U.S. Male (5 page)

Joss took a look and blinked.

One blue, one reddish orange. A white profile of a queen wearing a circlet around upswept hair showed on each; the words Post Office ran along the left-hand margin in white block letters and Mauritius on the right. The indigo stamp was twin to the one they’d installed in a bank vault earlier that day.

“Bax,” Joss said softly.

He was on the other side of the room.

“Bax,” she said again.

“What?” He walked over to stand at her side.

She pointed to the safe. “It’s them. The Post Office Mauritius pair.”

He studied them. “The queen doesn’t look the same on the orange one. Her hair’s different. They look more like sisters than the same person. Look, the one on the Blue Mauritius almost looks like she’s smiling.”

“So, what are the chances that we’d stumble across them here?” Joss commented.

“Not necessarily that surprising, when you think about it. Maybe seeing them here is what whetted Silverhielm’s appetite to have his own.”

“Maybe.” She continued to stare at the little squares of color, still vivid after all these years. So small, so fragile to have caused such grief. “I thought it would be a different color. More yellow, from what Gwen described.”

“Didn’t you ever see your grandfather’s copy?”

She shook her head. “It was always in the vault. The only reason I’ve seen the Blue Mauritius is because we brought it here.”

The two stamps sat on their little pedestals under the lights, the plump-jowled images of the monarch looking serenely off to the left.

“Hard to believe that people are willing to pay so much money for something like this, isn’t it?” Bax said.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a bit like owning a piece of history, isn’t it? A little bit of immortality. I think that’s what my grandfather finds so magical about them.” She stroked her finger down the glass protecting the contents of the safe.

“We’ll get it back,” Bax whispered. “One way or another, we’ll get it back.” He kissed her forehead.

First playful, now nice. Joss blinked back the sudden stinging in her eyes and blew out a breath. “Well, I think we’ve seen everything we need to here. You want to stop and get something to drink somewhere? Maybe that café we passed?”

He tangled his fingers in hers. “I’ve got a better idea.”

S
LUSSEN
, just across from Gamla Stan on the island of Södermalm, was a whirlwind of motion. Cars and buses converged on the transportation hub from a dozen directions. Ferries lined the waterfront, poised for journeys to the archipelago and beyond. After the charm of old town, Slussen seemed garishly modern, but even here there was the beauty of the water, the green of trees, the aged loveliness of historic buildings.

Joss and Bax sat in the broad public square in front of the Swedish state museum, watching pigeons search for crumbs among the cracks of the cobblestone-striped concrete. To their right, the bluffs of Södermalm rose sheer and high. On their left, bridges vaulted to Gamla Stan. Directly ahead of them, propped up at the far end by a fragile-looking tracery of iron, a slender finger of blue projected out from the building that climbed up the face of the bluff.

“What is that?” Joss asked.

“Gondolen. It’s a restaurant bar, very fashionable. The strutwork at the far end is the Katarinahissen, an elevator that takes you up to the public walkway on top. It’s a pretty amazing view.” Propped up on one side by the office building and across the street by the Katarinahissen, the restaurant hovered high in the air over one of the streets that fed into Slussen.

“It’s almost cocktail hour,” Joss said. “Why don’t we go on up and have a drink and you can show me?”

“In a bit. We’re here for a reason. Our friend Silverhielm has his city offices in the building attached to the restaurant.” Bax glanced at his watch. “I’m told he comes out between four and five every afternoon.” He rose and held out a hand to her. “Would you like a closer look at the Katarinahissen?”

Joss grinned. “Lead the way.”

Crossing the various streams of traffic between the square and the Katarinahissen took longer than she expected, but eventually they stood by the doors to the elevator, across from the office building. Bax led her a few steps along the sidewalk, staring out at the water. Without warning, he swept her into his arms, his mouth hard on hers.

It should have been different. They knew one another’s bodies now, they’d kissed plenty of times. It should have been pedestrian. It shouldn’t have sent her blood fizzing through her veins.

It shouldn’t have left her stunned with wanting.

“There, coming out of the doors,” Bax murmured against her lips and lifted her off her feet to spin her a little, as though he were a lover overcome with the moment. “Take a good look so you’ll know him later.”

