by Lila Dubois
“Aww, the way you said thief hurts my feelings,” Jasper teased.
Eli narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever actually stolen something? Or are you just messing with me?”
“You mean besides the Gardner paintings?”
Eli put a finger on his left eye to stop it from twitching. “Yes, besides those.”
“Art? Not really. With art, I’ve done more liberation and relocation than proper theft. Now jewelry…”
Eli groaned and covered his face with his hands.
Chapter Nineteen
Jasper was well traveled. The only continent he hadn’t visited was Antarctica. He enjoyed traveling, and was no stranger to road trips. The driving trip from Baghdad to London had been especially heinous.
But after seven hours driving through north Texas, he was more than ready to be done with traveling.
They’d started out early-afternoon, and rolled into Dallas just past nine, after getting stuck in the tail end of rush hour traffic. Jasper finally spotted a big box store and pulled off.
“We need a phone,” he said as he parked.
Eli, who’d nodded off, probably from sheer boredom, looked up and nodded.
“I’ll go.” Irina jumped out of the car. Her groan as she stretched was audible.
“I need to use the restroom.” Eli climbed out too.
Jasper waited with the car while they went in, then when they were back, he took his turn using the facilities. He also ran through the store, which surprisingly had exactly what he was looking for. He bought all five of the soft-sided art portfolio cases they had in stock, plus two large duffel bags.
By the time he made his way back to the car, Irina had the phone working, the pieces of the packaging spread out on the trunk. She’d bought a pay-as-you-go phone, but it wasn’t one of the cheap ones. It was a smartphone.
“Praise the Lord, we’re connected to the big wild world once again.” Jasper resisted the urge to snatch the phone from her and check the news headlines. Instead he propped his ass against the driver’s door and bent, stretching his hamstrings.
“I’ve got a map to Bryan Cobb.” Irina turned the phone to show Eli the screen.
Jasper straightened, raising his arms over his head. He caught both Eli and Irina looking as his shirt rode up.
He smiled. “Down, boys and girls. And before we go anywhere, we’re going to email the Grand Master and tell her where we are and what we’re doing. Someone needs to know.”
They piled back into the car, the bags Jasper had just purchased riding in the backseat with Irina. He drove under the freeway to the shopping area on the other side, where another convenient free Wi-Fi location was waiting. This time they had to go inside to get strong enough service for Irina’s tablet to work. Jasper stationed himself near the door, where he had a clear view of the car. Eli looked longingly at the line for coffee.
“We’ll only be here five minutes,” Jasper told him.
Eli sighed. “I know, but a man can dream.”
“It’s almost over,” Irina assured him.
Jasper waited until Eli wasn’t looking then caught her gaze and raised a brow. She grimaced slightly. If the Grand Master expected them to confront Bryan Cobb then this might not be over. And it might be dangerous.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Jasper started the timer.
Two minutes and thirty eight seconds later, Irina cursed. “Fuck.”
“What?” Eli demanded.
Irina leapt to her feet. Jasper took the keys from his pocket, grabbed Eli’s hand, and hauled him out the door.
As he threw the car into reverse, Irina said, “Jasper, give me the phone.”
He tossed it back to her, watching her face in the rearview mirror.
“Where am I going?” he asked.
“I…I don’t know. I’m so sorry.” She looked stricken.
Jasper’s stomach clenched. “Irina, what’s wrong?”
She met his eyes in the mirror. “There was a second email from the Grand Master. It came just after we read the first one. We just missed it.”
Jasper’s whole body went cold. “Another email.”
Eli was surprisingly calm. “What did the Grand Master’s second message say?”
Irina closed her eyes, clearly reciting. “Bryan Cobb gone. Presumed killed. Do not go to Dallas. Call for further instructions.”
Jasper was about to pull out of the parking lot and head onto the freeway. He jerked the wheel, bumping them into a parking spot near the exit. Throwing the car into park, he twisted in his seat so they could all see each other.
