The Sweetest Heist in History

by Octavia Spencer

  “What is it?” Pudge asked.

  “Looks like a luggage tag,” Randi said. “This must have been on one of the men’s suitcases when they flew into New York.”

  “Is it something we can use?” Gigi asked.

  “I’d say so,” Randi replied. “If the airline scans the barcodes, they can tell who the luggage belonged to, where they flew in from—and when they’re flying back.”

  * * *

  Go to Appendix D to complete the Ninja Task!

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  CAT BURGLARS

  Randi and Jake squatted at the base of the Brooklyn Museum. They were dressed in black from head to toe. Pudge and D.C. had both begged for the chance to escort Randi on the mission, but Gigi had refused to let either of them go. She wasn’t going to let her niece set off on a dangerous operation without some adult supervision. So Jake Jessop ended up with the job.

  “I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” Jake said softly, adjusting Randi’s safety harness.

  “Yeah, it’s amazing what some guys will do for a girl,” Randi joked in a whisper.

  “Well, you are pretty darn persuasive,” Jake told her.

  “Ha!” Randi cackled before she caught herself and lowered her voice. “You and I both know that I’m not the girl I was talking about.”

  Jake Jessop turned bright red. “Sure you’re up for this?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Randi replied.

  “Okay then.” The device he took out of his backpack looked like a thick plastic gun. Jake raised his arms and fired it as if he were shooting at the stars. A black rubber ball shot out of the gun, carrying a length of rope behind it. The ball hit a statue high above on the museum’s wall, and the rope wrapped around its legs. Jake tugged on the rope to see if the hold was firm.

  “Wow. I wasn’t sure that would work,” Jake said. He’d borrowed the device from the prop guy on his movie set. “I go first. When I get to the second floor, you can start climbing.” He lifted a foot and put it on one of the building’s marble blocks. Then, using the rope, he began to slowly walk up the side of the Brooklyn Museum.

  There was no other way. Randi had made that much clear. With the VIP party taking place on the fifth floor, the museum was under heavy security. None of the ninja detectives (real or honorary) had a chance of making it through the door. A window was Randi’s only option. Having played several ninjas and a handful of cat burglars, Jake was confident he could help her reach a window. There was no doubt that Randi would be caught soon after she got inside. But that didn’t matter, as long as she managed to get her hands on one of the eggs first.

  Jake gave her a thumbs-up, and Randi began to climb. It wasn’t long before she realized that scaling the side of a building was harder than it sounded. Randi’s arms were exhausted before she reached the second floor. Their goal was the fourth—just one floor below the exhibit. By the time she reached the third, her muscles were shaking and her hands were raw and sweaty. She could barely force herself to keep going. The hum of helicopters had just appeared in the distance when Randi lost her grip and plunged toward the earth.

  The cord attached to Randi’s safety harness broke her fall. The quick stop knocked the breath out of her—but she knew far worse would have happened if she’d hit the ground. Suddenly, she began to rise again, a few feet at a time. Jake Jessop had made it all the way to the roof. Randi could hear the grunts he made as he pulled her up. They grew faster and more urgent as the sound of helicopters drew closer and closer.

  Randi jerked her head in the direction of the noise. Two NYPD choppers were heading straight for the museum, their searchlights sweeping nearby roofs. If the searchlight landed on Randi for even a second, the operation would be over. The cops in the chopper would radio the museum and have security guards waiting inside for Randi and Jake.

  Jake kept pulling as the helicopters sped toward them like two angry hornets. Finally, Randi felt her body slip over a railing.

  “Lie facedown next to the railing,” he panted as he pulled up the rope they’d used to scale the side of the building. Randi flattened herself against the ground. When the last coil of rope was over the side, Jake dropped to the floor. That instant, their side of the museum was suddenly lit like a sunny day. The roar of the helicopters was so loud that Randi stuck her fingers in her ears as the winds produced by the propellers tried to rip the hat off her head. They were gone as quickly as they’d arrived, but Randi still didn’t feel safe. They’d flown over the museum for a reason. They’d be circling back soon.

  Jake seemed to know it, too. He dug into his backpack and brought out a small hammer.

  “I’m going to lower you down to the window right below us. Break the glass. Go inside and release the cord from your safety harness. You should be in the stairwell. The exhibit is one flight up. Don’t hesitate, or you’ll be captured before you make it to the eggs.”

  Randi nodded and took the hammer. The next five minutes were going to be among the most important of her life.

  Within seconds, she was dangling back over the ground. Just as Jake had said, a window was right in front of her. She pulled back her arm and hit the glass. A long, thin crack grew from a tiny crater in the center of the window. But the glass didn’t shatter. Another hit with the hammer, and a new crack appeared. Randi was growing desperate, but she couldn’t afford to panic. Instead she cleared her mind, bent her knee, and kicked the window with a force she never imagined she could muster. The window caved in, and Randi was inside.

  She dropped the hammer, released the cord to her safety harness, and sprinted up the stairs. Randi could hear alarms wailing elsewhere in the building, but when she threw open the door to the fifth-floor exhibition space, the only sounds she heard were the tinkling of crystal glasses and a few notes of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.

