When Adriana answered, it was with equal skepticism, but she’d already sized up the man. She knew how to play someone of his type. They liked to be both respected and challenged. The latter was more to provide an avenue for them to show off. So that’s exactly what she did.
“I probably know more than most historians in Europe.”
Her words goaded him like a starving bear getting a sniff of fresh meat on a camping stove. He let out a bellowing laugh. “Historians. Pfft. They believe more in myths and legends than all the conspiracy theorists out there.”
“And which category do you fall under?” She crossed her arms, playing the role of antagonist to the letter.
“Neither,” he said, bowing a few inches. “I am one of the true seekers of truth still around. Historians believe everything they’re taught in school. Sometimes, they do some research, but I assure you, they are almost always regurgitating the same bunk their teachers taught them long before. As to conspiracy theorists, while there is certainly often truth in their lot, there is also much fantasy. I live somewhere between the two, in the world of the real.”
Yep. This guy’s full of himself. No wonder he doesn’t like to go out. More like no one wants to hang out with him.
He kept talking. “Is this why you brought them here, Lester? For me to help them in a quest to find the missing Rembrandt?”
Lester shrugged, almost ashamedly. “Like I said, Harry, you know more about Rembrandt than anyone.”
“Anyone except her, I suppose.”
His sarcasm didn’t even raise a hair on Adriana’s neck.
“I studied Rembrandt in great detail for many years, along with most of the Old Master painters. The painting features an odd mixture of an angelic being with his son, Titus’s, face. According to the story, it was brought here, to Paris, meant to be a part of the Führer's grand museum. While more than half of the artwork housed in that museum has been accounted for, Rembrandt’s angel has not. I know that the legend suggests Goebbels took possession of the painting, and while it was in his keep, it was lost to antiquity.”
Harry stuck out his bottom lip, only slightly impressed. “Very good. Except that most of that information can be found on the Internet. All except the part about Goebbels. Based on that, you clearly know more than the average idiot. But I’m wondering what else you know. What happened to the painting after Goebbels took it?”
Allyson listened to the conversation intensely. She was out of her element when it came to most of this sort of thing. Her skills lay elsewhere, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know a good posturing when she saw it.
Adriana responded as coolly as ever. She knew he was trying to trap her. That, and he wanted to see what she really knew. “I have no idea what happened to it after Goebbels disappeared with the painting.” She paused for a second. Just before he could interject his triumphant proclamation that she was wrong, she spoke again. “That’s because Goebbels didn’t take it.”
It was a gamble. The truth was Adriana had no idea what happened to the missing Rembrandt. For all she knew, Goebbels might have been the one to steal it from the museum. Her statement was based in logic. If Hitler’s head of propaganda had been the one to make off with the painting, someone would have found it by now. His property was confiscated shortly after the German surrender. Much of his work and his possessions fell into the hands of the Allies. She waited to see what Harry’s response would be.
His eyes narrowed to slits, and he gave a single approving nod. “Very good, my dear. Very good indeed.”
“I won’t lie, though. I’m lost after that. But I know enough to believe that Hitler’s propaganda minister had nothing to do with the painting’s disappearance. It doesn’t make sense.”
“None at all.”
“Which is why I need your help.”
“Ah. So we come to it. Another treasure hunter looking to cash in on a priceless work of art. Where will you sell it? The black market, I assume?” He cast a disapproving glance at Lester, who responded with a defensive shrug.
“No. I need it because if I can’t find it by Friday, someone very close to me is going to die.”
It was the first time Lester heard that explanation. It roused his interest, but from the look on Adriana’s face, there could be no questioning her sincerity.
Harry took less than two seconds to read the truth in her eyes. He nodded. “Very well. You may enter. I have something that might interest you.” He stepped aside and opened the door wide enough for them to pass through. Adriana went first then Allyson. Lester was about to enter as well, but Harry stepped to his right, blocking the way. “You wait out here.”
Stunned, Lester put out his hands. “What? Why? You can’t be serious.”
His friend’s face was bent in a stern frown. “You know better than to bring people here, Lester.”
“I didn’t have a choice, Harry? She forced me to.”
The frown broke, and he smiled. “Now that I believe. Hurry. Get inside. I don’t want to get a sunburn out here.”
Lester shook his head and stepped past the host. Harry’s eyes passed across the surroundings, the homes on the other side of the street, the parked cars, the pedestrians, and the gendarme strolling along. He pulled the door closed and twisted the locks before turning to his guests.
“Follow me.”
6
“What have you got for me, Evan?” Frank asked as he propped his feet up on his desk, stretching out his legs until his knees were straight.
“We have a problem.”
Frank figured something fishy was going on. He could sense it in the way his conversation with Allyson had gone the previous day. During his forty years of experience in the business world, Frank had learned how to read body language. He could tell when a client or an associate was lying or trying to keep something from him. Some people could be read like billboards, with big bright letters and tacky pictures. Their nervous ticks gave them away, or the way they fumbled through their words.
Others were far subtler. It was as much the things those types didn’t do or say that gave away their intentions. And that’s where Allyson had gone wrong.
She’d been coy with her answers, almost too quiet. And her apologetic demeanor was totally against her brash and often cocky character. The moment she’d left, Frank knew what Allyson intended to do. She was going to double-cross him.
So when Evan called him and said, “We have a problem,” it was exactly the opening line Frank had expected.
He played along. Even though Evan Collins was essentially his right-hand man, he had to let his enforcer feel like he was making a contribution now and then that didn’t involve executing someone.
“What kind of problem?”
“Your girl. Looks like she’s working with someone.”
“And who might that someone be?”
Evan wasn’t stupid either. “You know who, Frank. It’s your competitor’s pawn. I don’t know how it happened, but they must have met up somewhere.”
Evan had been tasked with following Allyson to help her out in case she found herself in trouble. He’d run his car into Adriana at one point, knocking her to the street in Amsterdam. But she’d survived the incident and gone on to take the first two paintings in his boss’s odd little game.
He was good at his job. Years of working in the private security sector and doing a few tours in difficult places like Baghdad and Syria had made him a very sought-after commodity. But something had happened in Zurich. He’d lost Allyson in the Swiss city. How, he still wasn’t sure. She’d placed a call to Frank, telling him she was going to a specific address on the outskirts of town where she believed a painting was being kept by someone. Evan knew better than to simply trust what his employer said. Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t have just taken off to the address. Because he had nothing else to go on, he had no choice.