Two of the vehicles split off and disappeared down a side road, while Carmen’s vehicle and one other pulled up in front. After coming to a stop, Carmen saw Markovic emerge from the other SUV.
“I apologize for the long trip,” Markovic said as they all assembled at the front entrance. “I trust you had a pleasant ride.”
“It was a little longer than I expected,” Carmen said. “You told me the meeting was going to take place in Lugano.”
“Well, if I told people that Mr. Brehmer lived outside of Aranno, no one would know where I was talking about.”
Aranno. Carmen made note of the name. It might be useful if she had to give someone her approximate location. Telling someone Brehmer’s house was a castle on a mountaintop plateau near Aranno would probably be enough for Delphi to find her.
“I don’t think most people would have trouble understanding if you said he lived a half hour west of Lugano,” Carmen said.
The hint of anger flashed on Markovic’s face, but he suppressed it with a smile. Gesturing toward the door, he said, “Please, follow me.”
After climbing the front steps, the group entered a large, ornate foyer. Across from the entrance was a broad stairway that wound to the upper floors. The stone walls were adorned with the flags of several countries, and a massive iron chandelier hung from the ceiling. The medieval decor gave the place a cold but majestic atmosphere.
“Petr will see you to your room,” Markovic said. “Mr. Brehmer will see you once you’ve put your things away.”
Carmen was led to a room on the third floor. After placing her bag on the bed, she crossed to a window and looked out. The darkness made it difficult to see the surrounding terrain, but from what she could tell, steep rocky cliffs surrounded most of the property. In ancient times, the place would have been perfectly situated for defensive purposes. Unfortunately, it also meant escape would be highly unlikely.
Carmen tried not to think about things taking a turn for the worse. Markovic had assured her that she would be taken back to the Lugano station in the morning. Nevertheless, it was foolish to assume the meeting with Brehmer would play out exactly as described. It was hard to know what to expect since she didn’t even know what information the organization was looking for. Even though Markovic had said the information they wanted wouldn’t involve US national secrets, she couldn’t be sure he was telling the truth. After all, if he had misled her about the location of Brehmer’s home, he probably couldn’t be trusted on any other topic either.
Carmen left the window and sat on the bed. Closing her eyes, she imagined how she would present herself to Brehmer. On the one hand, she wanted to appear slightly nervous because that was how Victoria Lind would appear. But Carmen also knew she needed to sound tough enough to let them know they couldn’t take advantage of her.
As she thought through some questions she wanted to ask Brehmer, there was a single knock on the door. Petr had returned. After checking herself in the mirror one last time, Carmen joined him outside, where she was escorted to the second floor.
After a series of turns, Petr opened a door and motioned her in. “Mr. Brehmer will be with you shortly.”
Carmen took in her new surroundings. The room was mostly dark, with the only light coming from two lamps and a fireplace on one end. After looking around, Carmen realized she was in a large private library. All four walls were filled with towering bookshelves. Like many she had seen before, this library even had a second-story mezzanine floor that was accessed by a metal spiral staircase.
The pop of burning logs drew Carmen’s attention to the fireplace on the left-hand wall. A couch and two comfortable chairs sat in front of it, so she walked in that direction. She was about to take a seat when she saw a painting hanging on a nearby wall. Changing course, she stepped over for a closer look. The impressionist work of art depicted a path that emerged out of an emerald forest and into a flower-filled meadow. The sunlight that swept across the meadow was breathtaking. While in college, Carmen had taken a number of art history classes, and because of that, she could tell the painting was an original. Not only that, but she knew it had come from one of the masters.
She leaned forward and studied the tiny brush strokes the painter had used to convey sunlight kissing off the petals of the flowers. She had seen the style before. No, it can’t be. And yet—
“It’s called Morning Light,” said a voice behind her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CARMEN TURNED AT the sound of the voice. She hadn’t realized anyone had entered. “Excuse me?”
Two men walked toward her from the other side of the room. The one walking in front spoke again. “The painting. It’s called Morning Light.”
Carmen assumed the speaker was Jonas Brehmer. As the two men came into the periphery of the light, she noticed that the elderly man’s appearance was much different from the two photos she’d managed to find online. His wild gray hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in days, and he sported a pointed goatee that was in desperate need of a trim. The wrinkled skin of his face suggested that he was either quite old or had spent too much time in the sun. Either way, he hadn’t aged well.
After noting Brehmer’s appearance, Carmen let her gaze drift to the towering man behind him. It was the man from the train. If anything, he seemed even larger and more menacing than before. He wore a tight dress shirt that accentuated his chiseled physique. Carmen guessed his attire was always tight — a warning to anyone that he was not someone to be challenged.
Brehmer extended his hand. “I’m Jonas Brehmner.”
Carmen shook the proffered hand. “Victoria Lind.”
He nodded at the painting. “Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Carmen said. “Is it a Monet?”
A prideful smile spread over his face. “Yes, it is.”
“I studied art history for a couple of years, but I don’t recall a Monet by that name.”
“It’s not one of his best-known pieces, nor is it one of his most celebrated. In fact, there are many who don’t accept it as a Monet. That’s why it’s never been purchased by any of the museums that carry his work. But I know it is, and that’s all that matters.”
“I knew right away it was the work of a master, perhaps one of Monet’s.”
“I’m impressed.” Brehmer came and stood next to her. “Most people wouldn’t notice it, but there are a couple of flaws.” He laughed. “Some of the so-called experts don’t believe Monet made mistakes, but those of us who have studied him realize that he went through some difficult times, times that often affected his work. No one is perfect.”
Carmen frowned. “Where are the flaws?”
Brehmer pointed a wrinkled finger at two places on the canvas. “The light is hitting the trees from the wrong angle here and here.”
Carmen nodded. He was correct, although the sliver of lighter color was so small that it was hard to call it a definitive mistake.
Brehmer turned toward her with a frown. “I’m confused. You’re an electrical engineer, but you studied art history?”
The question hit Carmen like a punch in the gut. She had inserted a piece of her own past into the life of Victoria Lind. She needed to recover quickly. Fortunately, Lind had led a pretty secretive life for a millennial. When the Delphi team had debriefed her, they learned she had almost no online footprint. That being said, Carmen doubted Brehmer knew what courses Lind took in college. Even so, she needed to be careful with her answers. It was clear the man had a sharp mind.