Lust, Money & Murder by Mike Wells Page B

castle.”
    Actually, what Elaine said was, “My father used to wander around muttering in an Irish brogue for fun. Brogan is an Irish name, but I don’t think he ever actually knew any real Irish people.”
    “Oh. Well, I know some people who can make an Irish passport. These ex-Soviet block countries love the IRA.”
     
    * * *
    When they flew to Minsk, the Belarusian capital, Nick traveled on a fake British passport and listed his occupation on the landing form as “Engineer.” He told her to write “Accountant” on hers. Her passport was a diplomatic issue, supposedly granted by the Irish Department of Agriculture, Fisheries, and Food.
    “We’ve been married five years, we live in London, I work for British Petroleum. We have no kids. We’re here on vacation. Got it?”
    “Yes.”
    Elaine was so excited she could hardly contain herself. When they stepped out of the taxi and approached the hotel lobby, she mustered up the courage to take Nick’s hand.
    He quickly let go, frowning at her.
    “I thought we were supposed to be married,” she said, a little hurt.
    “We are. Five years , Elaine. No married couple holds hands after five years .”
     
    * * *
    When they actually went to the hotel room Nick had reserved, Elaine was even more disappointed. She had hoped it would only have one large bed. Instead, it not only had two separate beds, but they were in separate rooms. It was a suite designed for a family, with one bedroom for the parents and one bedroom for the kids. There were even separate bathrooms.
    She was disappointed that he would never get to see her in the new peignoir that she had spent half her salary on.
    “I thought this would give you more privacy,” Nick said, as he took his suitcase into the smaller of the two rooms.
    “Thanks,” Elaine muttered.
    She went into the other bedroom and glumly unpacked her suitcase.
    A few minutes later, Nick appeared at her door.
    “I’m going out, see what I can stir up.”
    “You don’t want me to—”
    “No, you need to stay here. Be ready to check out any bills I bring back—we’ll have to move fast.”
     
    * * *
    The three days they spent in Belarus were miserable for Elaine. Nick made her stay in the room like a prisoner. He went out and tracked down suspect $100 bills, brought them back for her to check, and then went out again, leaving her alone nearly the entire time. The only reason he wanted her with him was so that he could quickly determine if the bills he tracked down were fake, and to tie them to other notes that had surfaced elsewhere in Eastern Europe.
    On the third day, when Nick was preparing to leave again, she said, “I’m getting awfully tired of room service, Nick. Can’t we at least go out to dinner?”
    “Can’t do it,” he said.
    “Why not?” she said angrily.
    “Because it’s too dangerous here. I’m almost sure I was followed today.” He paused, looking at her sympathetically. “If anything happened to you...”
    “What?”
    He looked away, brushing the hair out of his face. “It’s my responsibility to keep you safe, that’s all.”
    He left without saying anything else.
     
    * * *
    Nick did not return until early the next morning. He looked haggard, with two days of stubble on his face. There was a small gym bag over his shoulder. With a sigh, he slung it onto the coffee table and unzipped it.
    It was packed with bundles of dirty-looking Belarusian rubles, held together with bright yellow rubber bands.
    He silently unzipped his own suitcase, opened up a false bottom, and began carefully packing the money into it.
    “Do you mind explaining where that came from?” Elaine said.
    “A false bribe,” he muttered. “I posed as a corrupt Interpol agent to get closer to the source of those counterfeits that I think are coming out of Russia.” He glanced up at her. “I think we’re getting close to the source of those, Elaine. That could be a big bust, a real feather in our cap.”
    He finished packing in