Seconds later, the sound of metal on metal creaked from just beyond the doorway. It was followed by a sudden snap and the clank of the lock hitting the stone threshold. The two doors swung open, and the gray Southampton daylight poured into the crypt.
Despite the day being overcast, the sudden exposure back into the open air caused the three Americans to squint and cover their eyes for a moment.
Jim stood just beyond the alcove with a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters hanging from one hand. He wore a proud look on his face that was also painted with befuddlement. “How in the world did you get locked in there?”
“We’ll tell you all about it,” Sean answered first. “Did you happen to see anyone suspicious leaving the grounds?”
Jim thought about it for a second before answering. “Nah,” he shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”
Sean didn’t worry about it. Whether Jim had seen the men or not would make no difference.
“Although,” the Englishman raised a finger. “I did see a few blokes in black coats leaving in a car together. I figured they were here for a funeral or to pay their respects or something.”
“Petrov,” Tommy said.
Jim put the story together on his own. “So the guys that were chasing you followed you here and put you in that grave? Why? And how did they know you were here?”
“Not sure,” Sean said. “But we need to get back to London. We have a plane to catch.”
Jim looked at one, then the other, then back to Sean. He put his hands out. “Hey, you’re the boss. Sure you don’t want to stick around for the soccer match this afternoon? The Saints are playing Aston Villa.”
“Next time,” Sean said with a grin.
Chapter 23
Petrov watched closely as the parade of four scantily clad girls marched out of the room through a door in the far corner.
Dufort sat in a high leatherback chair, staring at the last of the females as she disappeared into the dark underbelly of the mansion. He’d just received the new batch earlier in the day. Since arriving, they’d gone through the standard procedures of being cleaned, checked for diseases, and then promptly drugged.
The latter was extremely important. One of his connections was with a drug dealer who had produced an excellent mixture. It kept the girls awake, but in a heavily stoned state. They wouldn’t fall asleep like with some sedatives, which was something many of Dufort’s clients had requested.
The door in the corner closed, and Dufort stood from his chair. His head of security, Fabien Caron lurked nearby against the wall, next to the exit. Of all the rooms Petrov had seen in Dufort’s mansion, this one seemed the most menacing. It resembled a miniature ballroom without the dramatic drapes, carpets, or chandeliers. Blank concrete walls surrounded the lone chair in the middle. It was where Dufort did a sort of intake interview of his new stock.
Today’s haul had been impressive. Three of the young girls had an exotic look to them. If he’d had to guess, Petrov would have said they were from South America, most likely Brazil.
“Show me,” Dufort held out his hand and stalked toward the Russian.
Petrov dug into his black windbreaker and fished out the coin. He palmed it for moment, looking down at it with a kind of arrogance. Dufort wasn’t a patient man, so Petrov gave him the coin quickly.
“It took a lot of effort to get that thing,” he said as Dufort turned around and held the piece of gold up to the light.
The Frenchman didn’t respond, still eyeing the coin carefully. He flipped it over and stared at the back, examining the surface with narrow slits for eyes. “Fascinating,” he said finally. “Absolutely fascinating.”
“I am glad you are impressed.”
“Very. I am very impressed.” Dufort turned around and faced the Russian with an expectant expression on his face. “What else do you have for me?” He held out his hand again after the question.
Cluelessness washed over Petrov. He shook his head. “What do you mean? You said you wanted the coin. I got you the coin.”
Dufort’s demeanor changed instantly. He held up his hands as if trying to stop a car. “Wait. You’re telling me that you only have the coin? That you have nothing else?”
“That was what you said you wanted. There was nothing else in the coffin except the coin.”
“Are you sure?”
Petrov got defensive. “Yes. Of course I’m sure. There was nothing in the box but the body and the coin. It was on his chest. I made sure Wyatt took nothing else.”
Dufort’s eyebrows lowered at the last bit of information. “Wyatt was there? At the cemetery?”
“Yes. We followed them to the grave that contained this. We trapped them in the crypt. I killed Wyatt and left him there.”
“And what about the other two?” For the moment, Dufort was distracted from the topic of the coin and was now concerned about loose ends. Usually, the Russian was extremely efficient, ruthless even. In this instance, it seemed he’d got a little sloppy.
“A funeral arrived while we were in the process of taking the coin. I shot Wyatt in the chest, and we locked the other two in the crypt with him.” Petrov stumbled through the explanation, hoping it satisfied his employer.
One of Dufort’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You shot him and then locked the three of them in a crypt with a dead body?”
“Da.”
There was a momentary pause. Then Dufort erupted in laughter. He spun around as he continued to bellow.
Petrov waited for the laughter to die down before he spoke again. “They will not be any trouble to us, if they even get out of there. Wyatt is dead, and the other two are harmless. The treasure is as good as yours.”
Dufort took a long, deep breath. When he finished, his face grew sour, seeming to take on every shadow in the room. “Did you see Wyatt die?”
“What? I told you. I shot him and locked them in the crypt. We left quickly to get the coin back to you.”
The Frenchman stepped closer. Petrov could smell his expensive cologne as it wafted up and trickled through his nostrils. “Did. You. See. Him. Die?” Dufort was sure to emphasize every single word as pointedly as possible.
Petrov glanced over at one of his men, the American standing next to Fabien Caron. He swallowed hard and then turned his head quickly from side to side. “No. But he is dead.”
“So you didn’t see him die, but you know he is dead?”
“It would have taken a miracle. Even if someone had got them out of the crypt, he would have been dead by the time he reached a hospital.”
Dufort’s eyes peered through Petrov. He was growing tired of the Russian’s blubbering explanation. “Let’s assume, because that’s what you’re doing, assuming, that Wyatt is dead. What about the other two? You said they were still alive.”
Petrov continued to stumble through his words. “We couldn’t shoot them. The funeral was approaching too fast. We barely had time to throw them into the crypt before anyone could notice.”
“I see. You do realize that we have two loose ends running around now, and we have no idea where they are.” Dufort’s irritation had reached boiling point.
“No,” Petrov shook his head. “They will not be any trouble to us anymore. They are harmless.”
Dufort spun around suddenly and took several steps away before turning back to face the Russian. “Do you know who Tommy Schultz is?”
“What?”
The Frenchman yelled at the top of his lungs this time. “Do you know who Tommy Schultz is?”
The shouting caused Petrov to shudder for a brief second, but he stood his ground. He feared no one. Respected power and money, sure, but fear? Never. “Of course, he was the friend of Wyatt.”
“And what does he do for a living?”