The petrov ledger, p.4
The Petrov Ledger, page 4
She really knew the game, pleading with the manager to call a hit and run or a pitch out as the situation dictated. She threw up her hands when the Indians manager brought in a left-handed pitcher she felt could not pitch out of the trouble he was brought into. She was right and didn’t hesitate to say “I told you so” and to explain why he should have gone with the right-hander. Don’t expect me to say she really knew the game for a girl. See, my mother taught me most of what I know about baseball, including teaching me to love the game. Olga joined us during the seventh inning stretch. She kissed my cheek as a greeting and surprised Mary Jane by kissing her cheek as well.
The girls needed to know about my visit from Dmitri and Bob. Between innings, I hit the key points. They had interrupted my nap. They had wanted the doll. They took me to the boat. I left out my complete terror of the pair during my time with them. In fact, I tried to make the encounter seem almost pleasant and a decent way to spend the afternoon. They weren’t exactly buying it. Mary Jane demanded that I report the incident to the police. Olga demanded that I give them the key. Without telling her why I had not already done so, I told Olga they would be back for the key and I would hand it over. I explained to Mary Jane I could not risk defying them and going to the cops. The ladies understood and supported my position and decided it was for the best if they were to take me out for a night on the town, after we enjoyed the ballgame.
Unfortunately, my Russian princess was not much for sports. She had only seen two or three baseball games in her life. She didn’t understand the game and she didn’t much like it. She toughed it out with another drink while we watched the game finish up in a 6-3 Indians loss. Mary Jane decided she wanted to temper her disappointment by going to the Whistle and probably up to the Garden of Eden. She asked us along to help her cheer up. I chose, wisely, I thought, to let Olga answer for us. It would be bad form to jump all over an invitation from a female to a clothing-optional bar while sitting beside your prospective girlfriend. Olga’s face brightened at the prospect of leaving sports bars behind and readily accepted the invitation.
It’s a curious thing, but the crowds tend to thin out on Duval at around 10:30-11:00. I suppose by that time, the “Duval Crawl”-ers have admitted defeat and crawled back to their hotel or guesthouse and the rest of the revelers have found their comfortable place to party for the night. So it was I was able to walk the three blocks or so north on Duval to the Bull with a lady on each arm. Olga led the way up the stairs to The Whistle. Before I could follow her, Mary Jane took my arm and leaned toward me to whisper in my ear.
“Your little key is safe tonight. I might ask for your room key, though.”
She kissed my cheek and backed away with a smile. I did my best to catch up with Olga on the stairs and entered The Whistle Bar at her side. Mary Jane followed close behind. We talked and laughed and drank more than we should have. When Mary Jane floated the idea to head up to the Garden of Eden, Olga readily accepted. I did, too, but only after Olga answered. At least I would remember what happened tonight.
We made our way up the stairs and immediately ordered drinks. There were several fellow revelers present in various degrees of undress. Some of them really should have turned the thermostat to whichever setting clothed them more. After more talking, laughing, and drinking, we decided to give dancing a try. I do have rhythm, I just hide it very well and it is a white man’s rhythm. I will never, ever appear on “So You Think You Can Dance?” because I know I can’t. We had fun, though. The girls kept trying to take my shirt off as we danced. They would unbutton a button. I would follow behind re-buttoning. Neither of the girls removed any clothing. Whether it was in response to my remaining fully clothed or not, I have no idea. That worked for me, though. Tonight wasn’t about nudity or sex or anything but good companionship and a good time. We had that in spades. We began to wind down at about 1:30. We exchanged phone numbers. I finally had Olga’s number. Mary Jane’s was a happy bonus. We wished each other a good night and headed our separate ways to our lodgings.
