Zelda didn’t know what to make of Gabriella when she first met her. It was obvious the girl was talented, but she was so distant that Zelda didn’t think they would get along, yet time had proven her wrong. Once she’d broken through Gabriella’s icy reserve, Zelda discovered that the twenty-four-year-old was an incredibly warm and generous person, which made it impossible for her to complain about Gabriella’s night owl behavior. She knew from her own experience what a wonderful feeling it was when creativity flowed through her veins. It was only too bad her neighbor’s happened mostly at night. The fact she also often had friends over didn’t help matters.
Jacob was less enamored with Gabriella’s odd hours and the constant stream of visitors. Just thinking about her boyfriend soured Zelda’s thoughts. His opinion about their living space was of minor importance. He was in Germany most of the time anyway and only returned home every other weekend.
When Jacob told her he had finally found a full-time research position, she was thrilled even after she found out it was at an ethnographic museum in Cologne and for a year. It was an impressive institution with a long history and varied collection, and Zelda was pleased for him. He had been looking for work for months but hadn’t made it past the first round of interviews. There was a glut of qualified researchers all fighting for a tiny number of available positions in the Netherlands. She knew he had recently begun looking and applying for jobs in Germany, Belgium, and France, so his news shouldn’t have come as a shock.
She couldn’t help being upset that he had said yes before telling her about it. Cologne was a three-hour train ride away, meaning they would effectively be living apart for a year. They had only been dating for sixteen months, and, at first, Zelda didn’t know what the distance would do to their relationship, which made Jacob’s proposal to move in together even more confusing. There was no reason for him to rent another apartment if he was going to be in Amsterdam only for a few days a month, he reasoned. Zelda agreed wholeheartedly, especially when he offered to help pay part of the rent. The studio she was now residing in was more expensive than she’d planned.
She had been on the hunt for a new place for months and told anyone who would listen that she was looking. When a fellow student’s sister won a grant to study in Indonesia, he asked Zelda if she would be interested in subletting her studio for a year. She had jumped at the chance, sight unseen.
Because Jacob was so rarely home, Zelda didn’t think he had the right to criticize her neighbor’s lifestyle, and she refused to look for another place to live. Neither the chemicals, noises, nor Jacob’s disapproval would drive her away. She felt lucky to have found it even if it was only for a year. There was something quite exhilarating about living in an artist’s colony.
Her new neighborhood, de Baarsjes, was quiet though petty theft was a problem. An intercom system in her building kept most of the riffraff out. The imposing five-story, red-brick structure was originally built as a trade school. The lower floors were transformed into office spaces for cultural start-ups, and the top floor was converted into studios where artists were welcome to live and create. The woman Zelda was renting from built a small loft in one corner for her twin bed and dresser, reachable with a wooden ladder. Underneath was a tiny kitchen, toilet, and shower. The rest of the space she used as her studio.
The best feature of her new home was the creative vibe. It was almost palpable. Since moving in, Zelda had even taken up working with stained glass again. When she worked at Microsoft, cutting glass and soldering it into colorful objects was her relaxation therapy after long days of staring at the computer screen. The calm, meditative effect of carefully executing steps and following patterns was refreshing after dealing with the chaos of multimedia development, project team meetings, and the like. She was so glad she had given up her old profession to come and study art history here in Amsterdam. Despite some of the more hair-raising moments, her quality of life had improved dramatically since.
When Gabriella saw one of Zelda’s abstract windows, she asked to borrow it, claiming it inspired her. Considering how talented she was, Zelda consented without question. A week later, Gabriella returned it. The subtle shading and soft forms she’d added to Zelda’s hard edges elevated the window’s beauty. It almost looked like a woman in a long dress was reaching up to a glowing sun instead of a random mishmash of shapes and colors. Since then, they’d collaborated on four more pieces. Gabriella had even asked if they could create a few to sell in her next gallery show. Zelda attended her last opening and was impressed by how expensive her paintings were and how many had already sold. She was so flattered by Gabriella’s suggestion that she immediately began drawing up a series of ten new windows, all abstract yet complementary to each other in shape and style, which made her sleepless nights her—not Gabriella’s—problem.
No one else on my floor complained about the noise, so why should I, Zelda thought. She’d even told Jacob that the last time he grumbled about it. Last night, he would have blown a fuse if he’d been here. Gabriella was up partying with friends until four in the morning. The way they were drinking and joking around meant they were clearly celebrating something big. All Zelda could understand clearly was Tahiti. The rest was a drunken jumble.
Zelda was a bit miffed that she had not been invited to the party, but Gabriella knew that she had to get up early for work. She wondered if the party was because her neighbor had scored an international fellowship. It seemed to be the strive for most of the artists in the building. Before she could think up other options, her alarm clock began beeping again. She slowly rose out of bed and shuffled to the shower, hoping the warm water would help wake her up faster. She would need her wits about her at work. She loved her current job at the Amstel Modern, but the mounting pressure of the upcoming exhibition was too much for some of her coworkers who became irritated with the slightest problem or delay. It took all of her energy to remain cheery and not snap back.
