The Dali Deception

by Adam Maxwell

  Before the door was even half way open the guard was by her side, ushering her through and carefully ensuring it was fully closed behind her.

  “Wow this place is...” Zoe pretended to look around in wonder, taking in the lack of alternate escape routes and three more internal security cameras.

  “I know, it takes a little getting used to.” The guard smiled and gestured to a small leather sofa over by a potted plant away from his desk. “Would you like to take a seat? I’ll call down and let them know you’re here.”

  “I don’t suppose…” Zoe bit her thumb and gave the guard big eyes over the top of the glasses. “Is there a toilet I could use?”

  “I’m not really–” the guard began.

  “I’ve just been on the bus so long.” Zoe gave the guard a couple of slow blinks.

  The guard glanced at the locked door and almost empty car park. “Can’t do any harm, can it?” he said. “Follow me.”

  He walked towards the wooden door and Zoe followed. The guard reached down and grabbed a security card on a retracting cord and swiped it on a card reader by the door. A little light went green and he opened the door to a stark utility corridor which led to two further rooms.

  “I’ll have to stay out here,” he said, gesturing to his desk. “It’s the second on your left there.”

  Zoe thanked him and he closed the door to reception. Surveying the small corridor, she was certain there were no cameras back here; she moved quickly down to the second door. It was, indeed, a small toilet with a washbasin and paper towels. Nothing very exciting. Ducking into the other room only revealed a kitchenette. There were a couple of cupboards, a kettle, a sink and – bingo! Behind the door was a junction box. Zoe pulled a cable out of one pocket and a device smaller than a thumb from another pocket. She plugged the cable into the device and then into the network junction box.

  Tucking the device in amongst a cluster of other wires, Zoe pulled a cable tie from her jacket pocket to secure it then ducked out of the kitchen and into the toilet. She burst through the door but, as she turned her head, there was someone watching her. A woman – she must have been watching the whole time and...

  Zoe looked at the woman again. Blonde hair. Glasses.

  It was her own reflection.

  She stared at the unfamiliar person staring back at her and resisted the urge to splash water on her face, knowing that it would destroy the layers of carefully-applied make-up.

  On with the show, she thought, and flushed the toilet. Ran the tap into the sink for a moment and then headed for the door back into the foyer. Reaching the connecting door Zoe pulled at the handle. Locked. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she knocked firmly on the door. A moment later the smiling security guard opened it and led her back into the light.

  As she walked out she noted more closely the layout of the guard’s desk, the computer’s base unit underneath, the two monitors each divided into four squares with alternating footage from... well, it didn’t matter right now. As long as the camera in her glasses could see, she would be able to piece together the details once she was out of this place.

  “I took the liberty of calling Miss Lester,” said the security guard. “She’ll be up in a–”

  There was a bong noise as the lift signalled its arrival. The woman inside was middle aged with a severe perm perched above a face so made up it made Zoe look positively naturalistic. She wore a trouser-suit and a harassed look on her face and kept stabbing at her mobile phone. She made a frustrated growl and shoved the device in her pocket.

  “Are you Miss... er...?” Miss Lester said. “I was trying to check on my phone but I can’t get a damned signal in this place.”

  “Call me Sally,” said Zoe and held out her hand to shake.

  Miss Lester looked at it as if it were a dead cat. “You can call me Miss Lester,” she said sharply. “Get in the lift, let’s get this over with.”

  Zoe stepped inside the lift. The interior was mirrored and, once again, there was a security camera in the corner, this time housed in a spherical protector. Miss Lester reached over and jabbed the button on the lift marked ‘−1’.

  The lift’s lights blinked and it began slowly to descend.

  Chapter 23

  Lucas pulled the car Barry had given him up to the curb and cut the engine, glancing at the tube on the passenger seat. With everything that was going on with the crew, in the crew, he still hadn’t made the time to dismantle the office from his last job. The job Violet had helped him with. He tried not to think about it. The X-ray payday was a tiny fraction of what this job was worth so he would get to that when he had time, but it kept bubbling to the surface. He wasn’t happy.

