The Sirani Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  Estelle Ryan

  The

  Sirani Connection

  Stolen masterpieces. Deadly narcotics. Artificial intelligence.

  A mysterious email and the arrest of a fugitive art thief send Doctor Genevieve Lenard and her team to Prague, where it soon becomes apparent that this theft has a close connection to a sadistic killer they've been tracking for almost a year.

  No sooner do they arrive than they find a scientist tortured and murdered by Shahab Hatami—the man they've been looking for. Joining forces with Prague's elite investigator and a controversial journalist, they start uncovering the trail of terror Shahab has left behind to discover he has only just started.

  With Shahab developing a weapon that could kill hundreds, if not thousands of innocent people, Genevieve has to push past her autistic mind's limitations to stop him. But when those she cares for most become his target and he threatens to exact his revenge on them, Genevieve has run out of time to investigate and has to act before it's too late.

  Contents

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Chapter TWELVE

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Chapter SEVENTEEN

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  Chapter NINETEEN

  Chapter TWENTY

  Chapter TWENTY-ONE

  Chapter TWENTY-TWO

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  The Sirani Connection

  A Genevieve Lenard Novel

  By Estelle Ryan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First published 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Estelle Ryan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely incidental.

  Chapter ONE

  “PHILLIP? WHAT’S WRONG?” The concern in Vinnie’s voice jerked me out of studying the data on Francine’s computer. I straightened from where I was leaning over the infamous hacker’s shoulder and turned to Vinnie, our investigative team’s self-assigned protector and my best male friend. A deep frown pulled his brow down as he stared towards the elevator. I followed his gaze and inhaled sharply.

  Phillip Rousseau, owner of the high-end insurance company in the building adjacent to ours, shuddered when the elevator door closed behind him. He shook his head as if to clear it and walked towards me. He ignored Vinnie repeating his question, as well as Manfred Millard, the only law enforcement official in our team, shoving his chair back as he jumped to his feet.

  In the nearly thirteen years I’d known Phillip, there had been only four times that I’d seen him this distressed. Today was the fifth.

  He’d offered me employment when everyone else had balked at my non-neurotypical bluntness and lack of social skills. It had taken many years before I had allowed myself to accept his uncomplicated affection.

  Because I’d come to view him in a paternal role in my life, the severe disquietude I now observed on his face immediately brought the blackness of a shutdown to my peripheral vision. I forced myself to focus on reading his nonverbal cues. Engaging my mind intellectually often aided in preventing a shutdown.

  His orbicularis oculi and orbicularis oris muscles lowered and brought his brows together. His upper eyelids were raised and tightened, his lips a thin line. Confusion, anger and fear.

  He stopped in front of me and allowed me to study him for a while longer. I swallowed and blinked a few times. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Truth.” There was no denying the honesty in his immediate answer, his open hands lifting as he shrugged.

  “Enough.” Manny walked to the round table in our open-space team room and pointed at it. “Sit down so we can talk.” He shook his finger when no one moved. “Now!”

  Manny’s rudeness jerked Phillip out of the internal processing I was witnessing on his face. He took a staggered breath, pulled his shoulders back and nodded at me. “I’m rattled, but I’m well, Genevieve.”

  I shook my head. “Clearly your definition of ‘well’ is not congruent to mine.”

  The soft smile relaxed his facial muscles. “Likely.” He turned towards the round table when Manny knocked loudly on it. “Shall we?”

  Only when Francine got up from her chair next to me did I remember her presence. A few minutes ago, I’d reprimanded her for yet again hacking into a foreign government’s database in our search for an Iranian fugitive. I’d been rather disappointed in her, even though I hadn’t been surprised. Now I found myself grateful for her steady presence beside me.

  She pushed me with her shoulder. “Come on, girlfriend. Let’s hear what this is all about.”

  I nodded once and joined the men at the table. Vinnie had moved to the small kitchen on the far side of the team room. He was putting his homemade oat cookies on a plate while waiting for the coffee machine to fill another mug with the steaming beverage.

  No sooner had I taken my usual seat at the table than Colin sat down next to me and took my hand. It had taken me many years before I’d grown accustomed to being part of a team. More than that, being part of this group of friends.

  But it was Colin’s unconditional acceptance of me that grounded me on a daily basis. He squeezed my hand lightly, but didn’t say anything. He’d told me numerous times that he knew I was capable of handling any situation challenging my autistic mind. He only wanted to remind me that he was there whenever I needed him. I’d come to depend on that predictable reassurance more and more each day.

  “Well?” Manny slumped in his chair and jerked his chin at Phillip. “What is this thing that has you so rattled?”

  “I received an email this morning.” Phillip smiled when Francine jumped up to grab her tablet. She returned to the table already tapping and swiping, no doubt accessing his email as she did all of ours. Privacy was a very loose concept to Francine, especially when it pertained to our safety. Phillip sighed. “At first I thought it was yet another spam email and was about to delete it when I decided to open it.”

