Walking the Dog Ch. 05-07

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No idyll ever lasts.
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Part 2 of the 5 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 01/27/2003
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Chapter Five

No idyll ever lasts and ours was shorter than most. We were summoned back to the real world by Niall hammering on the door. "Martin, get up! Looks like we've got company!" My heart sank and a sick feeling permeated the rosy glow. I rose and dressed as quickly as I could with Angela following suit. About two minutes later we joined the twins in the lounge. Liam gestured to us to move to the side of the room. "Our friends are a little quick off the mark," he said and gave us a humourless smile. Niall asked, "How many?" and Liam grunted before replying. "Just spotted another one. That makes five out here and three more we've clocked round the back. I think we can assume two or three to each side so a round dozen at a guess. Good job they're amateurs!"

"Amateurs?" My voice sounded unnaturally loud. "Absolute bloody amateurs," said Niall, "We wouldn't have spotted pros in this cover." He nodded towards the hedgerows that fronted the cottage and flanked the road on either side. Angela spoke. "What are we going to do now?" The twins laughed. "Put the fear of Christ Himself into their little black hearts!" Niall glanced at Liam. "Everything ready?" His brother winked and when Niall nodded, pulled a small black object out of his inside pocket. He saw my quizzical look. "Remote detonator." He pressed a button and the peace of the Berkshire countryside was shattered by a series of loud explosions that seemed to ripple around the house. Angela grabbed me and hung on tight to my arm. It was over in seconds and before my ears had recovered from the shock, I heard men's voices, panicked and shrill. The local rooks had also been disturbed and their harsh voices added to the general cacophony.

"Right, grab your things and let's go," said Liam, "I'll take care of the dogs." Angela and I sprinted back into the bedroom and threw our stuff into our bags. Niall had the door open and shoved us through into the waiting car. Trotsky and Magic seemed to find it all great fun and they were bouncing around in the back as Liam gunned the engine, slammed it into first and we took off like a rocket. The big four-wheel drive rolled alarmingly as we exited the gates and swung onto the road. Angela and I were thrown together in the back seat and we clung on to each other. The dogs complained loudly as they were flung into a heap. I thought I heard a gunshot.

"That should wake the bloody neighbours!" Niall grinned back at us. "What was that stuff?" I said. Liam laughed. "Thunderflashes, old son, all sound and fury! We keep a small stock." Thunderflashes are military pyrotechnics, used for exercises. They make an incredible noise but aren't at all powerful. "Scared the crap out of them!" I smiled. "Scared the crap out of me, too." We came to a crossroads and Liam turned right and then took an immediate left into a narrow lane. We were barrelling along at well over sixty and I found myself praying there was nothing coming the other way. We seemed to make several turns at random and the next thing I knew, we were driving into Hungerford and heading for the Motorway. To my surprise, we headed back towards London.

"Where are we going now?"

"Plan B, old son. Confusion to our enemies. We're going to pay Mr Mickey the Mouth Cornell a little visit."

"He wasn't there then, this morning?"

"Very much doubt it. Wouldn't have been so easy. Besides, he wouldn't sully his lilywhite hands. Leaves the rough stuff to the mechanics, he's the engineer."

"Do you know where to find him?"

"Couple of phone calls was all it took. We have friends in low places."

I knew I wouldn't get any more out them so I settled back for the ride. Angela had recovered her equilibrium somewhat and she smiled at me. "You are lucky to have such friends," she said. I nodded my wholehearted agreement. Niall turned to us. "We're the lucky ones, Miss Sable. If it wasn't for Martin, we'd be working for Securicor." I shook my head. "Somehow I don't think so. I reckon you two could fall into a dung-heap and come up smelling of roses." Niall gave me a withering look. "No money, no business," he said. "We both know it if you don't." I waved a hand at him. "That's what friends are for. Not for getting your arses shot off by a bunch of bloody hoodlums." The twins laughed uproariously. "Martin, we never knew you made a habit of this or we wouldn't have got involved!" "Martin Booth, man of mystery! Seriously, old son, we couldn't wish for a better way to repay you. This is what we do. And we love it!"

