Strategic Moves (2 page)

Aleksandr shifted nervously and buttoned up his jacket. "Ten o'clock. No later. You must get plenty of rest for your classes tomorrow."

"That is more reasonable," Petra replied.

"Come, Alek," Katrina said, sliding a hand through one of Aleksandr's arms. "Let's take a walk."

"I have work to do," Aleksandr said without emotion. He walked away from the group and entered the dorm.

"I suppose I will read a book," Katrina said. "You kids have fun." Then she, too, disappeared into the dormitory.

They had walked several yards before anybody said anything.

"Aleksandr has all the charm of a snake," Frank commented.

"He takes his job very seriously," Ziggy said.

"Seriously enough to carry a gun?" Joe asked.

"Gun?" Petra's voice showed surprise.

"I saw the butt of a gun when he opened his jacket."

"Are you sure?" Ziggy asked.

"I saw it, too," Frank said.

"Maybe you are mistaken," Ziggy said. "It is getting dark."

Frank glanced at Ziggy. It was obvious that neither Ziggy nor Petra wanted to talk about Aleksandr's gun. Frank let the subject drop - for the moment.

They turned west on the High and kept walking, Frank next to Ziggy, Joe next to Petra.

The streetlights flickered on as the evening made the transition from twilight to night.

The High was one of the oldest streets in Oxford as well as its main thoroughfare. Frank pointed out the twin ruts left in the brick road by the countless carriages, wagons, and coaches that had rumbled along its ancient course through the years.

Joe smiled at Petra. "How did you learn to speak English so well?"

"Mother is an English language instructor at the University of Kiev," Ziggy explained. "We practically grew up speaking your language."

Joe was a little annoyed. He had asked Petra, not Ziggy.

"Ziggy is a fanatic about American culture," Petra laughed. "That's why he wears those silly western clothes and tries to talk like John Wayne."

"These are not silly," Ziggy replied defensively.

"Actually," Frank began, "Ziggy would be right at home in Oklahoma or New Mexico."

"I am very much interested in cowboy movies, especially John Wayne movies." Ziggy straightened up and in his best John Wayne voice, with a thick Russian accent, said, "Well, pilgrims, I'd say you better get on your horse and hightail it out of here before I kill ya - or worse!"

"Very good," Frank said, clapping.

Ziggy blushed. "Thanks, partner."

"What does your father do?" Frank asked, changing the subject.

Ziggy and Petra glanced at each other. Frank noticed that Ziggy raised his eyebrows in a silent question, and then Petra shook her head so slightly that the movement was barely noticeable.

Ziggy smiled and looked at Frank. "He works for the telephone company." Ziggy started walking next to his sister, almost shoving Joe out of the way.

Joe looked annoyed but remained uncharacteristically silent. He wanted to make a good impression on Petra, and getting angry at Ziggy wouldn't have helped.

Joe took a deep breath and looked at the mix of modern and ancient buildings along the High. The sidewalks were busy with people out for the evening.

Ziggy continued to talk about western movies while Petra pointed out the various shops she wanted to visit later in the week.

Frank couldn't shake the feeling that Ziggy and Petra had lied about their father and then changed the subject. He also did not believe their innocent act concerning Aleksandr's gun. Young junior diplomats did not carry weapons, especially in a foreign country. In fact, the only people who went about armed in a foreign country were secret agents. And why had Aleksandr looked worried and nervous when Petra mentioned that she would write to her father?

They walked several blocks before Joe, who was in the lead, stopped in front of a pub.

The building that housed the pub looked hundreds of years old and was in the Tudor style, with whitewashed stucco and heavy gray wooden beams. The windows were large and covered with a crisscross wooden lattice. Plants hung in the window, and a large sign over the door identified it as the Red Bull pub.

"This looks like a good place," Joe announced.

"It looks friendly enough," Petra said.

"If it serves food," Frank said, "it's a friend of Joe's."

Ziggy laughed.

Joe frowned at Frank and held the door open, letting Ziggy and Petra in, but stepping in front of Frank and nudging him back.

