by Gigi Pandian
“Come on,” he continued. “We shouldn’t stay here. Let’s get a hotel room so we can wait until it’s late enough to go back.”
Our room’s window faced the bay that divided the island from the mainland. Colorful timbered buildings stood below us, a staggered skyline on the hilly island. The buildings ended abruptly with the castle walls that prevented the tides from sweeping through the streets.
I covered my face with a pillow and screamed into the lumpy fabric.
“Better now?” Lane asked as I sat up and tossed the pillow aside.
“Much. Now all we need to do is figure out how we missed North’s men on our scaffolding reconnaissance, get them to reveal the additional information about the treasure and its location without alerting them to the fact that we’re onto them, then steal it from under their noses. Everything is just great.”
“I know,” Lane said.
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I know that, too. But things aren’t as dire as you think.”
“Why not?”
“Think about why we didn’t encounter them today. They don’t want to be seen doing work that legitimate crews would know to be incorrect.”
“They’ll be working tonight!”
“Exactly,” Lane said, fiddling with what looked like Silly Putty.
“We can spy on them and see how close they are.”
“Carefully,” Lane said. “Very carefully. We don’t know how many of them will be there.”
“What’s the deal with Dante?” I asked. “He’s not nearly as smart as the rest of these guys. I thought you said North only worked with the best.”
“He used to be the smartest of them all. He was doing a job for North, years ago, when something went wrong. He suffered a massive head injury.”
“That’s awful.”
“Not that awful. I heard he was always as unpleasant as he is now. Only he used to be a smart unpleasant guy. Now he’s a dumb one.”
“But North is loyal.”
“Exactly,” Lane said.
“Why doesn’t North just pay him off? I’m sure he’s got the money to do so. Surely Dante is a liability now.”
“If Dante wanted to keep working, North would honor that. But North doesn’t have him do important tasks that could get him into trouble.”
“For a guy who does seem to stick to this ‘code’ so well, killing Hugo doesn’t fit his pattern.”
Lane ignored me, his attention focused on the putty in his hands.
“What are you doing with that stuff?” I asked.
“I want to make sure I get a good impression.”
“You’re copying the keys?” I asked. “Why? You already have them.”
“He’ll be suspicious if the keys don’t turn up eventually, and I don’t know how long we’ll need them. After we get in tonight, I’ll leave his keys somewhere near the abbey where he easily could have dropped them.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to turn them in to a Lost & Found, maybe at that Tourist Information Center we saw at the entry point of the Mont?”
“It would be if the TIC opened as early as the workmen get to work. It doesn’t open until 9:30.”
“Oh.”
Lane grimaced.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, really. What?”
“You’re starting to think like me.”
We waited until midnight, then walked to the site the back way, along the upper walkway of the ramparts. The island outside of the abbey was accessible to tourists at all hours, so we didn’t need to sneak around. But after the dinner hour, most of the tourists caught the shuttle bus back to the mainland. As we walked, I didn’t see another soul.
Thunder boomed in the distance as we moved like shadows across the stone periphery of the Mont. Lane took the lead when we reached the steps leading to the abbey.
“I didn’t see CTV cameras,” he said, “but I have no idea if there are security guards. So remember the plan.”
I nodded and held up the blanket I’d carried with me as our ruse in case the guards caught us sneaking into the abbey. But it wasn’t official guards I was worried about.
Using the pilfered key, Lane eased open a massive wooden door. The sound of its old hinges creaked while shadows from swaying trees danced around me. I felt like I’d stepped into the pages of one of the Gothic adventures on Lane’s bookshelf. All we needed was a shadowy figure in a cape to appear on the spire above us—
“Jones,” Lane whispered sharply, causing me to jump. “We’re in.”
Using flashlights, we crept through the abbey. We knew the men would likely be working in the crypt, but for all we knew there might be a bigger crew with some of them standing guard. It was slow going as we listened for signs of activity. Entering the outdoor cloisters, we clicked off our lights. Between the floodlights and bursts of lightening, the monastery courtyard’s stone carvings were brightly illuminated. Moss-covered gargoyles looked down over the intricately carved columns, some more worn than others. Back inside, we again used our flashlights, but as we approached the crypt, Lane held up a finger to his lips and clicked off his light. I followed suit.
Enveloped in darkness, I heard a noise. Faint tapping accompanied the muffled sound of deep voices. The room wasn’t pitch black, so I knew my eyes would adjust. Within minutes, Lane’s shadow took form. He motioned for me to follow him toward the voices. We stopped as soon as we were close enough to hear them clearly. If memory served—which I’m not sure it did in the maze-like series of rooms—we were one room over from one of the crypts. It was closer than I wanted to be, but we needed to hear them.
With the ambient light from the rigging used by the thieves, we had enough light to make our way without stumbling. I motioned for Lane, indicating we should hide behind a thick Romanesque column for an added layer of security. He nodded in agreement. I set the blanket down on the stone floor and got as comfortable as possible. We were effectively on a stakeout, so I knew it might be a long night.
