The Master Craftsman, page 27
Xander leaned over her and pushed open the door. Before Ava could argue, he had given her a small shove, and she stumbled from the car. He slid out behind her and stepped close.
“Don’t try to run,” he said, his voice close to her ear.
She fought off a shiver. Lazovsky slid out behind them and opened his coat to reveal a small pistol strapped to his waist.
Ava swallowed. “You’ll make it through security with that thing?” she asked, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.
“Is Russia,” Lazovsky replied with a shrug and his signature laugh.
Ava turned and looked up at the modern building, uniquely designed with sharp lines and angles. It was noisy on the street, the sounds of cars and people mixing with the hiss and whistles of trains. Xander grabbed the top of Ava’s arm and gave it a painful squeeze. She tried to pull away, but he held tight.
“Next stop—Finland,” he said.
Lazovsky lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing between them like a thin veil. His eyes squinted as he drew in a long drag, then pulled it from his lips and blew in her face. Ava turned away, blinking hard as Xander gave her a small push forward. He turned and barked something at Pasha in Russian, then the three of them approached the front of the station. Xander slid his arm around Ava’s waist and pulled her close as a blast of hot air hit them. Ava glanced up at him coldly.
“You said you wanted an adventure,” he said with a patronizing wink.
Carol paced the room, fighting panic, as Zak spoke with Nick.
“Alright, Zak, here’s the plan,” Nick was saying. His voice sounded stronger now, adrenaline having pushed out the tremor that had settled in his chest from the cancer. “You and Carol pack your things. Don’t take everything, just the basics. Make sure you pack up all the equipment and documents. And search Xander’s entire room. I doubt the idiot left anything, but if he did, we need to find it.”
Zak was nodding his head, already stacking papers and shoving them into a manila folder. Carol began opening drawers in Xander’s room and sifting through the belongings he’d left behind. She pulled open the closet door and looked down. Her face went pale.
“The safe,” she whispered. She gave the door a tug, confirming what she already knew—it was locked tight. She turned to Zak. “He put our passports in there.”
“What’s that?” Nick asked over the speaker.
“Xander took our passports the day we arrived and put them in the safe in his room. The safe is closed and locked.”
Nick let out a low, frustrated growl on the other end of the line. “If I could get ahold of that kid, I would wring his neck.”
Carol wiped fresh tears off her cheeks.
“Okay, let’s see,” Nick continued. “Does the safe require a four- or six-digit code?”
“Um,” Zak leaned down to look at the top of the safe. “Looks like standard four digit.”
“Alright, give me a minute,” Nick said. They could hear shuffling and murmuring on the other end of the line as Nick and Sylvie spoke to one another.
“Nick?” Carol asked.
“Hang on,” Nick said. “I’m having Sylvie look up a couple of things.”
Carol bit her lip. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples, trying to push back the headache that was slowly forming.
“Okay, Zak, try this,” Nick said. “1-2-1-6.”
Zak punched in the numbers. The safe beeped but didn’t open. “That didn’t work,” he said.
“Okay, try 1-2-6-8,” Nick said.
“Nope,” Zak replied after trying.
“0-9-2-4,” Nick said.
“No,” Zak said a moment later.
“2-4-6-5.”
Zak punched in the numbers and the door to the safe popped. “That was it!”
“He used his mom’s birthdate,” Nick said. “Amateur.”
Zak peered inside the safe and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Our passports are here!” he said. He handed Carol hers, then tucked his own in the back pocket of his pants. “But Ava’s is gone.”
“Perfect,” Nick said. “This lets me know we are dealing with a dumb kid who has a bad plan.”
“Who appears to have kidnapped our daughter,” Carol barked in reply.
The phone was silent for a moment. “Alright,” Nick continued, clearing his throat, “my guess is Xander will call me at some point. He’s gonna need information, and he knows I’m the only one who has it.”
Carol froze. She turned toward the phone, her mouth going dry. “What did you say?” she croaked.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “I have more information on the potential whereabouts of the egg than I originally let on.”
