Celtic Chronicles: Esther Brookstone Art Detective, #9

By Steven M. Moore

Esther and Bastiann volunteer to work at an archaeological dig near their modest castle outside Edinburgh. A student also working there is murdered. Police Scotland finds a Russian oligarch's number on the lad's call-list. That Russian is on his yacht anchored off the Scottish coast. As the investigation continues, everything becomes more complex, other characters come into play, and the intrigue and suspense increase.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven M. Moore
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201045999

Steven M. Moore

If you’re reading this, thank you. Not many people find me...or recognize me as an author of many genre fiction novels. Maybe it’s because my name is too common—I thought once about using a pen name...and probably should have. Maybe it’s because I don’t get many reviews. (It's not hard to write one once you've read one of my books: just say what you like and dislike in a few lines, and why.) I know you have many good books and good authors to choose from, so I’m honored and humbled that you are considering or have read some of mine.You’re here on Smashwords because you love to read. Me too. Okay, maybe you’re here to give someone the gift of an entertaining book—that’s fine too. I love to tell stories, so either way, you’ll be purchasing some exciting fiction, each book unique and full of action and interesting characters, scenes, and themes. Some are national, others international, and some are mixed; some are in the mystery/suspense/thriller category, others sci-fi, and some are mixed-genre. There are new ones and there are evergreen ones, books that are as fresh and current as the day I wrote them. (You should always peruse an author's entire oeuvre. I find many interesting books to read that way.)I started telling stories at an early age, making my own comic books before I started school and writing my first novel the summer I turned thirteen—little of those early efforts remain (did I hear a collective sigh of relief?). I collected what-ifs and plots, character descriptions, possible settings, and snippets of dialogue for years while living in Colombia and different parts of the U.S. (I was born in California and eventually settled on the East Coast after that sojourn in South America). I also saw a bit of the world and experienced other cultures at scientific events and conferences and with travel in general, always mindful of what should be important to every fiction writer—the human condition. Fiction can’t come alive—not even sci-fi—without people (they might be ET people in the case of sci-fi, of course).I started publishing what I'd written in 2006—short stories, novellas, and novels—we’d become empty-nesters and I was still in my old day-job at the time. Now I’m a full-time writer. My wife and I moved from Boston to the NYC area a while back, so both cities can be found in some novels, along with many others in the U.S. and abroad.You can find more information about me at my website: https://stevenmmoore.com. I’m also on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorStevenMMoore; and Twitter @StevenMMoore4.I give away my short fiction; so does my collaborator A. B. Carolan who writes sci-fi mysteries for young adults. See my blog categories "Steve's Shorts," "ABC Shorts," and the list of free PDF downloads on my web page "Free Stuff & Contests" at my website (that list includes my free course "Writing Fiction" that will be of interest mainly to writers).I don't give away my novels. All my ebooks are reasonably priced and can be found here at Smashwords, including those I've published with Black Opal Books (The Last Humans) and Penmore Press (Rembrandt's Angel and Son of Thunder). I don't control either prices or sales on those books, so you can thank those traditional publishers for also providing quality entertainment for a reasonable price. That's why you won't find many sales of my books either. They're now reserved for my email newsletter subscribers. (If you want to subscribe, query me using [e-mail].)My mantra has always been the following: If I can entertain at least one reader with each story, that story is a success. But maybe I can do better than that? After all, you found me!Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Book preview

Have you missed the previous Esther Brookstone novels?

Rembrandt's Angel—Esther becomes obsessed with recovering a painting the Nazis stole in World War II and battles neo-Nazis and ISIS terrorists in the process.

Son of Thunder—Esther is on a hunt for the tomb of St. John the Divine as she follows directions found attached to a newly discovered Botticelli painting.

Death on the Danube—Esther and Bastiann have to run a murder investigation on their honeymoon down the famous river from Germany to Hungary.

Palettes, Patriots, and Prats—Esther's defense of an American artist leads to the discovery of a criminal organization trafficking human beings as well as art.

Leonardo and the Quantum Code—Esther and Bastiann must protect her old friend who is creating new encryption/decryption algorithms for future quantum computers.

Defanging the Red Dragon—Esther and Bastiann team up with their old US friend Castilblanco and others to thwart a plot to steal new plans for software and hardware upgrades to nuclear submarines.

Intolerance—Esther becomes involved in three different cases of a murdered child, the murder of a famous writer, and the murders of migrants and refugees.

The Klimt Connection—Esther and friends work desperately to bring domestic terrorists to justice, including their leader who bombed their London flat.