Frank held the door open, smiled, and followed Joe. Frank looked around the pub. The smell of smoke, grease, and furniture oil permeated the air. The highly polished oak walls were bare except for a Union Jack and a picture of Queen Elizabeth II. On a back wall, Frank saw a well-punctured dart board.

Noise from the tables floated in the air as thick as the pipe and cigarette smoke and became one constant drone.

They found a table in the corner by the window and ordered.

"What does your father do for the telephone company?" Frank asked. He was trying not to press the issue, afraid of scaring off Ziggy and Petra, but Ziggy's remark had sparked Frank's interest. So had Aleksandr's gun - and Aleksandr's apparent fear of Ziggy's father.

Again Ziggy and Petra exchanged glances.

"He is an administrator," Ziggy answered.

"And what does your father do?" Petra countered.

"He's a private detective," Joe answered. "So are we."

"You are too young to be detectives," Petra declared. "You are the same age as Ziggy and I."

"We help our father on cases from time to time," Frank said.

"We even work on our own cases," Joe added. "We have a pretty good track record."

"So you are in sports, too?" Ziggy asked seriously.

Joe frowned at Ziggy. "What?"

Frank laughed. " 'Track record' is an American expression. It means we've had success."

Joe ordered a hamburger, and the others chose Welsh rabbit. The new friends ate slowly as they exchanged small talk about the differences and similarities in schools, boys and girls, parents, and everything else. Everything except the Zigonevs' father.

They left the pub an hour and a half later and headed back to Brasenose. The streets were all but deserted. They had begun to cross an alley when a voice stopped them.

"Excuse me," said a man just inside the alley.

The group stopped and turned. Frank looked at the two men who faced the four teenagers. The older man was short and stocky, his unshaven face flecked with gray and black stubble. The large bags beneath his eyes gave him a tired and haggard appearance. The cap he was wearing made his head look flat.

The other man was a couple of inches taller and was also thinner and younger than the first. He seemed nervous, always looking behind him or out into the street.

"May we help you?" Frank asked. The two men didn't look trustworthy to Frank. And the younger man's twitching bothered him.

The older man stared at Frank, then turned his gaze to Ziggy and Petra. After a moment he said, "Yes, you can."

Then, like a snake uncoiling to strike, the older man pulled a small blackjack from his pocket and struck Joe on the chin. Joe staggered to one side, slamming into Frank. Both of them lost their balance and fell to the ground.

The younger man grabbed Petra and pulled her into the alley.

"Hey!" Ziggy yelled, and burst into the alley. Frank and Joe jumped up and followed him.

The alley was lighted by a lone light bulb, creating harsh shadows that fell on the walls and ground. A bright glint of steel drew Joe's attention to the younger man, who held Petra. Joe saw that one hand covered her mouth and the other held a switchblade to her throat. Ziggy lay on the ground at the feet of the older man - unmoving.

Joe started toward the younger man.

"Don't try it, mate," the older man growled, "or we'll kill the girl."

"What do you want?" Frank asked. "Money?" He reached behind him and began pulling his wallet out.

The younger man holding Petra tightened his grip.

"No funny business," the older man warned. "We don't want your stinking money, Yank."

Joe's blue eyes closed to angry slits. He stared at the younger man. "You've got five seconds to let her go or lose that arm."

The younger man glanced nervously at the older man.

"Impertinent young pup," the older man spit out. "We don't care about the girl. We only want the boy."

"What did you do to him?" Frank asked as he stood over his injured friend.

The older man smacked the blackjack against his hand. "You figure it out." He nudged Ziggy's side with the toe of a grimy boot. "Get up!"

Ziggy groaned and rolled over.

When the younger man looked down at Ziggy, Joe took advantage of the distraction and lunged at him and Petra. With his left hand he gripped the man's knife hand like a vise and twisted the knife away from Petra's throat. Joe then placed a well-aimed right jab squarely in the man's face, his fist breezing past Petra.

The man groaned and staggered back. Joe grabbed Petra and pulled her away from him.

He turned back to the younger man, who held up the knife. Joe could tell by the panic in his eyes and the fear on his face that he didn't want to tangle with Joe. Joe swung his right leg forward and kicked the knife out of the man's hand. Without hesitation, the man spun around and ran down the alley.