“Is there a number?” Eli asked.
“Yes.” Irina held up the phone. She’d already typed the number in. Her thumb hovered over the send button.
“Why are you hesitating?” Eli asked.
“Because it could be a trap,” Jasper answered for her. “Worst case scenario, we dump the tablet and the phone and run for the second time.”
Irina looked worried, but she nodded in agreement with Jasper’s statement, and hit send.
“Get out of there.”
The Grand Master’s voice rang with urgency. Eli’s stomach dropped and he looked over his shoulder. If this were a movie, right now was when the bad guys would come roaring up in black SUVs and surround them.
“You think they’re still in Dallas?” Irina had the Grand Master on speaker, the phone on the armrest between the front seats.
“I don’t know, but Dallas is the last place I want the three of you to be.”
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault—” Irina started to say.
“Ms. Gentry, I assure you, none of this is your fault.”
“It’s a Rodin,” Eli said. Irina and Jasper both looked at him. “I know Irina didn’t tell you when she first called. We have a Rodin in the trunk of a car we stole. A sculpture by Rodin, two more sculptures by Barlach. A Nolde painting, and a blueprint we can’t yet identify.”
The Grand Master didn’t respond, and for a second Eli was worried he’d made her angry. “Has anyone seen you? Anyone who can identify you? Who might know who you are?”
They exchanged several “oh fuck” looks before Jasper responded.
“Yes. We were hiding out in a hotel that I guess a lot of members use. There were two other members there. They recognized our jewelry.”
“Who was it?”
Irina picked up the story. “The man’s name was Caden, and I think his last name was Anderson. The woman’s name was Darling. We didn’t get her last name.”
The Grand Master went very quiet for a moment. “Let me deal with him. Get that art back to Boston. Don’t drive. Fly. I want you here tomorrow morning. There’s a charter fleet company just north of Dallas.”
“I know the one,” Jasper said. “Are we safe to fly? How much reach do these purists have?”
There was silence, then the Grand Master said, “I wish I could tell you it was safe, but it’s not. Right now, I don’t know what’s safe. Bryan Cobb didn’t just disappear. His children and grandchildren and his children’s in-laws all supposedly boarded a private plane headed for the Maldives. There’s no security video of them, because of a glitch in TSA’s system at the time they were going through customs.”
Eli felt sick. “Grandkids?”
“The purists killed fifteen people to stop us from asking Bryan Cobb any questions.”
No one said anything for a full minute.
“I’ve asked more of you than I meant to.” The Grand Master sounded tired. “Ms. Gentry, I leave it up to you to decide what your best option is. If you don’t choose to fly, I ask only that you call me every four hours, so I know you’re safe.”
“Of course, Grand Master,” Irina responded.
“Oh, and one more thing. Mr. Wexler will need a disguise.”
Eli blinked. “I will?”
“You probably haven’t seen the news, but there’s a nationwide manhunt for you, Mr. Wexler. You’re accused of stealing several pieces of
priceless art.”
Eli leaned forward and thunked his head against the dash. Repeatedly.
“We’ll get him a disguise, Grand Master,” Irina said. “And once we’re in Boston, we may need help with some damage control.”
“Of course. What is that noise?”
“Mr. Wexler is having a small breakdown.” Jasper patted Eli’s shoulder. “Another one, I mean. He’s banging his head against the car. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him.”
Jasper’s voice was overly cheerful, and his comment dispelled some of the tension in the car.
“I’ll leave it to you, Mr. Ferrer.” It was easy to hear the smile in the Grand Master’s words. “Good luck. Be safe.”
Three hours later, they boarded a Gulfstream GIV-SP jet. It was just after one a.m. Thursday morning. Despite that, the flight attendant and pilots were well groomed and looked rested, though they must have been hauled out of bed only an hour ago.
Eli felt for the first step with his foot. Wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night did not make seeing easy, but it was part of his disguise. Irina had run into the same store where they’d bought the phone and come out with an armful of clothing for him.