Note: The first two novels listed above are published by Penmore Press, the third by Carrick Publishing, the next two and the last by Draft2Digital, and the sixth and seventh are free PDF downloads available at the author's website, https://stevenmmoore.com. All ebooks are available wherever quality ebooks are sold. The first three novels have print versions the reader can order from his favorite brick & mortar bookstore or online retailer. Follow the instructions on the Free Stuff & Contests web page to download the free PDFs.

Summary

Esther and Bastiann volunteer to work at an archaeological dig near their modest castle outside Edinburgh. A student also working there is murdered. Police Scotland finds a Russian oligarch's number on the lad's call-list. That Russian is on his yacht anchored off the Scottish coast. As the investigation continues, everything becomes more complex, other characters come into play, and the intrigue and suspense increase.

British, Scotch, and Irish Words and Phrases

Note from Steve: Just like the US has Bostonian and Texas dialects, the UK and the Republic of Ireland also have regional dialects. I tried to include here all the expressions appearing in the novel, but I might have missed a few...or included a few extras from previous novels in the series? And English and Irish readers, please don’t hold it against this Yank if my definitions aren’t one hundred percent correct. While I might be responsible for some errors, Google and Microsoft Word were willing accomplices!

A

aggro—aggravation, discomfort

ANPR—Automatic Number Plate Recognition (cameras on major UK roads used to read license plates)

ARO—Armed Response Officer (like a SCO19 member)

ARU—Armed Response Unit (also often called SCO19)

ARV—Armed Response Vehicle (a van carrying an ARU or SCO19)

Auld Reekie—Edinburgh, Scotland

B

barney—heated argument or verbal skirmish

barrister—lawyer who can participate in a trial

beck—creek, small river

biro—ballpoint pen (named after its inventor)

blaggard—scoundrel

blather—talk, often without rhyme or reason

bloke—fellow, guy

blues and twos—emergency vehicles, or patrol cars in general (for blue lights and two people)

bollix—bungle

bollocks—general swear word (literally, testicles)

boot—car trunk

brae—a steep bank or hillside

brief—a barrister or solicitor (or the usual meaning)

C

car park—parking lot (usually seen as two words, but sometimes as one)

ceilidh—gathering with Gaelic folk music, singing, dancing, and/or storytelling

chap—fellow, guy

chappie—fellow, guy

chat up—flirt

chinwag—conversation, discussion

CID—Criminal Investigative Department within a police station

chuffed—pleased

cockup—disaster, fiasco

copper—policeman or policewoman

crisps—potato chips

D

DS—Detective Sergeant

DC—Detective Constable

DI—Detective Inspector

DCI—Detective Chief Inspector

do an early dart—leave business early

do a runner—flee, disappear

donkey’s years—a long time

dosh—money (wad)

droll—boring, irrelevant

duty solicitor—legal representation provided to a suspect by the police or court

E

eejit—fool

F

fag—cigarette

feckin’—not as strong as the American version, and also used to emphasize

fiver—five-pound note

FLO—family liaison officer

fuggy—warm, stuffy, smoky (of a room, atmosphere, or mind)

G

give stick—beat up, verbally or physically

gobshite—mean or contemptible person

gobsmacked—astonished, astounded (a gob was a wad of tobacco)

goolies—testicles

GP—General Physician

grass on—rat on, tattle

H

hire-car—rental car

HOLMES—Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, the UK-wide police database

I

Iron Lady—Margaret Thatcher

K

kerb-crawler—prostitute (curb in the US)

knackered—exhausted

L

do a lie-in—sleep late

loo—bathroom, WC

lorry—truck

lose his rag—get furious

M

marra—mate, friend (Cumbrian dialect)

mash—tea brewed from tea leaves, not tea bags

mobile—cellphone

monkeys—500-pound notes

MP—member of parliament

N

nappies—diapers

nick—steal, arrest (verbs); police station, jail (nouns)

niggling—trifling, annoying

nippers—children

numpty—stupid or foolish person

nutter—crazy person

O

old chestnut—adage or saying

P

peckish—hungry

Peel Centre—training institution for the Metropolitan Police (originally only for higher-ranked officers, and also called Hendon Police College or Hendon Training College)

pillock—fool

pish-tosh—only a trifle

plonker—fool

plod—copper

PM—prime minister

prat—a stupid or foolish person

publican—manager or owner of a pub

punter—bookie, gambler (more British); customer (more Irish)