  Another member of the crew potentially meant another share that had to be paid which, in turn, meant less money for him. After that bloody giant woman had embarrassed him in front of everyone he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. And yet, Violet had handed the tube containing the canvases to him. She had given him a special assignment, so he might be prepared to give this interloper the benefit of the doubt.

  Barry seemed alright. Reliable, a manly man’s man. And Zoe, she was off the scale clever. But this Katie. Katie who didn’t speak.

  Didn’t speak, he wondered? Or couldn’t speak?

  What was the point of her being part of the crew?

  But Violet had asked him to go back to see his forger contact, to deliver the canvases. So here he was once again at Damien’s studio.

  “Come in, brother,” Damien said, opening the door

  The smell of weed wafted out and Lucas glanced over his shoulder to the outside world, looking to see who might notice. Damien couldn’t give a shit, Lucas knew that. In fact, as he stepped inside and quickly closed the door, he realised that Damien had answered the door with a spliff in his hand.

  “So you didn’t bring the bitch with you this time then?” Damien dumped himself on a sofa in front of a large, flat screen television. The sound was turned off and a movie was playing that Lucas recognised but couldn’t remember the name of.

  “No, I–” Lucas began to reply.

  “You look stressed, man,” Damien interrupted. “Have a seat.” He shoved the joint into his mouth, grabbed a lighter and puffed it back to light. “Have a smoke.”

  Taking a long pull on the joint, Damien closed his eyes for a second then offered it to Lucas, who shook his head. Damien was holding his breath, holding the potent smoke in his lungs, and held the spliff between his thumb and forefinger, waving it at Lucas.

  “Fuck it,” said Lucas and plucked it from Damien’s grasp. Putting it to his lips he took a tiny toke, not sure whether the thing would knock him on his arse. “Cheers,” he said, letting the smoke waft out as he spoke.

  “No worries,” said Damien in a rasp, his exhale practically filling the room with smoke. “She got the canvas then?”

  “Yeah.” Lucas took a longer drag this time then passed the joint back to Damien.

  “Where’d she get them from?” asked Damien.

  Lucas shrugged, still holding the smoke back, but it caught and he started coughing, hacking away.

  “Amateur,” Damien grinned. “This shit’ll put hairs on your chest, you pussy.”

  “Arsehole,” Lucas retorted.

  “Shitbag,” Damien laughed.

  “Cock womble.” Lucas shook his head, a smile beginning to invade his face.

  “Cock womble?” said Damien. “What the fuck are you talking about? Is that even a thing?”

  “It is now,” said Lucas and threw the courier tube over to Damien. It bounced to rest on the cushion of the sofa next to him.

  “So this is you now then, is it?” Damien squinted, concentrating on the silent screen of the television. “You’re just going to be that bitch’s bitch from now on are you? I remember when Lucas Vaughan was his own man...” He took another pull on the joint and handed it back to Lucas.

  Lucas took a drag. The smoke was hot but it didn’t feel like he needed to coug
h this time. He could feel his eyelids getting that heavy, stoned feeling already. This was some strong shit.

  “I’m a man, man.” Lucas caught himself not making sense and decided to take another pass at that sentence. “I am a man. My own man.” That was it, he nailed it second time around. “This is just a... what’s the word?”

  Damien shrugged.

  “Well,” said Lucas, getting back on track. “Point is, she thinks she’s in charge. She is in charge. But when the time comes and we’ve got the real painting things might change, mightn’t they?”

  Damien slapped his legs and jumped into the air making whooping noises. Lucas squinted at him and offered the joint. Somehow he’d let it go out. Had he had it that long? He didn’t think so.

  “So dark horse Lucas joins the team,” Damien giggled, tiptoeing around the room. “He pulls the job and then...”