They’d changed in a dark corner of the parking lot, Irina and Jasper into business-type clothes. Jasper was wearing slacks, a button-down shirt, and a tie. He had Eli’s glasses perched on his nose. Irina was wearing a black skirt and jacket with a white blouse, and her hair was up in a demure bun.
Eli was dressed as either a musician or an athlete—Irina said it didn’t matter which. He wore a stark white hoodie, thick headphones made of glossy red plastic, sunglasses, and jeans.
Eli found it vaguely offensive that he was getting typecast as either a rapper or football player, but Irina had said right now she wanted to get them out of Dallas safely, and a six-foot-two black man who looked like, and traveled like, an art history professor would be a hell of a lot easier to spot than a rich athlete/musician traveling with his assistant and chauffeur.
They’d taken a taxi from the parking lot to an affluent Dallas suburb. On the way, Jasper had called the charter jet company, who’d sent a car. If the driver of the town car found it odd that they were waiting in the driveway of a massive estate—which Jasper had picked essentially at random as the address where they should be picked up—he didn’t say so.
So far everything had gone according to the plan. A plan Irina and Jasper seemed to be making up as they went along. Eli didn’t know how much longer he could handle this. He wasn’t built for this level of sustained tension.
He made it up the steps and into the jet without tripping. If there were requests for ID, he didn’t hear them. Irina was taking care of everything. Jasper carried five art portfolios, the kind with shoulder straps, and two duffel bags, to the plane with them. He looked like a Sherpa. One of the pilots helped bring up the duffel bags. Their suitcases must have been stored underneath.
Eli eyed the portfolios, which held the Nolde—still in its box, which meant the case wouldn’t zip closed—the blueprint, and Irina’s paintings. The sculptures were safe in their boxes in the duffel bags.
The safety briefing was quick and to the point. Then glasses of champagne were served and the flight attendant retreated to the front, leaving them alone in the four seats closest to the rear of the aircraft, each of which swiveled and was obscenely comfortable.
“This is the first time I’ve been on a plane and my knees haven’t hit.” Eli stretched out his legs. He could get used to this.
“Am I the only one who’s nervous something hasn’t gone wrong?” Irina asked.
The plane’s engines roared to life and they started to taxi. Eli took off the sunglasses and looked out the window, expecting to see men with guns—either the cops or the bad guys—running after them. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his chest started to hurt. He exhaled as the wheels lifted off the runway.
“We made it,” he said.
Irina and Jasper returned his smile, each of them relaxing slightly.
“We’re safe enough for the next four hours,” Irina said. “And, better than that, we have Wi-Fi. In-flight Wi-Fi is nearly impossible to track in real time.” She opened her bag and pulled out her tablet, a small laptop, and the burner phone. She turned on each piece, set up the Wi-Fi, and then doled them out. Jasper handed Eli his glasses.
Out of morbid curiosity, Eli googled himself.
Popular Denver Professor Makes Off with Priceless Art
Art Historian to Art Thief: Where Is Eli Wexler?
Colleagues Shocked by Local Professor’s Crime Spree
Eli put the phone down, then picked up his glass of champagne and drained it. Irina and Jasper weren’t drinking theirs, so he drained those too.
“Maybe giving him that wasn’t such a good idea,” Jasper said mildly.
“Yeah, maybe not.” Irina snatched the phone. “Let’s talk instead.”
Eli grabbed at the phone, but Irina tossed it to Jasper, who held it out of reach.
“The art,” she said, clearly trying to distract him. “You two never told me what you discovered about the art after you went to the library that day.”
What must his parents think? And his grandmother? His friends and colleagues…
“Eli, why isn’t someone looking for that Rodin? He’s really famous. Shouldn’t someone be looking for it?”
Eli snapped his attention to Irina. “Actually there isn’t a definitive list of all of Rodin’s work, despite him being one of the best known sculptors.”
“Why not?” Irina propped her chin on her fist and kept her gaze on him. He knew she was trying to distract him, and it was working.
