To Catch a Thief

by Christina Skye

  “Always nice to know I won’t be swimming into a blocked tunnel with no way through,” Dakota said dryly. “Dynamite might be a little obvious. So what other hardware do you have in your red sack, Santa?”

  “Stun gun with waterproof housing. Night-vision goggles as backup. Just covering all the bases.” Izzy held out a narrow box of hard plastic with molded edges. “This is for the things you’ll bring out. You’ll find clips inside and a second casing for water protection.”

  Gravel crunched behind them, and Nicholas Draycott emerged from the study. “Something tells me I’m going to have nothing but gray hair before this operation is over. Marston told me about the ledge. Nell is safe?”

  “A few cuts. Breaking the window was the fastest way inside. Sorry.”

  “No apologies needed. You saved her life.” He shook Izzy’s hand. “Nice to have the confusion cleared up, Teague. It’s been almost four years since that last business we handled up in Scotland.”

  “Always a pleasure to visit the abbey,” Izzy said. “How’s that butler of yours? Still keeping you on a tight leash?”

  Right on cue the big carved door to the courtyard opened and Marston appeared. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Teague. May I offer you something to drink? Keemun was your favorite as I recall. Cream, no sugar. I have already taken the liberty of setting everything out in the library.”

  Izzy looked at Draycott and raised an eyebrow. “If I ever win the lottery, remind me to spend it on a butler,” he muttered.

  “HERE’S WHAT WE HAVE.” Nicholas gestured at the maps that filled the long oak table in the library. “So far, there’s no rain in the thirty-six-hour forecast. That’s one bit of good news.” He held out a clear plastic envelope to Dakota. “Here are the most recent surveillance photos from Glenmor, including timed shots of guard rotation.”

  Dakota opened the envelope and studied the photos. “What kind of routine can I expect?”

  “No set pattern, I’m afraid.” Izzy tapped two of the photos. “The movements look random, which means they know what they’re doing. These aren’t local rent-a-cops. I’d guess Gonsalves had them flown in from Macau.”

  “Too bad.” Dakota rubbed his neck. “Predictable rotation would make getting in a whole lot easier. But we expected this.” He arranged the photos near a detailed topographical map of the island. “How many security people have you picked up, Draycott?”

  “At least sixty according to my spotters. They’re keeping random patterns and they’re well armed.”

  “Izzy, what about security once I’m over the wall?”

  Izzy opened his briefcase. “There are motion sensors at every corner of the top of the wall. Inside you’ll be facing ground surveillance radar units decked out with new hardware from Korea. But there’s good news. When the castle was sold five years ago, the buyer brought in a building inspector as part of the appraisal process.” Izzy smiled slightly. “I managed to get all his reports.”

  “Of course you did.” Dakota scanned the new set of blueprints Izzy opened on the corner of the table. “Probable location for the art?”

  “One of the staff says there are locked rooms in the third floor of the south tower, but I’m discounting that. Old art requires humidity and heat controlled environment and I’ve found a significant heat anomaly here.” Izzy tapped the corner tower at the east side of the castle. “I’d say this indicates sophisticated climate control, the kind you install to protect delicate art. The anomaly only occurs in this part of the castle.”

  “So that’s my target.” Dakota committed the detailed architectural designs to memory. “Second floor, east side. I’ll go in under the radar, but there’s no way to stay silent. Once I tap the art, every alarm in the castle will light up. I’ll drop a few flash bangs, but it won’t hold them for long.”

  “Which is why I’ve planned a little diversion to cut down their response time,” Izzy said smugly. He glanced at Draycott, who was listening intently. “You’ve worked out an arrangement with your people? They stay out until we call them in to mop up?”

  Draycott nodded. “They don’t like being kept in the dark, but they’ll do it.”

  “Okay. Dakota, you get your package out safely, and we’ll take down Gonsalves and his buyers in one swoop. No one is walking out of there except into custody. A whole lot of people want to question Gonsalves about his October Twelfth connections once this is done.”