"Sammy!" the older man yelled. He turned and followed his partner through the alley, away from the Hardys.

Frank, who was tending to Petra and Ziggy, started to chase the older man. But the man was near the end of the alley and soon disappeared down a side street.

"Is everyone okay?" Frank asked the group.

"Yes," Petra gasped. "Thank you.'

Frank could tell by the short, raspy breaths Petra was taking that she was shaken up by the incident.

"Why didn't you go after him?" Joe asked.

"I thought I'd better make sure that Ziggy was okay," Frank answered.

"Let's form a posse and hunt them down," Ziggy suggested.

"They're long gone by now, cowboy," Frank replied. He smiled at the disappointed look on Ziggy's face. He had known Ziggy for only a short time, but the young Russian was already a friend. "Looks as if you and Joe are going to have twin tattoos."

"What?" Ziggy asked.

"The bruises from the blackjack," Joe explained, rubbing his own swollen chin.

"Thanks for helping," Ziggy said. "We owe you one."

"Wh - what did they want?" Petra asked, a tremble in her voice.

"They wanted Ziggy," Frank said.

"Why?" Tears had welled up in Petra's eyes, and Joe could tell that she was fighting to hold them back.

"That's what we'd like to know," Joe said.

"Shouldn't we call the police?" Petra asked.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Frank countered.

"What do you mean?" Ziggy asked.

"That older thug said he wanted Ziggy, not you, Petra," Frank said, glancing at Petra. "I interpret that to mean he wanted to kidnap Ziggy."

"Kidnap Ziggy? Why?" Petra's voice was controlled, but Joe saw fear in her blue eyes.

"That's what we want to find out," Frank said, his voice hard and serious. "But first, let's get out of this alley. There's a small fish-and- chips stand up the street."

They left the alley, Frank being the last out. Across the street a car pulled out of an alley, its lights striking Frank. It turned and sped past the four of them. Although partially blinded by the lights' glare, Frank had seen three men in the car, one driving, two in back. He had recognized two of them. The driver was Aleksandr Dancek. Frank also knew the second man, who had a round, plump face and wore a nondescript gray suit. The third man, a stranger, was on the opposite side of the car in the shadows, but Frank could see that he was large with sharp, chiseled features.

They reached the fish-and-chips stand, and Joe ordered four colas. Frank found a table away from the few customers sitting at the tables outside the stand.

"You are joking about those two desperadoes trying to kidnap us," Ziggy said after Joe had joined the group.

Frank didn't know if he could get used to hearing American cowboy slang spoken with a Russian accent by one of the world's foremost chess players.

He smiled at Ziggy to try to ease the tension.

"Perhaps you can start by telling us about your father," Frank suggested.

"Why do you believe this involves our father?" Petra asked, her expression cold.

"We're detectives," Joe reminded her. "We make it a habit to study people, to understand their motives. You and Ziggy have avoided talking about your father."

"You have a choice," Frank added. "You can continue to hide the truth from us, or you can let us help you. You wanted to pay us back somehow for helping you in the alley. As Ziggy might say, we're calling in your IOUs now."

Petra looked down at her soft drink, avoiding Frank's eyes. Then she looked at Ziggy, who only stared at the table.

"Ziggy?" Petra asked softly.

Ziggy looked up. He smiled. "I believe we can trust the Hardys."

Petra spoke. "Our father is an engineer. He is with the communications section of a national security agency."

"KGB," Frank said.

Petra looked stunned at Frank's comment.

"Yes," Ziggy said. "But he is more of an administrator than a spy."

"It makes sense," Joe said. "Kidnapping the son and daughter of a KGB official would almost ensure that the kidnappers would get whatever they want."

"No," Frank corrected. "They didn't want Petra."

"Why not?" Joe asked.

"Ziggy has two things going for him that would attract kidnappers." Frank drank some of his cola. "The first is that his father is in the KGB. The second is that Ziggy is a national hero to the people of the Soviet Union."

"Oh, I see," Joe replied, understanding Frank's point.

Frank was tempted to tell the others about the men in the car, but decided to wait and tell Joe in private. Two questions occurred to him: Did the men in the car see the attempted kidnapping? And if they did, why didn't they stop it?