Treacherous

by Sara Rosett

  Jack’s gaze bored into Mr. Clement’s temple, but he chattered away, unaware of Jack’s increasing irritation.

  The conversation went on quite a while, but finally Mr. Clement hung up and turned back to Zoe, completely missing Jack’s intense stare. Zoe picked up her story where she’d left off, hurrying through it, describing the attack on Luis and Jug Ears following her through Madrid.

  Mr. Clement held up a finger. “Have you informed the police about this?”

  “They know about the attack on Luis, but not about the guy who followed me. You see, there’s something else that’s happened that we felt moves it out of a local police jurisdiction. It’s connected to the painting, but it’s not about art. It’s programming code. We’ve come across a hack, a zero-day hack.”

  Zoe glanced at Jack, indicating he should pick up the story, but Mr. Clement spoke, his voice growing slightly stronger. “Oh, no. That’s not right at all. Anything of this sort you should report to the police. Especially since you already have a contact there, this Chief Inspector Munez. You must take it to him. There’s nothing we can do at this point. No crime has been committed against you. And you have your passports, correct?”

  Zoe felt her shoulders sag. “Yes, we have our passports. But there’s more—”

  Jack said, “We need to speak with your supervisor.”

  What little color there was in Mr. Clement’s face drained away. “My supervisor?” His gaze darted to the cubicle opening and then back to Zoe and Jack. “Why? Why would you need to do that?”

  “Because we have information that is sensitive in nature and needs to be passed on to the correct authorities,” Jack said. “You handle lost passports, correct?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Clement said, relief in his voice. He reached for his pen and knocked it off the corner of the desk again. He bobbed down and reappeared with the pen.

  “Then we need to see a supervisor,” Jack said. “They can pass this on to the correct person.”

  Mr. Clement licked his lips. “I don’t think—I mean—that’s not how it’s done.”

  “That’s how we need to do it today. Time is of the essence with this.”

  Mr. Clement’s face suddenly flushed. “I will be happy to pass your name and information on to my supervisor,” he said in a shaky near-whisper as if the words shouldn’t be spoken aloud. “I have all your contact details here.” He tapped the computer screen. “She will be in touch with you later today. She’s in a meeting—she has a meeting every week at this time—and can’t talk to you right now.”

  “We’ll wait,” Jack said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. That’s not how we do things here. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “you have to leave now.” Mr. Clement scribbled a note, muttering “zero-day” under his breath then said, “Since you don’t have an issue with your passports, I have to move on to the next appointment.” He stood and flapped his hand vaguely toward the door.

  Zoe stayed seated. She looked at Jack, eyebrows raised. “What do you want to do?”

  “We’ll get nowhere today. It’s no use. We might as well leave.”

  Zoe got up and followed Mr. Clement’s stoop-shouldered figure.

  A few moments later as they walked away from the building, Zoe said, “Why did we give up?”

  “Because I know how bureaucracy works. Mr. Clement is never going to be able to help us with what we need. By the time our situation gets to a person who can help us, days—weeks, even—will have gone by. We could wait around there all day, and nothing will happen. It’ll be better if we work this issue from another angle.”

  They came to an intersection and stopped as the traffic surged by them. Zoe took her map out of her messenger bag and checked where they needed to turn to get back to the Metro. “What other angle? I thought we’d covered them all.”

  Jack sighed. “We do have one other option.”

  Zoe looked up from the map. “Something not great, apparently.”

  “It would be radical.” The light changed and several pedestrians around them stepped into the crosswalk. Zoe and Jack followed a few paces behind. “We could post it online.”

  Zoe stepped onto the curb at the other side of the street, and slowly refolded the map. “You mean…just put it out there…where everyone can see it.”

  “Yes. Once a zero-day is in the public domain…it’s done. Worthless. Problem solved.”

  “Unless the people who wanted it find out that we were the ones who posted it and come after us for—revenge?”

  “That might happen, but I think we’re safer publishing it than keeping it secret.”