  As she’d suspected, the eggs were out of their cages. They were lined up on a long table covered with jet-black velvet. There was no barrier between the eggs and their admirers.

  A woman shrieked at the sight of Randi, and a hundred people in ball gowns and tuxedos spun around to face the door to the stairwell.

  “What is it?” a woman cried.

  “What does it want?” her husband added in a voice just as shrill as his wife’s.

  “Please, settle down!” ordered a man in a calm, clear, and familiar voice. “There’s no cause for concern. It’s just a little girl with an overactive imagination.”

  It was Officer Cody, marching across the room, his hand already reaching for the handcuffs affixed to his belt loops. The guests backed up, as if Randi were a wild animal that might lunge at them at any second.

  Randi couldn’t let Officer Cody stop her. But she couldn’t hurt him either. So she waited until he was close enough to grab. Then she took his hand, spun him around, and kicked the back of his knee just hard enough to make him lose his balance. The instant he was on the ground, Randi made her move.

  She headed straight for the one egg she was certain was fake. Basket of Wild Flowers was a lovely white egg designed to resemble an Easter basket with a bouquet of flowers sprouting out of the top. The VIPs gasped in unison when Randi wrapped her fingers around the egg. Several people screamed—and a gentleman fainted—when Randi reared back her arm and threw it.

  The egg shattered against a wall. Not just in two or three pieces but in thousands. Randi felt Officer Cody grab her by her harness. Her arms were bent backward and her wrists handcuffed.

  “How could you do something so stupid?” he growled under his breath.

  “Because you wouldn’t have believed me otherwise,” Randi said.

  “Believed what?” the cop demanded.

  “That some of these eggs aren’t real. Think about it. A real egg wouldn’t have shattered like that. The one I just threw was made out of sugar.”

  It took a minute for the information to sink in. Then the police officer dragged Randi along with him as he
approached the remnants of the shattered egg. The crowd was clustered around the pile of shards, and a few people had bent over to examine them.

  Officer Cody dropped into a squat and picked up the biggest piece he could find—a pink flower no bigger than a pearl. He stuck the flower to his tongue and then hopped back to his feet.

  “Everyone, stay right where you are!” he ordered. “This is officially a crime scene. I don’t care if you’re the Mayor of New York or the Duchess of Cambridge. Nobody leaves this room!”

  But no one was listening. The sprinkler system had gone off. Women’s hairdos were instantly flattened. Silk dresses and designer shoes were ruined. A man’s toupee was washed right off his head. Dozens of guests rushed for cover. Some huddled in doorways. A few crawled beneath tables. Officer Cody watched the pandemonium, unsure of what to do next.

  Randi tugged on his sleeve. “No one here stole the eggs,” she told him. “The thieves are long gone. But if we act fast, you might be able to catch them.”

  “How many eggs did they get?” Officer Cody asked.

  “We’ll find out in a second,” Randi told him.

  The sprinklers shut off. By the time the sopping-wet guests emerged from their hiding places, the pedestals where six of the eggs had been sitting were empty.

  * * *

  Go to Appendix E to complete the Ninja Task!

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  THE ART GALLERY

  Officer Cody stepped into the interrogation room at the 78th Precinct in Brooklyn and held out one hand, its palm facing up. “Looks like we got the thieves,” he announced.

  After the torture she’d put her muscles through, Randi Rhodes could barely move her arms, but she still managed to give him five.

  “Boris Usenko and Oleg Chudov, both well-known members of the Moscow crime scene. And Dieter Koch, a German pastry chef. Thanks to that luggage tag you dug out of the trash, we found out they were on an Aeroflot flight from JFK to Moscow. We reached the pilot before they left American airspace. The jet just landed in Portland, Maine.”

  “And the eggs?” Randi asked. “Have you found them yet?”

  “The Feds took Andrei Gorchakov into custody a few hours ago. He had the eggs in his possession. They’re on their way back to the museum as we speak, and Officer Jackson is searching for the location of Gorchakov’s private art gallery.”

  “Tell him to try Gorchakov’s wine cellar,” Randi said suddenly.

  She didn’t even have to explain her hunch. Officer Cody took out his phone and dialed Officer Jackson’s right away.

  “Miranda says check the wine cellar. . . .” He paused and listened for a moment. “So what if it’s the size of an Appalachian Outhouse? Try searching for a secret door or something. If she says it might be down there, it’s worth another look.”

  Randi beamed. It felt good to be taken seriously.

  “I heard Gorchakov mention his wine cellar at the Russian Tea Room,” she explained once Officer Cody was off the phone. “He said he couldn’t wait to rearrange it, which didn’t seem to make any sense. . . .”

  The door swung open and a female officer stuck her head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt. There’s someone here for Miranda Rhodes,” she said. “He says he’s her dad.”

  Randi glared at Officer Cody. “I thought you promised you weren’t going to call him.”

  The police officer held his hands up. “I didn’t,” he told her.

  Suddenly Herb Rhodes was standing in the doorway. His shirt was untucked and his hair hadn’t been brushed. Randi stood up, preparing for a lecture. Instead, she received a hug.