Face pressed into his neck, Joss opened her eyes and looked across the street.

There was no doubt which one was Silverhielm. Bodyguards flanked him but he walked as though he were alone, head raised arrogantly as he approached the gleaming black sedan that sat idling at the curb. He wore an impeccably tailored suit, slate-blue with a chalk stripe. His hair was thick, wavy and entirely gray; his eyes were pale. About him, there hovered an indefinable air of implacability and menace.

It was a well-choreographed scene, like the footage
she’d seen of presidents and prime ministers walking to vehicles. In seconds, he was safely ensconced in the car and his entourage was inside.

The sound of the car door slamming behind him echoed across the street. Joss shivered as the car drove away. “So that’s him.”

Bax nodded and released her.

It shouldn’t have shaken her. There was no good reason why it did. Joss walked away from the lift building to lean on the railing and look across the water to Gamla Stan. “He looked…ruthless.”

“He hasn’t gotten to where he is by being kind. So are you ready to step back from this and let me take care of things?”

“No.” She turned to him, shoulders squared. “I know who we’re up against now, which is going to make me that much better against him.”

“Stubborn,” Bax commented, bouncing his loosely curled fist lightly off her chin.

“Determined,” she countered.

“Not to mention sexy as hell. I seem to remember something about a payment due, by the way.”

“Payment?” she echoed innocently.

“If I don’t get it, I’m going to have to send you to collections,” he warned.

Joss smiled. “Well, then, I guess I’d better pay up.”

T
HE CHERUBS SMILED
at her, golden-haired and rosy-cheeked, their bellies coquettishly round. Hanging on the wall over her head, their lively faces stared out, not at Joss, but at the sailing ship behind her, the enormous relic of a bygone age, the ornately carved king’s folly that hadn’t even made it out of the harbor before capsizing centuries before.

It was hard to say what was more extraordinary, Joss thought, the fact that for over two centuries people had forgotten where the
Vasa
warship lay, just a few hundred yards from the bustling waterfront, or the fact that the ship had been rediscovered and brought up to the surface nearly intact.

When she’d capsized, the sailors on the
Vasa
must have prayed to God for salvation. Now, the vessel was ensconced in a temple of its own, a soaring building of soft light designed to protect and display the ripe and luscious lines of a sailing ship that barely sailed.

“It’s incredible,” Joss murmured turning to stare at the stern rising high above them as she and Bax stood on one of the observation floors of the multilevel museum. “How can anything be this big?” As they walked toward the front of the ship, the height of the ship’s side dropped in a slow, graceful curve until they were looking down at the deck by the time they’d reached the midway point. “How could anything be so beautiful and yet so useless?”

“Makes you wonder if there wasn’t some sort of collective memory behind the drive to Swedish functionalism.”

“The
Vasa
begat Ikea?”

“It’s a theory.”

“As amazing as it is, though, I feel guilty playing tourist. Shouldn’t we be doing something to get the one-penny Mauritius back?”

“We’re not playing tourist. We’re going to meet my contact here, see what he can tell us about Silverhielm.”

“Mysterious meetings in public museums. And you told me being a detective wasn’t glamorous.”

“Most of it’s not,” he said frankly. “It’s a lot of legwork, most of which winds up being pointless. But eventually if you get enough information, you’ll find something you can use, just like we will with Silverhielm. We’ll get to him and take the stamps.” He considered. “Unless he keeps his goodies in a vault somewhere, in which case we’re out of luck.”

“He won’t keep them in a vault,” Joss said positively.

“How do you know that?”

“You could see it in the way he moves. Stamps aren’t just a business for him. There are too many other ironclad ways to make money.” She followed the mizzenmast of the
Vasa
with her eyes as it rose overhead. “There’s something about the stamps that he wants and needs, and that means having them handy. Besides, with all his goons around, he’s got to feel smug, like no one can get to him. That’s how we’ll take him down, his pride.”

“She’s right, you know,” said a lightly accented voice. Next to them stood a stocky, round-faced man with an incongruously tip-tilted nose. More than anything, he looked like a middle-aged elf.

