by Ritter Ames
My interest? I'd been twelve and attending the opening with my grandfather. Bored with the speeches and toasts, I'd wandered off and found myself in front of the exhibit of the three, fascinated by the works. I fell madly in love with Juliana and wished with every fiber of my being I could be her. The painting revealed a woman in love, emphasizing her beauty, her love, her humor, her extraordinary light. The darkness portrayed in the other two paintings, one a woman of sadness and loss, and the other, a woman caught up in anger and revenge, provided a trio of women's emotions from the high to the low.
Enraptured by the paintings, I'd highly resented the intrusion when a young male voice asked me what I was doing there. He insisted I return to the main salon until the ribbon cutting that signaled the opening of the exhibit. Of course, I argued and told the tall young man to go away. As our voices rose, a security guard arrived and escorted us back to the salon, me dragging my feet and staring back at Juliana longingly. The boy triumphant and smirking.
The pictures must have disappeared immediately after we were removed from the hall by the guard. The obnoxious boy and I were the only ones at the opening to see the exhibit before it was stolen. A huge loss to the world of art.
Stolen paintings often never surface again for public viewing. Instead, they disappear into private collections, often for generations. While insurers compensate those affected by theft, they do nothing to restore the art to the rightful owners.
In that one night, all chance for anyone to enjoy the three masterpieces in their perfect state together disappeared as though the paintings never existed. Singular photos of the works never compared to the display I witnessed of the three all as one setting, in their true form. These priceless paintings, secreted in this hidden room of Tony B's office, were exactly as I remembered. Especially the Juliana. No childhood perspective had colored my memories. I wished my grandfather could be there. We discussed many times the ramifications of stolen art, and I'd tried so many times to explain to him the magic of that exhibit in the gallery setting—in their perfect showcase. My eyes grew damp. I ignored the tears and spoke, "If you read my article, then you know how I feel about stolen art."
"Of course I do," he returned softly. "I didn't steal this exhibit. I acquired it much later. However, you're missing the point. I didn't focus on that aspect of your article. I focused on the obvious passion you had for this trio of paintings. You must have been a child when you saw them, yet it made a lifelong impression on you. I knew after reading I had to let you see them again."
"I could report this to the authorities," I insisted.
He laughed. "You could. But one never knows when something bad is going to happen to a friend. I have many connections, Laurel. Also, if you did report to the authorities, I'd know and would simply remove the paintings. In fact, I may have them destroyed if the pressure is strong enough."
I closed my eyes against the certainty in his voice. I wouldn't risk the paintings, and he knew it.
"Would you like to remain in this room for a few more minutes?"
I nodded. He brought over a chair and left the room. I heard the door lock behind him.
CHAPTER NINE
As much as I wanted to steal the paintings or just stand and bask in their beauty, I knew I needed to get out of there. I couldn't trust Tony B to let me go. Between his veiled remark about the snuffbox and this revelation, I knew about murder and theft on a grand scale. And even with the Danger Twins in custody, Tony B's lawyers would have a difficult time disassociating their client from my allegations.
The room had been carefully constructed to maintain proper temperature and humidity. There were no other doors or windows, so tunneling through the air-conditioning system seemed my only option. The air vent was on the far wall and up near the ceiling. I made a few mental calculations, then from my Fendi-full-of-goodies, I extracted a small flathead screwdriver and scooted a nearby ugly brown chair a bit closer to the potential escape route. A few quick turns of each screw and I could see inside.
The space would be tight but worked in my favor, since I didn't think any of Tony B's muscle team could follow. However, while I needed to reach the vent, I didn't want them figuring out right away how I escaped. Necessitating precautions. I moved the heavy chair back to its original place. I would balance on the upholstered arms to reach the vent. At least that was the plan. Balance would be key, but the chair was heavy, probably to hold the big guys who used this room, and likely offered enough counterbalance for my purpose.
Although it took precious minutes, I took a few additional precautions. I put the loose screws back into their holes in the vent cover and pulled a strip of super adhesive squares from my purse. These were the adhesives I used in my extracurricular activities when I needed to affix motion sensors to tip me about prospective hazards. I hoped the strong squares would help camouflage me from the real and present danger I knew would come soon.
