Her desk phone rang but before picking it up she looked at the display. “That’s Matt,” she said then took a deep breath again. “He’s been really good about this,” she noted gratefully then picked up the handset. “Hi,” she said almost automatically. “No, no, I’m okay ... He ... An inv—he had an invitation? ... I knew it ... I’ll be right there,” she said emphatically then hung up with her spirits suddenly lifted. “They found on the tape where he comes in ... he had an invitation!” She made a fist and seemed about to start pounding on the desk but restrained herself. “I knew it!” she said with a mixture of anger and relief. “Come with?” she offered as she stood up. “They’re going through the invitations.”
In the conference room again, this time with Elanore at her side and Dunlap and Ronnie across from them, they searched through the cardboard file box of nearly 500 invitations. Fortunately, they hadn’t been just tossed in at random as they were handed in; under the watchful eyes of two uniformed guards the hostesses at the reception desk had graciously accepted each of the invitations and for the most part they were stacked in the order they had been presented.
From tediously stepping through the video the security department had determined the man identified as ‘Michael Kirkland’ was the 306th guest to be admitted at exactly 7:27 p.m.
Dunlap startled them all as he dropped his fist onto the table and read aloud: “The Houston Museum of Fine Arts is pleased to invite Michael C. Kirkland, Ph.D., to a benefit reception and private preview exhibition—” he halted and looked apologetically at Catherine as he handed the invitation to Ronnie.
After looking at it closely Ronnie said with visible relief, “It’s ours.”
“Obviously,” Dunlap said flatly.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Ronnie offered.
Catherine and Elanore breathed a huge simultaneous sigh and they couldn’t help but see some irritation brewing on Dunlap’s normally placid face.
“Now all we need to do is figure out why it’s not here,” the executive grumbled, shaking the pages of computer printout. “Ronnie ... would you—?”
With visible irritation in her demeanor she was already a step ahead of her boss. “I’ll get with Bernard,” she said of the museum’s one-man information technology staff.
“And I’ll show this to Silayev,” Dunlap said as they headed to the door in tandem.
After they were out of earshot Elanore said glumly, “Well, I hate to say it, but I think Matt’s going to be disappointed.” She saw Catherine’s mood swing downward yet again in confusion and she lowered her voice. “All that really proves is he had an invitation in his hand with that name printed on it ... Hon, nobody was checking IDs,” she noted glumly.
Catherine recognized her sister-in-law’s insight into all things social and replied resolutely, “I was with him for hours ... he is who he said he is!”
Unwilling to disagree and simply toss aside the hints of her own personal assessment of the man she picked up the fax from the table and began to read it.
Catherine frowned as she thought about what Elanore was reading and she tried to sound positive. “That’s what UCONN sent us. That’s a picture of him ... well, that’s their professor Kirkland.”
Elanore only nodded distractedly but after a half-minute of thoroughly reading the small, sometimes barely-legible text that offered more information than was really of interest to anyone, her shoulders suddenly slumped and she sighed in obvious frustration. Rattling the flimsy paper she asked, “Oh, shit, Cath, did anybody read this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did anybody actually read the whole thing ... the bio? The whole damn thing?”
Catherine quickly thought through the meeting and how the page was handed first to Dunlap, then to her. “Ronnie ... she, she probably did ... I think Matt did,” she said unconvincingly.
Elanore said smugly as she handed the page to her bewildered friend, “Hon, read the next to last sentence of the last paragraph.”
Catherine took it and began reading aloud: “‘Professor Mike Kirkland and Professor Michael C. Kirkland, a visiting lecturer in Economics at the Stamford campus, are not related’.”
Elanore pointed at the page and said, “My bet is visiting lecturers don’t get their pictures taken.” As Catherine’s eyes widened and her mouth opened Elanore looked to the ceiling and added sarcastically, “Dear Lord, protect this glorious institution and all that is within it from the stupidity of the men protecting it ... amen.”
“Mierda!” Catherine whispered angrily then a sudden thought came to her. “El, you might want to call Al and let him know ... I think Silayev thinks Al knows him.”
Elanore looked dubious. “Al?” she scoffed. “He just met him last night ... I introduced them.”
- # -
Alex Calder strode across his office and opened the concealed door of a large, acoustically isolated and electronically shielded private conference room. Inside, Kirkland sat at one end of the long table that was studded with conferencing equipment and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling white marker-board walls where any number of major advancements in technology had been explored in detail without the risk of eavesdropping.
“Come on in,” Calder said and held the door open. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he added as he led his guest across the expanse to the area of his desk. “That ran a little longer than I thought ... and I didn’t want anyone other than Sally to know you were here.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Kirkland acknowledged.
Calder pointed at the two chairs in front of his desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you,” Kirkland replied.
“So,” Calder said as he took his chair behind the desk. “Whad’ya think ... are we dealing with the real thing?” he asked pleasantly
Kirkland spent a moment thinking then began by relating a somewhat sanitized version of the previous night’s encounter with Pavel Silayev and his men, leaving out the fact that a handgun had been involved and the seriousness of the Russian’s injuries.
