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CHAPTER TWO

ART EXPERT

A Luxury Hotel
Leningrad, Soviet Union
August 1987

“I hope everything is to your liking, Lord Gloria.”

The Earl looked around the vast hotel suite as the last of his luggage was deposited in his bedroom. He smiled, turning back to the man at the door. “Oh, yes, Mr. Romanov—” He broke off and giggled. “Forgive me. It’s just…your name…”

The man at the door gave the Earl a dark look. “I am aware of the irony, Lord Gloria. My name is a relic from the past.”

“Yes, of course. You’re a good little Communist, I’m sure, Comrade Romanov,” Eroica said breezily.

Romanov stiffened visibly but did not reply.

“Oh, this is splendid!” Eroica cooed as he looked into one of the bedrooms in his suite. “I didn’t expect such luxury.”

“We have many visitors from the West, sir,” Romanov said stiffly. “Especially now that the General Secretary in encouraging Glasnost.”

“Yes, yes, your openness policy is most—Oh!” Eroica gasped as he looked out the balcony window. “Just look at that view! It’s breathtaking!”

“You have the entire floor, sir,” Romanov informed. “You can take in the view from whichever room you choose.”

Eroica turned back and grinned. “I might just do that,” he said happily.

“Comrade Ivanov asked me to give you this.” Romanov held out a fat manila envelope. “He thought you might be interested in seeing some of the pieces that have already been photographed.”

Bonham was beside Romanov and took the envelope from his hand, crossing to the Earl.

Eroica’s eyes flickered approvingly. Very proper, Bonham. Good show.

Bonham gave a slight bow as he held out the envelope. “My lord,” he said coolly, putting on his best manservant voice.

“Thank you, Bonham. Would you see if everyone’s settled in, please?”

“Certainly, my lord.” Bonham gave another slight bow before he turned and left.

Romanov gave a slightly disapproving sniff at this display of Western class distinction. Eroica observed the man’s reaction with some amusement. He grinned and turned back to the window. “When am I to look at the real thing?” he asked conversationally.

“A car will be sent for you at nine o’clock in the morning.”

“Oh, good,” Eroica said mildly, waving a hand in the air and not bothering to turn around. “Let Bonham know for me, would you? I’d hate to oversleep.”

Romanov’s eyes opened wide. He had to fight not to object to being ordered around like a common servant. “Certainly. Good afternoon, Lord Gloria.” So saying, he turned and left, the door closing loudly behind him.

The Earl glanced back at the door. “Well, that’s you dealt with,” he muttered dismissively as he sat down. Before he could look at the contents of the envelope, there was a knock at the door. “Come in!”

The door opened and the Earl was surprise to see that it wasn’t Bonham returning, as he thought. “Why, John Paul,” he grinned. “I didn’t expect you to turn up so soon.”

“Mr. Bonham is seeing to the others, my lord,” John Paul replied. He held up a small device that Eroica recognized immediately. It was used to detect electronic surveillance devices. Obviously, John Paul wanted to check the room for bugs. “I came to make sure your room was to your liking,” he said mildly. “I know how you like everything clean and tidy.”

Eroica grinned. “I’m sure once you’re through I’ll have the cleanest room in Leningrad.”

John Paul grinned back and proceeded to check every room in the suite. Neither man was surprised when he located a listening device in every room, including the bathroom! After collecting the lot, John Paul pocketed the bugs, gave the Earl a knowing look, and left, stating that he would check all the other rooms on the floor.

“Give all the bugs you find to James,” Eroica instructed. “I’m sure he’ll be able to sell them for a tidy little sum on the black market.”

“Yes, milord, I’m sure he will.”

Now that that had been dealt with, Eroica sat back and pulled the photographs from the envelope. His enormous blue eyes grew even wider as he paged through them. “Oh…” he sighed. “Oh… Oh! Just look at you, my lovelies.”

The door to the adjoining room opened as he slowly paged through the photographs a second time. “I want you!” he sighed, clasping the papers to his chest.

James heard this last remark, came to the usual erroneous conclusion, and immediately started to whine. “Oh, my lord!”

Eroica looked up and sighed. He decided to ignore James’ usual display of jealousy and held up one of the photos. “James, you must see these.”

“No! I can’t bear another rival.”

“I think I’m the one who should be worrying about a rival this time,” Eroica replied knowingly, waving the photo. “This is an Imperial Russian Easter egg.”

“You’re looking at pictures of food?” the confused James replied.

“James, this is very probably a Fabergé egg.” Eroica groaned inwardly at the blank look this statement produced. “Peter Carl Fabergé was the one of the most famous jewelers to the Russian court. If this is one of his eggs—” He paused a beat. “—it’s priceless.”

“What!” James was suddenly beside the Earl looking from one photo to another. His eyes, well, his visible eye, grew wide. He started to breathe faster and faster.

The Earl smiled and sat back in his chair. “Mr. James, calm down before you hyperventilate.”

