Read Online All-Star Pride by Sigmund Brouwer - Free Book Online Page B

low couch. On the other, two bunk beds. In between, hardly enough room for the three of us to stand without bumping into each other. One thing was missing, though.
    â€œWhere’s Nadia?” I asked.
    â€œShe agreed with me that it wouldn’t do her any good to be seen with us,” the man with the drawl said. He stuck out his hand. “By the way, my name is Clint Bowes.”
    Slowly, suspiciously, I stuck out my hand and shook his.
    Clint Bowes was tall and snake skinny. His hair was greased back, dark brown with strands of gray. His nose was like a popsicle stick turned sideways and stuck into his face. He wore a dark-gray suit, but insteadof dress shoes he had on shiny, buffed cowboy boots.
    â€œI’m from the U.S. Customs office,” Clint said, a lazy smile across his face as he spoke. “Ivan, my partner here, is from the equivalent government bureau in Russia. He speaks English but prefers not to.”
    For a greeting, Ivan frowned at me.
    Tall as Clint was, he had to reach above his shoulders to place a hand on my shoulders. He tried to press me downward onto the couch behind us. When he failed to get me moving, he shrugged.
    â€œSuit yourself. Ivan and I want to be comfortable.”
    They sat side by side on the lower bunk bed. Feeling stupid, I finally lowered myself onto the couch opposite them.
    â€œLet’s cut right to the chase,” Clint said. “You’re mixed up in something you shouldn’t be. Fact is, until Nadia told us about the fight with Boris, we figured you to be part of their team.”
    â€œDo you have ID ?” I asked.
    â€œHuh?” Clint’s eyebrows dipped as hesquinted at me. “Oh. Identification. You still back on that? Try to keep up with me, boy.”
    He dug into his suit pocket and pulled out a badge. “Look at it good, boy. See on the front it says U.S. Customs? On the back you’ll see my photo. If that isn’t good enough for you, I’ll leave you a number you can call. Folks at the Moscow bureau will confirm it for you.”
    â€œHow do I know you’re with Nadia?”
    â€œYou are as slow as you are big. Think back to the note, son. Did she address it to Timothy? Or Hog, as I understand most folks address you? No, boy, she wrote it to Goreela. I had a devil of a time with that, until she told me it was your name. I didn’t have the heart to correct her,” he said with a laugh.
    I thought everything through. Only Nadia would call me Gorilla.
    â€œFine,” I said. “I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say.”
    Now his eyebrows danced upward as he gave me a look of mock surprise. “Well, you are considerate, aren’t you, boy? Especiallyfacing five years in a penitentiary for what you’ve already done since you’ve arrived in Russia. And if you’re lucky, you can do those five years back home, instead of in some concentration camp in Siberia.”
    He grinned at me. “Yup. Siberia. That got your attention, didn’t it, boy?”
    â€œI already said I’d listen.” I wasn’t going to let him push me around.
    The train bounced us from side to side as we rounded a bend. I placed a hand on each side of me, gripping the edge of the couch to keep my balance. I waited for him to continue.
    â€œIn a nutshell,” Clint Bowes said, “you’re smack in the middle of a pipeline that has been moving millions of dollars worth of irreplaceable art out of Russia.”

chapter fifteen
    I hadn’t kept up on international art news.
    Clint Bowes made up for it, though. Over the next ten minutes he explained— with occasional surly interruptions and corrections from Ivan—that two major events had happened, both in Russia.
    In St. Petersburg, the Hermitage Museum had unveiled a treasure trove of Impressionist paintings—a style popular in the 1880s. The paintings had been hidden since being stolenduring the Second World War by