I normally feel completely safe walking the streets of Key West. It’s paradise. Nothing bad could happen in paradise, right? Tonight, however, thoughts of Dmitri and Bob filled my mind on my walk back to William Street. I was convinced I was being watched. I assumed every shadow was one of the pair preparing to jump me on the street. Dmitri had said I was safe and would continue to be safe. How much stock can you put into a non-aggression pact with a Russian mobster? As it turned out, I was safe. I made it back to the Popular House unmolested, unlocked the front door and made my way up the stairs. I unlocked and closed the door to my room behind me and collapsed on the bed. After the night I had spent, it was somewhat disappointing to be alone. But, there I was. Alone again, naturally.
I didn’t feel too sorry for myself, though. I had a great night in the company of two beautiful women. It didn’t work out in a sexual nature tonight, just in every other way. I considered myself fortunate to have been in my shoes tonight and, hey, there’s always tomorrow night.
CHAPTER THREE
I awoke alone as I knew I would. Given the way I had been awakened the previous day, I considered this to be a win. The last time I woke up in this room it was in the company of Dmitri and Bob. I looked around the room just to be sure. Nope. My favorite Russian gangsters were not in my room this time.
As I thought back to the night I had spent with Olga and Mary Jane, it would have been nice to wake up with one of them. Either of them. I know, I know. I came down here to meet Olga. I should limit my libidinous ambitions to her. I don’t love Olga. I think about her. I care about her. But, I don’t love her. I’ve felt love before. I’ve felt the ache of separation from the one I loved. I’ve had the all-encompassing thoughts of the one I loved fill my every waking hour. I’ve never been able to multi-task when it comes to love. Olga is definitely in my mind and in my heart, but she doesn’t own it. Maybe someday, but not today.
In fact, thoughts of Mary Jane kept creeping in to my thoughts of Olga. Mary Jane and I had a great time last night watching the ballgame. The three of us had had a wonderful time on an abbreviated Duval Crawl. It’s not very often you find a woman who shares your passion for baseball. I could be in real trouble here. I stood a very good chance of really screwing this up and ending up with neither of them. My love life in a nutshell.
I checked my watch. Perfect. Just time enough to jump in the shower and check out the “breakfast” part of the bed and breakfast. It was a nice spread. Fresh fruit, including oranges and a juicer for fresh squeezed, bagels and spreads, some type of fresh baked bread, and two pots of coffee, all waiting to be ravaged. I did. As I sat and read the morning paper, I barely absorbed the stories. I was busy thinking about Andrei Petrov. Andrei was rumored to have a house here in Key West. His son had dragged his pet gorilla here to separate me from the key I had found in a doll that was brought by my would-be Russian girlfriend as a present for my mother.
Was it all a coincidence? While I do believe in coincidence, this entire situation was stretching the depth of my belief system to its limits. I finished breakfast and headed back to the room. I needed to find out if Andrei Petrov had a house here in Key West.
I ran one of my famous searches. I found several properties in Russia and a few in the former Warsaw Pact nations owned by Andrei. I found nothing in Europe or the Americas. Dmitri Petrov owned a boat under the name of David Peters. Would he have taken the false surname of his father? Should I be looking for a property in Key West owned by someone named Peters? I ran a search for all Key West properties owned by someone with the last name of Peters. There were quite a few of them. One in particular caught my eye.
A man named Andrew Peters purchased a house at 625 Elizabeth Street in 1971. Was Andrew Peters really Andrei Petrov? Dmitri had not struck me as being particularly imaginative. It would make perfect sense he would choose a pseudonym that would still connect him to his father. A trip to 625 Elizabeth Street was in order. A knock at the door interrupted my trip preparations.
I opened it to find Mary Jane with a big smile. It was a smile I could easily match. She had the day off and wanted to show me around her city. I convinced her that we should stop by 625 Elizabeth on our tour. Elizabeth Street is just one block west of William. We made a very quick trip over. My phone rang just as we arrived at 625. It was Olga. I told her where we were and why we were there. Mary Jane was hearing the reason for the trip for the first time and was somewhat less than pleased.
“If you’re not going to call the cops, find those two Russians and give them the key. I’ve known guys like that. They are dangerous. Don’t mess with the Mob, Tag.”
“I don’t have a choice, Mary Jane. I have to see this through.”
