The School of Turin

by Dale Nelson

  They dropped their things at their hotel, the Sina Palazzo Sant’Angelo located on the Grand Canal, a fifteen-minute walk to St. Mark’s Square. Once that was done, they headed through the chaotic, maze-like corridors to the Ducal Palace and the Al Thani Collection. Perhaps one of the most recognizable landmarks in Italy, the Piazzetta di San Marco was a large, open public space between the massive, gothic Ducal Palace and the Library of St. Mark. The Basilica of St. Mark formed the western edge of the square. It was late afternoon, and the plaza was packed with tourists. Blending in would be easy. It was late spring and already warm, but not so much that they’d look out of place wearing light jackets. Both wore ball caps and were mindful of the cameras.

  They entered the Ducal Palace and headed to the collection. They spent about two hours there in the initial pass, scribbling notes and sketches into notebooks like tourists and art students. Jack focused on the surrounding security, guard patterns, cameras, and the like while Enzo examined the display cases themselves. Then they traded so that they could observe what the other had to see if they found something the partner missed.

  Though they could take as much as they deemed appropriate, Aleksander had only three specific pieces in mind—a brooch, a pair of earrings, and a necklace. These were, purportedly, entirely original, not remakes as much of the collection was. This would require them to only open two of the display cases.

  Jack believed that whomever Aleksander’s buyer was likely wanted to send a message to the Al Thani family. To let them know they could be gotten. To publicly embarrass them.

  They returned to Jack’s hotel, where they sat over a light dinner and bottle of wine.

  “I’d want more time in there, of course,” Enzo said as he lifted his glass. “But I don’t think the security is all that good.”

  The exhibition stated quite openly that the security was state-of-the-art, and the curators bragged in news articles Jack read that it was among the best in the world. What they found in practice was quite different. The cases appeared shatter resistant, though they wouldn’t attempt that anyway. The locking mechanisms were simplistic relative to the value of the contents, opened with a physical key. The cases were alarmed, but even those did not rise to the level of sophistication they’d expect. The fundamental security challenge the exhibition had to overcome was the fact that it was a traveling show. It would be in a location for six months to a year, and then move on to the next. That meant that the display cases had to be able to be disassembled for transport. This significantly reduced the sophistication of its physical security. But perhaps the most glaring oversight was overconfidence. The cameras were all in plain sight, hanging in the corners of the room, and given the age and history of the building, it seemed unlikely that the Italian government would give permission to drill holes in the walls for hidden ones. There were guards as well, though they hadn’t seemed particularly interested in much of anything.

  Jack made two immediate conclusions.

  One, the owners believed that no one would try to steal these artifacts because they couldn’t be sold.

  Two, it was the end of the exhibition’s run in Italy and nothing had happened. The guards were complacent, lazy, possibly off their game entirely.

  Most importantly, given the relative simplicity of the locks, they would not require any specialized tools to break into these cabinets.

  The alarm system relied on radio frequency to transmit status rather than a hard wire, and Enzo had a signal jammer that he’d use to disrupt that. It should give them plenty of time to get into the cabinets they needed and secure the targets.

  As Jack thought through their initial plan, he reasoned that the hardest thing would be the escape.

  The problem with Venice was the canals.

  It complicated everything about a job. The city itself was a collection of islands floating in the middle of a lagoon, but the canals bisected every inch of the Venice, wending their way through the already complicated, illogical labyrinth. Jack had been here as a tourist, but he did not care for the city and didn’t understand its appeal. Venice held none of Rome’s magic or electricity, none of Florence’s elegance. For him, Venice was only chaos and the salt-tinged musty smell of a stagnant sea. And he had never once thought of pulling a job here. The logistics of planning an escape route across the orderless streets, trying to commit that to memory seemed unfathomable. Further, for six months out of the year, the weather was wholly unpredictable, and any flooding was crippling. During Aqua Alta or “high water,” it was nearly submerged, with special gangplanks being erected just so people could move about.

  And that was just inside the city. You still had to get out of it.

  Unless one had a boat, there was only one bridge to land, and it was choked with traffic in either direction. Because there were no cars in the city, all cars were parked in one sprawling lot at the end of the bridge. If the police had any inclination that a crime had been committed, they’d just shut down the bridge. That left boats as the only viable escape vehicle, and unlike a car, a boat usually couldn’t anonymously be acquired “just in time.”

  To get off Venice in time, they’d need to use one of the water taxis, either the large “city bus” equivalents or the smaller, personal taxis, that were basically speedboats. But one couldn’t jump onto one of those if they were trying to evade pursuit.

  This was exactly the kind of thing he had Rusty for. Rusty would find them a boat. If he’d pick up his goddamn phone.

  “That’s Italy for you,” Enzo said, sipping his wine. “We make simple things complicated, and the complicated we push off to tomorrow.” Then he said, “Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. What the hell are we doing here, and why are we stealing priceless fucking works of art that we can’t possibly sell?”