  Dakota paced restlessly. “What’s the timeline?”

  “A chopper is waiting to make your transport to Scotland. You’ll be in place, out at sea, by noon tomorrow, ready to go in via the pipe. Radio me when you hit the target location and I’ll put on the mother of all light shows for distraction. I’ll have my contact inside looking out for MacInnes, too.”

  “You said you have people in place. I’ll need names and photos.”

  “Already in your briefing bag.”

  “Twenty-four hours until showtime.” Dakota released the blueprints, which snapped together, scattering photos at his feet.

  Not bad luck.

  No reason to be superstitious.

  He picked up the briefing bag from Izzy. “Let’s get this thing done, gentlemen.”

  INSIDE THE GATEHOUSE, Nell dreamed of blue-gray eyes and callused hands. She dreamed of heat and freedom, the air on her face, the rock at her back. Her muscles in the flow, she tackled a sheer wall cut by a thin crack. Hand over hand she rose. Then she heard her father’s voice, telling her something was wrong. Telling her to trust no one.

  Lines broken. Falling, falling…

  Her hands raked cold stone, trying to break the plunge.

  “Nell, wake up.”

  She shot upright, blinking. Instead of cold stone she felt the warm muscles of Dakota’s chest. “Dreaming,” she said hoarsely.

  “A bad one?”

  The falling dream was always bad, but there was no point in mentioning that.

  Nell glanced through the window and saw the sky streaked with red and purple above the dark woods. “You should have come to get me sooner.”

  “Soon enough,” he said. “We’re going to work all night to simulate actual night climbing conditions. Nicholas found a place with a similar layout.” Dakota pulled one of her palms into his and studied the cut skin. “Try not to fall, will you? I don’t think my heart can take it.”

  “Not falling will be high on my to-do list, trust me.”

  Nell reached for her clothes, but Dakota’s hands closed around her wrists. “Speaking of trust…you forgot something, didn’t you?”

  “My phone?” Nell looked around frowning. “My climbing shoes—”

  “This,” Dakota whispered, leaning down for a slow skim of heat and tongue that warmed and seduced. No speed or fury now, just a silent promise. “Someday you should come up to the California coast. We’ll go climbing together.” His fingers slid through her hair. “We’ll camp out under the stars and watch the sun come up. Five days in the mountains and you’ll feel like a brand-new person.”

  Nell’s heart pounded. She didn’t do commitment. But maybe for this man, she could change. “So…are you saying there may be an us, Dakota? After all this is over?”

  His eyes darkened. “Come climbing with me and let’s find out. I won’t lie to you, Nell. My work—hell, my work has always been my life, 24/7, and I don’t know if I can change that. But I’m starting to wonder, to consider the possibilities. You’re in all of them.” His voice was rough. “What do you say?”

  “Oh, I’m open.” Nell took a long breath. “Terrified, but open. But just so you know, I hate mosquitoes. And I have to have light to read at night. Don’t ask me to give up my books.”

  “I think we could reach a compromise in that area.” Dakota’s eyes were smoky. “I’ll find something you can do at night—when you don’t want to read.”

  They could find a lot of things to do at night, Nell thought. Up on a mountain, with only the stars overhead spilled like diamonds over velvet.
With bodies urgent and the wind sighing cool through the pines.

  The low chime of Dakota’s watch made her stiffen.

  His face changed, his eyes turning distant.

  The mission. The danger he had to face.

  Nell pulled away. Before they could think about any kind of future, he had to come back alive. “I—I’d better get dressed.”

  Dakota nodded. While she grabbed her clothes, he crossed the room and pulled out his phone, speaking quietly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Glenmor Castle

  Scotland

  North of the Isle of Skye

  CLOUDS BLOCKED the horizon. Wind banged at the leaded windows of the castle, dark in the gathering dusk.

  A restless young man with cold eyes stood at the crackling fire, beckoning to the American in the doorway. “Come in, Jordan. I have called you to see the new displays. Impressive, are they not?”

  Impressive did not do the room justice, Jordan MacInnes thought.