“Why?”
She posed a reasonable question. I wasn’t sure that I had a reasonable answer. I knew I had to do this. I had to see what this key fit. Everything I knew said Dmitri Petrov was not an enemy I wanted to have. It was also pretty clear I wouldn’t survive very long with Dmitri as my enemy.
Among my character flaws, the top one would have to be that I have to know. It doesn’t matter what. I just have to know. If you give me a puzzle, I want to solve it. I won’t rest until I solve it. If you ask me to tell you what the annual rainfall total is in Seattle, I’ll know it or I’ll find out. If you ask me to name the nineteenth President of the United States, I’ll tell you that it was Hiram Ulysses Grant, known to history as General Ulysses S. Grant and ask you to find a tougher question for me. Maybe something tough like, what does the key that I found inside the Russian nesting doll fit? I didn’t know and I needed to find out.
I somehow convinced Mary Jane I knew what I was doing and needed to do this. She gave me a slow, shallow nod. She set her jaw in a firm resolve and said she understood. She promised to help me see this through. I could have kissed her at that moment. I actually thought about it. Olga’s arrival prevented any type of follow through. I decided we needed to meet the owners of the house. I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again. Again, there was no answer. I tried the door. Of course, it was locked. I placed my forehead and the palm of my right hand against the door. It ended here. There was no way to prove this house belonged to Andrei Petrov. There was no way to find out what the key I had found opened.
Something drew my eye to the top of the newel posts on the stairs up to the front porch. The tops were oval-shaped and had once been brightly painted. As I looked closer, I realized they had been painted to resemble twin matryoshkas. The paint had faded through weathering to only a dim ghost of what they had been. I knew at that moment that I was on the right track.
The color scheme was the same as was on the doll I had discovered in my arm on the “Anna Maria”. The doll on the left newel post wouldn’t open. The one on the right would. Another doll was inside. The paint on the rest of the dolls was definitely the same as on the original doll that had caused all the trouble. Olga recognized it at once. There were three smaller dolls nested inside. I held the smallest one in my hand and gave it a gentle shake. The rattle was unmistakably metal. I opened the last doll and found a key inside. The key slid into the lock on the front door of the house.
I reassembled and replaced the dolls. I pushed the door open and led the ladies inside. I closed and re-locked the front door. There were only three rooms on the ground floor; the entry room, the kitchen, and a TV room. We each took a room and found absolutely nothing helpful. I left the ladies to stand guard on the first floor. I climbed the stairs to the second. There were three bedrooms on the upper level. There was a fourth room that looked like an office. There was nothing in the bedrooms. I moved on to the office.
I sat behind the desk. It was a huge wooden desk. I surely did not envy the people who had to bring it up those stairs. There was a lap drawer and three drawers on the right side. The left side was solid. The solid piece of wood that was the left side of the desk was intricately carved with a scene from St. Petersburg. I recognized the Winter Palace and Palace Square with an under-construction Alexander Column.
Wow. The Alexander Column was dedicated in 1834. Construction had begun on the Column in 1830. It seemed that Andrei had money, taste, and a keen sense of history. This desk was likely in the neighborhood of 180 years old. Carved above the wood cut and above a seam was confirmation. The artist had carved words in Cyrillic.
Лето-Осень 1831 Квадрата Дворца Санкт-Петербург
Leto-Osen' 1831 Kvadrata Dvortsa Sankt-Peterburg
Summer-Fall 1831 Palace Square Saint Petersburg
It was a beautiful piece of work. It almost had to have been handmade. The office offered a beautiful view of Elizabeth Street below through the huge picture window. I imagined Andrei Petrov whiled away the hours sitting behind this fabulous desk and watching the world pass him by through that window.
I opened the lap drawer of the desk. There was a bankbook on top. It was for an account for Andrew Peters at the Key West Bank on Whitehead Street. There was a receipt tucked inside for a safe deposit box at the bank. I smiled when I saw the box number; 1917. That was the year of the Russian Revolution and the abdication of the Tsar. It was too perfect. Now, I just needed something to prove Andrew Peters was really Andrei Petrov.
