Their captor pinched Allyson’s chin and flicked it to the side. He stepped over in front of Adriana and smacked her across the face with the back of his hand. The strike sent a surge of stinging pain through her skin. Her cheekbone throbbed instantly as one of his knuckles struck hard.
Immelman’s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened with anger. His voice remained somewhat calm, though. “I would tell you to learn some manners, but I fear it is too late for that lesson.” He straightened up and cracked his neck. “Surely, you must know what it is I want. There is only one thing keeping the both of you alive.”
Allyson’s once-tough exterior appeared broken. Her eyes stared distantly at the white wall that lay ten feet away.
Adriana was fully focused. “I know what it is you want, but the men who were with me at the bank are already gone. And you will never find them.”
His lips pouted for a second, and he nodded as if agreeing with her. “I had a feeling you would say that,” he said, wagging a finger. “Unfortunately for you, I have cameras all over that bank, so there are more than enough photos of your friends. A simple call over to an acquaintance at Interpol, and I’ll have them brought back to Zurich, no matter where they’ve run to.”
She studied his eyes, searching for a lie, but found none.
“And I suppose for saving you a little time you’ll kill us quickly?” Adriana’s question didn’t exactly fill Allyson with hope.
Immelman snorted a short laugh. “Well… you didn’t expect me to let you go, did you? Especially not after your partner here found my painting.”
A frown washed over Adriana’s face, but she didn’t act surprised. She knew he had it. The only question was where. Since Immelman seemed to be hell bent on talking, she let him go on.
“Didn’t you?” he snapped at Allyson, startling her. “Found her snooping around in my study. Although I am a little surprised to find this one with you and not one of the men. I would ask you who she is, but it is of no consequence. Your strategy of splitting up was an odd one as well. I wonder: How would you communicate with each other once the painting was discovered? A tap on the floor, perhaps? That seems a bit primitive. Yet I found no radio devices.”
Adriana didn’t give him an answer. Her instinct was to be sarcastic and ask him if he’d heard of cell phones before. Text messages worked wonders for silent communication, and the two women had entrusted each other with their numbers before entering the premises. Maybe splitting up wasn’t the right thing to do, but Adriana had felt they could cover ground faster that way.
Allyson gritted her teeth and drew on the courage she’d learned from living on the streets as a child. “That seems like a bad place to hide such a valuable work of art.”
He shrugged. His mouth opened into a little circle as if surprised by the comment. “Where else would I keep it? I spend a great deal of time in my study. It comforts me to know it’s close by. I suppose I could have put it in a vault somewhere, but I’m not worried about it being stolen. Once the painting is lifted from its place on the wall, all the doors into the study are sealed shut, locked by steel bars. Only I have the code to unlock it.”
Immelman was giving up the goods. Adriana figured that, as they didn’t have anything to lose, she might as well throw one more barb while she searched for a way out of the bind they were in.
“So you stole Hummels’s painting.” It wasn’t a question.
“Ah. Well, to be completely fair, it was never really his, now was it?”
Daggers flew from her eyes. “From what I understand, he bought it at an auction. As far as Hummels knew, it was purchased legally.”
Immelman was taken aback by her comment. His head rocked back for a second as he frowned with surprise. “Surely, you’re not suggesting that Hummels was the rightful owner of that painting. The Nazis forced many people to sell their artwork, usually against their will. And the owners were rarely compensated — almost never, in fact.”
“So you’re justified in keeping it safe here in your own home? And you think you’re better than the Nazis while you murder people in your basement?”
He smiled derisively and sighed. “Well, desperate times and all that. I honestly prefer to just get it over with quickly when someone meddles in my affairs. But in this instance, as mentioned before, I need information from you.”
Immelman turned and walked past the two women to the stack of boxes in the corner, stopping at one with a white wooden box on top. It was slender and long, around three feet from end to end. He pried open the top and pulled something out. The two women twisted their heads to see what he was up to.
When he walked back around in front of the women, Immelman was holding a katana sword in a black sheath. He yanked the blade out by the black handle and stared at the shiny steel. The metal reflected a dull glow off a point in the center. Immelman admired the weapon for a moment as if it were the first time he’d seen it.
“Have you ever studied the Samurai people of old Japan?” The question seemed random for the current circumstances, and neither woman was sure how to respond. Adriana had dabbled with Japanese history, but it wasn’t her field of expertise. “I spent a great deal of time learning about their culture. A fascinating group of people. They took honor very seriously and always prided themselves on being self-reliant.”
“I assume you have a point to telling us all this,” Adriana interrupted.
His eyes flashed, and Immelman stepped back, swiping the blade through the air. The tip sliced through Adriana’s cheek, leaving a clean two-inch cut in the skin. Mere seconds later, blood started oozing from the wound. It was a skillful strike, one that could have only been done by someone trained to use that particular weapon.
“Don’t interrupt me again,” Immelman warned. “You should relish every second you have left on this planet.” He took a deep breath and lowered the sword, inspecting the razor-sharp edge. “The Samurai took a great deal of pride in their weapons as well. They made some of the strongest steel in the world. Their swords are still sought after by collectors and aficionados. This blade was created in the early fourteenth century; a remarkable weapon capable of cutting through bone as if it were butter. I liked it so much, I had to buy two.” His gaze lifted to Adriana, sitting tied to a chair, blood running down her face and dripping off her chin, mingling with the rain in her soaked clothes.
“Do you know what the Samurai did with thieves?” he asked.
Adriana didn’t answer. Allyson shook her head. Whatever the answer was, it couldn’t be good.
“They started by removing one of the thief’s hands. Barbaric, true, but effective. In your cases, I will do the same. And I will keep removing limbs until you either tell me what I want to know or until you bleed out. The choice is yours.”
“I don’t even know those men,” Allyson blurted out.
“She isn’t lying,” Adriana confirmed her statement. “She doesn’t know them.”
“Oh,” he said, turning his attention solely to Allyson. “Well, in that case, you just made things much simpler for me. You may die quickly while I interrogate this one.”
He pivoted to the right, bringing the sword back around his shoulder. His torso shifted as he prepared to strike at Allyson’s neck. She winced, knowing she’d just taken her last breath.
At that very moment, a deep rumble from above shook the house, and in the next instant everything went black. Wood smacked against concrete. Then it came again, the second time accompanied by a cracking sound. Immelman shouted something at the guards in French.