“He didn’t keep a list, and he was incredibly prolific. His larger pieces, and anything done for the public, are mostly well documented, but smaller pieces, especially if they were done on private commission, wouldn’t necessarily be recorded anywhere. He also painted, and there’s no telling how many paintings and sketches are out there.”
“That lunatic Gurlitt had a Rodin sketch.”
Eli narrowed his eyes. “Jasper, what do you know about Cornelius Gurlitt?”
“Who is Cornelius Gurlitt?” Irina asked.
Eli stared at Jasper, who was looking pious. “Jasper…”
Jasper cleared his throat. “The Gurlitt family is famous in the art world. In two thousand eleven, German authorities were, let’s say, tipped off about the most recent Cornelius Gurlitt’s—there are several other Corneliuses in his family, which is why I’m specifying it’s the most recent one I mean—possession of quite a few pieces of valuable art. They investigated him, supposedly for tax issues, and found a massive cache of Nazi art.”
“Was he a Nazi?”
“His father was,” Eli said. “Hildebrand Gurlitt was one of the art dealers the Nazis used to sell off degenerate art.”
“Wait, if this family is known to have helped the Nazis, why didn’t someone investigate them before?”
“Just harass a random German citizen because their ancestor worked for the Nazis? Not possible. The only way anything ever happens is if a piece of art is located, and there’s a descendant of the original owner alive and willing to fight for it. Plus, there’s no law in Germany requiring that stolen art be returned. And for degenerate art like our Nolde, the law the allied forces signed off on after the war legitimized the Nazi confiscation, and any subsequent sales. Getting art back to where it needs to be is nearly impossible.”
“Unless you have, ahem, help.” Jasper swiveled his chair side to side, smiling slightly.
Eli peered at him. “What did you do?”
“I may have, theoretically, in my misspent youth, broken into Gurlitt’s apartment—he was a total recluse, you know—to see what he had squirreled away in there.” Jasper’s smile faded. “There were hundreds of paintings. Most unframed. Stuck behind stacks of canned goods. It was a nightmare.”
“Tell me you took something.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, now you advocate theft? I’m shocked, Professor Wexler.”
“Well, according to the news, I’m a major art thief.” Eli tried to make it a joke, but Jasper’s smile disappeared and Irina looked worried.
There was a moment of silence, then Irina straightened in her seat, frowning. “If it’s hard for someone to claim the art, and the only good records are the ERR albums, why kill to keep this a secret? We’ve been assuming they’re protecting their reputation. But wouldn’t there be easier ways to do that?”
Eli frowned at Irina. He was so embedded in the world of art and art history that it made sense to him that this information was worth killing for, but Irina was right.
“Fifteen people, including kids, are dead.” Irina’s words were sobering.
Eli shook his head. “No piece of art is worth the life of a child.”
“Why wouldn’t they just lie and say they saved it from the Nazis or something?”
Eli pursed his lips. “With the Rodin you couldn’t, because it’s listed in the ERR albums, so it has clear provenance. The others…they would have been labeled degenerate art and either sold or theoretically burned.”
Jasper frowned. “It would be easy enough to fake a paper trail saying your family bought the pieces after they were smuggled into the U.S. Or you could claim someone in the family purchased them in order to save them from the fire, and that after the war, they were forgotten about. Maybe stashed in an attic. Stranger things have happened.”
Jasper shook his head. “She’s right. The degenerate art could easily be legitimized. It’s only the Rodin that’s the problem. And worst case scenario, you have to return it to the heir of the pre-war owner, assuming they can be found and bother to sue you for it.”
“How much would that Rodin be worth if it was sold?” Irina asked.
“It’s a bronze, not marble, and small, so maybe fifteen million, maybe twenty.”
Irina pursed her lips. “That’s a lot of money.”
“True,” Jasper conceded.
Eli fiddled with his glasses. “This made sense before fifteen people died. That’s out of proportion for the kind of money we’re talking about.”