There was a button in the middle of the inside of the front of the lap drawer. I pressed it. The intricately carved scene of Palace Square popped open on a hinge. It wasn’t as solid as it had appeared. The intricate woodcarving was a hidden door. I gently opened the hidden door and saw an equally hidden safe. I thought I knew the combination that Andrei might use, but it was a pointless thought. The safe was unlocked.
That was odd. Why go to all the trouble of a having a hidden safe in your desk to keep it unlocked? Inside the safe were a .45 automatic pistol, and two passports. The passports had identical photos. One of the passports was a Russian passport for Andrei Petrov. The other was an American passport in the name of Andrew Peters. I looked up to call for the girls and saw something that made my heart skip a beat. Dmitri and Bob were approaching the house from Southard Street.
I grabbed the passports, the bankbook, and the receipt and headed for the stairs. I briefly considered grabbing the gun as well, but decided it would just force Dmitri or Bob to take it from me and shoot me with it. I ran down the stairs and called to the ladies as I ran.
“We’ve got to go. Now. The Russians are coming!”
Mary Jane had the foresight to have found the back door in her search and quickly called Olga and me to join her in getting out the backdoor. I locked it behind us as I heard the front door give and then break into pieces. There aren’t really many back yards in Key West. There was no way to get back over to William Street from the back. There was a parking area that connected to a street that was really no more than an alley called Baker’s Lane. It connected back to Elizabeth. We found a decent hiding place where we could see the front of the house and not be seen ourselves and waited for Dmitri and Bob to leave. They left ten minutes after they had arrived. They looked up and down the street for a trace of us. I heard Dmitri admonish Bob for kicking in the door. He would have to replace it now. They had known we were there. They couldn’t have known we were there. Something was very, very wrong with this. They made their way back to Southard Street and turned toward Duval. Mary Jane frowned at me as she watched them go.
“Why didn’t you give them the key?”
“Because the puzzle just got more interesting.”
Dmitri Petrov looked back over his shoulder toward Elizabeth Street. He knew that the three of them were there, somewhere. He smiled at the thought that had to be running through Gregory’s mind. He had to be congratulating himself for finding the house, the passports, the bankbook, and for avoiding Dmitri and “Bob” again. He was grateful for the phone call that alerted him to Gregory’s presence at the house. He was even more grateful he had the foresight to set everything up yesterday. Father had never kept things of importance in the same place. It was no small feat to find the passports to plant into the safe. The bankbook was easier, but still not simple.
He wondered if he should have left the safe locked. Gregory was sharp enough to have figured out the combination. It could not be left to chance, however. The safe had been waiting and opened. Gregory had obliged by removing the carefully placed objects on seeing him and “Bob” approach the house. He had again proved his resourcefulness by escaping as intended. Dmitri had not made it easy. He wanted to test Tag. Timothy Allen Gregory had been carefully chosen. So far, he was proving himself worthy of the choice.
I shared my findings with the ladies, passing around the items I had relieved from Petrov’s desk. They agreed the small key was likely a safe deposit key for box 1917 at the Whitehead Street branch of Key West Bank. We also decided since Dmitri and Bob had gone via Southard Street that we would go via Angela. It was only three blocks over to Whitehead.
The girls waited outside while I went in and asked for access to box 1917. I showed them my key. That was all it took. The bank’s officials had been told to expect someone with the key. They had never been told whom to expect. They had been requested to assist anyone who showed up with the key. They walked me to the boxes and helped me bring the box out. The help was required. I had never seen a safety deposit box that big. I was told it was a special design. They showed me to a room and allowed me privacy to open “my” box. Inside were a briefcase and an un-addressed envelope. The briefcase was a very old Halliburton model metal briefcase and was locked. As I started to run the various possible combinations through my head, I realized it was not a combination lock. It required a key. I was one key short. The envelope was not sealed. I opened it.