The men spoke English instead of French, as a common language, I presumed. They didn’t speak much, except to grumble about the hard work, and one man who occasionally yelled at the others to be careful. His was the only voice I didn’t recognize, and I assumed he was an engineer they’d brought in to help them. Since I couldn’t see them from our hiding space, I couldn’t tell how the work was coming along, but the new man repeatedly asked Dante if he was going to do more to help them.
If this was what a stakeout was like, it must be incredibly boring to be a cop. Oh, how I wanted to do something! Lane wouldn’t let me talk, even to whisper, so I pulled out a notebook to write notes to him.
How long are we going to wait here?
As long as it takes to hear what they’re up to.
But this isn’t a TV show. They’re not going to conveniently say “Here it is! We’re exactly 2 hours away from finding the Lost Treasure of Napoleon”—or whatever it is—“Let’s call our client, Mr. X, and tell him his illegally obtained treasure will be delivered at midnight tomorrow at the drawbridge, where we’ll all stand around while we hand over the box marked “stolen treasure.”
Lane snatched away the paper but didn’t write anything. I grabbed it back.
Why did you do that if you weren’t going to write anything?
He pressed his lips together and wrote a reply. Because you’re in danger of making me laugh.
I blew him a kiss and wrote something practical: Why is North here? I thought he didn’t get involved.
Odd, I agree.
Ideas?
Only that there’s more going on than we understand.
I shifted position for what felt like the hundredth time. Even with the blanket, the floor was cold and hard. Lane
wrapped his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder. His body was warm and comforting.
The next thing I knew, I jerked awake. Had I really fallen asleep? Lane stood up. Something was happening.
“Secure the pulley.” North’s voice echoed through the room.
The sound of shuffling feet could be heard. After a few moments, North lowered his voice. I could barely make out what he was saying, but I caught a few words. “Nothing is going according to plan.”
North paused, but I couldn’t hear a reply. Was he talking on his cell phone to his client? Or to someone who was speaking even more quietly?
“Yes,” he said, still speaking softly. “I know, but this wasn’t supposed to be about—yes, but—well, I wouldn’t have written that in the letter if I knew, would I? No, it doesn’t seem—Someone’s coming—” North broke off, and a second louder he spoke in a louder voice. “How close are we?”
The man whose voice I didn’t recognize answered in English with a thick French accent. “With the information you’ve given me, how am I to know?”
“Give the man an educated guess,” Marius said.
“Mais je ne sais pas.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know,” North said. “We keep working as planned. Midnight to five. It’s time to wrap up.”
It didn’t sound like they thought they were going to find what they were after that night. I supposed they didn’t want to be buried alive, so they were working carefully.
Thank goodness for that. It was bad enough I was sitting here while thieves desecrated the historic crypt. Lane must have seen the look on my face.
Don’t do it, he scribbled.
As the discontented crew wrapped up, we retreated to a spot several rooms away, but not out of the abbey. We were waiting for them to leave so we could do our own exploring.
From our hiding place several rooms away, we couldn’t hear the crew clearly, so we waited nearly twenty minutes before entering the crypt. The vaulted ceilings cast eerie shadows under our flashlight beams.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?” I asked Lane as he hoisted himself onto the scaffolding. “It doesn’t look very stable.”
“I’m not moving anything,” he said from above me. “I just want to get a closer look at the section of wall they’re examining.”
He walked to the far edge of the platform. The wood plank sagged under his feet. I held my breath as the metal supports groaned and Lane’s flashlight beam darted across the smooth stones. I didn’t like how close to the edge he was standing. Was it just my imagination, or were the bars of the scaffolding shifting?
It wasn’t my imagination. And there was no stopping it. Lane realized what was happening and jumped down. But it was too late. The massive piece of construction slipped away from the wall—and landed on top of Lane.
CHAPTER 30
“I’m fine,” Lane insisted.
“You’re the opposite of fine.”
“I’ll be fine in five minutes.” He stood up, his body swaying in the process. “Maybe ten.” He fell unsteadily onto my shoulder.
One of the planks had split, otherwise Lane would have been trapped underneath the mess of wood and metal. His left shoulder and arm took the brunt of the weight of a metal pole.
This was bad. I hadn’t thought things could get any worse than being pulled into a museum heist, seeing the blood of an ex-priest who may have been killed, and being complicit in the desecration of a historic landmark. Now on top of all that, Lane was hurt. Badly.
Supporting Lane’s weight, I took stock of our surroundings.
Lane must have felt my body tense. Against my shoulder, he shook his head gently.
“There’s no way they could think this was an accident,” he said. “I mean a non-man-made accident.” He swore and pointed. There was a thick red liquid on the piece of scaffolding that had knocked down Lane.
“Blood,” I whispered.
