“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Well, perhaps you can listen. I have an offer that I think you’d be very much interested in hearing.”
She winced and lowered her eyebrows. Suspicion filled her head. “What kind of offer? I don’t need anything from you.”
He raised a finger to help make his point. “Ah, but that isn’t true, is it? You search for lost paintings, items that were taken during the war. You look to return them to their rightful owners. A notably righteous calling, I must say. But it must be so time consuming, tracking down all that art, often times never finding anything, only to return home and start all over again with another pursuit. It must be exhausting.”
Adriana listened, still looking for the right angle to take the shot.
“What I have to offer you is time. Imagine if you could get those precious pieces of art in half the time. Maybe less than that. I could help you.”
“Help me? Why, so you could keep them in your little private collection? I don’t think so.”
“Don’t be so shortsighted. If you come to work for me, true, I will keep the paintings, but you will be well compensated, and wouldn’t the art be better off in hands that appreciate it? Besides, think about the animals that stole it to begin with. You and I aren’t that different, are we? I just want the priceless pieces of the Old Masters to have a safe home. You want the same thing, do you not?”
His broad, smooth face creased in a tempting, sinister smile. The hollow eyes stared at her, pleading.
“You are no better than those animals,” she said. “You manipulate people, use them to get what you want, and then you justify it by saying you’re doing the world a favor? Thanks,” she shook her head, “but I’ll pass.”
Martens drew in a deep breath and sighed. “I thought you would probably say something like that. I have to admit I’m disappointed. You don’t see the truth. We are the same person, you and I. We want to salvage what we can of the past and preserve it for future generations. Someday, when I’m gone, you can do what you want with the paintings. I have no children, no heirs. Help me save the greatest works of mankind’s history, and when I die, do what you will with them. Donate them to a museum if you like. I don’t care. I’ll be gone. I’m certainly not naive enough to think I’ll live forever.”
That part of his offer would have tempted someone of less resolve. It took away the problem of keeping the paintings from the world and put them back where they belong. It didn’t, however, remove the fact that Martens was an evil person and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. How many more people would he take prisoner, murder, or manipulate? Men like him were used to always getting what they wanted, never being told no by anyone. It was time he got used to it.
“I said my answer is no. You kidnapped my father, and I could have been killed in your stupid little game. I don’t work for men like you. I may be a thief, but at least I do what is right in the end.”
Martens was clearly disappointed despite the attempt to appear stoic. His eyes narrowed slightly at the denial of his offer. “You are obviously very good at what you do. I find it odd that you believe your primary mission in life is righteous and mine is not when, in the end, they are one and the same. I could have made you a very wealthy woman. And we could have saved more paintings than you ever dreamed of. In fact, I know the locations of two more I think might have interested you.” He shrugged. “It’s a shame you have to die now.”
The guards stiffened, ready to fire on command.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “your father will be joining you shortly.”
“You’re right about that!” Diego’s voice cut through the night from the woods off to Adriana’s right.
Something popped a second before a bright red flash zipped through the crowd of men, scattering them. In the chaos, the two guards nearest Martens split apart, their attention drawn to the darkness and the source of the flare. Adriana kept her aim true. The moment they divided, Martens was exposed. Her finger tugged on the sensitive trigger, but one of the men to the target’s left took a step back to steady his aim into the woods. Her weapon fired, sending the round into the guard’s shoulder and knocking him sideways.
Martens bolted, retreating into the darkness at the end of the house and disappearing from view as she fired two more shots into the void, both missing badly. The four guards on the right, closest to the woods, took off running for the man who’d fired the flare, leaving the other three and the wounded gunman for Adriana.
Her hands whirled to the left, and she fired a shot through the nearest gunman’s chest, just below the neck. He collapsed to the ground and fell prostrate on the grass, his body shuddering over hands clasping at the wound. The other two able-bodied men returned fire, popping off several shots as she ducked behind the wall for cover.
She knew enough not to stay in the same position and scurried downhill ten feet. Peeking over the edge, Adriana saw both men keeping their weapons level, sweeping them back and forth, awaiting their target to reappear. She granted them their wish, raising up and firing three more rounds at the nearest guard. One struck his hip, the second shattered his pelvis, and the third found its mark in the right side of his ribcage. He yelped and fired a shot into the air as he collapsed, writhing in agony.
The remaining gunman replied with five shots of his own, but she’d already ducked behind the wall again, and the rounds ricocheted harmlessly into the nearby dirt. Adriana moved back up the slope, beyond where she’d originally stood, and crouched in a ready position between the forest and the guard. She glanced off to the right and saw the four shadows of the men, hustling into the dark. One was pointing the other three in the directions he wanted them to go.
She heard something rustle just on the other side of the wall. She stood up and found herself face to face with the guard. His gun was aimed off to the left. He swung it around as she raised hers to his chest. The guard’s left hand swept up in desperation. It smashed against her wrist as she pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the outside of his shoulder but not enough to slow him down. His weapon came around fast. Just as he started to fire, Adriana dropped down below the barrel and stabbed up with the knife in her hand. The sharp point went through skin, tendon, and muscle, ripping across the underside of his forearm.
The guard yelped, dropping his weapon simultaneously. His other hand involuntarily grabbed at the wound when it should have defended the swipe of the blade across his neck. She dragged the edge deep, severing the artery and vein. As he clutched at the mortal wound, Adriana hopped up onto the wall, leaped at him, and kicked him in the chest, knocking the dying man to the ground.
She spun around, holding the gun up, ready for the next guard. The knife was gripped tightly at her side. No one came, though. Instead, she heard a man scream, followed by several gunshots.
Was it her father’s voice she heard in the darkness?
Adriana didn’t wait for the answer. She sprinted along the wall in the direction the guards had gone. Twenty seconds into her run, she got her answer. She skidded to a stop just as a man in black toppled over on his side. A hole in his head meant he would never rise again.
He was lying a few feet from another guard, who was ten feet away from the other two. Three were dead. One would be soon. He convulsed violently as the two rounds in his chest kept his heart and lungs from operating. For another half a minute, his head twitched as he fought oncoming death.
Her father stood another twelve feet away, holding one of the guard’s guns in his hand. The barrel leaked a faint trickle of gray smoke into the air. Diego's hair and beard dripped with water and his clothes were completely drenched.