Her voice broke, and she dropped her face into her hands.
“I was a fool,” Nick whispered from the other side of the world. His voice floated through the speaker of the phone and hung in the air between them. Carol cried silently.
They were quiet for a long time. Carol stood back up and walked to the hotel door, then back to the phone.
“I hate this,” she said.
“So do I.”
The hotel door burst open then, and Zak came in, turning and shutting it quickly behind him. Carol stood up and whirled around.
“Zak!” she cried. Her eyes drifted to the closed door, and then back to his ashen face. “Where are they?”
“They’re gone,” he said. “I couldn’t find them anywhere, but I found these on the bridge.”
He held out his hands and Carol’s heart sank as she recognized the lapel cameras from Xander’s and Ava’s coats.
St. Petersburg, 1916
Leaning back in his chair, Karl took a sip of his drink. He let the vodka burn his tongue and throat as he swallowed it slowly. He pulled out his watch and stared at the time. 11:00 p.m. He rubbed his eyes and leaned his head back.
“What are you doing?”
Karl jumped as Augusta appeared in the doorway. Her face was pinched. The declining economy due to the ongoing war had taken its toll on them all. Cutbacks had to be made. The factory was now being used to make syringes, and the Moscow factory had been converted into a manufacturer of hand grenades and casings for artillery shells.
Twenty-three of his employees had been conscripted for service in the war, though Karl had managed to keep some of them from being sent away by pleading with authorities on the grounds that losing those workers would essentially shut his workshop down. He hadn’t been able to keep them all from the fighting, though, and the thought of it twisted his stomach in a knot.
Likewise, Amalia was now long gone. His Austrian beauty, the companion who had captivated his thoughts for so long, was arrested a few months before and charged as a spy. He’d done all he could, straining what relationships he had left, to vouch for her, to keep her from being sent away, but it was to no avail. She was sentenced to prison in Siberia, and the truth that kept Karl up at night was the knowledge that at any moment, he could be the next one to disappear.
“I’m thinking,” he finally said, turning to his wife. His eyes were rimmed in red. “It all just seems so desperately sad these days, does it not?”
“I suppose that it does,” Augusta said. “Although, I would argue that it’s all been desperately sad for a long time.”
Her words were pointed, and they were directed right at him. Karl stared at her. “I’m so terribly sorry, my dear,” he said. “I have not loved you the way that you should have been loved. You’re a loyal woman.” He blinked back a tear. “And I am a desperate man.”
Augusta nodded. “I won’t disagree with you,” she said.
Karl sighed. “I set some things in motion today.”
Augusta stepped into the room, the folds of her skirt swishing in the silence. She walked around his desk and stood beside him, glancing over the papers spread across the surface. “A joint stock partnership?”
Karl nodded. “I’ll split the firm up between four partners, with each of them receiving two and a half percent of the company. The boys will each receive five percent of the company, and I’ll offer a single share to each of the master craftsmen. I will hold on to the rest.”
Augusta perused the documents. “Why now?” she asked.
Karl looked up at her. “Rasputin is dead. The tsar and his wife are erratic. There’s revolution in the air, my dear.” He looked back down at the papers. “I only hope it isn’t too late.”
Augusta stared at the top of her husband’s head. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitating for only a moment before letting the words tumble out. “And what about the egg that you’re hiding?” she asked.
Karl froze, his hand gripping the empty glass, knuckles going white. He turned slowly. “The what?”
“The egg. The secret one you’ve made and are now hiding? What’s your plan for this?”
“What do you know?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“I know you’ve made an egg. You asked for help from the enameler, offering him some ridiculous story about it being for a secret client.” She raised her eyebrows. “He told me all about it before he left for the front. He told me to watch out for you. He was worried . . . and so am I.”