“Oh, my lord,” James sighed, clasping the photos to his chest. “Oh, you must change the terms. You simply must!”

“Why?”

“You said they agreed to let you choose one thing! Only one! You have to choose more!”

“They agreed to give me one of my choosing, James, dear.” Eroica gave a knowing smile. “They overlooked asking me not to steal anything.”

“Oh, my lord!” the dark-haired man cried gleefully. He clasped the Earl’s hand and started to kiss it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Why don’t you take those in your room and do a quick tally?” Eroica suggested. “Those are only the items that have been photographed. There’s a whole warehouse, yet.”

James let out a loud squeak of delight. The Earl suspected that if his accountant died on the spot, he would die a happy man.

James was gathering up the photos just as Bonham returned. Eroica looked up and shook his head, his eyes returning to his accountant, who scurried into the next room humming happily to himself.

Bonham watched this display in some bewilderment. “What’s got ‘im all merry?”

“I gave him the photos from the warehouse,” Eroica replied. “I thought he was going to have a fit of apoplexy when he saw them.”

“’e wants you t’ steal the lot, I’ll wager,” Bonham observed as he poured the Earl a drink and handed it to him.

A small smile passed over Eroica’s lips. “I’m sure if he thought I could manage it, he’d have me steal the whole warehouse. I rather suspect that our employers might take exception to that.”

Bonham chuckled. “So it’s small ‘n valuable this time ‘round, then?”

“Yes, small and extremely valuable.” With a grin, Eroica added, “And we begin at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

* * *

The contents of the warehouse exceeded Eroica’s wildest expectations. Obviously, the photographs he had been given were only a tiny fraction of the wonders the building contained.

The structure was divided into sections. His team took a quick tour before they started in, one section at a time. After unpacking their own equipment, they went to work photographing and cataloging the contents of the first room.

Since the work was being done under the watchful eye of some unfriendly looking security men, everything was made to look completely proper. Well, it was completely proper. They had been hired, after all.

Any items that “appeared” damaged were brought to the Earl’s attention for his meticulous inspection. In other words, to see if it was nice enough to steal immediately. During these times, Eroica would get updates on the team’s progress. Some of the objects actually did have to be repaired, and a separate area was set up to house them. None of the guards noticed that a few of the items never made it to the holding area.

It’s like a dream come true, Eroica thought as an exquisite statue was uncrated. Every new treasure seemed better than the last. I could get used to this art expert lark.

Each day when the group left the building, they were searched. Eroica was amused at the reaction of the security guards the first time he produced the pocket dimension, which he had taken the precaution of fitting with a false lining. The man checking it actually blushed when the Earl explained that it was an antique purse that had once belonged to his paternal great-grandmother. He went on to tell how she was distantly related to one of the Czarinas.

When the pouch was returned to him, Eroica stood clinging to the increasingly embarrassed guard. He complimented his uniform and asked several intimate questions about his obviously muscular physique before volunteering to be strip-searched.

After this, the Earl was kept at arms length and asked to simply hold the seemingly empty purse open so the guard could look inside, which he obligingly did. They never would know the treasures the tiny object contained that went completely undetected each time Eroica strode from of the warehouse.

* * *

Little Hodcomb, England
July 1984

“That went surprisingly well,” the Doctor remarked as he strode into the console room, Turlough at his heels. He had expected Tegan to put up some kind of resistance to being left behind, possibly even pointing out the time the Doctor had left her at Heathrow,* which was still a bit of a sore point. But none of this had happened. Tegan was more than happy to spend more time with her Grandfather while the Doctor and Turlough went off to straighten out somebody’s “science project gone wrong.”
* Time Flight

Turlough watched as the Doctor stood silently at the computer for several minutes. He peeked over the Time Lord’s shoulder, seeing information flashing up on the screen at an impossible speed. It seemed that the Doctor was refreshing his memory on the time period in question, which he remarked on.

The Doctor gave a small satisfied grunt as he looked up, going on to set the controls. “You can’t expect me to remember every minute detail,” he remarked.

“You always seem t—” Turlough blinked. “Do you always look up the time period we’re going to?” he asked accusingly.

Rather than being embarrassed, the Doctor smiled broadly. “Top marks, Turlough.”

“That’s cheating!”

Before the Doctor could reply, the TARDIS was materializing at its destination. Turlough activated the scanner and then scowled. “Doctor…” he said cautiously, “I’m no expert on Russian architecture, but that doesn’t look even remotely like Moscow. In fact, that looks remarkably like Nelson’s column.”

“Top marks again,” the Doctor said happily.

“I thought we were going to Red Square, not Trafalgar Square.”

The Doctor reached for the door lever and stopped, looking his companion up and down. “You might want to put on a coat. It’s December.”

Turlough sighed heavily and decided not to argue. He looked at the navigational computer and caught his breath. “And it’s still 1984.” He looked up. “What’s going on?”

“Have you ever heard the name Mikhail Gorbachev?”

“Should I have?”

