Neil Olson - The Icon

“I won’t stay long.”

Nicholas cleared his throat and shifted again, obviously still in some pain.

“I didn’t know that about Matthew, what he did. I’m grateful.”

“He’s in trouble. Matthew is, with the police. They think he might have had something to do with the robbery.”

“Has he been arrested?”

“No. They have nothing to hold him on. With Fotis gone, though, they may become frustrated and decide that someone else must take the fall.”

“I don’t understand. They’ve already arrested Anton and Karov. My girlfriend told me. Why are they looking for anyone else?”

“Come now, Nicky, we both know there was more to it than that. And the police know it also. Fotis put Karov up to it. They were all in it together, Anton, Karov, Dragoumis. Everyone but you. You were left to take the bullet.”

Nicholas made a sour face and grabbed a fistful of sheet with his right hand.

“Everyone, eh? Why not your grandson, too? Why not you?”

Andreas nodded diplomatically.

“I don’t blame you for suspecting me. You know very well that Fotis and I are at odds. Maybe you think I have some plan. But surely you know better than to suspect Matthew.”

“I don’t know anything. How can I know anything lying here?”

“Do you know who shot you?”

“They were wearing masks. I couldn’t tell.”

“Bravosou!” Andreas laughed derisively. “They try to kill you, and you are still keeping their secrets. That is what you were trained to do, yes? Keep secrets. You’re a good soldier, Nicky. They will say that about you when you’re dead. He was a good soldier, a useful tool. He kept the secrets.”

“Go to hell.”

“At least you’ll have the woman to mourn you.”

“What is any of it to you, anyway?”

“I told you. The boy.”

“Yes, well, your boy was with Dragoumis all the damn time, talking about that icon. So maybe the police are right. Maybe I should tell them so.”

Andreas leaned forward and made his voice quiet. “Fotis used the boy. As he used you, as he has used me a dozen times. It is what he does. You know this. The time is long passed for defending him, you must look to yourself. They have all betrayed you. You are the only friend you have left, unless you choose to trust me, even a little.”

“You think I’m a fool? I am looking out for myself. I don’t care about protecting them, I want to stay alive, that’s all.”

“But your silence is no protection. You did nothing wrong, and they tried to kill you anyway. Now they are on the run. Dragoumis is in hiding. Karov is in custody, and his operation is shut down.”

“Someone will replace him. You don’t know how it works in my neighborhood. If I testify against any of them I won’t be forgiven.”

“I wonder if you are right. Karov has plea-bargained, there is no testimony necessary. And I don’t think anyone would blame you about Anton, after he shot you. But let that go. I’m not asking you to testify against anyone.”

“What, then?”

“Very simple. I want to know what Fotis was up to before you put him on the airplane that morning. Anything you can tell me. You see, not a dangerous question.”

“Talking to you at all may be dangerous.”

“Well, it’s too late to protect against that. It was you who drove him to the airport, yes?”

Nicholas considered him carefully.

“Yes. I drove him everywhere. Anton is a terrible driver.”

“Early in the morning.”

“Before early. It was a seven-thirty flight, we left at four. I’ve told the police this.”

“I’m not with the police, Nicky. Why so early? It’s twenty minutes to Kennedy at that hour.”

“He likes to be early for things.”

“Did he have a lot of luggage? Anything bulky?”

“No, just a small bag and a suitcase.”

Andreas paused, looked carefully at the younger man’s face. Circle back.

“Why so early?”

“I told you.”

“You went somewhere else first. You made another stop before the airport.”

The Russian grew more agitated. Because he could not lie with ease, Nicholas could only choose between withholding information or speaking truth, and he clearly did not like his choices.

“We went into the city first. Into Manhattan.”

“Why did you go there?”

“He has a few apartments. People stay sometimes, or he does business there with people who won’t come to Queens. We stopped by one of those. He needed to drop off something.”

“What?”

“A painting he sold. A big abstract. I helped him wrap it the night before. He was leaving it in the apartment for the buyer to pick up.”

“How big?”

“I don’t know. Big enough to break my back getting it up those stairs. Maybe four or five feet square.”

“And you were with him the whole time? In the apartment?”

“No, he had to make some calls or something, I don’t remember. I went back to the car.”

“I see. Now tell me, where is this apartment?”

As the old man had anticipated, this was the question Nicholas balked at. He did not outright refuse to answer but simply stayed quiet a long time, glancing at the door. Andreas knew that the moment the nurse arrived, or the girlfriend, that would be the end of the conversation.

“Nicky. Matthew wants the icon returned to Greece, to the church. That is all he has been working for. All I want is to help him. He has done you a kindness. These others have left you to die, you owe them nothing. Your silence benefits you nothing. You could be of great help to us. You could do a service to the church. Which will you choose?”

“Damn you,” whispered the wounded man. “You talk like Dragoumis. I don’t believe either of you. For the boy, for Matthew, I will tell you. Twenty-eighth Street, near Third Avenue. The gray building one in from the northwest corner. I don’t remember the number. The third floor, in back.”

“Thank you.”

“Please leave now, Mr. Spyridis. I don’t want you here when the girl comes.”

“Of course. Did you tell the police about the apartment?”

“No.”

“I wonder why not?”

“I don’t know. Something in my head said don’t talk about it.”

“I am grateful, Nicky, and I will keep your trust. Be well, my boy.”

“We should not even be here. We should have left the country yesterday.”

Van Meer’s voice carried the calm, lazy tone he always affected, as if nothing really mattered to him, but the fact that he had repeated the thought twice in the last twenty-four hours underscored his disapproval. Del Carros had no real fear of Jan’s backing out, yet some attempt to mollify him must be made, to ease the younger man’s professional conscience. Jan thought of himself as someone who did things by the book, but del Carros knew him better. The Dutchman throve on chaos, ever since his violent youth in Amsterdam. The professional polish had come later, and it was a thin coat.

“There is no immediate danger.”

“You cannot know that,” Jan insisted, scanning the street through the windshield. “You don’t know their resources. And there is the police to consider as well.”

“They will be looking for del Carros. They will not find me under that name.”

“It was unwise meeting the woman.”

“We’ve discussed that.”

He would be damned if he would take a scolding from Van Meer, but he had also come to feel that the business with the woman had been handled poorly. She knew some things, yes, but not where the icon was, so what the hell did the rest matter? He kept making mistakes with that family, letting his rage at the dead old man who had robbed him cloud his thinking. He had done the same thing with the son, Richard, the girl’s father, when he had come to Caracas in his father’s place. The banker had a good eye and saw right through the scheme: he knew that the icon they offered him was a fake, that the one on his father’s wall was, in fact, genuine. Del Carros had not really intended to fool anyone in the end, wanting only to get the elder Kessler in his clutches. His son replacing him spoiled that, and the conditions set on the meeting made hostage-taking impossible.