  Jack smiled, but there was no humor behind it. “It’s complicated,” was all he said.

  “Well, it better be explainable, or I’m not doing it. This is still risky, Jack, and this … this is not you. It’s not us.”

  Jack told Enzo everything that had happened from Paris on—the heist, the flight, the job offer, and the price he had to pay for his freedom. Jack stopped short of mentioning Vito. Mostly, he felt they had enough to worry about with planning the job and didn’t need the additional complication. For the same reason, Jack omitted any mention of Guilia too.

  He knew that if he said word one about her, Enzo would call this off in the next breath. Their entire time in Turin, Enzo never spared a breath warning him about Guilia. At the time, Jack thought his friend was jealous. It wasn’t until he betrayed him to Bartolo that Jack knew his friend was right. It was hard to look Enzo in the eyes for a while after that.

  Jack drank and was contemplative for a time. “I think Andelić actually does want me to come work for him. That’s the only thing that makes sense. His organization took a huge hit a few years ago and never recovered.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you sound sympathetic.”

  “No, but let’s say I understand where he’s coming from.”

  “But why you? I mean, of all people, after Ozren and Radić? Why would he think you’d work for him?”

  “Says they both went rogue on him. Were too reckless, too dangerous, unpredictable. He was afraid they were drawing the wrong kinds of attention. Aleksander actually told me that he told Radić not to do the Carlton job. Said he was afraid of a reprisal from Ari Hassar.”

  “And you believe him,” Enzo asked.

  “I don’t believe anyone in this business, but let’s say that it’s not beyond the pale. It also doesn’t change what his objectives are. He thinks I can turn his organization around. Apparently,” Jack said, reaching for his drink and with a wry smile on his lips, “the Pink Panthers aren’t the merry lot of thieves the media would have us believe. And he thinks I’m the best in the world, so …”

  “The best, o
r the most famous?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Through the open window, they heard a boat motor by on the Grand Canal. The sun had dropped below the buildings and cast a fiery light across the sky. The air coming in through the windows was thick with the pungent smell of seawater. Enzo set his drink on the small table with a soft clang. “You said he wants you to train his people. What does that mean?” As Jack was stammering through an answer, Enzo said, “That makes you the common denominator. The one thing all of those guys have in common. Let’s say he’s on the level. He might want you to build his organization back up, but more likely, he wants someone—someone that’s not him—to be the one person everyone can identify.”

  Jack nodded slowly in agreement. He couldn’t refute Enzo’s logic. But if he was honest with himself, Jack had never considered that possibility.

  The single, identifiable thread.

  And a high profile one at that.

  “And you can’t just walk away?” Enzo asked. “Would he really come after you?”

  “If yesterday was any indication, he would.”

  “But that was on his turf. If you’re back in California, what’s he going to do? He’s not going to send a hit squad after you.”

  “Milan showed up there, don’t forget that.”

  “Right, but he was trying to shake you down for money he thought should’ve been his.”

  “Look, I don’t think he’s got the reach anymore. He’s not going to send someone to hit me, but he doesn’t have to. He just leaks to the authorities in Paris that I was the one who pulled the Ritz. The FBI will take care of the rest. He’s kept them off my back so far, he could just as easily turn that around. Plus, he’s hinted at having a comprehensive accounting of my movements over the last few years. That’s a pretty good hedge against turning him over to the police.”

  Enzo scoffed. “They’re going to believe him? He’s a thief, and he’s a Serb.” Enzo regarded his friend across the table. “Don’t do this,” he said. “You’ve got a way out, and it’s a good life.” Enzo speared an olive with his fork. “I’m growing these now,” he said, holding one up. “I made seven million on the Carlton and had some savings stashed. I bought a small olive orchard—you know, you’ve been there, and I farm that. Or rather, I pay someone to farm it, and I turn a small profit. Because that’s what a retired thief can do. We’re not so much on the background checks here. But you, you’ve got a totally clean identity, and it works.”

  “If I don’t get clear of him, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder.”

  “No,” Enzo said, “he’s going to be the monkey you never shake. Blackmail is like a drug addiction. It’s always one last job, until it’s one more. Then that’s the last job. Until there’s one more. He’s never going to let you go.”

  “I mean, if I can’t take a Serbian war criminal turned professional gangster at his word, who can I?”

  “Jack, I’m serious. This,” Enzo tapped the table, “this is stupid, and it’s risky. Now, I know we can do it. That’s not the point. The point is, you’ll always owe him. What happens if you call his bluff? It’s not like the FBI is going to take this guy’s phone call.”

  Jack didn’t respond, and perhaps he didn’t need to, because Enzo was right. He didn’t see this for what it was earlier. He was exhausted from the work, the travel, and the pulling from two very different ends caused by his dual lives. Jack hadn’t been able to see clearly, see this for what it was. Aleksander was setting him up.

  Two questions remained.

  One, why? And two, for what?