I knew they were speaking the truth. They were loving every second of it. It was their element. I was scared shitless and they thought it was a huge game. In some ways, they reminded me of Magic. The enthusiasm,
the irresponsibility, the boundless good nature. God only knows how they stayed out of jail. Oh yes, they were on the side of the Angels, but they raised Hell in the process, wherever they went. I'd hate to be up against them.

In a little over an hour we were pulling up on a quiet street in Bedford Park. It was a typical Sunday morning scene; people washing their cars, children playing football in a small park. The sheer normality of it was hard to take in after the start to the day I'd had. I'd been seduced, surrounded and shot at. This is not your everyday occurrence for a boring tax lawyer. Niall indicated a Victorian stucco villa set back a little from the road. "That's our man, lets go spoil his breakfast."

Niall didn't bother ringing the highly polished brass bell. He just kicked the door in. We burst into the house like Gangbusters. I was shocked to notice that the twins were each clutching 9mm Browning automatics. I hadn't known they were armed but I suppose it was logical, in their world. I tried to shut out all thoughts of what the Bar Council would do to me if any of this ever came out. Handguns are banned in Britain but ironically, easier to get hold of since they became illegal. They have become the accessory of choice for half the street gangs in the inner cities. I salved my conscience with the thought that at least Niall and Liam knew how to use them.

Mickey Cornell was in his kitchen, a stunned expression on his normally too-smooth face. He seemed rooted to the spot as we crashed in and surrounded him in a moment. Niall and Liam stood each side of his chair. They never threatened him with their weapons but made sure that he saw they were armed. I took a seat beside him and waved Angela into the chair opposite.

"Mr Smythe! Or should I say, Mr Cornell. I think it's time you made the acquaintance of Miss Angela Sable. I believe we have a lot to talk about."

I may have sounded confident but my heart was racing and my palms were sweaty. I stared at him. Holding eye contact until he looked away. Then I went on.

"Let's start with your little farrago concerning Miss Sable's father. He was never involved in any currency scam, was he? Her Majesty's Government aren't trying to help the Russian Federation and, even if they were, your services are no longer required. What was it, Mickey, had your hands in the till?"

His face contorted with anger and he made a slight move towards me. One large hand on each shoulder slammed him back into his seat. Niall punched him hard in the kidneys and he screamed in agony and slipped to the floor. The twins hauled him up and threw him back in the chair. "Mind your manners, my old lad," said Liam. I continued.

"Let me make it easy for you, Cornell. You came to me with some bullshit about Miss Sable's father because you were desperate to get hold of her. Your associates ransacked her studio looking for something. She doesn't know what you want and doesn't have anything that could be of any possible use to you or your Chechen friends. But we would like to know why you have gone to so much trouble."

I was guessing his associates were Chechens but he didn't deny it. He was still gasping with pain but he raised his head and gave me a look of pure hatred.

"Fuck you, Booth! And fuck your friends!"

His tirade was cut off by another solid blow to the kidneys. "Manners, Mickey! Ladies present." It was Niall this time but the effect was equally devastating for poor Mickey. He lay on the floor, writhing in pain but was given no respite as once more the twins threw him back in the chair. I'm not good with violence but a glance at Liam and Niall told me to let it go. They were deliberate and cold, nothing frenzied or out of control. They seemed to know how to inflict serious pain without inflicting lasting damage. Niall gestured as much with one hand, indicating Cornell and giving me the 'OK' sign surreptitiously. I can't say I liked it but I understood their purpose. The ex-Intelligence man was clearly off balance now so I tried again.

"Let me make it as plain as I can, Cornell. We have no idea what it is you're after and we would like to know. All we want from you is to understand what this is all about. Maybe we could even save you a lot of time and effort. Certainly, talking to me is going to save you a world of pain."
He seemed to consider this for a minute and then he replied between gritted teeth.

"Ikons. More particularly, one 13th Century ikon. Three panels, painted on box wood."

"Explain, I don't understand."

"The good Colonel ran a security business in St Petersburg after the Soviet Union went tits up. Big business in Russia, now. Anyway, he was hired by some Swiss collector to guard a shipment of Ikons. Let's just say they weren't acquired through regular channels. Among the collection was a 13th Century Ikon, almost priceless. If I tell you the Swiss guy paid over $5 million on the black market, you might get an idea. There are only two known to exist and our Swiss chum had one of them. Or rather he didn't. They were to be brought out hidden in a container through Tallinn. Never made it to the port.