Only five more workdays until the official opening then everything will be back to normal, she told herself, then stepped into the soft spray.
7 Time to Get Robbing
August 17, 2018
“Hello, Ivan. How is your assignment working out? All is going well, I hope?” Luka Antic asked. He despised the pleading tone in his voice, but he had been anxiously awaiting this call from Ivan Novak. The future of his deal with Kadir Tekin depended on the art dealer’s answer. If Ivan couldn’t do what he’d asked, Luka would be forced to find another project manager for this job, and right now, he couldn’t think of anyone more qualified to complete the tasks he’d laid out faster than Ivan could.
There was so much riding on this job. Without the artwork, Kadir wouldn’t work with him. He had already presold most of the hundred kilos he had ordered. The men he had made promises to were not the sort you wanted to disappoint. The clock was ticking, and it was time to get robbing.
Ivan cleared his throat, breaking Luka’s train of thought. “Yes, I’ve finished my tasks. The locations and contact information your teams will need are in your email. I’ve grouped the thefts geographically. I figure you’ll need three teams to be the most efficient. You will also find the appraisals I used to estimate the works’ value. No doubt your client will require that.”
Luka walked to his desktop computer and opened his inbox. Ivan’s list included several locations he’d never heard of, but the artwork was exactly what he was looking for. Relief washed over him. Despite the extra challenges inherent to working with Ivan, the art dealer was definitely the right man for the job.
“My team will expect to be contacted via SMS when a delivery is imminent. They will be on call for the next three weeks. The order of locations is up to you.”
Luka examined the map of the Netherlands Ivan had sent him. Red, yellow, and blue circles were around seventeen cities. It took a moment for the art dealer’s words to register.
“Three weeks? You have five to complete this assignment. Why rush things?”
�
��I have a plan.” Ivan’s voice remained calm.
Luka could feel his blood starting to boil. “What do you mean you have a plan? I told you what the plan was already. Have you changed something without consulting me?”
“No, just adjusted the timing.”
“Why?”
Ivan’s voice remained neutral. “Two reasons. Firstly, your client’s wish list is quite specific. If anything goes wrong with one of the heists, I’ll have time to locate a suitable alternative. Secondly, the number of pieces you require means this assignment will bring a substantial amount of attention to your teams and my associates. Whether it happens in three weeks or five, the fact is, the longer we wait to finish the job, the greater the chance security will be improved—at least temporarily—and possibly thwart our effects.”
Luka knew he was right. Most art crimes happened under the radar, and the victimized museums usually refused to release information to the media because they didn’t want the general public to know they’d been robbed or how. This time, the museums involved wouldn’t be able to hide so many thefts from the media. And if the institutions on Ivan’s list increased their security, his teams may not be able to complete their assignments on time. And that was the last thing Luka wanted to happen.
“The police will be expecting someone to claim the robberies and demand a ransom,” Ivan explained. “If no organization claims the thefts, the police will probably assume criminal organizations are somehow involved. We don’t want special teams of investigators on our tail before we have a chance to finish the job. I have thought up a way to divert the attention of the police, media, and the general public. It is of crucial importance that the Robber Hood cards get delivered—no matter how ridiculous you think they are.” Ivan’s tone made clear there was no room for questioning.
Fear gripped Luka. He didn’t like conditions of any kind. “Robber Hood cards? What is this nonsense?”
“I have mailed you a package, which you should receive later today. Once you do, my plan will become crystal clear. Inside, you will find seventeen cards labeled with sticky notes indicating where each should be delivered. It is imperative they are left behind at every robbery.”
Luka bit his tongue. He hated that the dealer had thought out the police’s response better than he had. Stealing so many pieces in such a short amount of time was new territory for him. He was used to pilfering artwork, forging it, and then finding a suitable buyer for both the real painting and the copy a few months later. His team of forgers and art dealers worked like a well-oiled machine. But now he was stealing a specific list of work for his buyer. The reversal in order was making him nervous and edgy. It also made him completely reliant on the art dealer—at least until this job was complete. Luka hated to be dependent on anyone.
“Okay, I’ll do as you ask.” Luka hung up as soon as the words were out of his mouth. That simple gesture lessened his feeling of being emasculated, ever so slightly.
8 Late Night Visit to Museum Friesland
August 21, 2018
Tomislav and Sebastijan had plenty of time to get to know each other and discuss their preferred work methods during the long drive through Southern and Central Europe. Tomislav always found it important to discuss such things before working with someone knew. It saved time, and sometimes lives, knowing how his teammate thought.
The two thieves had arrived in Drachten a day earlier. It gave them just enough time to make a quick visit to their first target and buy the supplies they needed to get the job done.
Before they left Split, Luka Antic called a meeting of six thieves in his employ. He divided them into teams of two then gave Tomislav and his partner a map with six locations in the Northern Netherlands and a list of specific targets displayed in each. Luka didn’t need to remind them not to deviate from it. They knew how important it was to follow his instructions implicitly, that their futures within the organization depended on it, which made not reacting to the extra instructions even more difficult. Luka had also given each team an envelope full of cards, one of which was to be left behind at each location they robbed. Tomislav accepted the envelope without a word, making sure his face remained neutral as he read through the strange set of instructions. Team Will? Robber Hood? He didn’t know what Luka was playing at, but he wasn’t paid to think.