  “That is radical.” Zoe considered the thought of posting the hack on the internet for a moment, then gave a nod. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Jack laughed. “Come on, Zoe, stop lollygagging and make a decision.”

  “Why should we drag it out? We’ve already been through our options countless times. Every other choice has been blocked, so let’s release it—set it free.” She tucked the map into her messenger bag and picked up her pace with a nod. She felt the coil of tension inside her ease. “Whew. I feel better—lighter.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. No reason to draw it out. That’s what we’ll do as soon as we get back to the hotel.”

  “This street will take us back to the Metro—oh look, there’s a sign for the Plaza de Cibeles.”

  “Always the tourist,” Jack said.

  “Hey, you have to work in sightseeing when you can, and it’s on our way back.”

  One corner of Jack’s mouth turned up. “The world has gone this long without knowing about the zero-day, so a few more minutes shouldn’t matter.”

  When they arrived in the plaza he said, “That’s quite a ride,” as they studied the fountain’s sculpture of a Greek goddess who commanded a chariot pulled by lions.

  “See, I knew you’d like it. Move over a bit and I can get you in the picture.” Zoe had already taken several photos of the sculpture, the fountain, and the impressively ornate buildings that surrounded the plaza. “This place is supposed to be gorgeous at night. The whole thing is lit up,” she said as her phone rang. “It’s Gloria. Maybe she has some news about Luis.”

  Zoe had barely said hello before Gloria started talking. “Zoe, is that you? Where are you? I went to your hotel but you weren’t there.”

  Zoe pressed the phone closer to her ear to hear over the traffic. “We’re out—at the Plaza de Cibeles, in fact. Is something wrong? Is it Luis?” Gloria’s voice was shaky and had a frantic tone.

  “Luis?” Gloria said as if Zoe had asked about some unrelated topic. “No, this isn’t about Luis.” Gloria breathed deeply. “No, this is much more important. I’m not too far from where you are. Can you meet me? I know a café close to where you are. I have to talk to you. I can’t tell you this over the phone, but I must see you.”

  With the phone still at her ear, Zoe said to Jack, “I suppose we could make a detour? Gloria wants to meet. She says it’s urgent.”

  “We—who is we?” Gloria said sharply. “Who are you with?”

  “My husband, Jack. He came out when…well, when everything went wrong with the painting.”

  “Oh—I suppose that’s okay.”

  Zoe felt a little miffed. Gloria had no say at all in whether her husband joined her in Madrid or not.

  Gloria’s voice shifted back to pleading. “Please meet me. It’s about the butterfly painting.”

  “What was the name of the restaurant again?” Zoe asked. “We’ll go straight there.”

  29

  When Zoe and Jack arrived at the café, Gloria was seated in the back at a small table. She jumped up the moment she saw them. Mirrors lined one side of the narrow restaurant, and for a second Zoe thought that she was seeing double as Gloria and her reflection raced toward her and embraced her.

  Engulfed in Gloria’s mass of hair, Zoe couldn’t see anything for a second as Gloria clung to her, her fingers digging into Zoe’s shoulde
rs. Gloria released Zoe and latched on to her hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it,” Gloria said, squeezing Zoe’s hand as they went back to the table. Gloria’s mascara was smudged and, instead of the confident stride that Zoe had to race to keep up with on their tour of Madrid, Gloria moved slowly as if the sprint to the front of the restaurant had drained her energy. “First, I have to know—do you have the painting?”

  “The Heade painting with the butterfly and the hummingbird?” Zoe glanced at Jack. Her instinct was to keep quiet about the discovery of the painting, but Gloria tightened her grip on Zoe’s hand, crushing her fingers. “Please say you have it. Otherwise—” She pressed her free hand to her lips for a moment, “…it doesn’t matter.”

