[JJ06] Quicksand

by Gigi Pandian

  “The illuminated manuscript page,” I said, trying to keep my voice even and not yell, “is what made the pieces fit together. Did you look carefully at the painting?”

  “Animals with a person. That’s pretty common in illuminated manuscripts.”

  “But this is a man wrapped in the trunk of an elephant, with a tiger circling at the elephant’s feet. Two animals more commonly associated with India than with France. And two references to those animals in two days. It’s related to the letters North showed me. It’s too big a coincidence. This has to be about something stolen from India that North is on the trail of.”

  Lane stared at me, the color draining from his face, then shook his head. “You’ve over-thinking this, Jaya. It could be as simple as this fellow with a tiger obsession learned about the hiding place of a unique illustration, so the letter was the piece of information that told North where to find the parchment. That’s why North wanted you to give your expert opinion about whether the letters were real. You could be right that there’s a connection, but it’s one that’s easily explained.”

  “I wish it was that simple, but it doesn’t follow. Why would a single page of a larger volume be hidden inside the desk from a scriptorium, unless there was some larger significance? North had a pretty weak explanation for all the effort that went into finding it. We’re missing something. I wish I’d had a chance to take a closer look at the parchment, but it was clear North didn’t want me to see it.”

  “I think,” Lane said, “I can help with that.”

  “Don’t tell me you have a photographic memory and can draw it perfectly.”

  “Even better.” He reached into his pocket and held up a piece of electronic equipment smaller than his thumb.

  “A miniature camera?”

  “This is why I gave North’s video feed to the performance artist. I knew North would be amused, and therefore not care that I disobeyed him in this case. His weakness is that he has too much fun with his role. I knew he wouldn’t question my handing off the video camera, since he’d be getting a more entertaining show.” As he spoke, he extracted a miniature memory card from the camera, plugged it into a laptop, and tapped a few keys. “The real reason I wanted to ditch that streaming video was to take a better look at what I was stealing. It was a precaution in case I’d been misled about the value of what I’d taken and needed to get it back.”

  He placed the laptop in front of me on the dining table that also seemed to serve as a desk, turning the computer so I could see the screen. A photograph of the illuminated manuscript page filled the screen. Though the colorful painting must have been more recent, the parchment itself looked like it could have been close to a thousand years old. The writing was so faded it was barely visible. I looked at it more closely.

  “I’m going to need something stronger than tea,” I said, staring at the elephant, tiger, and their victim. My mouth was dry and it was difficult to speak. “This piece of parchment is a clue. A clue that leads to the real treasure North is after.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Look at the writing,” I said. “Next to the painting, there’s only a single sentence of writing. It’s a message, not a page from a book.”

  Lane stared at the image, then promptly kicked over an empty trashcan. It bounced off a bookshelf and skidded across the hardwood floor. “I should have seen the signals.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” I said. “That was the point.”

  “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I screwed up.”

  “Not for the reason you think. It’s only my background that made it possible for me to make the connection. That’s exactly why I was never supposed to see this. Did you see how North reacted when you handed him the parchment but it wasn’t stuffed into an envelope as he requested? He was flustered. That’s when he told us far too much information about his ‘eccentric’ client. It felt forced. Why the hard sell? The job was already done.”

  “But I should have seen the problems with North’s behavior. I told you how he’s used to getting his way through his generous agreements. Bringing unwilling participants into this was out of character for him, especially bringing an outsider—you—into this. I was on such a high from pulling off the job without a hitch that I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Well then, let’s start thinking now.”

  “If I’d stopped to think sooner, maybe Hugo—”

  “You can’t blame yourself. We don’t even know what happened to him.”

  The kettle whistled and Lane stood up to make the tea, while I stared at the photograph. Though the paper was worn with age and the calligraphic writing faded, the painting of a tiger standing on top of a man was vibrant.

  “How’s your Ecclesiastical Latin?” Lane asked, coming up behind me and handing me a mug.

  “Mediocre at best. Cementarium claustri ad cryptam. Why isn’t this written in French? And don’t you have anything stronger than tea in this place?”

  “Take a sip.”

  I complied, finding the black tea generously spiked with brandy.

  “Illuminated manuscripts from the 12th century were written in Latin,” Lane said.

  “This can’t be that old.”

  “It certainly is.”

  “But the painting—”

  “That painting,” Lane said, “was added later. You can tell because of the pigments, and also the subject matter, as you pointed out. But why would the text and paintings be from different centuries?”

  “Cryptam sounds like a crypt,” I said, turning back to writing. “I wish I could ask Tamarind for help. She’d love a mystery involving a crypt. Oh! Can I get in touch with her now?”

