On Monday afternoon, when I should have been attending a physics lecture, I approached instead a large glass building gleaming in the center of a crowded parking lot. I found Grayson's suite on the second floor, entered through a door labeled "Grayson Antiquities, Inc.," and stumbled gracelessly to a stop in front of a manicured, but stupid, receptionist.
"Is Mr. Grayson in?" I asked.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Uh, no. I was in the area and thought he might see me. If I could just ask a question or two...." I glanced nervously at my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the receptionist. The image did nothing to encourage me.
"What is this regarding, please?" she said.
"An icon. At Saint Sergius."
"Just a moment."
I glanced at my reflection again and tugged at the front of my suit. I can take a designer suit and make it look like it came out of a garage sale. And this was no designer suit. Frump, I thought. That's me. What am I doing here?
"He'll see you now."
"He will?" Recovering from the surprise, I tried to assume a more dignified demeanor. The mirror showed me a frump trying to look dignified. I gave up the effort and rehearsed the questions I wanted to ask Grayson. The receptionist led me to the polished mahogany door of his office.
Grayson opened the door and held out his hand. "Mrs. Strukov. You found it!" he said. It was a statement, not a question.
This threw me off momentarily. "Uh, no. Sorry." I shook his hand. "My name is Alex Dolnikova. Father Strukov asked me to ask a few questions...."
"You're not Strukova?"
"No."
"What's the priest want to know?" He waved me into the room and indicated a chair across from his desk. "Come in; come in and sit down."
"I have just a couple of questions."
"You said that. What are they?"
I watched him as he walked to the window on my left. Balding, thin, with a large nose and a prominent Adam's apple, he reminded me of a vulture. He hung his predatory head over the sill and surveyed the parking lot below. He was very thin, almost emaciated, but his office was opulent, every item expensive and self-indulgent. Cut crystal jars of expensive candy graced every flat surface. He paced from one jar to the other taking liberal samples.
His nervousness must keep him thin, I thought.
He did not stop moving. With each mouthful of chocolate, he returned to the window. I had just cleared my throat to ask my first question when he stopped by the window and suddenly bent lower over the sill, staring at a point in the traffic below. He spun furiously and faced me, glaring.
"Who sent you?" he demanded.
"I..." I did not have an answer. I had sent myself, actually, after it was no longer my affair. I had done my part by talking to Boris, now I was being a busybody. But I couldn't stop. Too many questions tugged at me, demanding answers. I was nosy. I admit it.
"What do you want?" he demanded again.
"Just a question."
"So ask it!"
"You offered Father Strukov twenty thousand dollars for the Trinity Icon."
"That's not a question."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"And he turned you down?"
"Yes, damn it."
"Were you expecting him to accept?"
"Of course I was. We were supposed to close the deal, weren't we? Look, you tell him," Grayson turned briefly from his minute study of the parking lot. "I'll go twenty-five, but that's it. That's as high as I'll go."
"He told you he'd sell it?"
Grayson looked at me suspiciously. "I thought you said he sent you?"
"He did. Sort of. Did he say he'd sell you the icon?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Monday." He tore his eyes from the window again and gave me a narrow look. "What do you mean 'sort of'?"
I ignored the question and rose to leave. "So he said 'yes' on Monday but 'no' on Tuesday?" I asked, backing toward the door.
Grayson advanced a few steps, studying me. "That's right," he said. "It's Charlemagne, isn't it?"
"Who?"
"You know who. I know and you know and you tell those spooks not to worry. I'll have the money before tomorrow. Tell them. You got that? Tell them."
"Sure. I'll tell them." I hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about, but I found his company unpleasant and was anxious to get out. I stumbled again on the doorstep, recovered, and walked away quickly. I was almost out of the building when I heard him calling behind me, "Tell them!" I turned and saw that he had followed me all the way down the stairs from his office suite.
Once outside, I ran to my car, praying it would start the first time. It did and I lost sight of Grayson as I sped through the sprawling parking lot.
I reached the adjoining street and turned right, not noticing the light blue car turn behind me. It was small and innocuous and meant nothing to me. I did notice the black Mercedes behind it, though. It was distinctive, and I had seen it before.
CHAPTER EIGHT