“What do you mean, more information?” Carol asked, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering as her entire body went cold.
“I knew that Alma had the egg, and I really believe she took it with her to Finland. I wanted Ava to find the trail herself.” His voice was tight, almost as though he were speaking through a straw.
Carol leaned forward over the phone, eyes flashing. “Nick, you sent us to Russia to work as spies with a kid who has now apparently turned on us, and you knew all along that the egg wasn’t even here?”
“I supposed it wasn’t there,” he said, his voice meek. “I didn’t know for sure.”
“I . . . I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” Carol clenched her fists at her side, her fingernails digging into her skin.
“Look, we don’t have time to talk about it,” Nick said. “I need you two to get everything together and cleaned up and get out of there. There’s a train that goes to Helsinki from St. Petersburg. It’s a three-hour ride. The next train leaves at seven thirty tonight, and you need to be on it—”
“Nick,” Carol said through gritted teeth.
“I know, Carol.” The fight in his voice was gone. She could hear the pain and fatigue in its place. “I’m so sorry.”
“This isn’t how I ever envisioned my first trip to Finland,” she finally said.
Ava stepped off the train onto the platform and pulled her coat tight. She glanced at Xander, who stood next to Lazovsky, towering over the shorter man and registering no sign of emotion.
Ava had spent the entire train ride trying to figure out her next step, wondering what Nick would do in this situation. Should she try to run? Should she play along? Ava was certain her mother was panicking, and she wondered if Nick and Sylvie knew what was going on. Would any of them even think to suspect Xander?
“This way,” Xander said, his voice calm.
Ava’s face flushed in anger as she followed him. Lazovsky eyed her with a sickening smirk. He had stared at her like a piece of meat the entire ride.
They stepped out of the train station onto the bustling streets of Helsinki. The sun was down, masking the city in streetlights. For a brief moment, Ava forgot the circumstances and let herself soak in the fact that she was standing in Finland. She had heritage in this country.
“Alright,” Xander said, turning to her. “Here’s how this works. We’re heading to the small town where Alma Pihl settled after returning to Finland with her husband in 1921. There’s a little house on a lake there that I think you’ll find very interesting. From there, you’re going to call Nick, and you’re going to ask him where the egg is located.”
Ava blinked up at him. “Where it’s located?”
Xander smirked. “Yeah.” He leaned forward. Ava pulled away from him in disgust. “Your dear old dad knew all along that the egg was here in Finland. He knew that Alma took it and hid it here.”
“If you knew the egg was here all along, then why’d you wait for me?” Ava spat. “Why didn’t you just come find it yourself?”
Xander straightened back up, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Because we know that Nick has the missing pieces. Well . . . most of the missing pieces, anyway.” He winked at her. “We’ve got you.”
A car pulled up and slowed to a stop in front of them. Lazovsky leaned forward and spoke through the window to the driver, his gravelly, drink-laden voice slurring out words that sounded incoherent to Ava. He turned and nodded at Xander. “We go here.”
Lazovsky pulled open the back door and waved his arm, his mouth splitting into a smile as he stared at Ava.
“Your chariot,” he said. He laughed, a low, wet, gurgling sort of sound that tumbled into coughing.
Ava glared at him, then stepped forward, sliding into the back seat of the car. Xander climbed in beside her. Lazovsky closed the door behind them, then slid into the front seat next to the driver, to whom he spoke one more time. The driver nodded, then merged into traffic. Lazovsky turned to stare at Xander and Ava.
“This is Maxim.”
Ava shifted her gaze to the back of the driver’s head. He wore a newsboy’s cap over what looked to be thinning, gray hair. He was long and thin, his arms sticking out of a coat that looked far too small. His car smelled of stale smoke and old food. Ava’s stomach rolled. She turned to Xander.
“You know you won’t get away with this,” she said.
Xander stared straight ahead for a long moment before turning to meet her gaze. “And what makes you say that?” he asked.
