A Lone Wolf

by J. C. Fields

  Asa Gerlis enjoyed feeding those passions and made millions doing it. Through underground networks and dark web chat rooms, he knew what pieces of art were for sale and who might be in the market for them. Occasionally, he took possession of the piece, but typically he never touched it. He also knew the best art thieves. If someone contacted him about a certain desired work of art, he could easily arrange for it to be stolen.

  The beauty of the system allowed him to accomplish these transactions without the need for face-to-face meetings.

  Gerlis normally opened the shop around noon and closed between five and six. When he went out of town, the gallery remained closed. Today, he opened early. Rumors were floating around the dark web of a particularly sought-after painting coming onto the market. He wanted to be prepared if it did.

  The meeting with Mariana Torres lasted two hours. At the conclusion, Mariana stood and turned her attention to Wolfe.

  “Michael, if it becomes common knowledge that Asa Gerlis has been living in Madrid for over two years without anyone knowing, there will be serious repercussions for NCI. Plus, it will end the career of many of my colleagues, myself included.”

  Wolfe only nodded.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Nadia and I are fluent in Spanish and French. We need cover while we search for him.”

  A sly smile came to her face. “I believe I can help you there. Where are you staying?”

  Nadia told her.

  “There is someone with the Policía Municipal de Madrid I want you to talk to. She is a Senor detective within their stolen property division.”

  With a frown, Wolfe stared at Torres.

  “Don’t worry, Michael. She specializes in stolen art. If Gerlis is still involved, like you think he might be, she will be instrumental with your search.”

  “Very, well.” He turned to Nadia. “What do you think?”

  “Without help, I don’t see how we find him.”

  Wolfe smiled at the contraction used by Nadia, but did not comment. He turned back to the NCI agent. “What will be our cover story?”

  “Expect a delivery in the morning. It will be self-explanatory after that. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Michael Wolfe.”

  With this surprising statement, Mariana Torres turned and walked out of the café.

  Nadia put her hand on Wolfe’s arm and looked at him wide-eyed. “How did…”

  “She knew the whole time, Nadia.” He paused and changed the subject. “Since we don’t have anything to do until tomorrow, let’s act like tourists and find a good restaurant.”

  She smiled.

  The call from the concierge came at eight-thirty the next morning. “Senor Lyon, there is a package here for you at the front desk. Do you wish for someone to deliver it?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Ten minutes later, Wolfe opened the padded vanilla envelope and tipped it upside down. Two wallet size booklets, a business card and a folded piece of paper fell out onto the bed. Smiling, Wolfe picked one of the booklets up and opened it. “Interpol IDs. This one is yours.” He handed it to Nadia.

  “Where did she get the pictures?”

  “It’s our Missouri driver’s license pictures.”

  Nadia grimaced. “Oh, dear.”

  “Nadia, you of all people should know the capabilities of an intelligence agency.”

  “Yes, but still. That’s a little scary.”

  He nodded. “These will give us a little authority. Not much, but it gives us a reason to be looking.”

  He looked at the business card. It had a name, title and a telephone number. Across the top was a handwritten address and a time. Wolfe said, “The detective’s name is Sophia Lopez.”

  Nadia opened the folded page. She read silently for several seconds. “The detective will give us information on art galleries in Madrid. Michael, I know nothing about art. Particularly, stolen art.”

  “Me either.”

  He took his cell phone and sent a text message to a number recently given to them. The call came five minutes later.

  “Didn’t expect to hear from you this fast. What’s up, Michael?”

  “JR, we need a crash lesson in stolen art.”

  “Why?”

  “We have a theory that Gerlis is still dealing in stolen artifacts—maybe art, too. I don’t want to blow our cover if I’m asked an easy question.”

  Chuckling, JR was quiet afterward for several moments. “I know the FBI has a database on stolen art. I can send a link to you for that. Then, what if…”

  Wolfe realized the computer hacker was thinking. He did not interrupt. He heard the faint sound of tapping on a keyboard in the background. Then, “I’ve got an idea. Give me an hour and I’ll call you back.”

  The call ended.

  Fifty-five minutes later, Wolfe’s phone vibrated with a new call. He answered immediately. “Yes.”

  “Are you familiar with how to identify a fine art painting?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I wasn’t either, but here are a few tips. Paintings and drawings are referred to by the artist, title, media used to produce and on what, plus their measurements, and then sometimes the year it was produced. For example, the Mona Lisa would be described as Da Vinci, The Mona Lisa, oil on wood, 77 x 53 centimeters, 1503. It’s not a hard and fast rule, but if you toss it around occasionally, you’ll sound knowledgeable.”

  “Okay. Didn’t know it was that small.”

  “I didn’t either. Here is something else you might use. On May 20th, 2010, a guy named Vjeran Tomic broke into the Paris Museum of Modern Art and cut five paintings out of their frames. The theft was discovered the following morning by museum personnel when they found the frames still on the wall, but no paintings. No one knows how he got in without setting off the alarms, but he did. The five paintings stolen were Dove with Small Peas by Pablo Picasso, Pastoral by Henri Matisse, Olive Tree near l’Estaque by Georges Braque, Woman with Fan by Amedeo Modigliani, and Still Life with Candlestick by Fernand Leger.”

