Adriana gave one last glance back into the kitchen at the body on the floor. Helen Obermeyer was dead. She felt responsible but there was nothing she could do. She had to get out. Resigned, she reached over and grabbed the handle to the front door. She twisted it and pulled but nothing happened. Again, she jerked hard on the door but it didn’t budge. Fear flooded her mind. Someone had locked the front door from the outside.
A quick look back down the corridor revealed the flames were moving quickly along the ceiling and upper walls. Up the stairs to her left was still clear fire but smoke was quickly flooding the second floor.
There was a window at the end of the fiery hallway but even if she got through it into the back yard she would be a sitting duck for the gunman who’d killed her host. Smoke began inching lower and lower towards the floor. She could feel the stinging heat from the flames on her skin as the fire rushed towards the front of the house. She looked up at the small, narrow window next to the door but there was no way she could fit through it.
Across from where she was crouched, she noticed a decorative table with a flower pot on it next to the stairs. The object gave her an idea. There was only one way Adriana was going to be able to get out of the building and that was out the back. She’d just have to take her chances with the shooter.
Quickly, she stepped over to the table and swiped the flower vase to the floor. Then, she lifted the table. The wooden object was lighter than she had anticipated, which was a good thing and was just big enough to shield her from the flames. She peeked around the corner of the stairs at the fiery corridor. To her utter horrific dismay, the entire hall had caught fire faster than she’d assumed and was completely engulfed. Her only chance was to go upstairs and out another window. Without another thought, she flew up the stairs two at a time.
Most of the fire had not reached the upper part of the house but the smoke was thick and her lungs were beginning to burn. Adriana pulled her shirt up over her face to protect from inhaling too much of the deadly air. There were a few open doors to other rooms but she was more interested in what was next to her. To her left, a window facing the street in front of the home gave her a little hope.
She rushed over to it quickly but found that it was not designed to open. A small decorative table sat nearby with an old picture frame on its top. She grabbed the table by the center stand and flung the object through the window. The glass and wooden frame shattered, sending smoke billowing out of the opening.
Careful not to cut herself on the jagged pieces of broken glass, Adriana knocked out the remaining parts of the window and climbed up onto the window. A moment later, she was on the outer ledge in the fresh air. She pulled her shirt back down, relieved to be able to breathe again.
She could hear sirens somewhere nearby. Emergency crews would be on the scene in a few minutes and she would prefer to not be there when they arrived. A small crowd had started to gather on the other side of the street after noticing the smoke roiling from the home. Behind her, through the window, something exploded and sent a burst of flame out of the opening next to her. No time to think. The roof was steeply sloped with reddish tiles. There was another ledge where the roof ended about six feet down. From there, she could make her way over to the next building.
Carefully, she lowered herself down from the window ledge and slid to the lower edge. Suddenly, another explosion rocked the house shook violently and her foot slipped just as she reached the narrow strip. For a second, she almost lost her balance, but she regained, pressing her body against the roof.
She shuffled her feet quickly, careful to keep her body against the building. When she reached the end, she pushed away from the roof and stood cautiously. There was a small gap between where she was standing and the top of the next building. Fortunately, the distance was only a few feet but the drop down was closer to ten feet. Adriana didn’t have a choice so she jumped. Another explosion shook the building as she leapt from the ledge. Her body flew through the air and landed safely on the other roof. She rolled a few feet and covered her face as smoke and debris shot out from the emblazoned building.
A few pieces of the wall and broken tile lay around her.
She made sure she hadn’t hurt herself with the sudden landing then got up and looked at the burning home. Helen Obermeyer’s house looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Huge pieces of it were missing in the roof and walls. The blaze continued to consume the building and several parts of the structure were beginning to collapse.
Across the street, the crowd of onlookers was growing and the sirens were only seconds away. Adriana ran across the roof, away from the scene, and jumped onto a side porch of an adjacent building. Then, she walked casually out onto the sidewalk as the fire trucks and police cars passed by, blocking her escape from the view of any witnesses.
A few minutes later, Adriana unlocked the door to her hotel room. She had made her way back amid the growing chaos around the inferno. Fortunately, she felt like no one had paid her any mind. She eased open the door to a room that had been completely torn apart. All of her clothes and personal belongings were strewn over the floor and bed. The few documents she had brought on her trip were scatter about.
She pulled out her gun from within her jacket and stepped quietly towards the bathroom. Suddenly, she felt a sharp blow to the back of her neck and everything went black.
Adriana awoke to the splash of water on her face. Her wrists hurt and she realized they were tied behind her back: she’d been strapped to a wooden chair. A dim light hung in front of her and, as the haze began to subside from her vision, she realized where she was.
She didn’t recognize the man holding the bottle. She peered through the haze but he squirted more of the icy water on her face then drizzled it on her hair as an additional insult to injury. She struggled against the ropes and rocked the chair back and forth but to no avail.