“Nick will make sure of it,” she replied.
Xander snorted. “How would you know?” he asked. “You admitted you hardly know him.”
Ava swallowed hard, his words cutting through whatever confidence she had mustered.
Xander leaned forward. “You know, you could help us,” he said. “You play the game and help us find the egg. That’d get back at your old man for all the years he was gone.”
Ava turned her face away, feeling as though she’d been punched in the gut.
“I mean, seriously,” Xander continued, leaning back against the cold, leather seat. Ava could feel him studying her. “This find would put us on the map and make us millionaires.”
Lazovsky shifted and barked something at Xander in Russian. Xander stared at him with cool indifference before responding. Ava kept her eyes averted.
“So, what’s your end goal?” she finally asked, turning to look at Xander.
“Sorry?”
“What are you trying to accomplish by finding the egg? What makes you different from Nick?”
“Nothing,” Xander answered with a shrug. “I’ll just make sure he doesn’t get any of the funds from the sale of this find.” He smiled. “You’ll profit from helping us, though.”
Ava waited.
“We won’t have to kill you if you cooperate.”
“You’re not going to kill me either way,” she said. “You don’t have the guts to kill me.”
“I do. I have guts.” Lazovsky held up his gun and trained it at Ava’s head.
She froze, her hands going numb and body cold.
“I do not like Nick Laine,” Lazovsky continued. “He was always one step ahead—always finding the prize just before me. Is now my turn.”
“Oh, put the blasted gun away, mate,” Xander barked.
Lazovsky narrowed his eyes and glared at Xander. He lowered the gun. Ava, not realizing she’d been holding her breath, let out a long, deep sigh.
“Look,” Xander said, turning to Ava. “We’re going to find this egg. We are going to beat Nick Laine at the game that he invented. You can be a part of that in one of two ways—willingly, or unwillingly. But choose wisely.” He stared hard at her, and Ava suddenly wondered why she had ever found him attractive. “Because each of those options will have a very different outcome for you.”
They were quiet for a long time. Xander pulled out his phone and began scrolling through it, as Ava continued to watch the lights of the city, which were quickly fading into the background and giving way to long stretches of open, dark road ahead of them. Finally, she turned to Xander.
“Okay,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “I’m in.”
Carol leaned back on the seat and stared out the window. It was dark outside now, and the rocking train made her eyelids feel heavy, but each time she nodded off, a vision of Ava popped in her head, and she snapped awake.
Zak sat beside her, upright, back straight as a board. He clutched his phone in his hand, checking it periodically to make sure he still had a signal. They’d packed up everything from the hotel room as quickly as possible, though perhaps not efficiently, and they’d rushed to the train station, making it just in time to hop on board before the train pulled away. Nick had reserved them a private car, and for that Carol was enormously grateful. She rubbed her temples, trying to push away the dull ache that had settled there.
Zak’s phone buzzed in his hand and both of them jumped.
“Yes? Nick?” Zak put the phone on speaker and held it between the two of them.
“Hey,” Nick replied. His voice sounded far away, like he was closed inside a tin can. Carol leaned forward.
“Nick, have you heard anything else?” she asked.
“Not yet. But I’m certain Xander will call me. He needs what I have in order to move forward, and he knows it.”
“And what do you have, Nick?” Carol asked.
“I know the location of the journal that my grandmother kept, in which she details her sister’s relationship with Alma, and the secret that the two of them shared. It seemed that Lida was a bit jealous of her sister’s friendship with Alma. She overheard a conversation one day. She wrote about how no one knew that Alma designed for the tsar. And then . . .” Static cut through the phone, Nick’s voice fading in the distance.
Zak shook the phone in frustration. “Nick?”
“. . . wrote about where Alma hid it,” Nick finished as the static waned momentarily.
“What?” Carol replied, her voice raised.
“Nick, where is this journal?” Zak asked.