  “I won’t remember all of that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just remember Picasso. I’ll explain in a moment. The five paintings combined were valued at over 100 million euros.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Here’s where it gets interesting. The paintings have never been recovered. Tomic was caught and told the police he gave the paintings to an art dealer named Jean-Michel Corves. The art dealer was the one who ordered the theft for an unnamed client. When he heard the police were getting close, he gave them to another guy who claims he threw them into a trash bin when he got nervous. No one believed them. The paintings are thought to be in private collections scattered around the world.”

  “That part I was aware of.”

  “Good. Here’s the other interesting piece for you to know.”

  “What?”

  “There is a chat room on the dark web that discusses stolen paintings. Now, I don’t know how authentic this information is, but there is a rumor the Picasso from that robbery is going to be available soon. The sale would be held via an underground art network since a legitimate auction of the piece would be impossible.”

  “Would we be able to monitor the room?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I need to do a little more snooping around before I feel comfortable answering your question.”

  “Get back to us.”

  “Will do.”

  The call ended and Wolfe looked at Nadia.

  “We need to learn as much as possible about an art heist in Paris on May 20th, 2010.”

  At eleven a.m., they left the hotel room for their meeting with the police detective. As they walked toward the elevator, Nadia asked, “What happens if we find him?”

  “That’s a good question. Should we let the Mossad know where he is or should we let Torres know?”

  She blinked several times before answering, “Either way, we will never be free as long as he is alive, Michael. If he is
taken into custody by either service, there is always the chance he will escape. If that happens…”

  “We’re right back in the same situation we are now.”

  She nodded.

  Wolfe pressed the down button for the elevator and looked at her. “Let’s find him first. Then we can make a decision.”

  Chapter 42

  Madrid, Spain

  M adrid is an old city. While few of its earliest structures survive, central Madrid consists of architecture originally built in the 1500s. In a newer section of the ancient city lies a building built within the last decade. This building housed the office of Detective Sophia Lopez. Modern, clean and Spartan in furnishings, the structure stands in stark contrast to the Mudejar style of older Madrid. Wolfe and Nadia were escorted to her office on the second floor.

  As they entered, the detective stood and walked around the desk to greet them. Lopez was a matronly figure and a study in gray. She wore her salt and pepper hair short. It outlined a round face with an ashen pallor. Pewter framed glasses sat on an oversize nose in front of steel blue eyes. Her conservatively-cut solid gray pantsuit completed the image of a black and white photograph.

  Nadia shook the proffered hand as she presented her Interpol identification.

  Studying the document, Lopez smiled and handed it back to her. She spoke in Spanish. “A pleasure to meet you, Agent Picard.” She turned to Wolfe and accepted his ID. After a quick glance, she returned it and said, “Thank you, Agent Lyon. Mariana Torres indicated you two were here on a tip.”

  Wolfe nodded. “We have credible evidence that a painting, stolen in the May 20th, 2010 robbery of the Paris Modern Art Museum will be the subject of an underground transaction at some point in the near future here in Madrid.”

  “I see. Which one?”

  “Picasso, Pigeon with Small Peas, oil on canvas, 65 x 54 centimeters, 1911.”

  “Really? I thought it was destroyed.”

  Wolfe shook his head. “Apparently not.”

  “Who’s the seller?”

  “We do not know the name he is using at this time. We have a description, but no name. Have you ever heard of a man named William Little?”

  Lopez’s eyes widened. “Yes, I have.”

  “Our seller was associated with him until his sudden death in 2014. We think he might have taken over Little’s business, but that is conjecture right now.”

  “What name has he used in the past?”

  After a slight hesitation, Wolfe said, “Asa Gerlis.”

  Lopez appeared not to recognize the name. “So, what are your roles in this, agents?”

  Nadia answered. “Since we know what he looks like, our task is to identify him and turn it over to local authorities. As you know, we do not have the authority to arrest anyone in Spain.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that. What do you need from me?”

  “We know he has been in Madrid for the last two years. Our source told us he might operate a small art gallery as a cover,” Wolfe replied.

  “Madrid is the cultural center of Spain, Agent Lyon. We have hundreds of small art galleries throughout the various communities.”

  “We know. But we hoped you might have suspicions about a few of them.”

  A slight smile crossed Lopez’s lips as she looked from Wolfe to Nadia. “Yes…” She paused. “We have suspicions about more than a few.” Another pause. “When is this painting supposed to be sold?”

  “We do not know. We were only told it would be soon.”

  She nodded her head. “We have not heard anything about it.”

  Neither Nadia or Wolfe responded.

  Looking again at both of them, she gave them a bored expression and returned to her desk. They watched as she typed for a few moments at her computer. Seconds later they heard a laser printer spool up and spit out several pages. Lopez turned and retrieved them from the printer tray. She offered them to Nadia.