Each adhesive was placed on the vent side of the frame, at each point of a screw. Not just to hold the now cockeyed screws in place to hide the holes, but also to hopefully act as a temporary way to attach the frame back over my escape hatch. Thinking about that phrase made me wonder about the packet Nico had given me some hours ago and how he'd used those same two words. There was no time to investigate, but hopefully he'd have the opportunity to brief me on it later, as promised.
I slid the frame into the vent, back side up as it lay on the tunnel floor, and pushed back enough to give myself a landing zone at the entrance to the opening. The strap of the Fendi went around my neck, leaving my hands free, so the bag would not hinder me as I crawled through the aluminum maze. It took more effort than I'd planned to balance on the chair arm, and the purse did threaten my center of gravity. I took a few deep breaths. This was no more tricky than some of the jobs I'd successfully accomplished and much less risky than most. In those cases, however, I'd only faced being unmasked for my efforts and called a criminal instead of a "reclamation angel." In the present circumstances, I likely risked losing my life. I knew too much, and even if I didn't yet understand exactly what I knew, Tony B knew that I knew it, which made all the difference. He could lie about replacing my phone all he wanted, but I wasn't fooled. Someone killed Tina, and since he had the snuffbox, I had to assume Tony B had blood on his hands in a significant way.
Worst of all, I had to accomplish the feat without making any noise. One clunk, a single thump, and I could have My Favorite Thugs barreling through the door.
I mentally calculated height and trajectory from my tentative stance on the chair arm. I steadied myself and mentally prepped for the leap and swing toward my only possible exit to freedom.
At the last minute, I stopped and slid off my heels. I risked cutting my foot on the exposed metal rim, but barefoot and able to grab with my toes seemed worth the gamble. The stilettos went into the Fendi, the heels not quite making full clearance.
I knew I'd taken too long when I heard laughter emanate through the wall from the other side of the room. Time for action.
Leaning in, I grasped the framework as tightly as I could, then jumped from the chair, and swung my legs up and through. Made it. Now to hide the evidence. Since I was feet first and on my back, I had to move over the vent cover without being able to look at it. A couple of the adhesives caught me, but overall things went well. I twisted carefully to keep my movements quiet.
Lock picks doubled as an extension of my fingers, helping me reach and lift the vent cover by running the picks through the skinny rows of vent openings. I used my versatile tools as a kind of handle device to guide the cover back. Then I used the picks to pull back on the cover and at the same time put as much pressure as I could against the adhesive to get it to again at least look in place on the wall.
Finishing with seconds to spare, I didn't have room enough to turn around, so I crawled backward into the tunnel. I checked over my shoulder to view my options. At the first intersection, I was able to adjust to crawl naturally. About the
same time, I heard the cursing from behind me. I moved a bit faster since distance was now at a greater premium than silence.
Near an office on the opposite side of the building, I found a stash of what appeared to be cocaine, and a loose vent cover. With a couple of kicks, I had the cover off, and I dropped into an area behind the desk. I started to grab the phone to call Nico, willing to take the risk a switchboard light somewhere would give Tony B my location, but a surprising thing happened. My Fendi started to hum.
When I pulled out the packet Nico gave to me earlier, I found a burner phone on one end. I ducked down behind the desk and answered.
"Where the hell are you?" Jack bellowed. "We found pieces of your phone behind the gallery, and Nico said I could reach you at this number."
"Shh," I whispered. "I'm in Tony Berintino's office building. I was kidnapped by two of his thugs and brought here. I'm going to try to make it to the roof and use the fire escape to get away. Get Nico to track my location from this line and meet me on the street under the fire escape."
"Okay, but be careful. The wind has really whipped up. Are you sure you don't want us to send in the police?"
I thought about the snuffbox hidden in the Fendi and knew I needed to get away ASAP. Cops could take too long, especially with the kind of influence Tony B probably controlled. "No. No cops. If you aren't there when I get down, I'll run to the nearest busy public place I can find."