“He’s the number two man in the Soviet hierarchy and is meeting with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher—”

“I’ve heard of her.”

“—to deliver a message from Konstantin Chermenko.”

“I don’t know that one, either.”

The Doctor gave an annoyed sigh. “He’s the current General Secretary of the Communist Party in the Soviet Union. The third in as many years, actually,” he added offhandedly.

“All very interesting, Doctor,” Turlough said impatiently as he took his jacket from the hatstand near the door and put on. “But what has all that to do with a malfunctioning matter transmitter in 1987?”

The Doctor gave him a dark look. “While in London,” he went on, “Mikhail and his wife, Raisa, will go sightseeing.”

“And come to Trafalgar Square?” Turlough asked, throwing a glance back at the image on the scanner.

“And go to the British Library, where, among other things, they’ll see the seat Karl Marx used when he wrote ‘Das Kapital.’”

“I’m sure there’s a point to all this…”

“I’m going to wait there so he and I can have a brief conversation before you and I go on to 1987.”

Turlough blinked. This was pretty flagrant, even for the Doctor, and he said so.

“Actually, I’ve met him once already. I’m just going to renew the acquaintance.”

“Why?”

“Because in three month’s time, Mikhail will go from the number two man in the Communist Party to number one.” The Doctor gave a knowing smile. “I had a run in or two with the KGB when I was with UNIT. It never hurts to have friends in the Kremlin when one plans to go to the Lubyanka.”

* * *

Storage Warehouse
Leningrad, Soviet Union
August 1987

It was three days after the Earl’s men started work that Mr. Ivanov finally came to see how they were progressing.

“We’ve just started on the second room,” the Earl informed.

“Excellent,” Mr. Ivanov said happily. “Your progress is amazing, Lord Gloria.”

Eroica gave a bright smile and absently twisted one of his blond curls around a finger. “I have a very good team, Mr. Ivanov.”

“That you have, sir, that you have.” Mr. Ivanov looked at the men busily packing and unpacking the artworks. After a piece was photographed and numbered, James would meticulously record it in a log. On the surface, it seemed that this was for the benefit of their employer, while in reality, it was so they would know the exact location of every valuable piece for later…appropriation.

“I have another little job for you, if you’re interested,” Ivanov said mildly, turning back to the Earl.

Eroica’s heart jumped. More Russian treasure! This is definitely a dream come true. “My goodness, you like to keep a body busy,” he remarked.

“There’s a private collection some distance from here that has never been appraised,” Ivanov informed. “One of my colleagues contacted me about it just before you arrived. He wanted the opinion of an art expert as to whether the collection has any actual value.”

“I’m not an expert in everything, you know. Especially when it comes to Russian art,” Eroica replied in an extremely rare show of modesty.

“Ah,” Ivanov lowered his voice, pulling the Earl aside. “This is a bit…touchy, sir. My colleague believes these are stolen works.”

Eroica had to fight not to laugh. Nothing like asking a thief to verify stolen artwork. “Stolen, you say?” he said archly.

“Yes. Supposedly, the man who owned them was rumored to have been a Nazi during the war.”

Eroica’s eyebrows went up. “Is it true? Or just local gossip?”

“At this point,” Ivanov replied, “it’s just gossip. The man appeared shortly after the war. He was German. So the locals decided he must’ve been a Nazi war criminal hiding in their town.”

“So, the art collection could just as easily be replicas,” Eroica concluded.

“Yes. That’s rather why I was hoping you’d agree to have a look at it.”

Eroica looked over at his men working so diligently on the treasures of the Czars. “There’s still such a lot to do here…” he said mildly. He was fighting to keep from jumping up and down. A side trip to the Russian countryside and a possible cache of lost masterpieces!

“I’m sure your men can get along without you for a few days,” Ivanov said calmly. “It will take a full day just to get there.”

“Lord Gloria doesn’t work for free,” James injected suddenly.

Eroica wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or amused by this interruption. He decided on amused when he saw the disconcerted look on Ivanov’s face. “James is right. I do have my standards. If I start doing odd jobs for free, where will that get me?”

James nodded approvingly but did not take his eyes off Ivanov. Before he could start firing questions at the man, Eroica said, “I’ll do it if you double my current fee.”

Ivanov gulped and James let out a delighted squeak. “And a another piece of your choosing, too, m’lord,” the accountant said firmly.

“Yes, thank you, James. And another piece of my choosing,” Eroica said calmly.

Ivanov nervously looked from one to another. “Ah…er…um…”

“Those are my terms.”

After a moment, Ivanov nodded. “I’m sure I can get that for you, Lord Gloria.”

“Excellent,” Eroica grinned. “And where is this supposed treasure trove?”

“In a little village approximately one hundred and eighty kilometres to the south.”

Eroica nodded absently. “So long as it’s not Siberia,” he joked.

Ivanov smiled thinly. “Not quite.”

“And just when do we leave?”

“Will tomorrow be too soon?”

* * *

Photobucket

Illustration by Dori

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