  “This is a summary of galleries with questionable legitimacy. The owner and addresses are included. Will you need assistance in finding your way around the city?”

  Shaking her head, Nadia said, “I grew up in France. I’ve been here many times.”

  Lopez nodded and stared at Wolfe. “Where did you grow up, Agent Lyon? I can’t place your accent.”

  With a sly smile, he answered, “Military, Detective Lopez. All over.”

  “For what country?”

  “Which one do you think it is?”

  “Like I said, I can’t place your accent.”

  “United States.”

  She frowned and gave them a stern look. “Make sure you inform me if you find him.”

  Both Nadia and Wolfe nodded before leaving the office.

  When they returned to the rented BMW, Nadia turned to Wolfe. “I did not know your father was in the military.”

  “He wasn’t. He was an accountant.”

  “Why did you tell her that?”

  He shrugged, “It was information she didn’t need to know.”

  “Maybe I should not have told her I was from France.”

  “Your accent gave you away. Since you didn’t identify a city, you’re good.”

  “Do you think she will check on us with Interpol?”

  “I kind of doubt it, since Mariana Torres put us in contact with her. But we won’t be getting back with Lopez anytime soon, if ever. We got what we needed and are now officially on our own.”

  Nadia kept her grim expression and studied the list of galleries. “There are twenty-three locations on here, Michael.”

  “I thought there would be more.”

  She shook her head. “About half are in the Lavapiés district.”

  He glanced at her. “What’s that?”

  “It is the bohemian section of Madrid. Lots of students, artists and immigrants. Very unconventional.”

  His mouth twitched. “Let’s start there.”

  To speed up their search, they split up, each scrutinizing separate galleries. They started early and worked late, watching as the proprietors opened the shop for the day or locked up after hours. On the first day of their quest, they cleared four galleries. On the second day, only two. Their third day produced a possibility, but fell out of contention when the person of interest turned out to be a customer.

  On the fourth day their search ended.

  Nadia sat inside a small café sipping espresso and nibbling on a pastry. The gallery she watched was sandwiched between a Senegalese and an Indian restaurant. She checked the time on her cell phone and noted it was approaching eleven in the morning. Wolfe was on his way to meet her after clearing the shop he watched.

  A middle-aged man approached the small gallery she had under surveillance. As she raised her espresso for another sip, she stopped and lowered the cup to the table.

  A man, shorter than the average male, walked toward the gallery across from her. There was something familiar about his gait as he approached the shop’s front door. His bald head possessed a ring of short clipped salt and pepper hair above his ears. A beard, trimmed to the same length, adorned his round face. At this distance, she could not see the color of this man’s eyes but she knew them to be sky blue. The primary feature identifying this individual was the prominent Roman nose. This was Asa Gerlis, of that she was sure.

  Memories of their last encounter and his disgusting proposal made her shiver. She did not worry about him recognizing her. She sat inside the café and wore her hair tied up. Dark sunglasses kept anyone interested from seeing her green eyes.

  After the man entered the shop, she sent a two-word text to Michael. Found him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Wolfe sat next to her, placing an espresso on the table. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, it is him.”

  He sipped his drink and stared at the shop door. “What is the name of the owner on the list?”

  She referred to it and answered. “Diego Luis.” Looking back at the shop, she asked, “What now?”

  “My first inclinatio
n is to go over there and shoot him, but we both know that’s not a good idea. Too many people know we are looking at art galleries. If the police find one of the owners dead…”

  “Yes, probably not our best move. There is another option, Michael.”

  “I’m open for ideas.”

  “What if we lure him to a secluded spot and he just disappears?”

  Wolfe blinked a few times and a small smile appeared on his lips.

  The text message to JR occurred the second they returned to their hotel room. He called a few minutes later.

  “What’s up?”

  “We found him.”

  “Cool. What name is he using?”

  “Diego Luis. He owns an art gallery called Pequeño Prado. It means, Little Prado.”

  “Kind of pretentious.”

  “Considering how famous the real Prado art gallery is, yes, very.”

  “If we wanted to contact him via the dark web, how would we do that?”

  “What have you got in mind?”

  Wolfe proceeded to tell him.

  Chapter 43

  Madrid, Spain

  A t five p.m., Diego Luis locked the front door to his gallery, turned off the open sign and retreated to his office. The lack of foot traffic to his business on this particular day did not concern him at all. It gave him more time to work on more profitable endeavors.

  An encrypted message from one of his rich clients intrigued him. The individual, who happened to be the wife of a Chinese billionaire, requested he start the process of finding a particular Andy Warhol production. While he did not personally care for the artist’s work, the money being offered for the individual’s Pop Art did create a sense of professional caring. In 2016, seven prints of the iconic Campbell Soup cans had been stolen from an art museum in the central United States and never recovered. This meant they were either in storage somewhere waiting for a buyer or in a private gallery somewhere on the planet.