R

rozzer—copper

rugger—rugby player

S

SCO19—Specialist Crime and Operations group (SWAT group in the US); see ARO, etc. (This term tends to be used more in standard policing, while MI5 and NCA tend to use more the ARO terminology.)

scarper—flee

scrote—lowlife

scrum—disorderly crowd

shite—what you expect, but not considered swearing as such

skelping—unusually large or outstanding

SIO—Senior Investigating Officer

SOCO—Scene of Crime Officer (US CSI)

sod—annoying person (noun); deprecate or disparage (verb): Sod it!

solicitor—a lawyer who provides legal representation but can't necessarily appear in a trial

stunner—pretty woman

T

takeaway—fast food the buyer picks up

taking the Mickey—taunting, wisecracking, or being otherwise unreasonable

taking the piss—(see immediately above)

tam—a Scottish hat

tearaway—urchin

telly—television

tipple—imbibe an alcoholic beverage, or the beverage itself

tippler—habitual drinker

toe-rag—urchin

toff—aristocrat, or member of the privileged classes

tops—bobbies (for the helmets)

trainers—sneakers (US East Coast) or tennis shoes (US West Coast)

trawl—search

tuck in—more for eating than for going to bed

twaddle—nonsense

twit—foolish or stupid person

twitcher—birdwatcher

W

wag—a person given to droll, roguish, or mischievous humor

wanker—a contemptible person, scoundrel, villain

wellies—overshoes

wing mirror—side mirror of car (as opposed to rearview mirror)

wrinklies—elderly people

Y

yob—rude or aggressive person

Security Agencies

British national police—the Metropolitan Police (the Met aka Scotland Yard) and its affiliates

British national crime agency—National Crime Agency (NCA)

British internal security—MI5

British external security—MI6

Bundespolizei—national police in both Austria and Germany

Chinese internal and external security—Ministry of State Security (MSS)

French internal security—DGSI

French external security—DGSE

Irish Republic's national police—An Garda Siochana (Gardai or the Guards)

Russian internal security—FSB

Russian external security—SVR

US internal security—ATF, DEA, DHS, FBI

US external security—CIA, sometimes FBI

Notes:

The Metropolitan Police, also called the Met or the Yard (for Scotland Yard, which is used for both the Met and the City of London Police), and their affiliates represent the general policing organizations for England and Wales; it covers general crime throughout the region with its many divisions, including Esther’s old Art and Antiques Division, but it also covers background checks and crimes associated with the Official Secrets Act and railroad terminals and some local airports. Individual cities' police departments are now considered part of the overall system (e.g., Reading PD).

Police Scotland was created in 2013 to unify policing in all of Scotland, and it's basically a copy of the Metropolitan Police system with all its own divisions and bureaucracy.

MI5 and MI6 were created during World War II (the MI stands for Military Intelligence).

The National Crime Agency was also created in 2013 to lead efforts against organized crime, including sex- and drug-trafficking.

FSB and SVR are the remnants of the old KGB, Putin's old employer

Cast of Principal Characters

Margaret Maggie Bent—former Scotland Yard DI and new MI5 agent

Jeremy Brand—head of MI5's Counterterrorism Division

Esther Brookstone—ex-MI6 spy and ex-Scotland Yard inspector

Father Matthew Matt Brown—parish priest

Bruce Campbell—Police Scotland DI

Sean Cassidy—ex-IRA bomber

Bastiann van Coevorden—ex-Interpol agent and MI5 consultant, and Esther's husband

Erin and Harry Finley—couple volunteering at the dig

Genevieve Jenny Fuller—forensics pathologist

Gei Bai-Ping—exiled Chinese

Maude and James Griffin—couple volunteering at the dig

Zachary Hill—Edinburgh University archaeology student

Vladimir Kalinin—ex-pat Russian and international businessman

George Langston—Esther's old chief at Scotland Yard

Harold Hal Leonard—ex-Interpol agent, MI5 consultant, and head of the task force fighting domestic terrorists,

Andrew Andy MacGregor—Police Scotland DS

Frederic "Freddie' March—MI5's liaison with the Home Office

Sir John Pembroke—PM

Alexei Sidorov—exiled Russian oligarch

Ambreesh Singh—MI5 technical staff and IT specialist

Richard Richie Stewart—Edinburgh University archaeologist

Preface

It brings me little joy to inform readers that my time for writing the chronicles of my good friend Esther Brookstone's adventures has come to an end. It has been an honor to perform my role of Dr. Watson to hers as Sherlock Holmes. I hasten to add that her husband, that clever Dutchman Bastiann van Coevorden, has also made my voluntary task all the more interesting.