  “Gigi called me,” he said. “She told me everything. I hopped on a plane right away.”

  “Are you mad at me?” Randi asked.

  Her dad cleared his throat. “I’m absolutely furious,” he croaked, holding her even closer.

  “Sir,” Officer Cody said. “If it’s any consolation, your daughter is a first-class detective. She just foiled one of the biggest heists in New York City history.”

  Officer Cody’s phone rang before Herb Rhodes had a chance to respond. When the redheaded cop hung up, he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Looks like Miranda’s accomplishments just got even more impressive,” he said. “Thanks to her tip, my colleague just found Andrei Gorchakov’s private art gallery. He says it’s one of the most amazing things he’s ever seen. Almost everything in it is stolen. How would you both like a look?”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Officer Jackson met them outside a modest brick house in a Russian neighborhood in Brooklyn. It looked like every other building on the block—two stories high with a cute white porch. Aside from the Rolls-Royce parked out front, there was absolutely nothing that would have suggested the house was home to a notorious gangster.

  “Follow me,” Officer Jackson said. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  He guided them through several ordinary, if tastefully furnished, rooms to a plain wooden door in the kitchen on the house’s first floor. Behind the door lay a set of stairs that led to an underground room.

  “It’s going to get a little tight down here for a moment,” Officer Jackson informed them. He waited until his three guests had descended the stairs. At the bottom was a tiny room lined with wine racks.

  “He’s got some pretty good stuff here,” Herb Rhodes said, pulling a bottle out for a closer look.

  “Yep, but this one here’s the best in his collection.” Officer Jackson pointed at a dark green bottle with a burgundy cap. “See what you think.”

  Herb pulled at the bottle, but it wouldn’t leave the rack. Randi heard a loud click, and the wall that held the rack began to move. A hidden entrance appeared before them. Randi took one step inside and gasped.

  She’d expected a fancy basement. What she’d found instead was an underground palace. The room she was in was bigger than her entire house. Its white walls were trimmed with bright blue and gold. Gilded statues stood in every corner, and three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Plush sofas and armchairs were clustered around sumptuous Oriental carpets.

  “There’s an FBI agent around here somewhere,” Officer Jackson said. “He says this is a copy of a room in a famous palace in Saint Petersburg, Russia. In fact, all the rooms down here are inspired by palaces once owned by the Russian royal family.”

  “Wait,” Randi said. “What other rooms? There’s more than this one down here?”

  “Oh, this is just the start.” Officer Jackson laughed. “Gorchakov must have burrowed under the entire borough of Brooklyn to build this place. But let me show you the best part.” He walked over to a small painting that was hanging on the wall. It showed a dark vase filled with yellow and red flowers. “This is a van Gogh painting. It was stolen from a museum in Cairo in 2010. It’s worth fifty-five million dollars.”

  “Fifty-five?” Herb Rhodes repeated.

  “For a picture of some flowers?” Randi asked.

  “That’s right,” said Officer Jackson. He moved on to the next painting on the wall. It showed a man and two women in old-fashioned clothing playing music. “And this one’s by Johannes Vermeer. It was stolen from the Gardner Museum in Boston in 1990. It’s worth around two hundred million dollars.”

  Herb Rhodes collapsed onto one of the sofas. “My daughter helped recover a two-hundred-million-dollar painting?”

  “Oh, there’s a lot more than that down here. I’ve been following the FBI’s art expert around for the past hour. There are sculptures and paintings that no one has seen in decades. And at least one item that hasn’t been seen in almost a century.” Officer Jackson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an egg. It was a pale purplish pink. “The expert thinks this may be what’s known as the Mauve Egg. It’s been lost since the Russian Revolution in 1917. And all of the eggs that mysteriously vanished are down here as well.”

  “Looks like you’re going to be famous,” Officer Cody told
Randi. “A twelve-year-old girl helped uncover a fortune in stolen art? The press is going to be all over you.”

  “Oy,” said Herb Rhodes, sinking even further into the overstuffed sofa. “If the press is all over her, this guy’s mob buddies will be, too.”

  “And once they find out you’re the daughter of a best-selling mystery writer . . . ,” Officer Cody continued.

  “You’re going to be on TV for weeks,” Officer Jackson finished.

  The idea was appealing, but there was only one response Randi could give. “I’d rather not,” she told the police officers.

  “What?” Officer Cody blurted out.

  “Why?” Officer Jackson asked.

  “I don’t want to be famous,” Randi replied.

  “You don’t?” Herb Rhodes asked in astonishment.

  “Of course not,” Randi told him. “How am I supposed to have any fun if I’m being watched all the time?”

  * * *

  Go to Appendix F to complete the Ninja Task!

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  PRICELESS OBJECTS

  Monday morning, the three ninja detectives went their separate ways. D.C., Gigi, and Jake headed to Chinatown to film action scenes for The Littlest Warrior, Jake Jessop’s latest martial arts film. Pudge stayed at Gigi’s house to prepare for his dad’s arrival later that afternoon. He’d finished a grueling workout routine and had already washed his laundry and was waiting for the iron to heat up when Randi and Herb Rhodes came in to say good-bye.