"I don't believe in coincidence. The Colonel vanished at the same time. What he didn't know was that the Swiss was just a front. The real players were the Chechens. They were going to sell in the West to raise money for the cause. Like I told you, the Colonel surfaced in Sweden, regrettably dead. The Ikons are nowhere on the radar. The logical place to look was with his daughters.

"What got us really very interested was a catalogue item for the auction at Hervey's; something along the lines of Russian Triptych Ikon on box wood, believed to be 13th Century, the property of a lady."

I looked at Angela. She shook her head helplessly. "I know nothing about any of this," she said. I believed her, so, apparently, did Cornell.

"We'd more or less decided you weren't involved but then, yesterday, you took off. That got us thinking again. Look, Booth, I don't call the shots here; I'm just a fixer. I'll talk to them; tell them you aren't involved. I spent last week going over Miss Sable's affairs with a fine-toothed comb. She came up clean. Anyway, as I told them before, it was too obvious. The Colonel was a pro. Also, I don't think he'd endanger his daughters. Some of the hired muscle isn't too bright. They put two and two together and make a dozen, provided they take off their socks to help them count that far.

"I'm sorry about your sister, Miss, I wasn't involved with that at all. I only handle things here in the UK. I made it clear to them that I wouldn't sanction any violence – would shop the lot of them if they didn't keep it under control. The Boss said he'd personally shoot anyone of them who stepped out of line, but I think that was just for my benefit. They won't cross me on my patch, though. I have too many powerful friends. I think I can safely say they'll listen to me and the dogs will be called off."

He was starting to sound too much like his old smooth self for my liking. He wanted to clear his own yardarm. I knew there was something he wasn't telling us but at least we had a part of the truth. I was thinking furiously. I gave a quick glance to Liam and Niall and they understood that they were to go along with anything I said.

"I don't know how or why you became involved in this, Cornell, but I want your word that our part in this stops here."

He nodded agreement. "Done!"

"Miss Sable and I are returning to Norfolk, to her studio. I'm telling you this so you will know where we are and can see we have nothing to hide. There is just one more thing I'd like to know. "Who was the plain-clothes police officer in Norfolk? Was he really from Special Branch?"

"I have no idea, but I very much doubt it. I just used Rod Willis's name to see if I could stir you up. I know how nervous you lawyers get if you think you might be under suspicion."

"Then how did you know it was me that called the police?"

"Oh that! Easy, old boy. My associate noted your car number and I simply called in a favour from the boys in blue. You're not a hard man to track. By the way, your bank account's overdrawn."

He said this last with a nasty smile, just to remind me that there are no secrets in his murky world. Liam topped him nicely. ""And your account at UBS has been frozen, pending investigation for money laundering." Cornell gaped like a stranded salmon. Liam smiled sweetly. "No doubt you'll be able to clear it up in a day or two." Cornell was sprinting for the telephone as we left.

Chapter Six

The four of us walked the dogs in the nearby park. "Did you really fix his bank account? I asked Liam. He shot me a wicked grin. "Nothing too serious, but it will be a bit of a bind for him to sort it out," he said. My head was buzzing from what we had learned. The stolen Ikons story had a ring of truth. What I couldn't figure out was why Cornell had used the elaborate charade about foreign exchange in the first place. Niall pondered the question.

"I can only surmise that he wanted you to believe he was still acting for the Government. He probably figured that an upright citizen like you would cooperate. It might have stretched your credulity if he'd told you that the UK Government was interested in helping the Chechens get their ikon back. And if he'd admitted he was freelance, you would have told him to take a hike and reported it to the police."

I supposed he was right. I should have felt better but somehow, I didn't. "I'm sure he's hiding something," I said. Nobody argued, which was worrying in itself. "Well, I think we should go the police now," I said. Liam grimaced. "I'd rather we didn't if it's all the same to you old, son. Niall and I wouldn't really like to explain why we were disturbing the peace in rural Berkshire and it might not go down to well that we seem to have kept a couple of NATO souvenirs." He patted the bulge under his jacket to indicate the Browning. "I've no doubt Cornell wouldn't hesitate to drop us all in it, if he had the chance."