"Nico says we're two minutes from your location."
"Good. I'm heading for the roof now. Good-bye."
"Laurel!"
"What?" I whispered back.
"Just…oh, God…be bloody careful."
"This wasn't my fault, Jack."
"It never is."
I cut the line before either of us said any more. There wasn't time to waste. I slipped out of the office and into the hallway, ducking into recesses whenever I heard voices. I pulled a dental mirror I kept in my bag and used it to check around corners before I took the risk of moving. When I passed a fire extinguisher cabinet and alarm, I thought for a second about pulling the red bar. But doing so offered to give away my location without providing any additional insurance. I'd already told the guys not to send police. Having a team of firefighters storm the building meant the same risk. Tony B likely had the pull to get me arrested and walk out of this mess without a scratch.
Danger Twin number two almost caught me once, but I slipped into a supply closet he'd just searched, and that's where I struck gold. A diagram on the narrow wall showed I was a short jog away from the stairs to the roof. I slid back out of the door and used the dental mirror to watch both Danger Twins enter separate hallways and disappear from sight.
The door was six feet away. I ran, still barefoot, and twisted the lever to open the door. There was no sound as the door opened, and I slipped into the stairwell, but as I pushed against the door to hurry the hydraulic closer, a high-pitched squeal sounded.
I left it closing on its own and flew up the stairs, hearing my pursuers thunder down the hallway.
The weather was wicked as I broke through the exit to the roof. I felt like I'd entered a wind tunnel and had to lie against the door to get it latched again. A dozen steel rods lay discarded six feet away. I dove for one and shoved it under the doorknob of the roof access mere seconds before the thugs hit the heavy door. I bounced my weight on the bar one more time for luck. The knob wiggled in obvious anger but could not be turned.
I ignored the risk to my feet and did a quick jog around the perimeter, matching my pace to the pounding rhythms my enemies made trying to reach me. The fire escape was a no-go. Tony B called in reinforcements. A van sat just below the final drop. Worse, I saw another hood climb from the driver's seat with a long iron hook and watched him grapple the lower of the raised rungs to pull down the fire escape ladder.
"Jack! Nico!" I shouted in the cell phone, hoping one of them could hear me over the wind's roar. "I'm on the roof, and they've completely cut me off. I'll try to stop the guy coming up the fire escape, but I need you to get below to cut off the others if they circle back to the van."
"No, jump instead!" Jack yelled over the speaker. "I'll be on the south side."
"I can't jump a dozen stories!"
"Use the chute," Nico said.
"You packed me a chute?" I was touched.
"Of course he did," Jack said. "It's in that packet he gave you today. We each have one. You're no use to us crippled."
Okay, now things were back to normal. "Thanks, guys."
I again pulled the packet from my bag and hurried to the far end of the building. It was a mini-chute, fine for nice days but not for the current gale force. I didn't weigh enough for this wind shear. I'd be tossed around like a blond leaf.
My gaze returned to the pile of discarded rods. Heavy rods.
I pulled the snuffbox free of its silken wrapping, then returned it to the hidden pocket. The Hermes scarf went tight around my right pant leg at the ankle, and I tied a secure knot. Then I unbuttoned my slacks and shoved as many of the long steel pieces as I could down the leg. The scarf held everything. A splayed bungee cord skittered across the roof. I snatched it, used the line to tie the other pant leg, and repeated the process with the rods. Fastening the slacks again was a challenge, but I prayed the experiment held for the short-term.
Hook Man shouted as he cleared the roof's parapet. I dropped off the other side of the building.
Free falling can be both dangerous and exhilarating at the same time. When you're dropping between buildings in a heavy storm, the angry clouds turning everything as dark as evening despite the clock showing midday, common sense would tell anyone to be afraid. However, when you're seconds away from possible death or dismemberment, and jumping with a makeshift plan is the only option, the needle on the reality scale makes a definite slide to the exhilaration end of the spectrum.