  Zoe wavered…Gloria was so distraught. Zoe looked at Jack to see if he agreed with her quick mental reversal. He had taken a seat to the side of Gloria and gave a small nod that only Zoe noticed. With his typical shuffling and deft maneuvering, Jack arranged it so that he was seated at the far side of the table with a good view of the whole café. Zoe was on his right by the restaurant’s main aisle, and Gloria was on Jack’s left with her back against the mirrored wall.

  “We do know where the painting is,” Zoe said.

  Gloria launched into a mumbled string of Spanish that Zoe couldn’t understand, but the tone conveyed gratitude. She dropped Zoe’s hand and made the sign of the cross, then switched to English. “Wonderful. That is wonderful.” She blew out a breath and seemed to finally notice Jack. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry I was so rude. It’s just been so stressful. Here, let me make some room.” The small café table was crowded with Gloria’s cell phone and enormous leather handbag as well as a half-eaten churro and a cup of the thick hot chocolate so popular in Madrid, which reminded Zoe more of pudding than a drink. As Gloria moved her purse to the floor, Zoe introduced Jack.

  Gloria acknowledged Jack with a small nod, then turned back to Zoe. “You can’t imagine how worried I’ve been. He said you had the painting, but I thought that if he was wrong—if you didn’t have it—well…that would be too awful.” She shifted her cup of chocolate and cell phone to the center of the table then leaned toward Zoe. “Where is it?”

  At the intensity of her posture, Zoe instinctively leaned back an inch. “The painting? It’s in a safe place.”

  “Do you have it with you?” Gloria’s gaze dropped to the messenger bag Zoe held in her lap.

  “No, I learned that lesson the hard way,” Zoe said, thinking of an incident that happened in Salzburg when a thief cut the strap of her messenger bag while she was wearing it.

  They’d hidden the painting in the hotel room, and Zoe knew it was in a good place. But even with the precautions they’d taken she still felt a twist of worry. She’d only feel better when they were able to get back and check everything.

  “Are you sure it’s safe, though? And how did you get it?” Still leaning over the table, she fixed her attention on Zoe with a concentration that made her uncomfortable. Was this how a mouse felt when a cat stalked it?

  Jack inched his chair forward. “That’s a long story.” Gloria shifted her attention to him as he asked, “How did you know we had it? Who is this ‘he’ that told you we had the painting?”

  Gloria pushed her hair behind her ears as she straightened. “I don’t know who he is, but he’s the man who has Sophia.”

  “A man has Sophia?” Zoe said. “Your daughter?”

  “Yes.” Gloria’s eyes turned glassy, and her lips wobbled. “He kidnapped her. He—” She took a moment and got her emotions under control then continued. “He came to my apartment this morning. I left Sophia alone when I went out to get a coffee. When I came back, she was gone. It was only a few minutes. She should have been fine. She’s stayed alone in the apartment before. I’m only ever gone for a few minutes—maybe five at the most. She must have opened the door to him even though she knows not to do that. She probably thought it was her little school friend who lives on the other floor.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Zoe said, amazed that Gloria could even put together coherent sentences after something like that.

  Jack asked, “What did the police say?”

  Gloria jerked as if she’d been shot, her gaze going around the quiet café. “He said not to call the police.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she said police. “He threatened to—” She swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t even repeat it. It was horrible—what he said he’d do—if I called the police, so I didn’t. He said you had the butterfly painting and that I had to talk to you.”

  “How did he contact you?” Jack asked, and Gloria seemed to shrink a little at his tone.

  Zoe sent Jack an ease-off look and said, “This is terrible, and we’ll do everything we can to help you. So how did he contact you?” She wasn’t sure Gloria had made a smart move when she avoided calling the police, but she couldn’t ignore Gloria’s distress. “Did he call you?”

  Gloria nodded as she sniffed. “My phone rang as soon as I walked into the empty apartment. It was this man with a gruff voice who said he had her, but if I got the flash drive back from you he would make sure she was returned safe.”

  Zoe and Jack exchanged a glance at the word flash drive.