“It’s in the attic of the house my grandmother owned,” he replied. “The house that’s still in my name. I went back there last year with the thought in mind that I would set the place up as a retreat. While I was there, I began digging into my family past and discovered the link between my grandmother and Alma. Oddly enough, that’s what led me to start looking for the missing egg. Who knew that one of the greatest treasures in history was buried right under my nose?”
Static cut through the line again. Carol leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Nick, are you still there?” Zak asked.
“Yeah . . . still here,” Nick replied, his voice cracking and faint.
“Our connection is bad.”
“There’s one more thing,” Nick said.
Carol sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know how much more I can handle.”
“I have . . . letter . . . found it . . . written by Fabergé. It speaks of the egg in detail.”
His last words were crystal clear as the train burst through a grove of trees into the open air, the moonlight momentarily illuminating the outside as they rocketed toward Finland.
“Did you say you have a letter written by Fabergé?” Carol asked.
“Yes,” Nick answered.
“Where did you find this letter?” Carol asked. She couldn’t even pretend to soften her words as anger bubbled inside her.
“I was in St. Petersburg . . . at the front end of this search. While there, I met . . . who had a trove of secret documents locked in a safe in his flat. He claimed that he had been collecting these secret . . . for years. Most of them were interesting but . . . old letters from veterans to . . . loved ones during the war years . . . notebooks of military commanders and soldiers, sketches . . . drawings of unknown artists from Russian history. Cool stuff, but didn’t . . . you know?”
Zak and Carol were quiet, so Nick continued.
“Anyway,” he said, the line between them suddenly more clear and sharp again as the train hurtled out into a clearing, “when I mentioned to him that I was interested in learning more about Fabergé and his missing designs, the guy lit up and told me he had just the thing I needed.” Nick paused and coughed, wet and gurgling.
Carol glanced at her watch and realized that it was 2:30 in the morning in Florida. She wondered how Nick was still functioning.
“He opened up a different safe, a smaller one, and he pulled out a stack of papers that he said were much more interesting and would cost me more money. I paid that crook a small fortune, but he gave me exactly what I needed.”
There was a pause as Zak and Carol ingested Nick’s story.
“Which was?” Carol prompted impatiently.
“A letter that Fabergé wrote to his sons in 1917 detailing the creation of a secret egg with dangerous implications. He said that he’d given the egg to the one he loved dearly, the daughter he’d always wished for, in order to keep it safe.”
“Alma,” Zak said.
“Yes.”
“Do you have that letter with you?” Carol asked.
“No,” Nick replied. “He wouldn’t let me keep it. I took a photo of it and translated it myself later on. I also printed out a hard copy. Once I saw that letter, I knew I needed to go to Finland to search for Alma’s things. It was that trip to Finland that led me to the cabin where I found the poem that I gave to you all.”
“Okay, but what about your grandmother’s journal? Why didn’t you just tell us about it in the beginning and send us straight to Finland?”
Nick sighed. “I made a gross miscalculation,” he said. “I sent you all to St. Petersburg in order to use it as a training exercise to look for clues. I wanted Ava to learn the art of finding a treasure on her own. And Xander . . .” He paused and sighed. “Well, his dad was my best friend. I wanted to give Jack’s boy the same opportunity that I was giving Ava—the chance to learn the art of the hunt. I didn’t follow through, and I didn’t know that they weren’t with the real Anatoly. Had they been, this would have gone as I planned for it to go. Ava’s smart, Carol. She’s wicked smart.”
“Yeah, I know, Nick,” Carol shot back. “I raised her, remember?”
An awkward pause hung in the air.
“I knew she would eventually stumble onto the clues,” Nick continued. “I mean, she found things I didn’t even find! I had no idea that drawing was buried in Fabergé’s old showroom. It was only a matter of time before she ended up figuring out that Alma definitely had the egg in her possession, and you guys would have gone to Finland on your own. At that point, my plan had been to drop hints on where to find the journal. I knew Ava would put the pieces together—I wanted her to have the satisfaction of figuring it out on her own.”
