The White Russian
Chapter three: Meetings
Russia, July, 1918
Within minutes after Ivan had departed the makeshift tomb, the door opened and a man entered. The air was foul with the smell of death. The man followed the moans of one still alive, if near death. He lifted the weak form.
"Anna, my Anna." He held her close, crying.
"I knew you would come." The voice was feeble, barely above a whisper. "My white Russian...don't let them..." It must have taken the last fragments of her strength to speak; she died in her lover's arms.
The man held the dead girl in his arms for several moments before gently, lovingly picking her up. The white Russian carried the body from the tomb. He would select a secluded spot and bury her where no one would disturb her rest.
Two weeks later he entered America...and disappeared.
Coolsville, 7:45 am, the next morning, F. B. I. Headquarters
"Velma, I'm..." Shaggy wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Shaggy, don't you say you're sorry about last night." She whispered, "that was beyond my wildest dreams."
"I was going to say I was sorry we didn't have time for a cup of coffee this morning."
"It wasn't me that made us oversleep. Daphne isn't a morning person and the F.B.I. lives on coffee, horrible coffee I admit..."
"You think Fred and Daphne will be here?"
"They wouldn't ask half of Mystery Inc. to a meeting. Whatever they want, it will include all five of us. Speaking of us..." She rose on tiptoe to kiss his lips.
"Velma, we've refused to admit our love for too long. In there, I may not announce it but I will not deny it." He kissed the back of her hand.
At precisely eight o'clock they entered the room. A square table with a thin stack of paper positioned in front of four chairs dominated the room. Velma's statement about Daphne not being a morning person was proven by the disheveled red head sitting in one chair. Fred had chosen the chair to her right, looking only slightly better. Shaggy held Velma's chair for her before taking the last chair. The four turned their attention to Agents Williams and Guthrie.
"I'll not waste time, Russia has approached the State Department, State has asked for our assistance.
"It seems someone known as The White Russian disappeared some eighty-five years ago. Russia wants him back. What do you," he indicated the four gathered around the table, "know about the Russian revolution outside of what you learned in school?"
"Outside of history class, I don't know anything." Fred volunteered, "but why call us in?"
"That's not hard to figure, Fred." Velma answered, "State doesn't think the case, if there is a case, can be solved so they handed the hot potato to the F. B. I.. The F. B. I. thinks the same and doesn't want to be involved, therefore they called us in to fail. That way they can save their, and State's, face.
"My question is why do they want this White Russian back after eighty-five years?"
"We don't know, Miss Dinkley. That's one thing we'd like you four to find out. I'll be honest, after eighty-five years this White Russian is probably dead. I don't think you will find him but my superiors want to be sure before we go back to State.
"As far as your first statement, Miss Dinkley, it's a matter of jurisdiction. It's our 'hot potato' as you so elegantly put it."
"And now it's our 'hot potato'." Velma raised her eyebrows.
"Before you is a print out of everything we know, which is damn little. Your job is to find this White Russian or proof he's dead, and why are they so interested in getting him back after all this time?"
"Any leads you can share with us?" Fred asked.
"You might try contacting Professor Anya Gorkovsky. She teaches history, specializing in Russian history, at the local university. Good luck." Both agents left the room.
"Fred, if you say we have to split up, I'll slap you so hard your ears will ring for a week." Daphne stood up, collecting the printouts. "I'm going to the morgue."
"Let's meet at Velma's house for dinner. We can see what we find out. And I have a surprise for all of you." Shaggy stood, picking up the papers. "Why does it have to be a morgue?"
Fred also rose, "I'll try contacting the Professor."
"Velma," Daphne ventured after Fred and Shaggy had left, "are you and Shaggy...you know...?"
"We haven't set a date but yes, we are." Velma blushed, not at the question but the memory of the night before. She had expected maybe thirty minutes, what she got was an unhurried lesson in the meaning of love making. She had known there would be pain but it hadn't been as bad as anticipated. He had stopped, kissing her tears away until she was at ease before continuing his affectionate ministrations. From nervous lifting of her sweater to calling out his name with the final release to holding her in his arms later, the whole experience had been about her wants and desires.