It was ornate enough to be a wedding invitation. It was heavy gauge paper that was monogrammed with the initials, А М П. The Cyrillic “П” was the largest letter, flanked by the “A” on the left and the “M” on the right. Written in an elegant hand were two sets of numbers; 24.546616 and -81.797531. It looked almost like a math equation with the numbers on separate lines.
The girls needed to know about my visit from Dmitri and Bob. Between innings, I hit the key points. They had interrupted my nap. They had wanted the doll. They took me to the boat. I left out my complete terror of the pair during my time with them. In fact, I tried to make the encounter seem almost pleasant and a decent way to spend the afternoon. They weren’t exactly buying it. Mary Jane demanded that I report the incident to the police. Olga demanded that I give them the key. Without telling her why I had not already done so, I told Olga they would be back for the key and I would hand it over. I explained to Mary Jane I could not risk defying them and going to the cops. The ladies understood and supported my position and decided it was for the best if they were to take me out for a night on the town, after we enjoyed the ballgame.
Unfortunately, my Russian princess was not much for sports. She had only seen two or three baseball games in her life. She didn’t understand the game and she didn’t much like it. She toughed it out with another drink while we watched the game finish up in a 6-3 Indians loss. Mary Jane decided she wanted to temper her disappointment by going to the Whistle and probably up to the Garden of Eden. She asked us along to help her cheer up. I chose, wisely, I thought, to let Olga answer for us. It would be bad form to jump all over an invitation from a female to a clothing-optional bar while sitting beside your prospective girlfriend. Olga’s face brightened at the prospect of leaving sports bars behind and readily accepted the invitation.
It’s a curious thing, but the crowds tend to thin out on Duval at around 10:30-11:00. I suppose by that time, the “Duval Crawl”-ers have admitted defeat and crawled back to their hotel or guesthouse and the rest of the revelers have found their comfortable place to party for the night. So it was I was able to walk the three blocks or so north on Duval to the Bull with a lady on each arm. Olga led the way up the stairs to The Whistle. Before I could follow her, Mary Jane took my arm and leaned toward me to whisper in my ear.
“Your little key is safe tonight. I might ask for your room key, though.”
She kissed my cheek and backed away with a smile. I did my best to catch up with Olga on the stairs and entered The Whistle Bar at her side. Mary Jane followed close behind. We talked and laughed and drank more than we should have. When Mary Jane floated the idea to head up to the Garden of Eden, Olga readily accepted. I did, too, but only after Olga answered. At least I would remember what happened tonight.
We made our way up the stairs and immediately ordered drinks. There were several fellow revelers present in various degrees of undress. Some of them really should have turned the thermostat to whichever setting clothed them more. After more talking, laughing, and drinking, we decided to give dancing a try. I do have rhythm, I just hide it very well and it is a white man’s rhythm. I will never, ever appear on “So You Think You Can Dance?” because I know I can’t. We had fun, though. The girls kept trying to take my shirt off as we danced. They would unbutton a button. I would follow behind re-buttoning. Neither of the girls removed any clothing. Whether it was in response to my remaining fully clothed or not, I have no idea. That worked for me, though. Tonight wasn’t about nudity or sex or anything but good companionship and a good time. We had that in spades. We began to wind down at about 1:30. We exchanged phone numbers. I finally had Olga’s number. Mary Jane’s was a happy bonus. We wished each other a good night and headed our separate ways to our lodgings.
I normally feel completely safe walking the streets of Key West. It’s paradise. Nothing bad could happen in paradise, right? Tonight, however, thoughts of Dmitri and Bob filled my mind on my walk back to William Street. I was convinced I was being watched. I assumed every shadow was one of the pair preparing to jump me on the street. Dmitri had said I was safe and would continue to be safe. How much stock can you put into a non-aggression pact with a Russian mobster? As it turned out, I was safe. I made it back to the Popular House unmolested, unlocked the front door and made my way up the stairs. I unlocked and closed the door to my room behind me and collapsed on the bed. After the night I had spent, it was somewhat disappointing to be alone. But, there I was. Alone again, naturally.