Another figure entered the room, his face hidden slightly by the shadow in the doorway. “You ask too many questions, my dear.”
“Friedrich,” she said the name through clenched teeth. Water spat out of her mouth as she spoke.
“And you are also too trusting, just like your friend, Martin,” he added.
She squirmed again. “What have you done with him?”
“With Martin?” He walked slowly over to the table near where she was bound and sat down next to her. “I have not done a thing with him. Not yet anyway. We have to deal with you first. We will get to him soon enough.”
Adriana stared hard at the man. Her head throbbed from the base of her skull; her eyes strained against the light.
Friedrich grabbed her chin in one hand while the younger man watched. “Now, my dear. Who is it you are working for?”
She tried to shake her head free of his grip but he held firm. “I work for myself,” she spat.
Friedrich shook his head at the answer. The other man picked up a knife from the table. Again, she struggled as he took the blade and began cutting the upper fabric of her black tank top.
He had reached near the center of her breasts when Friedrich stopped him. “You see, my dear, the more you lie to me, the more fun I’m going to let our friend here have with you. And the more fun he has, the more painful it is for you. I promise you that.”
She shook the chair violently, struggling against the ropes. Veins popped up on her bare arms and neck as she thrashed about.
Friedrich gripped her tight, restricting her movement. “Now, I’ll ask you again. Who do you work for? Who is looking for this painting?”
She shook her head. “I already told you, dumbkopf. I work alone.”
He raised an eyebrow and spoke in a cynical tone. “Oh. Well, that is good. That means no one will come looking for you when he is finished. Not that there will be much left to find.” Friedrich nodded to the other man again who immediately continued cutting the tank top.
Her chest heaved as the fabric exposed more and more skin. The man with the knife was sweating a little, perhaps bec
oming more excited as he exposed more of her skin.
A loud click came from the direction of the doorway. The man with the knife appeared stunned for a moment, his face grimaced in pain. As the body collapsed to the floor, Mueller turned towards the door but his movement was too late. Another click sent a bullet through his right eye and out the back of his head. There was a few seconds pause before his body fell over backwards.
Adriana looked at the bloody mess around her. The wall and concrete floor were splattered in crimson. She tried hard to see into the doorway and catch a glimpse of who had killed her captors, but the only thing she could make out was the silhouette of someone in a black turtleneck and pants. The face was in shadow.
“Adriana Villa?” A voice in a local accent.
“Yes? Who are you?”
Two figures entered the room, completely covered in black and wearing ski masks. They both carried black handguns with sound suppressors attached to the barrels.
“What do you want?” she asked as the men untied her wrists. One of them held her jacket in one hand.
“Put on your coat,” the voice said from the doorway.
“What are you going to do with me? Why did you help me?” She was confused. The man had saved her but she wondered to what end.
The silhouette said nothing. After she put on her jacket, one of the men started to put a pillowcase over her head. “That won’t be necessary,” the figure in the door stopped him. Satisfied with the order, the two other men exited back through the doorway.
“Come with me,” the man said flatly.
She looked back at the two bodies for a moment. Blood had begun to pool on the floor. The man in the doorway had already turned and started for the front of the shop. Uncertain what was going on, she followed quickly behind. Outside the shop, the man hopped into the front of a silver Mercedes sedan. One of the other men opened the rear door for her and she slid into the black leather seats. As soon as the door was closed, the driver took off and wheeled the elegant car onto the street headed for the outskirts of town.
She looked back and saw the two men in ski masks re-enter the shop. “What are they doing?” she asked as she peered through the sloped back window.
“The same thing those dead men did to Helen’s house,” he replied. “Burning it down.”
“Who are you?” Adriana asked. “Holger Foyt?”
A slight laugh came from the man in the front seat. He did not, however, turn around, still keeping his face a mystery to her. The car zipped up a small, winding mountain road. A black forest blurred by outside. The homes of the city had been left behind and now she assumed they were on a private driveway of some sort.
A few minutes passed before the car arrived at a huge gate. Two men wearing gray coats and black caps were standing next to a guard shack as the metal barricade swung open slowly.
“Tight security,” she mentioned as they passed through the gate.
“One can never be too careful, Ms. Villa.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked.
“I know many things about you, Adriana. I know where you went to university. I know who your father is. And most importantly, I know what it is you are looking for.”
The statement worried her. They knew who her father was? The car veered around a sharp curve. An enormous mansion appeared in front of the vehicle. A solid wall surrounded all sides with a single tower off to the left. The home was made of a mixture of old stone and brick. She wondered how old it was but kept her thoughts to herself as she observed the beautiful structure. The driver pulled the car around a gravel circle and stopped in front of a large wooden door. The entrance was underneath a stone balcony that jutted out from the second floor.
Many of the windows were dark, save for a few on the right.
The driver got out of the car and ran around to open the door for her. The man in the front seat exited and walked directly to the door. Another man who had been waiting on the steps quickly opened it for him. Adriana hurried to follow the mysterious man into the mansion. She wondered if he ever waited on anyone.