  “That’s the plan,” said Lucas, running his fingers through his hair and leaning way back in the chair. “Just wait until we’ve got the painting and then–”

  “Then whip it out from under her nosey-nose!” Damien’s hysteria seemed to be subsiding slightly. “Well, it’s good to see you’re branching out, brother. Probably just as well, the cats she’s got on her tail.”

  Lucas was dimly aware of the conversation getting away from him, but this was something important. He tried to shake the fog from his head but just ended up shaking his head. “On her tail?” he managed. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been in business a long time now, am I right?” Damien pressed a button on a nearby remote control and the television went dark.

  Lucas nodded, slightly worried about the serious tone Damien was taking. They had been in business together for a long time. Since Lucas’ first jobs he’d used Damien’s skills to produce all kinds of forgeries, but also he was a man who knew people. A man to whom people told things.

  Damien held up his index finger. “Percy Parker,” he said. “You know him?”

  “The fence?” Lucas asked, the adrenaline starting to create an equilibrium in his system. “Yeah, I was gonna talk to him about shifting the painting once I...” Lucas shifted uneasily in his seat. “Haven’t seen him in a while though. He’s still around?”

  “Around and very interested in your boss’s return to Kilchester.” With extreme effort Lucas pulled himself up from the cushions that were now engulfing him and leaned forward as Damien continued. “Seems that he has unfinished business with Lady Violet. Wanted to know the moment she turned up.”

  Lucas rested his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees.

  “Is he still independent?” asked Lucas.

  “Yes and no,” replied Damien. “I branched out into passports, driving licenses, that sort of thing. We stay independent on that but his day job these days...” Damien held up a second finger. “He works for Big Terry.”

  “Big Terry?”

  “Big. Terry.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Fuck indeed,” said Damien, looking at the burnt out roach of the joint left in his hand. “Takes some balls to work with that crazy little bastard.”

  “And Percy wanted to know she was back?” asked Lucas.

  “The very second her pretty little face peeped back into our city,” replied Damien. “Ask around, he’s been... eager, shall we say?”

  “And you think Big Terry’s interested?”

  Damien shrugged. “Not sure. But if he isn’t now, how long before he is?”

  “Well, you could say the same thing about your little passport sideline, couldn’t you?” Lucas added, before realising he sounded a bit petulant and trying to paste a smile on his face.

  “It is what it is,” said Damien. “Make hay while the sun shines then when the tractor comes...”

  “Give him the fucking money?”

  “Yeah,” Damien sighed. “Something like that.”

  “I want you to do two forgeries. Not just one,” Lucas said.

  “She get enough canvas?”

  Lucas nodded.

  “Tell her I fucked one of them up? That sort of thing?” Damien asked.

  Lucas nodded again. “Something like that. That’s why she got more canvas. In case you make a mistake.”

  Damien’s mouth twisted into a snarl but Lucas interrupted before he could respond. “You want more money? For the second one?”

  Damien scratched at his stubble as he thought.

  “Nah,” he said eventually. “We go way back. Besides, when she was – erm – rude to me I doubled my price so we’re all good.”

  Damien pulled some more rolling papers out of his pocket.

  “So how long before you’ll have our Dali fakes sorted then?” asked Lucas. He stood up slowly, but his head still believed that it was too fast, and promptly made him feel dizzy and nauseous.

  “Well, that depends,” said Damien. “The money–”

  “Is in the bag.”

  “Paint will be touch dry in three days,” said Damien. “Wouldn’t recommend moving it before then.”

  Lucas nodded.

  “And did you get me a copy of the original?” Damien stretched, rolling his shoulders backwards and causing them to make a pop sound. “Because, you don’t get this sort of picture on prints in the gift shop.”

  “We’re on the case,” said Lucas. “I’ll email it over to you later today. One of the crew is casing the place as we speak.”

  “I’d love to see that slag’s face when you leave her standing,” said Damien. “All the work, all the planning, all up in smoke when Mister Lucas Vaughan waltzes off with the prize.”

  Lucas winced and took a deep breath. “Alright, man, you’ve got to keep quiet about this.”