  Wind hurled gravel at the windows as the American entered the secure stone room. He gave no sign of uneasiness. Any weakness now would be fatal. Martim Gonsalves always used weakness to his advantage.

  MacInnes studied the new construction, noting the three high-tech display cases near the interior wall. Their sleek lights and slim contours seemed starkly out of place in a medieval castle. Higher on the wall he saw the nearly concealed junction of new wiring and the drying paint over metal sheets in the middle of the floor.

  Motion sensors on every wall. Pressure-sensitive plates. How much other security had Gonsalves added to this room?

  MacInnes gave no sign that he had noticed the new security details. The display lights were off, but he could make out electric wires along the base of the cases. More security.

  In answer to his casual questions, the staff had told him that the suites on the third floor had been fitted with new wiring and electronic locks. Based on that information, Jordan had concluded that the stolen da Vinci had been secured somewhere in that part of the castle. No one had mentioned anything about construction in the isolated second-floor tower.

  But the proof lay in front of him, awesome even in the partial shadows. In the nearby case he could just make out the haunting outline of a woman’s cheek and graceful, folded hands.

  Gonsalves’s security team had been busy. The high-tech Plexiglas display tubes rose from metal platforms bolted directly into the oak floor. Even a quick glance told MacInnes there would be no way to cut through metal or Plexiglas without a blowtorch or a high-powered saw.

  As he walked closer to the displays, Gonsalves fingered a remote. Small lights flashed on, and their diffused golden glow glinted off cushioned bases of pale blue silk, the effect breathtaking in its opulence. On each base a small gilt easel displayed a framed chalk sketch executed on cream linen-rich paper.

  Three identical pieces?

  MacInnes frowned. Three images, each with the graceful lines of the Mona Lisa, smiled back from the cases. The beauty of the trio staggered him, squeezing at his chest, but he struggled to hide his emotions at the treasure before him.

  “Well, Jordan? What do you think of my catch?”

  “I’m—speechless, Martim.”

  Grace, glory, eternity—all lay captured within the twelve inches of each fragile chalk sketch; da Vinci’s genius had never been more unmistakable.

  “Incomparable,” he whispered, more moved than he had ever been by a work of art; even the small van Gogh in Boston paled before these. “But you know that already, Martim. Your price will be whatever you ask. No one on my list of buyers will quibble when they see a masterpiece like this.”

  MacInnes waited, biting back a thousand questions, leaving Gonsalves to explain in his own time.

  The younger man nodded thoughtfully. “So far all nine of your buyers have confirmed, just as you predicted. And your idea to convey the auction details via clean, encrypted cell phones has been most helpful. They have been distributed and will be used only once, then disposed of.” The second most powerful man in Macau raised an eyebrow. “You have no questions for me?”

  “I have a thousand questions. Why are there three works, Martim?” Jordan studied each piece in turn. Through the Plexiglas, each seemed to be the original. He turned, frowning. “How is this possible?”

  “Amusing, no?” He triggered a remote and one image vanished. Then the other two vanished. Only the empty display cases shimmered in the dim light. “Cameras, my friend. High-resolution video feed. Only one of those cases holds the real da Vinci. Or it will, tomorrow.”

  “Brilliant,” Jordan whispered.

  Aware of Martim’s eyes locked on him in cold, predatory intensity, the American moved calmly from one case to the next. “So all is prepared. I am happy to see it. Although I doubt that any of my chosen buyers would be so stupid as to attempt theft here.”

  “A precaution nevertheless.” Martim triggered the remote and one by one the three haunting faces reappeared. “Should one of your buyers become overeager and manage to access this room, which is most unlikely, which case would they choose? A good question, no? Which one would you steal, my friend?” The question was casual, but the look in Martim’s eyes was deadly serious.

  MacInnes walked between the three cases, frowning. All three pieces were identical. There was simply no way to choose. Jordan crossed his arms. “To choose is impossible. You know that.”

