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“What I can say is, we’re aware you have been to several restricted areas and possibly removed items from those areas without approval from the government. Therefore, we’d appreciate your cooperation so that we can quickly resolve this matter and get you on your way. Once the commander arrives, of course.”
Sam crossed his arms. “And how long will that take?”
“Soon.”
Remi eyed the armed men, noting each with his finger relaxed along the trigger guard of his weapon, ready for action. She focused on the lieutenant again. “The only reason we neglected to get the proper authorization was because circumstances forced us to take shelter in the very tunnels we’re being accused of entering. People were shooting at us.”
He gave a bland smile but didn’t comment.
Time to change tactics, she thought. “I’m sure that you can appreciate that after our . . . narrow escape, I’d like to freshen up.” When he seemed unmoved by her request, she added, “Or is there some reason we can’t wait on the jet?”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Fargo. Of course. You are not prisoners here.”
“Thank you.” She and Sam started toward the plane.
“But I must ask your husband to leave his backpack behind.”
They stopped, looking back at him. “Why?” Sam asked.
“We know you have guns. And there is the matter of what was taken from the tunnel . . . I should have specified that you’ll need to be accompanied by a guard. In case there are more weapons in your hold.” His smile this time was patronizing. “My source tells me this is probably the case.”
Sam slid the pack from his shoulder, setting it on the ground, just as someone knocked at the hangar door. Several men pointed their weapons that direction as Tomasz asked the visitors to identify themselves. Apparently satisfied by the response, he opened the door.
A tall man, wearing fatigues and with a holster carrying a high-caliber pistol, walked in, followed by the man and woman who’d tailed them at the Amber Museum.
Remi edged closer to Sam as he eyed the couple, then pinned his gaze on Tomasz. “What’s going on?”
“Finally!” came a woman’s voice from just outside the door. The group parted and let her through. She glanced around the hangar, saw Sam and Remi, then gave a stiff smile. “Clearly, you’re the Fargos. I understand you’ve met my associates in Kaliningrad?”
“And who are you?” Sam asked.
“Commander Petrov. But, please, call me Tatiana.”
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The door,” Tatiana said to Tomasz, her tone one of authority. He quickly closed it as she turned to Sam and Remi, “You’ll have to forgive our rather unorthodox method of contacting you, but, as the good lieutenant undoubtedly explained, we were worried about your safety.”
She walked toward them, pausing to pick up Sam’s backpack. “I’m sure you must have questions. I know I do, particularly about what you found in the tunnel. So,” she said, holding the pack out to him, “I propose we go inside the jet and discuss—assuming you don’t mind?”
Sam exchanged glances with Remi, then took the pack. “What about my crew?” Sam asked.
“Give us a few minutes of privacy and then bring them aboard?”
Sam glanced over at them. “You’re okay out here?”
They nodded in return.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said.
Tatiana motioned the man in fatigues to follow them up the stairs while the couple from Kaliningrad remained behind.
Once on board, Sam led them to the table, dropping his pack on the top. Before he even had a chance to ask what was going on, she said, “Again, my apologies for delaying your departure, but I didn’t know how else to get you alone without any possibility of someone overseeing us.”
“Why would that be an issue?” Sam asked.
“Because your hunt for the Romanov Ransom has brought the attention of Rolfe Wernher, who will do anything to get it, including killing you and your wife. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”
“What about them?” Sam asked, nodding out the window toward the man and woman from Kaliningrad. “What’s their part in all this?”