  Lane shook his head. “Not a chance. If you’re right that North is still looking for something related to this information, he’ll be keeping tabs on us. When you gave me your bag, I disabled your phone. North has no way to trace us now. And don’t even think about sending her an email from this computer, unless it’s to say how lovely Paris is.”

  “Doesn’t turning off our phones raise his suspicion?”

  Lane shook his head. “He knows I’d be careful.” He pulled open a kitchen drawer, revealing four cell phones of the same model but in different colors. He selected the black one for himself and handed me the red one. “Don’t get in touch with anyone you know, but we can communicate with each other.”

  Pushing the gravity of the situation from my mind, I turned my attention back to the Latin. “Cementarium claustri ad cryptam,” I read.

  Lane slid his fingers across the cell phone. “Translated, it approximates ‘stonemasons of cloisters to crypt.’”

  “Stonemasons who built cloisters and a crypt,” I repeated. “It’s all so medieval.”

  Lane gulped the last of his spiked tea. “Hugo,” he whispered. “That’s why he was involved. Now that we know it involves a church with cloisters and a crypt—”

  “Because Hugo was a priest?”

  “His expertise was religious iconography. He knew this job involved something of larger significance. That’s why he sought me out! I’m the reason he’s probably dead.”

  Lane stood and filled his mug with brandy, sans tea.

  “You didn’t kill him.”

  “Didn’t I? He risked his life to try to speak with me. If the bigger treasure North is after involves something a monastic community felt the need to protect, that explains why it’s a big enough deal—” He broke off and downed his brandy. He slammed the empty mug down, then squatted and rummaged through a drawer underneath the one with the cell phones. From the very back, behind batteries, flashlights, scratch paper, and several odd electronic devices I didn’t recognize, he pulled out a mangled box of cigarettes and a crystal ashtray.

  “You think Hugo was involved in this job?” I asked while Lane lit a cigarette an
d inhaled deeply.

  “It would explain how Hugo found me at the Louvre. North isn’t in the habit of revealing details about jobs that a member of his crew isn’t involved in. We know now that we can’t take North at his word. God, this must be a huge treasure if it’s enough for North to ruin his reputation over. What have I gotten you into? We need to get you on a flight home.”

  “What are you talking about? We just figured out—”

  “You held up your part of the bargain,” Lane said. “I’m willing to trade a tiny piece of art history that nobody will miss for your happiness and safety. But this theft is a bigger deal than I thought it was.”

  “Which is exactly why I can’t go home. I don’t even know why I’m sitting here talking with you when I should be going to the police. It made sense at first to protect ourselves by going through with North’s plan, but this has gotten way out of hand.”

  Lane crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me. “You want to go to the police after we robbed the Louvre?”

  I slouched in my seat. “Point taken.”

  “Even if we could get the police to believe us, what could we tell them? We haven’t figured out what any of this means. We don’t yet know what North is after—some sort of treasure that made its way from India to a crypt in France? And Hugo is a grown man who can do as he pleases. His disappearance wouldn’t be taken seriously as a missing person.”

  “What about the blood I saw? Surely that suggests foul play.”

  “I’m sure it’s been wiped clean by now.”

  I groaned. “I wish I knew what to do. I feel like I’m being pulled deeper under water with every step I take. I’m stuck, and I don’t know how to get myself out.”

  Lane left his cigarette at the edge of the ash tray and kneeled down in front of me. Taking my hands in his, he said, “Let me save you from the quicksand, Jones. I risked stealing from the Louvre so that you’d be safe. Please, let me handle this.”

  My chest constricted and I found it difficult to breathe. “What are you going to do?”

  He sighed and stood up, retrieving his cigarette and taking one last drag before stubbing it out. “Whatever I have to do. I need to find out what happened to Hugo and what North is really trying to steal. I can’t let him get away with this.”

  “You don’t even know what this is. You need me to figure it out.”

  “I can—”

  “You can do what? When we first met, you were the one who convinced me of the importance of turning to an expert when it comes to piecing together history. I turned to you for help. Now you need me.” How could I go back to my apartment, my office, my life teaching history classes, all the while knowing I’d been complicit in losing an important piece of history to a murderer?

  “I’m not getting on a plane,” I said. “I was part of the theft. It’s on my hands, too. I was stupid to agree to one small item being stolen, but it’s forgivable under the circumstances. What’s unforgivable is letting a historic treasure fall into North’s hands and not finding out what happened to Hugo.”

  “Is there anything I can do to make you get on a flight home?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We can stop North, get justice for Hugo, and find the treasure.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Let’s go over what we know,” I said.

  Lane rested his elbows on the table, put his head in his hands, and yawned.

  “I’m boring you with all this talk about jumping into action?”

  “You may have noticed I didn’t get to sleep last night, and the night before I only caught a few hours. I’ve been running on adrenaline.”

  “I wish you had time to sleep, but we don’t have that luxury.”

