yards from the bustling waterfront, or the fact that the ship had been rediscovered and brought up to the surface nearly intact.
When she’d capsized, the sailors on the Vasa must have prayed to God for salvation. Now, the vessel was ensconced in a temple of its own, a soaring building of soft light designed to protect and display the ripe and luscious lines of a sailing ship that barely sailed.
“It’s incredible,” Joss murmured turning to stare at the stern rising high above them as she and Bax stood on one of the observation floors of the multilevel museum. “How can anything be this big?” As they walked toward the front of the ship, the height of the ship’s side dropped in a slow, graceful curve until they were looking down at the deck by the time they’d reached the midway point. “How could anything be so beautiful and yet so useless?”
“Makes you wonder if there wasn’t some sort of collective memory behind the drive to Swedish functionalism.”
“The Vasa begat Ikea?”
“It’s a theory.”
“As amazing as it is, though, I feel guilty playing tourist. Shouldn’t we be doing something to get the one-penny Mauritius back?”
“We’re not playing tourist. We’re going to meet my contact here, see what he can tell us about Silverhielm.”
“Mysterious meetings in public museums. And you told me being a detective wasn’t glamorous.”
“Most of it’s not,” he said frankly. “It’s a lot of legwork, most of which winds up being pointless. But eventually if you get enough information, you’ll find something you can use, just like we will with Silverhielm. We’ll get to him and take the stamps.” He considered. “Unless he keeps his goodies in a vault somewhere, in which case we’re out of luck.”
“He won’t keep them in a vault,” Joss said positively.
“How do you know that?”
“You could see it in the way he moves. Stamps aren’t just a business for him. There are too many other ironclad ways to make money.” She followed the mizzenmast of the Vasa with her eyes as it rose overhead. “There’s something about the stamps that he wants and needs, and that means having them handy. Besides, with all his goons around, he’s got to feel smug, like no one can get to him. That’s how we’ll take him down, his pride.”
“She’s right, you know,” said a lightly accented voice. Next to them stood a stocky, round-faced man with an incongruously tip-tilted nose. More than anything, he looked like a middle-aged elf.
A smile broke out on Bax’s face, though he merely looked at the gun ports of the ship. “Rolf.”
“Bax.”
“Rolf Johansson, meet Joss Chastain.”
Following Bax’s lead, Joss simply nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you one of Bax’s Interpol friends?”
“No, I’m with Stockholm’s organized crime division. We met when Bax was working in Stockholm. Perhaps Interpol is where you learned this sort of rendezvous spot, Bax. Certainly, the Swedish police would not think of it.”
Bax shrugged. “They should. Less likely that someone would follow you here than to a restaurant or bar.”
Rolf considered. “Perhaps you have a point. So what brings you to Stockholm?”
“Work, of course.”
“Ah. Our friend who lives in the archipelago.”
“So you are watching him.”
“Of course.” Rolf leaned on the rail of the observation deck. “He is my favorite waste of time. What do you know about him?”
“Officially that he’s an import/export man for jewelry.”
Rolf nodded.
“Organized crime?” Bax asked.
“Not in the classic way. In fact, he and the mob do not get on. Our friend is what you might call a freelancer, a very successful one. The mob disapproves.”
“I can imagine. So how would you characterize him, a businessman pushing the edge of legal?”
“A criminal with a legal front,” Rolf said flatly. “His jewelry business has been amazingly successful, from the very beginning.”
“Isn’t that
When she’d capsized, the sailors on the Vasa must have prayed to God for salvation. Now, the vessel was ensconced in a temple of its own, a soaring building of soft light designed to protect and display the ripe and luscious lines of a sailing ship that barely sailed.
“It’s incredible,” Joss murmured turning to stare at the stern rising high above them as she and Bax stood on one of the observation floors of the multilevel museum. “How can anything be this big?” As they walked toward the front of the ship, the height of the ship’s side dropped in a slow, graceful curve until they were looking down at the deck by the time they’d reached the midway point. “How could anything be so beautiful and yet so useless?”
“Makes you wonder if there wasn’t some sort of collective memory behind the drive to Swedish functionalism.”
“The Vasa begat Ikea?”
“It’s a theory.”
“As amazing as it is, though, I feel guilty playing tourist. Shouldn’t we be doing something to get the one-penny Mauritius back?”
“We’re not playing tourist. We’re going to meet my contact here, see what he can tell us about Silverhielm.”
“Mysterious meetings in public museums. And you told me being a detective wasn’t glamorous.”
“Most of it’s not,” he said frankly. “It’s a lot of legwork, most of which winds up being pointless. But eventually if you get enough information, you’ll find something you can use, just like we will with Silverhielm. We’ll get to him and take the stamps.” He considered. “Unless he keeps his goodies in a vault somewhere, in which case we’re out of luck.”
“He won’t keep them in a vault,” Joss said positively.
“How do you know that?”
“You could see it in the way he moves. Stamps aren’t just a business for him. There are too many other ironclad ways to make money.” She followed the mizzenmast of the Vasa with her eyes as it rose overhead. “There’s something about the stamps that he wants and needs, and that means having them handy. Besides, with all his goons around, he’s got to feel smug, like no one can get to him. That’s how we’ll take him down, his pride.”
“She’s right, you know,” said a lightly accented voice. Next to them stood a stocky, round-faced man with an incongruously tip-tilted nose. More than anything, he looked like a middle-aged elf.
A smile broke out on Bax’s face, though he merely looked at the gun ports of the ship. “Rolf.”
“Bax.”
“Rolf Johansson, meet Joss Chastain.”
Following Bax’s lead, Joss simply nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you one of Bax’s Interpol friends?”
“No, I’m with Stockholm’s organized crime division. We met when Bax was working in Stockholm. Perhaps Interpol is where you learned this sort of rendezvous spot, Bax. Certainly, the Swedish police would not think of it.”
Bax shrugged. “They should. Less likely that someone would follow you here than to a restaurant or bar.”
Rolf considered. “Perhaps you have a point. So what brings you to Stockholm?”
“Work, of course.”
“Ah. Our friend who lives in the archipelago.”
“So you are watching him.”
“Of course.” Rolf leaned on the rail of the observation deck. “He is my favorite waste of time. What do you know about him?”
“Officially that he’s an import/export man for jewelry.”
Rolf nodded.
“Organized crime?” Bax asked.
“Not in the classic way. In fact, he and the mob do not get on. Our friend is what you might call a freelancer, a very successful one. The mob disapproves.”
“I can imagine. So how would you characterize him, a businessman pushing the edge of legal?”
“A criminal with a legal front,” Rolf said flatly. “His jewelry business has been amazingly successful, from the very beginning.”
“Isn’t that
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