During their discussion in the hotel room, the two women decided it would be best to approach the chapel from the back. On their earlier visit, they found a rear entrance through a single door as well as a side door on the south-side wall. Three ways in and out was good enough. A thief couldn’t ask for much more than that.
Adriana’s bag shook with every step as they neared the church. She’d carefully wrapped the crowbars with bathroom towels to prevent them from clanking together. Still, she stepped lightly on the walkway.
The two found their way across a lot paved with cobblestone directly in front of the main sanctuary entrance and, making sure no one was looking, hurried into the shadows around the side of the building. Staying hidden was no easy task since the floodlights on the ground lit up the entire surrounding area. Fortunately, the Baptist Chapel wasn’t illuminated, and once they cleared Westerkerk they returned to the welcoming embrace of darkness.
The back door to the chapel was surrounded by two large bushes, which generously provided additional cover to the women as Adriana went through the process of picking the lock with her trusty tool. The door proved easy enough for her skilled hands, and within a minute, she and Allyson were inside an almost pitch-black alcove.
She eased the door closed and locked it behind her, just in case.
A door to the right had a narrow black sign on it that indicated it was a pastoral office. Directly ahead of them, the recession opened up into the main chapel. The altar was only twenty feet away, barely visible by the dim moonlight that snuck through the windows along the walls.
“This place is even creepier at night,” Allyson whispered.
She wasn’t wrong, but Adriana preferred to operate in silence when doing a job. Stepping out of the alcove and into the chapel, Adriana’s eyes instinctively shot left and right to check every inch of the room. She knew the church had been closed for hours and no one would be there, but stranger things had happened. A pastor might have stayed late to catch up on some work, so it paid to be cautious. They tapped the home buttons on their phones to allow the devices’ weak light to aid in their efforts.
They padded across the floor to the left and made their way back to the stone they’d found earlier that day. Adriana returned to the front corner and counted her way over to the tile, just to make sure they were looking at the right one. Once they’d started work on moving the heavy object, the scratches that identified the tile as the right one would be ruined.
Convinced they were in the correct spot, Adriana set down her rucksack, pulled out the two tightly wrapped towels, and handed one over to Allyson. They hurriedly unwrapped the crowbars. Adriana held hers in one hand and the phone in the other, lowering the latter toward the crease between the tiles just to reaffirm she was in the right place. As before, she noticed the faint scrape marks. Next, she set down the electronic device, wedged the thin edge of her crowbar into the narrow space, and pressed down hard.
“Right here,” she whispered and pointed to a spot a few inches next to her bar’s blade. “When I lift, slide yours underneath.”
Allyson nodded and placed her tool in the appropriate location.
Satisfied her partner was ready, Adriana pushed down hard and forward. At first, she wiggled the crowbar back and forth to get a good amount of metal under the stone, and then she pushed down on the lever end. The heavy tile produced a deep grinding sound, but Adriana didn’t stop. “Now,” she said, and Allyson did as told, sliding her crowbar deeper into the narrow cavity and pulling up. As she did, Adriana pushed her tool farther in and pulled up as well.
Once the stone’s edge neared a forty-five-degree angle, Adriana put her shoulder into it, bracing it with a free hand while the other hand gently set down the crowbar. Allyson did the same, and the stone’s enormous weight began to lessen as it neared a full upright position. A puff of dust escaped into the air and spread into the vacant room. Keeping one hand on the tile, Adriana picked up her phone and shone the dim light into the dark cavity.
Hundreds of tiny dust particles dissipated the phone’s light, but both women could still see through the little cloud into the humble burial tomb. A two-foot-long metal cylinder sat atop a collection of yellowish brown bones. A skull rested next to the other remains. Beside the skull, a decaying paintbrush lay against the wall of the pit.
Adriana’s eyes widened in disbelief. She’d hoped this was the right location, the only salvation for her father she could muster. But beyond that, she was kneeling at the grave of one of the greatest painters of all time. His bones sat beneath her.
The gravity of the moment wasn’t lost on Allyson either. “Is that his paintbrush?” she asked. It was the first time Adriana had heard a tone of reverence in her voice.
She nodded. “I think so.”
“And that tube?”
“Only one way to be sure. Hold the stone.” Adriana hunched over and wrapped her fingers around the cylinder as if she was picking up a newborn baby for the first time, afraid any sudden movements would shatter it to pieces.
She lifted it out, each second passing like a year, until it was clear of the cavity and over the floor. Ever so gently, Adriana laid the tube on the hard stone. The cap had been dipped in wax, a primitive but fairly effective method to prevent moisture from getting into the cylinder. Of course, the tiniest puncture to the tube would have probably been the contents’ undoing. From the initial and rapid inspection, it looked to be completely intact.
Adriana reached down to her side and pulled out her knife. The sharp tip made quick work of the old wax, breaking it apart in seconds. When she could see a thin seam between the cap and main body, she replaced the blade in its sheath and set to work twisting open the lid. It took more effort than she’d expected, although she should have anticipated that since the object had been tucked away for more than seventy years. Finally, she was able to wrench the cap free with a sudden jolt. A look of relief washed over her face but only for a second. Allyson leaned in a little closer to have a look. Inside, a rolled up canvas rested in the dark tube. It was difficult to see, but when Adriana shined her light inside it, she could make out faint traces of paint.
She smiled and looked over at Allyson. “I think this is it.”
A new voice entered the room, masculine and cold, startling the women with its sudden appearance. “Put it on the ground.”
They simultaneously twisted their heads toward the main entrance and saw the source of the voice. Allyson accidentally let go of the tile and it toppled backward, crashing to the floor with a loud thud. A pale man with a shaved head stood in the shadows between the beams of moonlight shining through the windows. In his black overcoat and pants, his body was almost invisible. He held a pistol in his hand. The lengthened barrel would keep any shots fired to a much lower decibel.
Shaved head, both women thought. This must be the Eraser the assassin was talking about.
He sensed their hesitancy. “I won’t ask again.”
Adriana doubted he could be very accurate from that distance, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Even if he missed them, he could hit the painting, rendering it much less valuable.
Allyson spoke up first, stupidly. “Who are you?”
Adriana knew he wouldn’t answer. This guy had the look of death, like the pale rider from the Bible. He wasn’t there to talk. He was there to end their little game. She wondered who sent him, but that didn’t matter; getting out of there alive did. Adriana put up one hand, signaling her surrender. With the other, she placed the tube on the ground.