Another worrying aspect of this job was the breadth. Luka only made each of the teams aware of the other’s presence because this ‘project’—as Luka called it—had to be completed within a short period. If any of the teams needed an extra set of hands, they could request assistance by contacting Ivan, their team leader. Tomislav didn’t know what this Ivan’s last name was or what he did for a living, only that he was their contact on this job. After that initial meeting, it was the intention that the teams never contact each other directly.
But right now, none of that mattered. Ivan and Sebastijan were about to break into their first museum. He had to forget his nagging reservations and concentrate on getting tonight right.
They were able to conduct basic research about all six targets on the drive over. Per usual, they had free rein when deciding the order and timing. The internet, and in particular Google Maps, was a godsend. They could explore the landscape and terrain with the satellite view, allowing them to get a feel for the location.
Still, nothing beat walking around the grounds and through the hallways before embarking on a job. Only then could they see where the cameras were placed and pointed as well as the location of emergency exits and offices.
They chose Museum Friesland in Drachten as their first target because it sat in a large field that bordered a hundred-acre nature reserve. It seemed to be the easiest to break into. At least it did when they viewed the six museums’ locations on the internet.
When they visited, they realized that visitors had to follow a single-lane road, which wound its way through a patchwork of protected wetlands to reach the museum. There was not a tree in sight. High winds whipped through the long grass lining the many waterways draining the landscape, flattening it as it crossed the vast open fields. After the robbery, they would be sitting ducks.
Yet once they had a chance to walk some of the trails crisscrossing the fields and test the peaty soil’s density, they quickly realized a heavy-duty 4x4 truck would be more than capable of crossing the fields and could thus bypass the twists and turns any responding police cars would be forced to follow. With a well-placed second car, they could leave the 4x4 behind in a residential neighborhood and be heading in the other direction before the police could reach the museum.
Tomislav and Sebastijan had spent the morning getting their supplies together and stealing the proper vehicles. It was now one in the morning, and the two men stood outside the museum’s darkened entrance. The museum’s only security guard had left hours ago. They had slowly driven their 4x4 with the lights off over the unlit road, taking care not to drop into one of the many small channels funneling water off the peaty soil. Sebastijan parked as close to the museum’s entrance as he dared. They didn’t know how far the cameras could see into the parking lot or if a security guard was actually watching the video feed.
They stepped out of the truck, tool bags in hand, and walked quickly across the stone bridge leading to the main entrance. Moonlight reflected off a small pond in front of the museum, lighting up three swans floating in the water. Tomislav tensed up, expecting them to honk before remembering they were lifelike statues created to move with the wind.
Once they reached the main entrance, Tomislav was aware that the cameras now pointed at them. Both men pushed buttons on their watches, starting timers. They figured they had ten minutes to work undisturbed before they should leave the scene. It would take the police at least that long to reach the museum’s remote location, probably much longer, but in reality, they hoped to be out in five. Both men preferred to play it safe whenever possible.
Sebastijan quickly picked the lock then held it open for his partner-in-crime. Tomislav recall
ed that this first door brought them into a central space housing a small café and reading area that overlooked the small pool. On either side of the café were exhibition halls, one for the permanent collection and one for the temporary exhibitions. Sebastijan used the same method to enter the museum’s right wing. According to the introductory text, the exhibition showcased a successful businessman’s private collection of postwar and contemporary Dutch artwork.
Both thieves had already memorized their shopping list, but Tomislav pulled it out again. Before he cut the wire holding each piece to the wall, he double-checked the titles to ensure they grabbed the correct ones. He wasn’t an art lover and couldn’t tell the difference between a Robert Zandvliet, Piet Mondriaan, Leo Gestel, or Jan Schoonhoven let alone two pieces by the same artist. Once he’d freed the two sketches on his list, he helped Sebastijan pack them into the padded canvas bags they’d brought along.
According to his watch, they had been inside for almost six minutes. He’d wasted time by checking the names. For this job, it didn’t matter, but he would have to memorize the names of the paintings next time. The other locations weren’t nearly so remote.
They began to walk back to the front door when Tomislav stopped and spun on his heels, racing back to the exhibition hall they’d just plundered. He pulled out a Robber Hood card and set it in front of the spot the Zandvliet had been hanging in.
He sprinted back to Sebastijan, who glared at him with a questioning look on his face but didn’t say anything. The men raced to the 4x4 truck. Sebastijan started the engine while Tomislav secured the artwork in the back. As soon as his door closed, Sebastijan flipped on the floodlights and went off-road. They bounced their way across the fields, scaring many birds in the process. Tomislav turned on the radio scanner he’d picked up yesterday, listening in to the police’s response. Only after they’d crossed through the fields and reached their second vehicle did the first police car arrive at Museum Friesland.
Marked for Revenge Page 4