  Lane raised a sleepy eyebrow at me. “What am I missing?”

  “We know time is of the essence—”

  “We do?” He snapped up.

  “Yes,” I said, “we do. North made a mistake in his plan to get me here. If he wanted to be sure I’d come, he would have waited until I was on spring break. Instead, he had to risk that I’d come right away. It was a risk, and now I’ve seen firsthand that he doesn’t like risk.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good. But it’s still not much.”

  “I know. But since North is acting differently from his usual MO, we need to figure out why. Tell me what you know about North. Everything.”

  “I told you the basics already, when I was trying to convince you to take the threat seriously.”

  “I know not to underestimate him. But what about personal details. How did you meet him?”

  “In a way, through John.”

  “Your mentor.”

  “It’s probably not the most accurate description of our relationship, since he always worked alone, but since he took me under his wing, that’s the easiest way to describe it. John was one of the few people I knew who told me to stay away from North. I was skeptical of the advice, because I’d heard that North was a man of his word. He was also a man of vision, something I found compelling at that time in my life. It was when I wanted to hurt people I thought deserved it. North took advantage of my motivation. He used it. That’s what he does. He’s smart, so he can manipulate people to get what he wants. I did one job with him, because it was stealing from a rich baron who’d acquired his wealth through questionable means, and also happened to beat his wife.”

  “You robbed a wife-beating baron of some art. That doesn’t sound so bad.” I cringed as I spoke the words.

  “John was right. North only told me what I wanted to hear. He never lied—he left out the full truth through omission. I decided to work alone from then on.”

  It was odd hearing more about things Lane had done in his life before he went straight and converted from an art thief to an art historian.

  “North is universally known in the business,” Lane continued, “and also in the legitimate art world, as Henry North.”

  As Lane spoke, I used the laptop to look up Henry North. “It says he’s a wealthy art dealer. Exactly like he told me. How boring.”

  “And a great cover.”

  “Is that his real name?”

  “I highly doubt it. But he covered his tracks well. It looks like a real identity.”

  “Dante and Marius are real names, too? Everyone on this museum job?”

  “As real as you can consider the names they’ve gone by for years. Which reminds me...” He took the laptop from me. As he typed, a smile lit up his face. “Perfect.”

  “What’s perfect?”

  He turned the screen toward me. It was a news service article in an English-language newspaper. “Performance Art in Poor Taste at the Louvre,” the headline read, next to a photo of thousands of people crowded into the lobby of the Louvre, underneath the great pyramid. “Paris, France,” I read out loud. “At eleven o’clock this morning, a performance artist known as Chaos singlehandedly wreaked havoc at the world’s most famous museum, the Louvre. Chaos, whose real identity is unknown, dressed as a museum docent and brazenly removed a painting in front of hundreds of people, before running through the museum and leaving the unharmed painting inside a box with a political message—” I broke off and skimmed the rest of the story. “It goes on to say guards circled him and foiled his plans to leave the museum with the painting. How can they say that? That’s not what really happened.”

  Lane shrugged. “It’s sort of true. You’d prefer they report the truth?”

  “Of course not.” I handed the computer back to Lane. “It’s still unsettling.”

  “It’s similar to what happened when the Corot painting was stolen in 1998. The press reported that the museum had searched all the guests before letting people out, but they hadn’t.”

  “How could they—”

  “Let’s get back on point,” Lan
e said. “North isn’t as far ahead of us as he thinks he is. Like only knowing about my hideout that’s an open secret. Not this place.”

  “Is that where you got this camera and added disguise from?” I asked. “I thought he was having you watched the whole time up until the heist.”

  “When Marius and I needed a food break, I suggested grabbing a bite at a restaurant around the corner from that place. When I excused myself to go to the bathroom, he didn’t find it necessary to follow. Which is what I expected. He’s very proper in many ways. I was back within three minutes, with the bag tucked under the back of my shirt.”

  “What if he had followed you to the bathroom?”

  “I didn’t leave it up to chance. Not too much chance. I weighed the risk, like I always do. Marius was eating his favorite dish, which the waiter brought out moments before, so it was highly unlikely he’d follow me. But if I’d known what North was capable of, I wouldn’t have taken the risk.” Lane ran his hands through his hair, then picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “There’s something we’re missing.”

  “There’s a lot we’re missing. Such as the fact that the parchment doesn’t say where the cloister is, or what’s hidden in the crypt. But right now, you need sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over. Take a nap. I’ll research while you get some rest.”

  “You might be right that I need some sleep to think straight. Remember, no contacting anyone about the illuminated manuscript page. Communications with people you know, like Tamarind, might be monitored. And communications with experts, even anonymously, might alert North that someone is looking into it when they shouldn’t be.” His eyelids drooped.