  “So it’s the flash drive that you want, not the painting,” Zoe said.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Gloria’s hair fell forward over an eye as she bobbed her head again. She swiped her hair behind her ear. “The flash drive is inside the frame of the painting. It’s in a tube. You have the painting, so you have the flash drive.”

  “But how did you know that the flash drive was in the frame of the painting?” Zoe asked.

  “Because I put it there.”

  30

  “You put the flash drive in the frame of the painting?” Zoe asked Gloria.

  “It seemed like such a small thing.” She lifted a shoulder. “It was so easy to slip it in during the authentication. It only took a second. Five hundred euros seemed like so much for,” she flexed her fingers, opening her hand wide, “for doing hardly anything…” She closed her eyes for a long moment and whispered, “And now I wish I had never done it.”

  “So someone paid you to put the flash drive in the frame of the painting. Was it the man who called you?” Zoe asked.

  “It wasn’t him. The man who called me today spoke Spanish. No, it was Kaz who asked me to hide the flash drive.”

  “Kaz?” Zoe asked, trying to follow Gloria’s explanation. “He works for Thacker?” There couldn’t be too many people with that name.

  “Yes, Kaz Volk,” Gloria said. “You’ve met him, right? He’s geeky and a little awkward, I think. No, it wasn’t him on the phone.”

  “Okay,” Zoe said, “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. Kaz asked you to put the flash drive in the frame of the painting?”

  “Yes,” Gloria said. “I’ve worked with him a couple of times when I authenticated artwork for Thacker. Kaz is the one who handles everything.” She fiddled with her cell phone and focused on it as she spoke. “He called me and asked if I’d do him a favor. It was so easy. Just put something in the painting that I would be asked to authenticate. He would pay me five hundred euros. I just needed to make sure it was in the painting or the packaging.” Her tone turned defensive. “That’s quite a lot of money.”

  “Yes, it is,” Zoe said doing a quick mental calculation, transferring the figure into dollars. There had been many times in Zoe’s life when even a figure as small as fifty dollars would be tempting, especially when it involved something so simple as what Kaz had asked. Zoe figured that Gloria was a single parent—she’d never mentioned a husband and surely he’d be on the scene now, if there was one. So maybe Gloria had a tough time making ends meet, which made Gloria’s willingness to do what Kaz wanted more understandable. Zoe sympathized with Gloria, but the financial angle wasn’t what was important here, Zoe reminded herself and refocused.
“So the painting…is it really an authentic Martin Johnson Heade painting?”

  “Yes! Of course it is. I would never compromise myself and say it was real if it wasn’t.”

  “I had to ask. Thacker will want to know.”

  Gloria rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. It’s always about the artwork with him.”

  “So you’re saying if the painting hadn’t been by Martin Johnson Heade, you would have told me?”

  “Certainly. And I told Kaz that, too. I wouldn’t deceive Thacker.”

  Zoe tilted her head. “That’s why you suggested I should tell Thacker about the Dalí sketch,” Zoe said. “It was your backup.”

  Gloria shifted in her chair and brushed some crumbs from the table. “In case the painting wasn’t legitimate I had to have some other way to send the flash drive, so I suggested the sketch. Fortunately, I didn’t need it, but I knew that Thacker would want the sketch anyway. And he did,” she said with an I-told-you-so lilt.

  Jack asked, “Did Kaz tell you what was on the flash drive, or why he needed you to send it to him?”

  She leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t want to know. I didn’t care.”

  “He didn’t tell you anything about it?” Jack asked, clearly skeptical.

  “He said a friend had some information he needed to get into the United States. His friend wanted to do it in a way that there could be no possible link to him.”

  “No link to Kaz?” Jack asked with a frown. “That doesn’t make sense. You’d be able to link the flash drive with Kaz.”

  “No,” Gloria said. “No link between Kaz’s friend and the information he was sending to Kaz.”

  “And Kaz didn’t tell you anything about why or how he came to be receiving this?” Jack pressed.

  “I only know that he said it would change everything, that it would serve them right.”

  “He said those exact words ‘serve them right?’” Jack repeated.