I didn’t feel too sorry for myself, though. I had a great night in the company of two beautiful women. It didn’t work out in a sexual nature tonight, just in every other way. I considered myself fortunate to have been in my shoes tonight and, hey, there’s always tomorrow night.
CHAPTER THREE
I awoke alone as I knew I would. Given the way I had been awakened the previous day, I considered this to be a win. The last time I woke up in this room it was in the company of Dmitri and Bob. I looked around the room just to be sure. Nope. My favorite Russian gangsters were not in my room this time.
As I thought back to the night I had spent with Olga and Mary Jane, it would have been nice to wake up with one of them. Either of them. I know, I know. I came down here to meet Olga. I should limit my libidinous ambitions to her. I don’t love Olga. I think about her. I care about her. But, I don’t love her. I’ve felt love before. I’ve felt the ache of separation from the one I loved. I’ve had the all-encompassing thoughts of the one I loved fill my every waking hour. I’ve never been able to multi-task when it comes to love. Olga is definitely in my mind and in my heart, but she doesn’t own it. Maybe someday, but not today.
In fact, thoughts of Mary Jane kept creeping in to my thoughts of Olga. Mary Jane and I had a great time last night watching the ballgame. The three of us had had a wonderful time on an abbreviated Duval Crawl. It’s not very often you find a woman who shares your passion for baseball. I could be in real trouble here. I stood a very good chance of really screwing this up and ending up with neither of them. My love life in a nutshell.
I checked my watch. Perfect. Just time enough to jump in the shower and check out the “breakfast” part of the bed and breakfast. It was a nice spread. Fresh fruit, including oranges and a juicer for fresh squeezed, bagels and spreads, some type of fresh baked bread, and two pots of coffee, all waiting to be ravaged. I did. As I sat and read the morning paper, I barely absorbed the stories. I was busy thinking about Andrei Petrov. Andrei was rumored to have a house here in Key West. His son had dragged his pet gorilla here to separate me from the key I had found in a doll that was brought by my would-be Russian girlfriend as a present for my mother.
Was it all a coincidence? While I do believe in coincidence, this entire situation was stretching the depth of my belief system to its limits. I finished breakfast and headed back to the room. I needed to find out if Andrei Petrov had a house here in Key West.
I ran one of my famous searches. I found several properties in Russia and a few in the former Warsaw Pact nations owned by Andrei. I found nothing in Europe or the Americas. Dmitri Petrov owned a boat under the name of David Peters. Would he have taken the false surname of his father? Should I be looking for a property in Key West owned by someone named Peters? I ran a search for all Key West properties owned by someone with the last name of Peters. There were quite a few of them. One in particular caught my eye.
A man named Andrew Peters purchased a house at 625 Elizabeth Street in 1971. Was Andrew Peters really Andrei Petrov? Dmitri had not struck me as being particularly imaginative. It would make perfect sense he would choose a pseudonym that would still connect him to his father. A trip to 625 Elizabeth Street was in order. A knock at the door interrupted my trip preparations.
I opened it to find Mary Jane with a big smile. It was a smile I could easily match. She had the day off and wanted to show me around her city. I convinced her that we should stop by 625 Elizabeth on our tour. Elizabeth Street is just one block west of William. We made a very quick trip over. My phone rang just as we arrived at 625. It was Olga. I told her where we were and why we were there. Mary Jane was hearing the reason for the trip for the first time and was somewhat less than pleased.
“If you’re not going to call the cops, find those two Russians and give them the key. I’ve known guys like that. They are dangerous. Don’t mess with the Mob, Tag.”
“I don’t have a choice, Mary Jane. I have to see this through.”
“Why?”
She posed a reasonable question. I wasn’t sure that I had a reasonable answer. I knew I had to do this. I had to see what this key fit. Everything I knew said Dmitri Petrov was not an enemy I wanted to have. It was also pretty clear I wouldn’t survive very long with Dmitri as my enemy.