Calder was visibly stunned and after a few moments of shaking his head he said, “He had three men with him ... waiting for you in the parking ramp?”
“I’m assuming they talked to the parking valet,” Kirkland noted. “He was the only one who knew where I was parked.”
“Why? What the hell did they want?”
“I’m confident it had something to do with my examination of the exhibits.”
“Shit,” Calder noted as he realized someone should have informed Silayev personally before they let Kirkland handle their precious artifacts.
“He seemed more than just annoyed ... but I think I managed to disabuse him of any real concerns ... I more or less left him with the idea that I was only interested in Ms. Cruz.”
A knowing grin slowly formed on Calder’s face. “Still, I’m really sorry as shit ... when we talked the other day I thought we’d just keep quiet and corner Matt later on in the evening and set you up to see them today.”
Kirkland gave his client a look of reassurance. “Not to worry. In my line of work there are sometimes exigent circumstances.”
Calder shook his head again as he considered the odd phraseology. “Yea, well, this isn’t what I had in mind ... hell, most of the consultants I’ve brought in didn’t have to deal with thugs in parking ramps – they’re more likely to use PowerPoint to bore people to death.”
Kirkland laughed knowingly then became serious. “Well, I’d gladly do it all again to meet Ms. Cruz.”
Calder grinned and his eyes closed slightly. “Ahh ... and I should have thought El would have her radar on. To her it’s ‘new donor awareness’,” he said making quote gestures in the air.
Kirkland squinted in misunderstanding and Calder added, “I give her crap about using the museum to introduce eligible men to Cath.”
“Well, I have to say I learned enough to want to learn more,” Kirkland advised. “She’s as brilliant a
s she is beautiful. I’m more than a little amazed she’s not attached.”
Calder smiled quickly and nodded then paused uncertainly before saying, “You know ... well, maybe ... I don’t know how much she told you ... she was married to El’s little brother.”
“She did say something about him,” Kirkland replied casually.
Calder closed his eyes for a moment as a look of disgust fell over his face. “He’s in for twenty-something for trying to scam a few hundred people and screw the IRS along the way.”
At that revelation Kirkland’s brow furrowed and he squinted as he asked, “Really?” Knowing something about the IRS as a provider of expert opinions in a number of tax-related cases he took a deep breath and sighed. “I have an interesting relationship at Treasury ... I’ve done work for them ... and on the other hand, sometimes for the people they ah ... ah, they shall we say, the people who disagree with their opinion of the value of something.”
Calder looked at Kirkland and shook his head faintly. That makes sense; he’s a hired gun, he thought then continued with his explanation of his brother-in-law’s troubles. “His name was Burnett, Roger Burnett ... the case ring any bells?”
Kirkland thought for a moment then shook his head. “I can’t recall.”
“Went from running a couple of car dealerships to prison in, oh, a little less than four years.”
“Really?” Kirkland offered in amazement. “Embezzlement?”
“Shit, that would have been better,” Calder said disgustedly. “No ... no, Roger ... ol’ Roger turned out to be quite the entrepreneur. When it got going he made shit-loads of money. But when the whole thing cratered the sonofabitch was so damn sure of himself he wouldn’t listen to anybody ... not even his lawyer. And Commoner lined her up for him.”
Kirkland found it difficult to believe someone Barton Commoner recommended wouldn’t be listened to.
“He could’ve plea bargained down to ‘round five years. The moron kept trying to tell the judge and the jury some bullshit story that the IRS was an illegal private company ... and then he keeps arguing with the judge—”
Having been an expert witness in numerous civil as well as criminal trials, the concept was almost astonishing. “Arguing with the judge?”
“You wouldn’t have believed it unless you’d seen it. We were there for the whole thing. It was embarrassing.”
“Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, was he?”
Calder huffed and shook his head. “Sure as hell thought he was. She, the judge, she especially liked the part where he demanded to have recuse herself because she was part of the conspiracy.” He paused and sighed as he leaned back in the chair. “It wasn’t pretty. It took the jury less than four hours ... part of that was lunch.” After a few moments he added, “He kept at it, though. Filed a blizzard of paper trying to appeal.”
“Obviously to no avail,” Kirkland suggested more than asked.
“Obviously is right ... over and over. Then he came up with the brilliant idea to file liens on the IRS agents and the prosecutor.”
“Liens?”
“On their property. Utterly bogus but a pain in the ass. It took a long time for things to settle down ‘round here. Even after the divorce.”
Kirkland sat quietly, noting his client was ruminating over what were obviously some rather sore memories. Finally he decided to try and change the subject. “So ... as for the earlier part of the evening, the reason you asked me—”
“Oh,” Calder acknowledged with a serious nod. “Okay ... so, real or not?”
“What I can tell you is the Caesar’s Ruby in the exhibit isn’t the original ... it’s a handsome piece, but nevertheless not the real thing.”
When Calder looked skeptical Kirkland provided the simplest and most obvious reason. “It’s too new, probably less than a hundred years old.”
Calder’s lips formed a narrow line and his jaw tightened as he leaned forward onto his forearms and interlaced his fingers. He exhaled slowly, making an almost-whistling noise but said nothing.