  “Never a good idea.” Francine looked up from her tablet. “How many times do I need to tell all of you to never open an email if you don’t know who sent it?”

  “And how many times must we tell you that Phillip can’t ignore potential clients?” Vinnie put a laden tray in the centre of the table. “You bore me with your repetition, Franny.”

  Francine’s eyes widened, then she looked at me and grinned widely. “See what he did there?”

  It took me eight seconds of staring at Francine’s expectant face to understand their humour. I sighed. Vinnie was teasing Francine with a phrase I often used. The difference was that I never verbalised this in jest.

  I turned away from Francine, whose smile was widening. As much as I valued these people in my life, it was most tedious when they constantly went off topic. I leaned towards Phillip. “Who sent the email?”

  “I don’t know.” The corners of his mouth turned down as he turned to Francine. “Can you forward it to everyone? I didn’t think to do that. I just came here immediately.”

  Francine ta
pped her tablet screen twice. “Done.”

  Different notification sounds filled the team room. I shifted to get up, but Colin’s hand tightened around mine. “I have my phone. You can read it here.”

  I would’ve preferred to use my own phone or tablet, but both were in my soundproof viewing room. Colin was already holding his phone for me to look at the email Francine had sent.

  “Will someone read this out loud?” Vinnie shrugged and took a cookie from the plate. “I’m too lazy to get up now.”

  “It’s not a written email. It’s an audio file.” Francine put her tablet on the table, crossed her arms and stared at Phillip. “Opening an email from an unknown source is one thing, but opening an attachment? Seriously, Phillip. It could’ve been riddled with malware.”

  Manny straightened. “Is it?”

  “No.” Francine’s long silver earrings jangled as she shook her head. “That was the first thing I checked.” She looked back at Phillip. “You’re lucky.”

  “I don’t know so much about that.” Phillip pointed at her tablet. “I have no idea who these people are. There are two voices and I’ve never heard them before. At least, they’re not voices I remember ever hearing.”

  “And the email address is not helpful either.” Colin pointed at the anonymous-looking numbered address.

  “What the bleeding blazes?” Manny tapped his smartphone screen, his top lip curled. “7833X2-on@TPZ.com?” He looked at Francine. “Isn’t this the type of address you people use?”

  Francine blinked in mock innocence. “What people?” She smiled when Manny’s lips thinned. “Hackers use addresses that won’t identify them, but so do CS bots.”

  “English, woman.”

  “Some large corporations have an automated customer service system that answers questions.” Phillip smiled at Francine’s impressed expression. “I had someone offer such a system to me, but I prefer to be old-school and have business queries answered by a real person.”

  Francine’s smile disappeared. “You should never open attachments.”

  Again they were digressing. I leaned forward. “Can you trace this email address?”

  Francine tapped her tablet screen. “It doesn’t have tracking data.” She looked at Manny. “In your Queen’s English, you can usually right-click on an email’s header and look at the original data, which will give you the IP address of the sender. Put that into an IP tracker and voilà! You know in which city, even on which street the sender lives.”

  Manny fell back into his chair. “Every time I hear this, I consider going back to pen, paper and postage stamps.”

  “Aw, that’s so romantic.” Francine fluttered her eyelashes. “But way too slow for this chick.” She looked at me. “I’ll see how far back I can trace this email.”

  I nodded. “Play the recording.”

  “Okey-dokey.” Francine tapped her tablet screen twice and sat back.

  “Police arrested Tomas Broz last night.” The male voice sounded young, but I wasn’t good at gleaning much information from auditory input only. I needed nonverbal cues to fully interpret neurotypical communication. My skills at interpreting words and tone of voice were limited, my expertise in nonverbal communication a learned skill, not a natural talent. I folded my hands on my lap and stared at them while I listened for any clues I might catch. The young man chuckled. “Can you believe the idiot had an Elisabetta Sirani hanging on his wall? His wall!”

  “Stop.” Manny sliced his hand through the air and the young man’s chuckles were cut off when Francine tapped her tablet screen. Manny turned to Colin. “Who is Tomas Bronze and who is this Elizabeth?”

  “How interesting that you assume I would know.”

  “Frey!”

  Colin smiled. “Strangely enough, I do know who they’re talking about. Tomas Broz? I’m surprised to hear that he’s been stealing again. He’s been out of the game for a while.”

  Colin had built a reputation as one of the top art thieves in the world. Interpol had relied on his skill and status in the art crime world for many years to help them in operations that were most often legally dubious. With our investigations into art and other crimes the president of France sent our way, Colin’s knowledge and insight into this criminal field had proven invaluable more than once. He looked up at the ceiling for two seconds. “The last time I heard anything about Tomas was”—Colin’s eyebrows rose and he smiled—“when the Venus and Cupid by Elisabetta Sirani was stolen in Berlin three years ago.”