Among my character flaws, the top one would have to be that I have to know. It doesn’t matter what. I just have to know. If you give me a puzzle, I want to solve it. I won’t rest until I solve it. If you ask me to tell you what the annual rainfall total is in Seattle, I’ll know it or I’ll find out. If you ask me to name the nineteenth President of the United States, I’ll tell you that it was Hiram Ulysses Grant, known to history as General Ulysses S. Grant and ask you to find a tougher question for me. Maybe something tough like, what does the key that I found inside the Russian nesting doll fit? I didn’t know and I needed to find out.
I somehow convinced Mary Jane I knew what I was doing and needed to do this. She gave me a slow, shallow nod. She set her jaw in a firm resolve and said she understood. She promised to help me see this through. I could have kissed her at that moment. I actually thought about it. Olga’s arrival prevented any type of follow through. I decided we needed to meet the owners of the house. I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again. Again, there was no answer. I tried the door. Of course, it was locked. I placed my forehead and the palm of my right hand against the door. It ended here. There was no way to prove this house belonged to Andrei Petrov. There was no way to find out what the key I had found opened.
Something drew my eye to the top of the newel posts on the stairs up to the front porch. The tops were oval-shaped and had once been brightly painted. As I looked closer, I realized they had been painted to resemble twin matryoshkas. The paint had faded through weathering to only a dim ghost of what they had been. I knew at that moment that I was on the right track.
The color scheme was the same as was on the doll I had discovered in my arm on the “Anna Maria”. The doll on the left newel post wouldn’t open. The one on the right would. Another doll was inside. The paint on the rest of the dolls was definitely the same as on the original doll that had caused all the trouble. Olga recognized it at once. There were three smaller dolls nested inside. I held the smallest one in my hand and gave it a gentle shake. The rattle was unmistakably metal. I opened the last doll and found a key inside. The key slid into the lock on the front door of the house.
I reassembled and replaced the dolls. I pushed the door open and led the ladies inside. I closed and re-locked the front door. There were only three rooms on the ground floor; the entry room, the kitchen, and a TV room. We each took a room and found absolutely nothing helpful. I left the ladies to stand guard on the first floor. I climbed the stairs to the second. There were three bedrooms on the upper level. There was a fourth room that looked like an office. There was nothing in the bedrooms. I moved on to the office.
I sat behind the desk. It was a huge wooden desk. I surely did not envy the people who had to bring it up those stairs. There was a lap drawer and three drawers on the right side. The left side was solid. The solid piece of wood that was the left side of the desk was intricately carved with a scene from St. Petersburg. I recognized the Winter Palace and Palace Square with an under-construction Alexander Column.
Wow. The Alexander Column was dedicated in 1834. Construction had begun on the Column in 1830. It seemed that Andrei had money, taste, and a keen sense of history. This desk was likely in the neighborhood of 180 years old. Carved above the wood cut and above a seam was confirmation. The artist had carved words in Cyrillic.
Лето-Осень 1831 Квадрата Дворца Санкт-Петербург
Leto-Osen' 1831 Kvadrata Dvortsa Sankt-Peterburg
Summer-Fall 1831 Palace Square Saint Petersburg
It was a beautiful piece of work. It almost had to have been handmade. The office offered a beautiful view of Elizabeth Street below through the huge picture window. I imagined Andrei Petrov whiled away the hours sitting behind this fabulous desk and watching the world pass him by through that window.
I opened the lap drawer of the desk. There was a bankbook on top. It was for an account for Andrew Peters at the Key West Bank on Whitehead Street. There was a receipt tucked inside for a safe deposit box at the bank. I smiled when I saw the box number; 1917. That was the year of the Russian Revolution and the abdication of the Tsar. It was too perfect. Now, I just needed something to prove Andrew Peters was really Andrei Petrov.
There was a button in the middle of the inside of the front of the lap drawer. I pressed it. The intricately carved scene of Palace Square popped open on a hinge. It wasn’t as solid as it had appeared. The intricate woodcarving was a hidden door. I gently opened the hidden door and saw an equally hidden safe. I thought I knew the combination that Andrei might use, but it was a pointless thought. The safe was unlocked.