A smile broke out on Bax’s face, though he merely looked at the gun ports of the ship. “Rolf.”

“Bax.”

“Rolf Johansson, meet Joss Chastain.”

Following Bax’s lead, Joss simply nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you one of Bax’s Interpol friends?”

“No, I’m with Stockholm’s organized crime division. We met when Bax was working in Stockholm. Perhaps Interpol is where you learned this sort of rendezvous spot, Bax. Certainly, the Swedish police would not think of it.”

Bax shrugged. “They should. Less likely that someone would follow you here than to a restaurant or bar.”

Rolf considered. “Perhaps you have a point. So what brings you to Stockholm?”

“Work, of course.”

“Ah. Our friend who lives in the archipelago.”

“So you are watching him.”

“Of course.” Rolf leaned on the rail of the observation deck. “He is my favorite waste of time. What do you know about him?”

“Officially that he’s an import/export man for jewelry.”

Rolf nodded.

“Organized crime?” Bax asked.

“Not in the classic way. In fact, he and the mob do not get on. Our friend is what you might call a freelancer, a very successful one. The mob disapproves.”

“I can imagine. So how would you characterize him, a businessman pushing the edge of legal?”

“A criminal with a legal front,” Rolf said flatly. “His jewelry business has been amazingly successful, from the very beginning.”

“Isn’t that interesting.”

“Suspiciously so. We know he uses it to launder money but we can’t prove anything.”

“Where does he get the dirty money from?” Joss asked.

“Smuggling. Drugs, currency, rare goods, so the rumor
goes. And he’s not shy about hurting anyone who gets in his way. We’ve had more than a few dead bodies attributed to his organization.”

“Have you infiltrated?”

Rolf shook his head. “The one time we tried, the agent was killed in a convenient accident.”

“Murder?”

“I honestly could not say. If he were not involved in Silverhielm’s organization, I’d have no doubts it was just bad luck. Because he was…” Rolf shrugged.

“Can’t you turn someone?”

“No one wants to talk.” He smiled faintly. “It is not healthy. We occasionally get anonymous information. Always, we follow up but the leads come to nothing. Two years ago, we came close to putting him in jail and perhaps getting more. His wife of the time filed battery charges against him.”

“Battery?”

“He beat her quite badly. She promised to testify to all she knew about his business.”

“And?”

“What do you think? A few days passed, she had visitors, and she withdrew the charges. We could do nothing. She has since left Sweden. He sits out there on his island like the king of the archipelago and laughs at us and gets richer every day.”

“Frustrating.”

Rolf’s eyes hardened. “He will make a mistake one day and when he does, we will be there.”

“How would you like to have something to truly hang on him?”

Rolf casually walked a few steps past them toward the bow of the boat and leaned again on the rail, using small binoculars to examine the upper reaches of the mast. “Bax,
my friend, nothing would make me happier. What’s on your mind?”

“We have reason to suspect that he may have arranged to have a very valuable rare stamp stolen from Joss’s family.”

“That is work for Interpol.”

“Interpol tried to run it down and came up with nothing.”

Rolf put down his glasses. “He is very slippery, our friend. So you come to visit us, instead?”

“I figured I’d be more effective on site.”

“We are watching him, Interpol has already pursued him. What makes you think that you can do what we can’t?” Rolf’s voice hardened a little.

“I’m not trying to run down mobsters, pedophiles and prostitution rings. I can afford to just focus on him. Besides, I’m not even trying to lock him down. I’m just trying to get back Joss’s family’s property.”

For the first time, Rolf turned to look directly at him, eyes cool. “We don’t think well of vigilantism in Sweden.”

“Don’t think of it as vigilantism,” Bax returned. “Think of it as help.”

“Help?”

“I’m having to poke around in Silverhielm’s life to do this job. If I happen to come across evidence of a crime, I would pass that to the proper authorities.”

The corner of Rolf’s mouth twitched. “I am sure the proper authorities would be happy to pursue it. They are always glad of help.”

“Help goes both directions, of course. Depending on what happens, I may need the help in a hurry.”

“Perhaps now is a good time for us to trade mobile telephone numbers.”

