The word of the week for this first week in February in Tuesday Tales is stolen. What a great word it is. I’m still working on the 20th century historical. I have gone backward a few scenes this time as my mom has been in the hospital and I haven’t had a chance to write new words. Check out the other tales here.
Before Declan could even register that the truck had stopped moving, it started rumbling along again.
“Where are we and what are you doing in Poland?” Declan asked.
“Clearly you know where we are since you ask why I’m in Poland.”
“I mean, what part of Poland?”
“We’re almost to the Czechoslovakian border now.” The man smiled down at Declan. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“You know this person?” Yana asked.
“Yes. I do. The last time I saw him, I would have called him a colleague. Now, I’m not so sure since he’s holding us against our will.” Declan stood and assisted Yana to her feet.
“My dear sir, I am actually saving your lives. You should be grateful.” The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Roman Popov.”
“How do you figure you’re saving our lives? We were on a motorcycle well on our way out of Poland when you sent your men to chase us over rough terrain in order to take us to who knows where.”
“You were actually well on your way to being stopped by a roadblock.”
“What do you mean and if that were true, why would you risk your own clearly criminal act of stealing gold to come to the aid of two people who may have merely been out on a nice, innocent ride?”
“When one sees those people turn and run, all thoughts of believing in an innocent ride, as you call it, go right out of one’s head.” Popov laughed. “Besides, I could tell it was you from the moment I saw the cycle.”
“Really? How is that?” Yana asked. “We were far away.”
“I have a pair of binoculars. I was using them to scan the horizon.”
“So you could tell if anyone was on your trail to stop you from stealing this gold?” Declan moved to lean against the wall but remembered in time that it wasn’t a wall but a canvas covering. He stumbled a little as he regained his footing.
“What makes you think we’re stealing the gold? Why couldn’t I be taking it to a safe place for the Polish government?” Popov asked.
“Yes, Declan, why are you saying that now? You said before that you thought the very thing Mr. Popov is saying is what he’s doing.”
“That was before I knew it was him.”
“Am I as bad as all that, Cavanaugh?”
“Will one of you please tell me how you know each other?” Yana asked.
“We’re part of the same organization,” Declan said.
“Then why don’t you trust him? Why do you think this gold is stolen?”
“To come to Cavanaugh’s defense even though that’s against my better judgment in front of one so lovely as you, he’s got good reason to suspect me of such.”
“Are you a thief then?” The look of horror on Yana’s face almost made Declan laugh.
Popov bowed. “I used to be one of the most talented cat burglars in Europe. I gave it up when I was recruited for the current work.” He clapped Declan on the shoulder. “Can’t blame this one for thinking I’d returned to my old ways.”
“Where is the gold actually going? If we’re almost to Czechoslovakia, then clearly, the bars aren’t meant to stay in Poland.” Declan ran a hand though his hair as he suddenly remembered what else Popov said. “And what kind of roadblock?”
Popov turned to Yana. “Don’t you hate a man who can’t stay on one train of thought?”