  The other man smiled. “If all goes according to plan I will soon be a very rich man—and you will receive your fee of half a million dollars, as we agreed. If you become my partner, I will double that fee.”

  Jordan met his look squarely. “I am an old man, Martim. One last job, as we agreed, to secure the comforts denied me during my years in prison. But no more. After this, I am going to sit on a white sand beach and drink vintage champagne while I watch the sun set in a beautiful woman’s eyes. I am too old and tired for this new world of yours.” MacInnes waved a hand at the cases. “You see? Too much technology. Too many new skills to learn. There’s no place for a dinosaur like me here.”

  “You are certain of that?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Gonsalves slid the remote back into the pocket of his bespoke Armani suit. “You would not be tempted to betray me, I hope? That would be a very unhealthy choice.”

  MacInnes pivoted, stiff with anger. “You doubt me still, even after I brought you nine buyers? Each one agreed to come here because of my word and my reputation. If you question my loyalty, why have you used my contacts for the last year?”

  Gonsalves raised both palms soothingly. “There is no reason to take offense. If I truly doubted your motives, we would be having this discussion in a manner you would find far more…uncomfortable.”

  Jordan had no doubt about that. Even Gonsalves’s closest guards lived in fear of the man’s mood swings. No one was above suspicion, no one entirely safe, not even Gonsalves’s own family.

  Already two of the security detail had been removed abruptly when Martim discovered them speculating about the secret preparations. Besides Martim, only Jordan and Gonsalves’s second in command knew the details of the auction. That secrecy was enforced by security cameras running around the clock throughout the castle and its grounds.

  The man trusted no one.

  Jordan waved a hand at the three cases. “You questioned my loyalty, and now I ask you a question. Do you think you could trick the men I have invited here by taking their money with no intention of giving them the real da Vinci? Maybe you have an excellent forgery ready to transfer after the auction? If so, I must warn you that your life would most certainly be forfeit and mine with it, because I vouched for the art you are to sell. These are dangerous men, Martim. They are also very intelligent men.” Anger tightened his voice. “Have you made a secret arrangement to betray them?”

  The heir to Macau’s largest crime family stared at the display case in cold silence. When he turned, his face was expressionless. “I a
m hardly so stupid. There will be no surprises tomorrow. Trust me.”

  MacInnes summoned a smile, pretending to be relieved.

  As his cell phone vibrated, Martim answered in rapid-fire Portuguese, then moved to the keypad near the door. Keeping his back to MacInnes, he punched in eight numbers.

  The door swung open. Two security guards carried in one of the struggling kitchen staff, his face bloody and his hands bound.

  “You have his phone?” Martim demanded, switching to English.

  The guard held out a new silver unit. “Two calls tonight. Both numbers to the same answering service. We couldn’t find anything more.”

  “I think we really should be more persuasive in that case.” Gonsalves pulled the remote from his pocket and fingered a button, then slid one end of the unit against the struggling man’s neck.

  A hum.

  The bitter hint of ozone.

  The worker made a shrill sound, his body slamming to rigidity as electricity drilled through him.

  “Ready to answer yet?”

  The man’s jaw tightened and he looked away. Silent. Controlled.

  Gonsalves frowned. “No? Another sixty thousand volts will change your mind.” He leveled another jolt of electricity at the worker’s neck, maintaining contact until the man’s face filled with color and his legs twitched wildly.

  Saliva trickled from the worker’s slack mouth. His eyes flickered, then slid over Gonsalves’s shoulders. Pain, but nothing else. No answers. No fear.

  The behavior would not be tolerated, MacInnes knew. No one crossed Martim Gonsalves.

  “Answer me now, damn you.” Gonsalves shoved the gagging man back against the stone wall and then pressed the stun device under his chin. With every second his victim’s face turned darker.

  “Martim, please.”

  “You protect him, Jordan? You take sides against me?” The stun unit rose, aimed at the American.

  “Only because you need this man.” Jordan kept his voice cool, brisk. “If you kill him, you’ll never find out who he was contacting. Keep him alive and he will give you valuable information.”