U.S. Male Page 11

  “Of course, certifications can be forged, also.”

  “They can, for the person who’s sufficiently determined. You hear about it occasionally.”

  “Are most forgeries made from scratch?”

  “Fewer than you’d think. Some of them are antiques, and collectable themselves, ironically. Most of what you see as forgeries is really doctored up versions of existing stamps. The change in value of a stamp in good condition versus one in fair condition is pretty steep. You get stamp doctors who can add back gum and things to make a stamp look mint.”

  “What about forgeries of rare stamps?” Bax asked, watching him intently.

  “How rare?”

  “Oh, say, a Blue Mauritius.”

  Halliday gave Bax a long look. “The whereabouts of all the existing Post Office Mauritius stamps are known. A person coming up with a forgery would be taking a big gamble.”

  “What if a person wanted to gamble?” Bax asked softly. “Could you get me a forgery?”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve asking me a question like that,” Halliday began angrily.

  “Ray,” Joss put her fingertips on his arm, “you know what happened with my grandfather’s stamps. Gwen and I have hired Bax to help us. Please.” She moistened her lips. “We need your help.”

  Halliday slowly studied her, then moved his gaze to study Bax. “All right. Well, first, a convincing forgery would require a good plate. One way to do it would be to find a person who could produce a new plate from a photograph. They use lasers, I understand. They’d have to doctor it, color match the inks, get the right paper and gum. It’s not an easy process.”

  “But doable?”

  Halliday nodded slowly. “I suppose. Another way is to do a reprint from the original plate.”

  “I would have thought they would have long since been destroyed.”

  “You’d be surprised. The original plates for the Post Office Mauritius pair still exist but they’re not in a museum. They’re reputed to be in the hands of a private collector. Perhaps they are. And perhaps that collector might rent them out to an ambitious forger for the right price.”

  Halliday took a sip of his wine. “Of course, even with the original plates, you’d have the same problems of inks, paper and gum. It’s not a simple thing to find what you seek.”

  “Could you help us?” Joss asked, fighting the urge to hold her breath.

  Halliday stared at her. “Perhaps you’d better tell me what this is all about.”

  DUSK WAS DARKENING to evening as Bax and Joss walked back to the Royal Viking. “So, what did you think of Fredsgatan 12?” he asked her.

  “The food was wonderful, but I feel like stopping somewhere to get dinner, now. Do you know I calculated that the two scallops in my fish dish cost about twelve dollars each?”

  “Maybe lemon juice is more expensive here.”

  She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “That must be it. Anyway, it was nice of Ray to treat us. We owe him.”

  “We’ll owe him even more if he can find that forgery.”

  The last shades of evening were falling away as they walked toward the waterfront. “So just exactly what are you cooking up with a forgery, assuming Halliday can get one?” Joss asked, giving Bax a speculative look.

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. We’re currently playing a very dangerous game with our friend Silverhielm. If our talks move forward, at some point he’s going to expect us to come across with a stamp. I don’t mind bluffing with the real Blue Mauritius, but we’d damned well better cook up some way to keep it safe from him.”

  “But how is having either a real or a forged Blue Mauritius going to help us get the one-penny Mauritius?”

  “I haven’t figured that out, yet.” He grinned. “Feel free to chime in if you think of something.”

  It was that certainty that an idea would crop up that she admired. “Hey, it was my idea that got us this far.”

  “And it was a good one,” he told her, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

  It felt immeasurably cozy. “Could we try playing ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’?”

  “Possibly, though it would take some doing to get them to fall for it. Silverhielm doesn’t strike me as a risk taker. He likes to have the game rigged in his favor, I think.”

  “Well, what if we get him thinking that it is?”

  Bax considered. “Could work. Now we have to figure out practical implementation.”

  “Maybe we’ll learn something when we meet with them. Have your sources told you anything more about Markus or Silverhielm that might help?”