“They’ll know we were here.” Lane’s body faltered as he tried to walk.
I steadied him against the wall, intending to go on my own to examine the blood left behind on the renovation equipment. Lane grabbed my hand.
“You can’t be serious, Jaya.”
“What?”
“You can’t wipe off the blood. It’s too risky. That tangle of materials isn’t stable. It could fall on top of you.”
“Stay here,” I said.
“Don’t—”
“I’m not going to touch it.” I removed a water bottle from my coat pocket that I’d brought along for the stakeout. Luckily I’d fallen asleep rather than gotten thirsty. Without touching the pile, I used the water to wash away the blood. I couldn’t see if I’d gotten all of it, since I didn’t dare touch the unstable mound. I was out of water, so I hoped it was enough.
Using all my strength, I managed to get Lane back to the hotel. I’m not sure we would have made it if I hadn’t switched to flat shoes. From my jiu jitsu training I knew how to hold the weight so it wouldn’t hurt my back, so I was able to support Lane with his arm draped over my shoulder. But for a skinny guy, he was damn heavy. It wasn’t only because he was six feet tall. Though it didn’t show, his arms and abs were firm. He carried more muscle than I’d realized.
“There’s no way I can do any more work in the crypt,” he said, sitting down on the hotel room bed. I helped him out of his torn jacket, and he carefully pulled off his shirt. His shoulder was swollen and beginning to turn purple. A nasty gash ran down his upper arm. I touched his shoulder gently. He winced. “I think it might be dislocated.”
“You need a doctor.”
“We can’t go to a hospital.”
“Why not? I thought they had socialized medicine here. They’ll treat you.”
Lane shook his head, then looked at me with such tenderness that I had to look away for fear I’d break down. I wished we were anywhere but here. Or that we were here but on a romantic vacation instead of plotting to foil the theft of a French treasure.
“We can’t do that,” he said, “because now North will be looking for us.”
I groaned. Then paced. I had to get hold of myself. “House calls! We can find a doctor who makes house calls.”
“We have to get off the island, Jaya. If North thinks it’s us who caused that scaffolding to fall, in a few hours they’ll come looking. We don’t want to be here when that happens.”
“Where can we go?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Lane winced. “We need to leave.”
“You’re in no shape to make it across the causeway to the mainland.”
“No, but we can request a shuttle at any time, and the room is already paid for. From the shuttle stop, we can call a taxi. I’ll figure out somewhere to go—”
“You know people here in France.” I paced across the uneven floorboards. “Are any of them nearby?”
“We can’t risk going to anyone I know.”
“Because of North?”
Lane nodded. “I don’t know who I can trust not to tell him.”
“I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“If I take the bag, are you up for a taxi and train ride?”
“I’m fine. I can even carry the bag on my other shoulder.” He swore as he attempted to lift it.
“Give that to me.” My fingers touched his as he handed me the backpack. His eyes met mine and the pain left his face, replaced with worry.
“I’m sorry, Jones. This isn’t your mess to clean up. We’ll get you on a plane home and—”
“What are you talking about? Of course this is my mess. It’s my fault you went through with the stupid plan of robbing the Louvre. Without having me to use as leverage—”
“This isn’t your fight. I’m the one—”
“That’s not what this is about. We were both misled. This is bigger than a trinket for a collector. Not only a piece of history, but—”
“Hugo,” Lane said, closing his eyes. “Part of me wonders if we should go to the police, regardless of what happens to me.”
“That’s the blood loss talking. Let’s get you out of here.”
I called to request an off-hours shuttle and did a three-minute sweep of the hotel room for anything that could identify us.
“We don’t have anywhere to go, Jones,” Lane said.
“Yes, we do. After the shuttle drops us off, we’ll get a cab to take us back to Rennes. From that hub we can catch a train to where we need to go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To see a friend.”
CHAPTER 31
North didn’t know about Sanjay’s friend Sébastien, since Sanjay’s message had been in code. He was the only person I could think to turn to. We could have gone to a hotel, but I felt more comfortable going somewhere private. I was hoping Sébastien knew a doctor we could trust. Based on the information from Sanjay, I found Sébastien’s address. He was something of an institution in Nantes.
I had no choice but to throw away Lane’s bloody jacket, wrapping it in a shopping bag before tossing it in a trash can. There was no way he’d fit into my coat, so I bundled him in my bulky sweater, which became a formfitting fashion statement on his lengthy torso. He looked paler after squeezing into it, but I wanted to make sure he kept warm until we could get him to a doctor.
“Maybe we can stay after all,” Lane said in a French accent as he hobbled down the cobble-stone walkway. “Get me a cane and I’ve got a perfect disguise. Nobody would recognize me.”
“Not funny.”
The sun was beginning to rise when a taxi dropped us off at the train station hub in Rennes shortly after eight o’clock. Using Lane’s stash of euros, I booked tickets on a train to Nantes that was departing shortly.