  Damien put his finger over his lips then gestured to the blank passports spread over one of the coffee tables.

  “We both need to keep quiet about something, eh?” Damien said.

  Lucas nodded. “Right, I’ve got to go. I’ll email you later. And Damien...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for the head’s up, man, I appreciate it.”

  “All part of the service for my friends.”

  Chapter 24

  Inside the lift, Zoe was trying to run through the things Lucas had told her about blending in. Unfortunately she kept getting it confused with things she had read in books or seen in movies. Was she supposed to make conversation or not make conversation? Be memorable or forgettable? Those parts of the plan were a bit of a blur, but the parts she’d worked on herself, those things were almost instinctive.

  Get inside the foyer? Check.

  Piggyback on the security system? Check.

  Find a way to get underground and to the front door of the flat while remaining undiscovered by the other residents? Well, she was in a metal box which was the only means of getting in or getting out so she supposed that counted.

  “Does the lift take long?” Zoe decided to venture. She caught a glimpse of the beginnings of a disdainful look manifesting itself in the corners of Miss Lester’s eyes.

  “Too long,” Miss Lester replied. She took her phone from her pocket once again. “And nothing works down here.” She prodded at it a couple more times. “And I have work I should be doing instead of–”

  “I really appreciate you taking the time to let me look at Mr Glass’s collection.” Zoe tried sounding sincere. She wasn’t sure if it worked as she didn’t have a great deal of practice.

  Miss Lester allowed the rest of the suppressed hatred to spread across her face.

  Zoe knew she had to try a different tack, so jumped in with the one thing she knew better than anything else. Technology.

  “I’m pretty good with phones,” she said, pasting a big, dumb smile on her face. “I can probably get it working for you. If you like.”

  Miss Lester eyed her suspiciously, then it was as if someone had flicked a switch on her back and the fight went out of her. “Bugger it,” she said, handing the phone to Zoe. “If you can get this thing working the
n I’ll give you an extra five minutes with the painting.”

  “Oh, erm–” Zoe paused, showing Miss Lester the screen. “I need the PIN number.”

  “Fifteen - oh - nine,” she replied.

  “Birthday?” asked Zoe.

  Miss Lester nodded.

  “Mine too,” Zoe lied. Once she was inside the phone, Zoe tapped to the settings and began to give herself access to all sorts of interesting titbits. “I don’t suppose Mr Glass gave you the password for the network?” she continued, partially so that Miss Lester would feel involved, but mostly to try and save her the task of hacking the network from last year’s phone model.

  “Oh yes,” Miss Lester said. “There’s an email with it in but I tried it. It doesn’t work.”

  “Would you be able to find the email for me?” asked Zoe.

  Miss Lester took the phone from her and flipped around for a while, sighing and huffing. After about thirty seconds she handed the phone back. Zoe grabbed the password and went about reconfiguring the phone to work off the back of the building’s built-in wireless network. Another thirty seconds and the phone was back in Miss Lester’s hand and chiming repeatedly to signify new messages, new emails, new voicemails.

  “Well done, that girl,” said Miss Lester, beaming from ear to ear. “What was the matter with it?”

  “Oh, the settings were wrong,” Zoe shrugged. The settings were right, now. Miss Lester could go about her business. And the tablet that Zoe had concealed about her person was also given a lovely little back door to the phone and the network. It was more than she could have hoped for.

  At last the lift shuddered to a halt, shaking the mirrored walls and creating an odd funhouse feel to the proceedings. Nothing else happened. Zoe turned to Miss Lester, unsure of how to proceed.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Miss Lester said. “The doors will open in a—”

  They slid open to reveal a brightly lit hallway with a deep, plush carpet that Zoe could feel even through her shoes the moment she stepped on it. It was bright down there. In fact, given the state of the British weather it was brighter down under the ground than it was up in the foyer with the security guard. Zoe turned her attention to the walls, trying to locate the source of the light.