I hung onto the metal rings that kept my small fluorescent yellow parachute steady as I dropped to the pavement. The wind pushed me far off target. Nonetheless, Jack had the car, this time a Mercedes sedan, beside me as my feet hit the asphalt. Nico's strong arms pushed me into the car's shotgun position, which was good since I could not bend my legs at the knee. He dove into the backseat. I reclined my seat back as far as possible and simultaneously slammed the door. We screeched through the next light before I'd barely taken a second breath. I looked over to the driver's side. The dash lights illuminated Jack's profile, showing an expression as stormy as the weather outside.
At that moment, I knew there were layers of Jack I might never learn.
I'd, of course, planned on leaving Miami with just Nico in tow, but after Jack aided in my rescue, there left little I could do to shake his shadow. Might as well show him my prize.
"I found something in Tony B's office," I said, extracting the snuffbox. "This look familiar?"
"Is that—" Jack cursed as he almost hit another car. "How? Is there anything inside?"
"Simon sent it to Tina," I answered as I shined my tiny flash onto the snuffbox and found it empty. "No, there's nothing inside."
"Your friend Tina who's—"
"Dead. Right."
"Who's dead?" Nico asked from the backseat. I gave him a quick synopsis. He whistled.
Jack dodged another truck, then asked, "So how did it get into Tony B's office?"
"I think you know the answer to that."
"You have no proof he killed her, right? Just supposition."
I shrugged and played the light over the maker's mark that appeared on the bottom of the object. "His goons broke my phone so I couldn't call for help, then transported me in the trunk of their car. A big black Mercedes, by the way. Can we please not use this brand of car for a while?"
"Your point is valid. We'll go with Audis or BMWs next time," Nico responded. "You see anything on the snuffbox?"
I passed the small treasure between the seats so he could have a look for himself. "Check out the marks and then stash it in your backpack so you
can check it out better when we get to London. Now though, take a moment to look closely at the marks. There's something wrong with them, but I'm not sure what."
He took my flashlight and within seconds said, "It's a fake. Created by a counterfeiter in Florence. Either Simon switched this one with the original, or Max's initial source on this piece is bogus."
Florence. Italy again. My original rendezvous to pick up the snuffbox was in Italy, and now this Florence connection after I'd found the missing article with Tony B. What did it mean? Well, I knew one thing for sure—we weren't going home to London until we made an exploratory detour to check out this new connection.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Jack asked.
"We are, if you're thinking that we'll find some answers with a side trip to Italy."
"That's exactly what I'm thinking."
As Nico zipped the snuffbox into his pack, I asked, "Can you get the three of us on the first flight to Florence?"
"Already on it," he said, activating his phone. "Destination the Aeroporto di Firenze-Peretola."
CHAPTER TEN
Airport restrooms were never my favorite places to change clothes, but at least they provided privacy and access to mirrors and water. The Fendi went onto the hook of the lavatory door as I regretfully removed the linen suit. The lovely outfit lasted less than a day in my care. Not that it was my fault, but the designer threads really weren't made to double as protective clothing in a great escape. The Fendi already looked a little road weary as well. Maybe I needed to find a designer who worked in Kevlar for all my clothes and accessories. The one amazing survivor was Cassie's Hermes scarf. My grandfather may have worn Rolex, but he always owned Timex stock and quoted the catch line of its ads, "Takes a licking and keeps on ticking." Forget that old watch commercial—good silk is the stuff that can really take a licking.
At least I had my gray dress from the day before, tightly rolled up in the bottom of my bag. Thank goodness for sturdy knits, even if the dress and I could both use a good shower. Nothing but those dratted air dryers hung on the wall, so once I could come out of the stall, I used the insides of the linen jacket to scrub my hands, legs, and feet. My poor feet had taken the brunt of the landing since I was barefoot when I skidded to the ground. The pockets on the linen jacket had been useless for holding anything but served as perfect padding to go between my scraped heels and the Manolo Blahniks. Finally, I shoved the remaining material into a trash receptacle, gave the Hermes scarf a good hand washing, and tied it on the strap of the Fendi to dry. A quick cosmetic redo left me once again feeling more human. Nothing like a confident shade of red lipstick to straighten a girl's backbone.