  They crossed another of the ubiquitous public squares and headed to the waterfront. “Just that Markus is working for him as a trigger man. Markus can be a very effective scare to pull out of your pocket.”

  “But you and he are buds, right?” There was something between Markus and Bax that she didn’t quite understand.

  Bax shook his head. “Never make that mistake. Nothing comes ahead of the job for Markus. He’ll take care of his client, first and foremost.”

  “But he talks like you’re friends.”

  “It’s hard to tell with Markus. Maybe I just amuse him.”

  “And he still has no idea you worked for Interpol.”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  It seemed extraordinary to her that Bax could have lived this separate life, a separate life that he still maintained. How much of the person she knew was real? “How did you wind up working for Interpol, anyway? That’s rare, isn’t it? I mean, you’d need to know a lot of languages and European customs and everything.”

  “I grew up in Europe, remember? I speak Danish, Dutch and German fluently and bits of a couple of others.”

  “So you just picked them up as you moved around?” Walking through the warm twilight, it seemed natural to talk.

  “Kind of. I seem to be a natural linguist, but it helped being exposed to so many different languages when I was young. Speech patterns aren’t set then, so it’s easy to learn different ways to think about the same thing.”

  “But you speak English without an accent.” Ahead lay the cream and blush baroque palace of the opera house with a statue of a king on horseback before it.

  “My father and the people at the embassies taught me. Besides, we moved back to the U.S. when I was about sixteen. I worked hard at getting rid of my accent.”

  “How did your mom take leaving Europe?”

  “She died around that time, so I don’t have an answer to that.” Something in the tone of his voice warned her not to pursue that line of questioning further. He dropped his arm and moved away.

  “So then, what, you went into the military?”

  “The FBI, eventually.”

  “What did your father think of that?”

  “He didn’t like it, but then he doesn’t like much that I do.” The rancor in his voice was startling. “We aren’t exactly a typical father and son.”

  “Sometimes being different can be good,” Joss said, thinking of her own family.

  “When it comes to my dad, being apart is good,” he said with finality.

  People lived what they learned. Joss reached out to tangle her fingers in his. “Being together has its moments, too.”

  For an instant, his fingers were still, then they softened. “So I’ve seen.”

  12

  THE LONG SUMMER afternoon stretched out as Joss and Bax entered the back gates of Skansen. They ignored the funicular and began to walk up the winding path that led from the meadow below to the top of the bluffs that held the outdoor museum.

  “Why did you choose this as a meeting place?” Joss asked. “Aren’t we taking a chance being in the middle of all of these buildings? Silverhielm could have some of his people in here.”

  “Almost certainly. Then again, we’re only here to talk, not to make a handoff or do anything where force would benefit them. I think Silverhielm’s going to want to have additional people in place just to feel
like he’s got his extra measure of control, but they’re going to essentially be aboveboard. The temperance lodge is in the open. We should be okay there.”

  Ahead of them, as they reached the top, clustered the wooden buildings of a nineteenth-century family farm.

  Back in the previous century, Skansen had been conceived as a way to preserve the history of Sweden with a collection of typical buildings from all regions of the country and all time periods. Now, it stretched across acres of the island of Djurgården, dirt lanes leading from one to another of the dozens of buildings. During the day, crowds attended the festivals, filtered through the outdoor market in the square. Park employees in authentic costumes demonstrated the techniques of bakers, printers, metalsmiths and so on. During the day, Skansen was bustling with activity.

  Now, although the park was ostensibly open, the grounds were largely deserted. They found their way to the temperance lodge, a low, red building surrounded by a wooden fence.

  “Did temperance ever take off in Sweden?” Joss asked as they came to a stop by the information sign.

  A corner of Bax’s mouth twitched. “You’re talking about a country that has a museum of alcohol. I’m thinking not. Here we are.” His voice changed. “There.”

  She turned to see Markus and Silverhielm walking toward them, flanked by two bodyguards.