Like some of her adventures, this one takes readers beyond the UK's borders, not as much physically as in some tales, but very international in its ramifications. Even with Brexit and the long and painful withdrawal from the EU, the UK can still not be neglected in world affairs, nor can it neglect them. How this all plays out in this chronicle could surprise some readers, although I long ago learned not to be surprised by any of Esther's adventures.

A lot of this novel takes place at the modest castle Esther inherited from a distant relative in the first chronicle I recorded. It's never played a major role in previous chronicles, so it's fitting that it does in the last. The reader can imagine Esther and Bastiann enjoying their well-deserved retirement split between London and Scotland.

As is often the case, I was not present at most of the events described below. I had to organize the information received from the particulars and freely add to it when concerns of confidentiality made it necessary to use a bit of literary license. I also omitted certain parts of the chronicle that seemed to slow the tale down.

But why is this the last chronicle of Esther's adventures? Let me make a confession: I'm also in retirement mode. I have left my position as chief of the Yard's Art and Antiques Division and will now cease to write Esther's chronicles. Perhaps Esther or Bastiann will have the energy to describe any further adventures they might have, but they probably will want to enjoy their retirement as much as I do!

George Langston

London, England

Prologue

The lower end of the Thames Valley wasn't one Russian's most favorite spot in England; it was more rustic than the city and far less vibrant and exciting. While the second Russian would probably agree with that last perception, he'd probably add that a man just needed peace and quiet sometimes to put his thoughts in order.

He found a seat in the grass on the bank of the river next to the first, and both watched the canoes, kayaks, sculls, and other boats float by. After a few moments of that, he glanced up at the pale blue sky that was unusual for that time of year. Its citizens, the clouds, scudding across the great blue dome in their leisurely pace demanded by the day, were like those white-haired Oxford dons found farther up the river at their lecterns, hovering above their students, looking down on them, and putting fear in those so ill-prepared that they would be tested, in this case with some rain.

A quiet pastoral English scene, don't you think? the second Russian said.

Perhaps an incongruous calm, considering these troubled years, the first Russian said. Even here. My colleague heard on a police channel that a man was murdered not far from here. He turned to his companion. You're in danger here, Alexei, from both MI5 and SVR agents.

The man called Alexei laughed but then sighed, weariness evident in that sigh. The first are watching me to gather information about my friends and determine my intentions. The second are trying to decide the best way to kill me. You've had an easier time of it, Volodya.

Which is why my advice remains the same: You must lie low and get a new life. With patience and perseverance, you can become an international force in the business world in ten-years time. You don't need Russia to accomplish that. You must morph from a man without a country into one who needs no country, only himself.

In other words, following your example?

I've survived, and I've enjoyed some revenge as well. But you could also follow Yuri's example. He didn't aspire to much, and he's still had a comfortable life here.

I owe him, you, and others, but times differ now from when he went into exile.

Indeed. The man called Volodya, short for Vladimir just like Andy was short for Andrew, stood, so Alexei followed suit. Think about it. Whatever you decide, I can help, no matter where I might roam. as I always do for anyone who will join me in my revenge campaign against Putin and the others.

Putin and the other oligarchs would always be the two Russians main topic of conversation. The second one knew the first had suffered through a similar childhood as Putin. As a boy in St. Petersburg, a rat had once cornered Putin, and he'd never wanted to be in that situation again, whether from NATO powers or from other powerful actors or dissidents within the Rodina. But the Russian dictator had turned himself into that rat, and there were now many exterminators who wanted to kill that evil little man in Moscow. Some, like the first Russian, were willing to eradicate the lesser rats who protected or collaborated with the king rat first. The second was happy that he no longer among those lesser rats. No, he still feared the West more for the moment, so the first Russian was a welcome ally.

The two men of similar stature and bearing, not all that different in appearance compared to that madman of Moscow, the first Russian dressed more casually than the second but both comfortable in their own skin, shook hands and then embraced. The first Russian watched the second leave, his fancy loafers making squishy sounds on the muddy path and his graying hair blowing in the wind.

***

As the two men went their separate ways, the young MI5 agent who'd been hiding behind an old stone wall thought, A new actor is now on the stage. Will HQ be interested? He'd snapped several pictures of the two meeting. He'd been following Alexei, but the agent had never seen the younger man before. He wondered who he was, but it wouldn't be his problem to identify him.