That was odd. Why go to all the trouble of a having a hidden safe in your desk to keep it unlocked? Inside the safe were a .45 automatic pistol, and two passports. The passports had identical photos. One of the passports was a Russian passport for Andrei Petrov. The other was an American passport in the name of Andrew Peters. I looked up to call for the girls and saw something that made my heart skip a beat. Dmitri and Bob were approaching the house from Southard Street.
I grabbed the passports, the bankbook, and the receipt and headed for the stairs. I briefly considered grabbing the gun as well, but decided it would just force Dmitri or Bob to take it from me and shoot me with it. I ran down the stairs and called to the ladies as I ran.
“We’ve got to go. Now. The Russians are coming!”
Mary Jane had the foresight to have found the back door in her search and quickly called Olga and me to join her in getting out the backdoor. I locked it behind us as I heard the front door give and then break into pieces. There aren’t really many back yards in Key West. There was no way to get back over to William Street from the back. There was a parking area that connected to a street that was really no more than an alley called Baker’s Lane. It connected back to Elizabeth. We found a decent hiding place where we could see the front of the house and not be seen ourselves and waited for Dmitri and Bob to leave. They left ten minutes after they had arrived. They looked up and down the street for a trace of us. I heard Dmitri admonish Bob for kicking in the door. He would have to replace it now. They had known we were there. They couldn’t have known we were there. Something was very, very wrong with this. They made their way back to Southard Street and turned toward Duval. Mary Jane frowned at me as she watched them go.
“Why didn’t you give them the key?”
“Because the puzzle just got more interesting.”
Dmitri Petrov looked back over his shoulder toward Elizabeth Street. He knew that the three of them were there, somewhere. He smiled at the thought that had to be running through Gregory’s mind. He had to be congratulating himself for finding the house, the passports, the bankbook, and for avoiding Dmitri and “Bob” again. He was grateful for the phone call that alerted him to Gregory’s presence at the house. He was even more grateful he had the foresight to set everything up yesterday. Father had never kept things of importance in the same place. It was no small feat to find the passports to plant into the safe. The bankbook was easier, but still not simple.
He wondered if he should have left the safe locked. Gregory was sharp enough to have figured out the combination. It could not be left to chance, however. The safe had been waiting and opened. Gregory had obliged by removing the carefully placed objects on seeing him and “Bob” approach the house. He had again proved his resourcefulness by escaping as intended. Dmitri had not made it easy. He wanted to test Tag. Timothy Allen Gregory had been carefully chosen. So far, he was proving himself worthy of the choice.
I shared my findings with the ladies, passing around the items I had relieved from Petrov’s desk. They agreed the small key was likely a safe deposit key for box 1917 at the Whitehead Street branch of Key West Bank. We also decided since Dmitri and Bob had gone via Southard Street that we would go via Angela. It was only three blocks over to Whitehead.
The girls waited outside while I went in and asked for access to box 1917. I showed them my key. That was all it took. The bank’s officials had been told to expect someone with the key. They had never been told whom to expect. They had been requested to assist anyone who showed up with the key. They walked me to the boxes and helped me bring the box out. The help was required. I had never seen a safety deposit box that big. I was told it was a special design. They showed me to a room and allowed me privacy to open “my” box. Inside were a briefcase and an un-addressed envelope. The briefcase was a very old Halliburton model metal briefcase and was locked. As I started to run the various possible combinations through my head, I realized it was not a combination lock. It required a key. I was one key short. The envelope was not sealed. I opened it.
It was ornate enough to be a wedding invitation. It was heavy gauge paper that was monogrammed with the initials, А М П. The Cyrillic “П” was the largest letter, flanked by the “A” on the left and the “M” on the right. Written in an elegant hand were two sets of numbers; 24.546616 and -81.797531. It looked almost like a math equation with the numbers on separate lines.