  “You’re afraid of something,” Enzo said, breaking the silence. “Andelić is in your head, and he’s got you spooked. I’ve never seen you so rattled.” Enzo stood up to leave and return to his own room. “If you still want to go through with this, I’m in. I’d never turn my back on you. But it’s not too late to walk away. I wouldn’t be sad if I woke up tomorrow and you weren’t here.”

  Jack stood in St. Mark’s Square.

  If Enzo was disappointed that Jack hadn’t disappeared that morning, it wasn’t showing.

  But Jack knew they shouldn’t be here.

  He shouldn’t be here.

  Jack had nothing against the Qatari royal family, that wasn’t the point.

  The Qataris shouldn’t own these treasures, but that also was not the point.

  True, all of the pieces in the collection were incredibly valuable, but many, if not most of the stones, were not originals. They’d been replaced when the Al Thani family established the collection so that they could be shown. But some of these pieces were genuine artifacts of Indian culture. And those should not have been stolen—by the Qataris, by the Pink Panthers, by Jack Burdette and Enzo Bachetti.

  Normally, the people who Jack stole from were faceless corporations. Hell, half of their products were acquired on the gray market anyway. It wasn’t just conflict diamonds. Stones were so expensive and the market so competitive that to meet the nearly insatiable demand, wholesalers often went to less than admirable means to acquire them, which meant not asking a lot of questions about the provenance. If people really knew where their precious gems came from, most of them would probably stick to gold. So, while Jack recognized that what he did was illegal, and he certainly didn’t try to rationalize or justify his career, he also accepted that he was a cog in a fundamentally corrupt machine.

  This was different.

  This was wrong.

  Jack couldn’t stand in front of Megan and justify this decision. Of course, her opinion was irrelevant, now, but for some reason thinking of it in those terms still mattered. There was something in this that told him he could not bear her knowing he’d stolen these.

  Enzo’s words from the night before echoed in his mind. It’s not like the FBI is going to take this guy’s phone call.

  Already St. Mark’s Square was starting to fill.

  The ground was wet, but then, this was Venice, and there was rarely a patch of concrete that wasn’t. The day was reasonably warm, but thanks to the broken cloud cover, wet air and wind, most people were wearing jackets. Jack and Enzo both wore lightweight but oversized coats to break up their silhouettes for the cameras. Both wore ball caps, and Jack had a pair of reading glasses that he put on when they were inside.

  “Make sure you wipe your shoes when we get inside,” Jack told Enzo, who just nodded. They each paid for a ticket in cash to see the exhibit and waited in a short line to let them in. A string of gauzy clouds blotted out the sun. Slowly, Jack shuffled forward, step-by-step, toward the building. Jack kept his head bent so that the ball cap obscured his face from above. Jack tried to use the time in line to think through the job as he and Enzo had planned out the day before, but his mind kept going to the contingencies and the things he couldn’t control.

  Most notably, their escape.

  Jack still could not get in touch with Rusty. This was unlike him. Rusty knew he’d be needed. The ticket from Alicante to Venice was purchased with the Swiss Russell Macaulay identity, which Aleksander had given back to him. Jack used a separate card for the flight to Venice, so it at least it would take a while longer to triangulate his location, but he wouldn’t use those cards to get him transportation back to the States. The passport and credit cards Jack brought from California were completely clean, and he didn’t want to burn them here. He’d torch those and the Russell Macaulay IDs before he left Europe.

  He’d rented a car with the Macaulay ID, and that’s what he and Enzo used to get into the city. It was in the massive lot now. Their backup plan was to take a personal water taxi from the station just outside the Doge’s Palace, assuming they weren’t on the run. If they were, they’d need to escape into the city, losing any pursuers in the maze of alleys before finding a safe taxi.

  “Focus.”

  “What?” Enzo said, turning his head slightly to the side.

  Jack hadn’t realized that he’d said that aloud.

  “Nothing, sorry
. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Your enthusiasm is contagious,” Enzo said.

  They entered the palace and purchased their tickets.

  Once inside, Enzo stepped next to Jack, appearing to casually inspect his backpack. “It’s not too late to back out,” he said.

  “No,” Jack told him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  They walked to the second floor and the exhibition hall.

  The collection was located in a long central room in the main hall. The site was truly amazing. The walls and the high, arched ceiling were gold with bas relief designs of angels holding up the ceiling. There were massive renaissance era paintings lining the walls. The Treasure of the Maharajas was distributed between a series of well-lit glass cases of varying sizes that ran down the hall’s center, with smaller cases along the walls. The cases themselves, particularly the ones in the center, were roughly Jack’s height, and the ones along the walls were on metal stands so that the contents were eye level. The exhibition hall gave one the feeling of walking through a glass labyrinth. While the glass cases themselves were softly backlit, their interiors were all black velvet to provide viewing contrast. All light around the cases seemed to be consumed by them. There were no windows, and the only natural light came from adjoining halls.