His orders constrained his actions: Follow the oligarch Alexei Sidorov. He had no idea how long he'd have do that surveillance before someone in HQ finally decided to impose further sanctions on Alexei or confiscate properties that the agent might discover he owned. That's what the bastard deserves! He spent more time on his damn yacht, though, so arresting him would be difficult, and what would be the charges? And he was only a small player compared to most of the oligarchs.

The agent removed the telephoto lens from his camera and packed both away in his tote. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he began the mile journey back to his hire-car. As he walked, he thought of the newcomer. How would HQ read that handshake? The younger man didn't have the look of an SVR agent. But what does an SVR agent look like? Putin didn't look like a KGB agent. Of course, that narcissistic little man with a Peter-the-Great complex had not been a lowly a major player in the USSR's spy business.

The agent remembered his training: Never stand out. Learn to be invisible. He hadn't heard that advice that long ago. He supposed that was the reason he had shite assignments. But didn't a camera bag make him stand out? A copper would immediately consider him a member of the press, for example. He was sure that neither man he'd photographed had spotted him, but, if the younger one was SVR, he might be in danger.

A frisson went down the spine of the young MI5 agent. Of the two, the younger man had looked more like a killer.

Chapter One

At Esther and Bastiann's Castle

Do you want me to help you into your jammies? Esther said to Bastiann, who had only managed to remove his shoes and socks.

No, Luv, I didn't drink that much. He'd only started to peel off his clothes, not an easy task because he'd gone to the function dressed formally in a tuxedo. I thought I might have been over the limit, though, so thank you for driving. Perhaps I mistakenly thought I could drown in the drink before saying something I might regret later to the barrister's sister.

They had attended a gala held by Edinburgh's mayor, although neither understood why they'd received an invitation, and the barrister, who had transferred ownership of Angus MacDougall's castle to Esther, and his spinster sister had also been there. She'd pestered poor Bastiann most of the evening. He even had to dance with her!

She's infatuated with you, Luv.

Esther knew there was nothing carnal in that pursuit. The woman was more like a giddy teenaged fan of some rock star. Rather than say that, which was something which could inflate his ego, she said, I believe she identifies you with Hercule Poirot.

Number one, he was Belgian, not Dutch; and number two, she's thinking of David Suchet, not Poirot.

Pish-tosh, dear Bastiann. Okay, maybe to her, you're more like Alf or Mork, an extraterrestrial being who's graced Scotland with his presence. She's probably never seen a non-Celt before meeting you. She basks in your foreign aura.

I'd prefer that she'd be a fan of Sir Elton John.

You're forgetting that wonderful old Rocket Man is gay. And she might not even know who he is. Perhaps I should distract her by introducing her to Freddie March. A real duke might outclass you in her mind's eye.

Freddie doesn't need that problem added to his other ones.

They had stopped at Freddie's luxurious castle on their way to their modest one. Henrietta, his duchess, was battling dementia, so he had to take more time away from his duties in the Home Office. George Langston's estate agent was still scouting out a new residence for Esther and Bastiann in London, although neither Esther nor Bastiann were all that keen on living in the capital right now after their flat had been bombed by a domestic terrorist, compromising the building and requiring it to be razed to the ground.

I've scheduled a jolly good distraction that will help us get beyond those recent nasty events we've lived through.

And beyond my bad experience with the barrister's sister. He felt his jammies' bottoms didn't set right on him but then realized they were on backwards. After reversing them, he eyed his wife with suspicion. What might this 'jolly good distraction' be? He formed air quotes with his two index fingers.

She smiled. I signed us up to work on an archaeological excavation. Declan O'Hara gave me the idea, talking about some dig in Inishmore. While he blathered on and on about St. Brendan, I was remembering rooting around in those ruins in Ephesus. The university is sponsoring one now.

Searching those Turkish ruins had come towards the end of her quest to find the tomb of St. John the Divine or to prove the Renaissance painter Botticelli had never gone there. She and Bastiann had nearly lost their lives in that adventure. A dear Turkish police detective had died, though. Esther was still battling the Vatican's bureaucracy, trying to get them to finance an expedition to Ephesus to confirm her claims.

We're not young college students who need low-wage jobs to make some spending money for the next term.

Agreed, but they're usually paid nothing beyond free meals and possibly boarding because they're the students of the professor in charge of the dig.

"Ah, there's that word you so cleverly avoided, 'dig.' Two elderly people should never sign up for back-breaking work. Are you out of your mind? And here I