Twenty seconds passed, and then Allyson leaned forward, pointing at a painting that hung over the fireplace. “Maybe we could take them that one instead and see if they’ll settle.” She laughed a little after her joke and then eased her head back against the upholstery again.
The realist painting was of a brick church. It featured enormous, arched white window frames and a three-tiered bell and clock tower that stood high above the steep slate roof. A cluster of people was huddled near the entrance, shaded by a few nearby trees. She’d been so focused on searching every nook and cranny of the house, Adriana had barely even noticed the painting before. Now, however, it stood out like a two-headed cat.
Her feet carried her over to the fireplace, and she stopped short, just a foot away from the work of art. She looked up at it with wide, captivated eyes. Her mouth dropped wide open. The detail in the painting was incredible. But that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was the location itself.
In the bottom right hand corner, the artist had signed the painting and included the title, which wasn’t entirely uncommon but certainly unusual. It read Westerkerk, followed by NW-1-14.
Adriana was overcome with a flood of emotions. The answer became suddenly clear. The Westerkerk in Amsterdam was rumored to be the final resting place of Rembrandt, though no one could confirm exactly where his remains were on the premises. Many of the people buried there had been placed under the massive stone tiles on the floor, as was customary in many churches during that period in Europe. Could it really be that simple? Had Klugen taken the missing Rembrandt back to its creator? Then there was the question of the strange letters and numbers. What did it mean? Northwest? Were the numbers a date of some sort?
Allyson interrupted her thoughts and leaned up. “What are you doing?”
Adriana spun around, excitedly pointing at the painting. Her face brightened, full of renewed energy. “It’s the Westerkerk.” She could see from the blank expression on Allyson’s face that she had no idea what Adriana was talking about. “It’s in Amsterdam. It’s the church where Rembrandt is believed to be buried.”
Allyson’s eyes widened a little, but she still didn’t fully appreciate the possibility, so Adriana kept going.
“Don’t you see? This painting is the clue. Klugen must have taken the Rembrandt to this church and buried it with its creator. It makes perfect sense. She knew someday someone would come looking for it, and this was the only clue she left to point the way.”
Allyson stood up, still perplexed but beginning to see where her partner was going. “So this church is in Amsterdam? And you say Rembrandt is buried there?”
Adriana nodded, barely containing her excitement.
“What are these letters and numbers down here?” Allyson pointed at the anomaly.
“Not sure,” Adriana shook her head quickly. “We’ll figure that out later.” She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the painting, then lowered the light just in case any neighbors were still up and looking around. “For now, we need to get out of here and get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” Allyson said. She looked around the room with disgust. “This place gives me the creeps, especially being in the dark for so long. If we didn’t have that moonlight coming in through the front windows, it would have been like searching through a cave.”
Adriana led the way to the main entrance in the back of the house and turned right. As she started down the stairs, a muffled thump came from outside the house. It was a sound she’d heard before, and what followed was never a good thing.
One of the windows in the front shattered as a canister smashed through it and clanked to the floor. Allyson only took a second to glance back at the metal container as it sparked to life and started spilling thick, grayish white smoke into the room.
They’d been followed. And whoever was outside had them pinned down.
12
Adriana’s instincts only took a second to kick in. She grabbed Allyson by the wrist and pulled her into the stairwell then yanked the door shut behind.
There was no time for talk. If whoever was outside had smoke grenades of that kind, there would most certainly be a team surrounding the house. How many? No way of knowing.
Adriana flew down the stairs with Allyson right behind her. When the two women reached the bottom, they started for the door but stopped when they heard another familiar thump. The next second, a canister pierced the window and sailed into the far wall. It smacked against the cinder block and then fell to the ground, the soupy smoke pouring out of one end.
There wasn’t a second to lose. In no time, the room would be full of the gas, and breathing would be impossible, not to mention excruciatingly painful. Adriana remembered the curtains on the far wall. She rushed the twelve feet over to the window and tore down the fabric. During her previous search, she’d noticed an old wash basin against the wall, probably put there by someone who previously did a great deal of work on the premises. She didn’t hesitate. The deadly smoke was already filling the upper part of the room, blanketing the ceiling and getting lower every second. She took two huge steps over to the sink and turned on the faucet. Thankfully, the water spewed out instantly, and Adriana shoved the curtain under the flow.
Allyson watched as she pulled her weapon out of her bag. “What are you doing?” she asked, covering her mouth with the neck of her shirt. It wouldn’t keep out much smoke, but for the time being, it was all she had.
“Stay low,” Adriana answered.
Satisfied the curtain was soaked, she ran over to the canister and dropped the heavy fabric onto it, muting the flow of the gas to a thin trickle. Her hands worked quickly, wrapping the object in the wet cloth so tight that it nearly cut off the stream of smoke completely. She picked up the clump, hurried back over to the sink, and dropped it in, letting the fabric clog the drain and allowing the basin to fill.
“Quick thinking,” Allyson said. “What if they fire another one?”
Adriana was pulling her own weapon out of her rucksack. She pulled the slide back, chambered a round, and crouched low against the wall near a window. “We have plenty of curtains if they do. But they won’t. They’ll figure one will do the trick.” A little puff of smoke seeped into her lungs, and she gagged but managed to keep her cool. She reached down to her hip and unbuttoned the clasp on her knife. Her left hand grabbed a piece of the curtain next to her and sliced through the soft fabric with her blade. When she was done, she tied the makeshift bandana around her face and repeated the process, handing it to Allyson, who was kneeling against the wall a few feet away on the other side of the window.
While Allyson tied her scarf around her mouth and nose, Adriana spoke calmly and in a whisper. “They’ll come in through the door and windows. I expect someone will go through the upstairs door too. Once we take out the group downstairs, whoever is upstairs will come down. We’ll have to act fast when that happens and pin them on the staircase.”
Allyson nodded. The smoky haze filled the room but remained above waist level. Still, some of the smoke got into their lungs, and the burn was almost more than the two women could stand. Their eyes teared up, but they fought it off, wincing and keeping their backs to the wall, ready for the assault. Adriana risked a quick peek through the cracked glass. Outside, she saw two bodies in black, full-gear vests, utility belts, submachine guns, pistols on hips, and gas masks strapped to their heads. One man was motioning to another to move around to the other side of the door. Ducking back down, Adriana held up three fingers then jerked her thumb in the direction of the window, indicating there were three men approaching the door. Allyson nodded and shifted over to the other side of the entryway. She knelt behind a stack of two boxes and waited. Her hands rested on top of the second box, pointing straight at the door.