  “Is this Eliza Siri worth anything?” Manny asked.

  Colin gave Manny an irritated glare and turned to Phillip. “As far as I remember this painting was valued at a hundred thousand euros, right?”

  “It was sold at auction for one hundred and thirty-seven thousand, five hundred US dollars to be exact.” Phillip narrowed his eyes. “The owners wanted Rousseau & Rousseau to insure this piece, but I... I had a bad feeling about the deal, so I declined.”

  “Hmm.” Colin leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Elisabetta Sirani has become trendier recently. There are not many female artists who have had such an impact on how the world perceives women who paint and sculpt. She founded an academy for other female artists in an era that was very male-dominated. Male artists like Rembrandt, Vermeer, Rubens and Caravaggio monopolized attention and funding. Female artists didn’t always find their way as easily. With recent awareness of the disproportionate lack of women in senior management positions and the rife discrimination against and, sadly, abuse of women, she became iconic to women in the art industry.

  “This has brought a lot of attention to her works—masterpieces which were bought by nobility, royalty and the wealthiest of that time. This painting specifically is an amazing example of her later works. The sweet and intimate scene of the Venus and Cupid shows Sirani’s mature style and also what placed her works in such high demand. And with price tags to match the interest and quality.”

  “Is this what has you so worried?” Manny asked Phillip. “That you almost insured that painting?”

  “No.” Phillip looked at Francine’s tablet. “There is a lot more on that recording.”

  Manny nodded at Francine and she tapped her tablet screen.

  The young man’s chuckle ended. “They found this idiot in Prague. Apparently the painting will be given back to the family this week.”

  Manny grunted, but shook his head when Francine went to pause the recording.

  “At last, we get a break.” The female voice which replied had a husky quality to it, her diction sounding refined, educated. “I should just go to Prague and speak to this thief. I’m sure I’ll find out more and hopefully get closer.”

  “Shall I book a ticket for you?”

  “Book two tickets. You’re going with me.”

  “I am?” The excitement in his voice was unmistakable. He cleared his throat in an attempt to sound unaffected. “I am. I will book those tickets now.” It was silent for two seconds. “Um... what about the other thing?”

  A loud sigh sounded. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Just set up a meeting and talk to him.” The young man’s voice was gentle and sounded sympathetic.

  The woman snorted. “And say what? No. I’m not going to email Phillip Rousseau...”

  Her sentence was cut off so abruptly that we sat in stunned silence for three seconds.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” Manny’s glare snapped from Francine’s tablet to Phillip. “What did she want to email you about?”

  “I don’t know.” Phillip pulled at his collar. “I listened to the recording three times before I came here. I also checked if I had any other emails from this address. This is the only email and the only recording I’ve received.”

  “He’s right.” Francine was working on her tablet, shaking her head. “There’s nothing else here. Just this recording and it ends on one mother of a cliffhanger.”

  “There was no mention of cli...” My shoulders drooped. It was not often my frie
nds used euphemisms, metaphors and other easy-to-misinterpret expressions when I was around, because I took it literally almost without fail.

  Francine smiled and winked at me.

  “Why on God’s green earth would you receive this odd recording?” Manny’s scowl deepened.

  “Ooh! Let me answer that.” Francine waved her hand in the air, her eyes wide with excitement. When Manny sighed and raised one eyebrow, she lowered her hand and leaned forward conspiratorially. “AI.”

  Chapter TWO

  MANNY UTTERED AN ANNOYED sound after two seconds. “If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s working. Talk.”

  “You ol’ charmer, you.” Francine held up both hands, laughing. “Okay, okay. I’m talking about artificial intelligence. A few months ago, someone received an email from a work contact that contained a recording of a private conversation similar to this.”

  “I read about that.” Colin narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t this Alexa or Siri or one of the AI systems that registered words in that conversation as commands and then sent the recording?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m referring to.”

  “Now in my Queen’s English.” Manny was no troglodyte. This was his way of gaining more information. I had considered this method to be ineffective, but on this he had proven me wrong countless times.

  Francine smiled at him. “There are many artificial intelligence systems available on the market nowadays. Systems that can run an entire home so you can enjoy all your smart home features, systems that function when activated by certain command words to record dictation or order food from your favourite restaurant or shoes from your preferred online shop.”

  “You think this is what happened?” Phillip pulled at his cuffs. “Her AI system emailed me when she said that she was not going to ‘email Phillip Rousseau’?”

  Francine nodded. “I’ll bet all my earrings that this is exactly what happened.”

  “And you are sure you don’t recognise the voices of these people?” Manny asked.

  Phillip took a moment to consider his answer. “I can honestly say I don’t. If I’ve ever spoken to them before, I don’t remember her accent. I would like to think that I would’ve remembered her unique voice and the eloquent confidence I hear...” He shook his head. “I don’t remember her.”

 
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