We walked on in silence for a while. Magic and Trotsky showed no ill effects from our adventures. Magic kept worrying at us to throw something for him. There had been no time to pack his usual toys so we found some sticks and spent half an hour hurling them into the distance for him to semi-retrieve. Trotsky, of course, was above such games but spent his time trying to bite Niall's backside. This is a sign of acceptance among huskies. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea to go back to Norfolk. It would be far more difficult for the Chechens to blend into the background in a village of no more than fifty or so people and Angela's cottage was completely exposed, on the coast with flat, bare land all around. I voiced this to the twins and they agreed.

We wandered back to the car and then back to my house. I was relieved in the extreme to find it hadn't been trashed. "They'd have expected you to have taken the ikon with you when we left," said Niall. I burst out laughing.

"Then they really are stupid! The ikon is safe in the vaults of Hervey's and has been ever since that catalogue was printed. They had it brought to them for evaluation and once the sale was agreed, it would be kept on their premises. I can't believe Cornell wouldn't know that even if the Chechens didn't."

Niall looked grim. "Then that begs the question – what were they after when they turned over Angela's studio? It seems unlikely, as you say, that Cornell wouldn't have known where the ikon was."

"That's easy too. They were after documents of title, a receipt, a copy of the provenance, anything that might have tied Angela to the sale. Then they could lean on her to turn over the proceeds. They know it's being sold, they just don't know who by!"

The twins' faces showed enlightenment slowly dawning.

"So let me get this straight," Liam said, "The ikon is here in London at the auctioneers'. The bad guys think Angela owns it and want to hit her for the money when it sells. Angela doesn't know a thing about it but someone else does, from the catalogue description that 'someone' is a lady. You mentioned proof of ownership and some other stuff. Presumably a reputable firm like Hervey's wouldn't sell without knowing the history of the piece?"

"In the world of the auction houses, reputation is everything. However, they wouldn't be the first to sell a piece of dubious provenance or where the ownership was, shall we say, a little muddled? Of course, they have to have enough documentation to satisfy themselves that it's kosher but they wouldn't dig too deeply. The 10% commission on a seven-figure sale tends to provide answers to a lot of questions!

"However, I wouldn't mind betting that whoever is putting this up will have gone to some trouble to make it look whiter-than-white. There's going to be huge interest in this sale – there always is when something fetches a big price at auction so you can expect some media attention. Hervey's aren't going to take a chance that some spectre at the feast will leap and say 'I know that piece, it was stolen from such-and-such a collection!"
"Any chance it's a fake?"

"Very, very little. Hervey's will have had it appraised by the leading experts in the field. They may even have taken a sliver or two for dendrochronology and they would certainly have had it X-rayed and probably spectrum-analysed as well."

"Pardon my ignorance, old son, but what the fuck does all that mean?"

"Dendrochronolgy is a method of dating the wood the thing's painted on to make sure it wasn't knocked up in Taiwan last week; something to do with matching ring-growth patterns in the original tree against known benchmarks. They can also use Radio Carbon dating. One sort of Carbon is mildly radioactive. Apparently you can tell something's age by measuring the amount of radiation still present. The snag is that Carbon 14 dating isn't that accurate. Something like plus or minus fifty or a hundred years. That doesn't matter if you're dealing with an ancient artefact from the ice age but if you're trying to establish whether something is 13th or 14th Century, it doesn't help much.

"They use X-rays as a check to see if anything has been painted over. One of the cunning tricks of the forger is to take an old but worthless painting and slap their 'ringer' over the top. Thus the materials look the right age and make it harder to detect the fake. Spectrum analysis can tell you what exact compounds went into making up the pigments. Old artists used a lot of natural compounds they mixed up themselves. Modern pigments often contain synthetics as well, even if the forger tries to reproduce the original. It's not foolproof but it can give a pretty good indication of the age of the paint used and is another element of proving that something's real or fake.

"After all that, the experts will look at the brushwork and any peculiarities that the artist or the school were known to have. Of course, the really great forgers can reproduce that kind of thing to an extent. The point really is, if Hervey's are putting it up as genuine, then they are 100% convinced. If they are putting it up as 'believed to be' they are 99% certain. However, it's still a case of 'caveat emptor' – let the buyer beware!"