  “No bodyguards, Markus,” Bax reminded him as they came close.

  “They are here to enjoy the culture,” Markus said with a faint smile.

  “Let them enjoy it elsewhere.”

  Markus nodded at the two men, who hesitated a moment and walked down the path toward another area.

  “Good evening, Ms. Astin.” Silverhielm held out his hand to take hers and kiss it as before.

  He’d dispensed with the formality of a suit, but only just. Instead, he wore a dark blue jacket—cashmere, perhaps?—over khakis, with a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sort of a King-Karl-watches-polo outfit.

  Markus wore a jacket as well, for the same reason, she assumed, as Bax—to hide a gun.

  Her stomach tightened.

  “Good evening, Mr. Silverhielm.”

  “Please, let us dispense with formality,” he said comfortably. “You shall call me Karl and I shall call you Josie. And this is your friend?” He looked at Bax.

  “This is my associate, Johan Bruhn,” she told him.

  “Ah. Markus tells me many things about you, Mr. Bruhn.”

  “Johan,” Bax said.

  “I hear you are a man of no small talent. Perhaps we should discuss that at some point.”

  “Perhaps. For now, though, we are here to discuss Josie’s business and your business with Stewart Oakes.”

  “Ah yes, this business. Come, Josie.” They began to stroll down the pathway that led to the reproduction nineteenth-century village, Markus and Bax following. “Such an embarrassment that Stewart Oakes confessed to the theft of such valuable stamps, he and his associate. A person dealing with Mr. Oakes would, of course, assume that he’d obtained the goods he brokered by honest means.”

  “Unless,” Joss said, “that were impossible, in which case a client would have to know he might take extreme measures to attain the prize.”

  Silverhielm shook his head sadly, folding his hands together at his back. “Truly reprehensible. The news accounts were not clear about which issues were taken and which were recovered. Perhaps they were more detailed in the U.S.”

  “The papers were not, but I have the luck to have had a…close relationship with Stewart’s associate.” She let satisfaction creep into her voice as she glanced at the white and periwinkle wildflowers lining the sides of the lane.

  “Mr. Messner, correct? I understand both he and Mr. Oakes are in jail at present.”

  “True. The last time Jerry—Mr. Messner—was at my apartment, he happened to leave a valuable piece of property with me for safekeeping.” They turned up a steep cobblestone street. “A valuable piece of property that I believe you have some interest in. After all, just because the law caught up with Stewart and Jerry doesn’t mean that your transaction has to be a complete disappointment.”

  Afternoon shadows stretched across the lane. Silverhielm examined the now-dark windows of the metalsmith’s store and turned to her.

  “So bold of you to ask for additional money to deliver the property I already own, is it not, Josie?”

  “Think of it as a delivery fee.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “After all, I wasn’t a part of the original negotiations, and yet I have gone to the trouble and expense of flying to Stockholm to reach out to you.”

  “And how did you come to know of me?”

  She spread her hands. “Pillow talk, Karl. You understand.”

  “But you are no longer sharing a pillow with Mr. Messner, I see.”

  Joss gave him a cool look. “Mr. Messner left me high and dry. A woman has to find a man who can take care of her.”

  “So you now share your pillow with Mr. Bruhn.”

  “Now you’re the one who’s bold.” They approached the deserted town square with its array of wooden picnic tables. “What matters is the service that I can potentially render to you. After all, Stewart was unable to complete your agreement. If I hadn’t stepped in, you would not have the opportunity to obtain your commissioned property. Because I took the time to come here, you have the choice of whether to receive it or not, depending on what it is worth to you.” Joss sank down on one of the wooden benches. Below and beyond them, the lights of the Gröna Lund amusement park spread out against the water.

  Silverhielm sat at the table next to her. Markus and Bax lingered nearby. “So you might have one of the objects that Stewart promised me?”