The man led the way into a large foyer and then headed to the right past a giant set of stairs that wrapped upwards to the second floor. The hallway they entered must have been twelve feet high. The décor, however, was simple. Brushed bronze wall sconces dotted the beige walls. Under foot, the stone floor was made from what appeared to be pure sandstone, something she was fairly sure didn’t come from that region.
She wanted to ask the man so many questions but he never turned around as he strode quickly down the corridor. When they reached the end, the hall turned sharply to the right and opened into a large study just beyond dark double-doors.
“Herr Foyt will see you now,” the man directed her in with one hand. His sharp, distinct features never wavered.
“So you are not Herr Foyt?” she seemed a little confused.
The man cracked his lips into a thin smile. “Nein,” he said as he shook his head.
Adriana nodded slightly and stepped through the open doorway into the study. Twenty-foot-high bookshelves wrapped around the octagonal shaped room. Two rolling ladders on opposite sides stood on bronze wheels. A large, red oak desk sat off to the right in front of a set of shelves containing a random assortment of pictures and objects. Behind the desk, a thin, gray haired man in a dark sweater sat writing on a piece of paper. His wire-framed glasses rested on the tip of his splotchy nose.
She stopped about halfway across the floor and stared him. For the first few moments, he didn’t acknowledge she was there. Apparently, the documents he was signing were extremely important. After a few awkward moments of silence, he spoke but still kept writing.
“You may sit down if you like.” His accent was ruffled with the scratchiness of age.
“I’d prefer to stand, if that is alright,” she responded.
“Suit yourself,” he answered as he punctuated his last signature with a flamboyant line. Foyt laid down the silver pen and looked up. His old, blue eyes were still as piercing as they must have been fifty years before.
“So, you are Adriana Villa and you seek the lost Van Gogh. Given the chance, would you have stolen it from me?”
“I do not consider it a crime to take something that was stolen.” She stood firm, uncertain what was going to happen. On the outside, she had nerves of solid rock. Inside, though, her stomach was in knots. She wasn’t sure where the conversation was going.
The old man laughed; his voice echoed through the tall chamber. “Of course. I imagine most thieves have some sort of justifications for their actions.”
“Did you bring me hear to kill me? You could have just done it at the shop.”
“Kill you?” he waved a dismissive hand. “I did not bring you here to execute you, my dear. If I wanted you dead I would have let Friedrich finish what he started. I brought you here because you wanted the painting. You do still want the painting, yes?”
She nodded but was still confused.
“That is why I have brought you here. It has been in my possession long enough.”
Adriana was stunned. Had she just heard correctly? This old man was about to give her what was most certainly a priceless piece of lost art? “I’m sorry. You’re just going to let me have the painting?”
He nodded. Before she could ask her next question, he answered it for her. “There is one catch, though.”
She didn’t like the sound of that.
“What do you know about the painting?” Foyt asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know much. Although, it would seem the people who know the most are dead now.”
He stood from his brown leather chair and walked over to one of the bookshelves. His fingers ran along a row about shoulder high and stopped on a particularly ordinary looking book. The white lettering on the olive green cover had faded through the years. He pulled back on the book and suddenly she heard a click. The bookcase next to him swung open slowly, revealing a secret passageway.
Adriana hesitantly followed the old man into the passage. The stairs continued down further and further, deep into the belly of the mansion’s foundation.
“My father purchased this home during the war,” he said. “It was a very lucrative time for our family. Unfortunately, most of our gains were ill gotten.” The last sentence was filled with regret. “Originally, it was built three hundred years ago, a fairly young home in German years. The family that lived here was of noble descent and had been close to kings and kaisers for centuries. They had fallen on hard times after the first Great War and the offer my father made to them was more than enough to help them recover.
“That was one of the few decent things my father did,” Foyt said with disdain.
They came to the bottom of the stairs in front of an old, steel door. An electronic keypad next to it seemed out of place in the ancient structure.
“So you don’t believe in what your father was doing?” she asked innocently.
He turned and gave her a quizzical look then entered a few digits on the keypad. “No,” he shook his head. “What they were doing was pure evil; all of it. I’m ashamed that my family had anything to do with the Nazis.”
The sound of a bolt moving inside the door interrupted their conversation for a moment. Then it slowly began to swing open. Fluorescent lights blinked to life inside the vault-like room beyond the threshold. Adriana peered into the space for a moment then followed her host inside. Once inside, she realized the enormity of what she was seeing.
The room, carved out of the mountain rock, was at least forty feet long and probably that wide. Each wall was decorated with various pieces of artwork. She didn’t recognize any of them but assumed they were part of the cache that had been amassed during the war. On the floor, various sculptures and busts lined the walls making the chamber feel like it was the exhibition room of an art museum. As she looked closer, her eyes grew wide upon seeing the signatures on some of the paintings.
Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set Page 95