After waiting a few seconds Kirkland asked, “The question now is ... what would you like me to do?” When Calder didn’t offer a response Kirkland added, “You should know ... it’s more than just that piece.”
Calder’s mouth opened slightly for a moment then he sighed and began shaking his head. “We’re being flimflammed by the Russians, aren’t we?”
“In terms of three of the five pieces I examined ... I would say yes. Perhaps more if I could get them into the proper lab.”
“Shit,” Calder repeated in a whisper then rubbed his forehead with his thumb and fingertips. A realization came to him and he looked up in concern. “Does Cath know?”
Kirkland paused only briefly then nodded. “But she also knows it would be more than foolish to reveal it.”
Calder thought about that for several seconds then asked with definite concern, “What would the Russians do if they found out she knew?”
“If anything were to come out, their instincts, the Russian’s, that is, would involve simple denial. There is no one to prove otherwise.”
“Umm,” Calder said in agreement then a thought came to him. “Except you.”
“Hence the source of Mr. Silayev’s agitation,” Kirkland replied. “And without another legitimate analysis—”
“Which sure as hell won’t happen again,” Calder noted.
Kirkland nodded in agreement. “Indeed ... their secret is safe. It would be yet another rumor.”
After a few moments of considering the situation Calder sighed heavily then asked, “So now what? What do you recommend?”
“I can draft an expert appraisal report, you can submit that to your loss carrier for credit on the paid premium,” Kirkland said. The lack of reaction from across the desk confirmed a theory – there was more going on here than a simple insurance premium adjustment but he decided to go along for a while longer. “If it escalates to filing a civil suit, the law firm retains me as an expert witness – but given the involvement of a foreign country, these circumstances are somewhat unusual.”
Without saying anything, Calder drummed his fingers on the desk then suddenly stopped, rolled his chair back slightly, opened a desk drawer and removed a small, dark-gray velvet bag. He rose slightly and held it out over the desk toward Kirkland.
This ought to be interesting, Kirkland thought as his curiosity mounted. He hesitated for a second after taking the bag then untied it and began turning it inside out. “I didn’t bring gloves,” he said concentrating on manipulating the cloth carefully to reveal the object without touching it. “But I never go anywhere without this,” he said as he pulled his loupe out of his sport-jacket pocket.
Without revealing his astonishment, he studied the pendant closely for nearly a minute then couldn’t entirely conceal the shock on his face when he looked up.
Calder’s voice sounded as if he were admitting to a grave misdeed. “That’s the real thing, isn’t it?”
Kirkland blinked a few times as his eye adjusted from the loupe and he swallowed hard. He doesn’t look pleased at all, he thought. “Ah ... well, Mr. Calder, I ... I can’t be certain in a legal sense without some further testing, but in my opinion ... this piece is authentic,” he said and looked at it again admiringly.
He heard the man say something indistinguishable with a tone that could have been either relief or despair. “So this ... this is the reason I’m here?” he asked as he replaced the pendant in the bag and gently handed it back to Calder, overcoming the almost desperate urge to ask how it could possibly have come into his possession.
Calder breathed in deeply then nodded as he exhaled. “Yep. It is.”
There were both social and legal boundaries to be observed in these situations; challenging a client’s motives was inappropriate unless you intended to see them sued or prosecuted, which hardly seemed rational at this juncture with someone of Alex Calder’s stature. Kirkland’s mind wheeled at the possibilities –
some of them criminal – as he leaned back and looked calmly at Calder. Finally he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you believe someone ... someone in the museum is involved in, in ... however this ... this situation, shall we say, has come about?”
After a few moments Calder answered glumly, “No ... no I don’t. I don’t think so.”
Unable to discern anything more from the man’s demeanor, Kirkland decided to simply offer an opinion of one of the possible realities. “The problem anyone who has the real one, of course ... the real problem you have is ... the pendant is essentially worthless except to two parties.” He held up a hand and index finger. “Obviously, the Russians,” he said, sounding as if it were a rather dire warning then raised another finger, “and possibly one other entity. But given the span of time involved I’d have to verify the second party’s current interest.”
Kirkland still couldn’t get a reading on what was going on behind the man’s eyes but he continued offering advice. “You, the current possessor, could never sell it to anyone and expect to remain anonymous for any length of time. Or, more accurately, the complications that would arise were you to try and sell it would be ... let’s say, dangerously unpredictable.”
“Umm,” Calder grunted quietly as he hefted the bag a couple of times then said, “I’m not interested in selling it,” as he returned it to the drawer.
Kirkland wasn’t sure what to make of that but and decided not to inquire about what were obviously closely-held secrets. “There would be a reward, well, a reward of sorts for it. There are probably only a handful of people aware of its real status—you and I now included—and it has been missing a very long time.”
Calder regarded the Professor with a look of a young boy having been discovered doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. “So ... to use the movie vernacular, it’s the proverbial ‘hot rock’.”
Before answering, Kirkland considered how best to explain the incredibly complex situation. After several moments he sighed and said, “Not publicly. And there are protocols that must be observed to maintain that status.”