  “Well, yes, but obviously a certain amount of risk and cost have been associated with getting the property over here. If I were to hand it over to you, for example, instead of the authorities, I’d expect compensation.”

  “You must understand, I have already paid a substantial commission to Mr. Oakes for his efforts. I naturally expected a positive result from the investment.”

  “Things don’t always go as planned, though, you know that.” A wave of screams erupted from the Power Tower at Gröna Lund as a group of thrill-seekers went into extended freefall. “I understand that you have a long-standing interest in owning a Post Office Mauritius pair. Wouldn’t you like to see that interest brought to fruition?”

  Something hot and proprietary flickered in his eyes and she knew she’d guessed right. Not just a collector, not just an investor. An obsessive, one for whom owning the object of desire was everything.

  “So you have it, then.”

  “The Blue Mauritius? Yes.”

  His gaze became bright with avarice and he let out a slow breath. “It would bring me a good deal of pleasure to have the Blue Mauritius.”

  “The proper deal would bring me a good deal of pleasure, too.”

  “I do not like to have terms dictated to me.” The Silverhielm she’d glimpsed in Slussen emerged.

  She suppressed the urge to shift away from him. “You can dictate all the terms you like,” she said instead. “I’ll just exercise my right to say yes or no.”

  “I see. What is to stop me from, for example, directing my associates down the lane to bring their weapons to bear on you to force a ‘yes’ answer?”

  “If you were going to do that, you’d have done it already.” Bax stepped up and sat next to Joss. “Stop wasting our time. We’ve got something you want, something you’re willing to pay for. We want two hundred thousand for it, cold cash.”

  “Kroner?”

  Bax just snorted. “Dollars. I’m sure you can get a favorable exchange rate.”

  “‘We want,’ you say?”

  Bax looked at him calmly. “I have a commission coming.”

  “Of course. I shall consider this proposal.”

  “Nothing to consider,” Bax told him. “It’s a fifth of the market value of the stamp. You’re getting a bargain.
Either you pay us or Josie takes it to the authorities, it’s as simple as that.”

  “To the authorities?”

  “Or, perhaps, to another collector.”

  Silverhielm’s nostrils flared. “The stamp is mine. I will have it.”

  “Easy enough. All you have to do is meet our terms.”

  The Swede gave him a black look. The two bodyguards appeared at the edge of the lane where it opened out into the square. “I will not answer this now.”

  “You want time to think about it, take it. I’m sure it’s easy to find a Blue Mauritius at a discount rate. Shoot, you can just have your goons break into the postal museum and take theirs. You’ll get it for free.”

  “Do not mock me,” Silverhielm said coldly.

  “Then don’t mock us. We know you’ve got money. That’s not an issue. The only issue is whether you’re willing to pay us what we want. That figure wasn’t a top line bargaining number we’re working down from, by the way. That’s our number, period.”

  “It is a fortunate liaison you’ve made, this ‘we.’” Hostility crackled in Silverhielm’s voice.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” Joss interrupted and rose. “I think Johan is right, the conversation is over. Contact us when you’ve decided to get serious.”

  THEY WALKED AWAY from the town square toward the nearby front entrance of Skansen. Joss ignored the tickle between her shoulder blades and tried not to imagine the red dot of a laser sight dancing around the area between them.

  It was easier once they’d gone down the hill toward the noise and life of Gröna Lund. “Thank God that’s over,” Joss murmured. She wanted to be among the lights, she wanted to be among people. Anything but around the grinding tension of the meeting they’d just had.

  “You did well,” Bax told her, resting his hand lightly on the small of her back as they went through the exit gates. “You handled him just right.”

  “Except for the part where he started threatening bodily harm.” She’d been calm when it was going on. It was only now that she trembled.

  “You’re not used to it, that’s all.” They turned down the road that led back toward the mainland. “It was a bluff. He was expecting you to back down. Guys like him, they like the cat and mouse game. They’re not happy if they can’t flex their muscles.”