“It might be quicker than leaving a message on your voice mail,” Bax allowed.

“You Americans,” Rolf tsked, “always so impatient.”

“We get that way when we face master criminals.”

Rolf smiled briefly. “Don’t we all.”

T
HE SKY WAS
still light as Bax and Joss walked across the cobbled expanse of Berzelii Park toward Strindberg’s auction house. Trees hung over the broad stone benches and the reflecting pond glimmered. To the other side lay the sea that seemed to be at every turn in Stockholm, this time a narrow inlet that gleamed in the afternoon sun.

In such a beautiful city, it was easy to forget that their business was serious, indeed. He could imagine that Joss was just his lover, walking next to him in the slanting afternoon sunshine. She wore a splashy black and white patterned halter dress, her hair a loose mass of curls, big white hoop earrings dangling at her ears. Her spike heels were fire-engine red.

It had been a long time since a woman had captured his imagination so fully. Since Stephanie. Since his biggest mistake.

Bax stopped and drew Joss down to sit. “We need to talk,” he said abruptly.

“Shouldn’t we be getting inside?” she asked.

“Sure, but not together.”

She frowned. “Why not? They’ll find out we’re a pair eventually. It’s part of our cover.”

“I want to get the lay of the land first. Information is power. If they know everything up front, we lose any advantage we have.” And in a situation like this, they needed every advantage they could get.

“So how do you want to do it?”

Alone, was his first thought. Alone, he’d be efficient. Alone, he’d be free to do the most practical thing without worrying about her safety. Alone, he wouldn’t have to
worry about his own. “I’ll go in first, just to check it out. I’ll ring you on your cell phone when it’s clear to come in.” It was against his better judgment. Why in God’s name had he agreed to this ridiculous situation?

Then he looked at the dapple of sun and shade on her bare shoulders and he knew why.

“So you’ll stay back and I’ll hook up with Silverhielm.”

“Be casual. Don’t tell him everything all at once. You’ve got time. Remember, you’re the one who has something he wants, so ultimately you’re in control.”

“Have some faith, will you? I’ve stalked music promoters for years. I know how to meet someone accidentally on purpose. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to start a conversation with him. Why do you think I wore this dress?” She glanced down at the swells of her cleavage.

To drive him nuts, Bax thought, remembering the feel of her naked body against his.

“I figure Jerry would be dating someone a little cheap, a little flashy,” Joss continued, oblivious. “It fits with the profile.”

“It fits a few other things, as well,” he observed dryly.

Joss flashed him a quick grin. “Thank you. It’ll get Silverhielm’s attention, I think. And if it helps distract him a little while I’m talking with him, so much the better.”

Bax couldn’t say about Silverhielm, but seeing the way the dress molded itself around her body distracted him, and at a time he could ill afford it. “I’m sure it’ll do the job.”

“Thank you.” She gave him an amused look, reminding him that not much got past her. “So once I get talking with him, how far do I go? Do I mention Jerry and the Blue Mauritius?”

“Play it by ear. Remember, we just want to catch his attention at this point. Keep him a little off balance. That gives us the advantage.”

“Okay.” Joss took a deep breath.

“You sure you’re up to this?”

She blew the breath out. “Of course I am. So we meet at the hotel afterward?”

Bax nodded. Without thinking about it, he reached out to take her hand. “One important thing to remember. Don’t trust Silverhielm and don’t, under any circumstances, leave with him. No matter how good an opportunity it seems, we can’t afford the risk.”

“Even if he offers me a ride in his way cool limo?” Joss said, widening her eyes.

“Especially then.”

“Relax.” She gave a quick grin. “I get my adrenaline rushes other ways than hanging out with murderers.”

Bax knew it wasn’t smart, but he couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss her, just for a moment. He wouldn’t think about what a familiar pleasure the taste of her was becoming. For a few moments, he just let himself savor her mouth, warm and mobile against his. Finally, he straightened. She would be okay, he told himself. And so would he. “I’ll beep your mobile when the coast is clear.” He rose. “Be good.”

Joss gave him a reckless smile of promise. “I’ll be great.”