"No need to blush, Velma, I'm very happy for you both."
"You will be my maid of honor won't you? You still love him?"
"Shaggy? No, he's not my type..." Daphne laughed, "Fred, on the other hand, will always be my one and only. I just wish he'd get the hint."
"Maybe it's time to move past hinting. Just hit him over the head with a club and drag him back to your cave."
"But Velma, I don't have a club...or a cave. Who else would be your maid of honor? Any idea what Shaggy meant about a surprise?"
"None, I guess we'll have to wait until tonight to see."
Xxx
University, 9:00 am
Fred had circled the University parking lot twice before locating a parking space. A few questions later found him walking down a hall towards the Professor's office. The paper displayed behind a plastic cover beside the door announced that the Professor took lunch between 12:30 and 1:30 with student hours from 1:30 till 2:30. That gave him a little over three hours to kill.
It had been years since he had traversed these halls but the Student Union should still be in the same place. It wasn't a good place to study but excellent stopover for a cup of coffee or tea if you were going to or coming from class. Or if you wanted to catch up on the latest gossip. After ordering a cup of coffee and selecting an out of the way table, Fred settled in to think about the morning meeting.
Granted, he hadn't seen Shag or Velma for a year but the change in Velma was immediately apparent: She had a glow about her that he'd never seen before. Shaggy holding her chair, though unusual, hadn't caused his eyebrows to raise...it was his near caress of her hair that did that. Taken separately, the incidents didn't mean that much but add them together...Fred smiled...it might mean shopping for a wedding gift.
He thought back, Velma's comment about saving face had crossed his mind even before she mentioned it. He shook his head, nothing about this case made sense...unless the FBI didn't want the case solved. But then, Why?
Several cups of coffee and with more questions than answers, Fred sauntered out, heading for the Professor's office.
"Enter." Came the answer to his knock. He found the Professor sitting behind a paper littered desk; a half eaten sandwich and carton of milk sat to the side. She looked up, examining the new arrival.
"I'm sorry to disturb your lunch, Professor. I was hoping you might be able to help me." She was blonde, blue eyed, and cute.
"You aren't one of my students. Who are you?" Her full red lips didn't smile.
"A student of history," Fred took the chair opposite her desk. "Fred Jones. I'm interested in Russian history. The White Russian to be exact."
"It's a drink served everywhere liquor is supplied or you can make your own if you have the ingredients." Still no smile passed those ruby lips.
"I don't drink except on special occasions, sorry. I am interested in a person called The White Russian."
"Mr. Jones, you look to be an intelligent person, why are you curious about that bedtime story?"
"You positive it is only a bedtime story? Most stories like that have a kernel of truth?"
"My grandpapa told me that story many times. I'd usually fall asleep before he finished. It had all the parts for a bedtime story, a Grand Duchess, hero and tragedy. Real Romeo, Juliet stuff."
"Excuse my curiosity, Anya, Anastasia, any connection?"
"Anastasia was my namesake. I was told my grandpapa insisted on naming me."
"Well, thanks for the help anyway. Sorry again for taking time from you lunch. Perhaps I could repay you with dinner?"
The Professor's lips sported a smile for the first time, she leaned back, studying the strange man before her, "I usually don't date strange men but you do intrigue me. Perhaps we could exchange bedtime stories."
"Until tonight then. Say, seven?" He perused the slip of paper where she had written her address and phone number.
"Don't be late."
As Fred closed the door, Fred had learned several things. First, that had been real fear that had skittered over her eyes when he mentioned the white Russian. She was definitely terrified of something.
The other thing he was sure of was the Professor had lied through her pretty white teeth. Perhaps a pleasant dinner would give him the opportunity to find out what was terrorizing her.
TBC
