“The thieves exited the museum at 2:45 a.m., making off with half a billion dollars’ worth of art that has not been recovered. And after too many decades of false leads and no breakthroughs, the FBI director has decided that the loss to the art world is too great and the windfall to the thieves is too high. So he went to the president, and here we are.”
Zeta sets down the pointer and clasps his hands together in front of his body. I remember to take a breath.
“You get one shot to stop this thing. The thieves are very likely armed, and there is a chance that they’ll try to use their weapons. Iris—”
Zeta turns directly to me, and Yellow and Violet do the same.
“This mission is designed to play to your strengths,” Zeta says. “You’re the leader of this one. I want the three of you to spend the day at the museum. Get to know its ins and outs. Prepare yourself. Meet back here at five p.m. to get changed and ready.”
We catch the Green Line at Park Street and take the E to the MFA stop. Neither Violet nor Yellow say a word to me the entire train ride, and I don’t know if it’s the fact that they really don’t like me or if it’s bitterness that Zeta named me the leader. I snort. Leader. Right. A woman can’t lead without people willing to follow her.
“All right,” I say as the three of us stand in front of the museum, gazing up at its boxy brick exterior. The outside of the building is completely underwhelming. It could be a condo complex or even an old factory. “I think we should split up and—”
“Yeah, I got this,” Yellow says. “This is my fourth fire mission. I’ll wander around and make notes of the scene, and then I’ll devise a plan of action from there.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe you didn’t hear Zeta, but I’m the leader of this mission.”
Yellow raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “He can name you whatever he wants, but I’m going to lead this mission.”
“Says who?” I ask.
“Violet?” Yellow turns to face her. “Who are you going to follow on this mission?”
“Duh,” she says. “Let’s go inside.”
Yellow gives me a smug look and brushes the hair off her shoulder. Then she and Violet walk toward the main entrance. I let them go. Idiots. They’re not even going to check out the service entrance? As soon as they’re inside, I make a left onto Palace Road. About half a block down, there it is. The service entrance. It’s a green door sticking out of what looks like a concrete addition. A guy and girl only a few years older than me stroll by, deep in a conversation about some party last weekend, and I bet they have no idea that half a billion dollars walked through this door years ago.
But we’re going to change all that tonight.
I double back to the front door and pay my admission fee. I have no idea where Yellow and Violet scampered off to, nor do I care. Screw them. I can do this myself.
I’ve never been to the Gardner before, and the courtyard takes my breath away. Sunlight beams down on grasses and plants, and it’s so pretty. Like being in a tropical garden. But I’m not here to gawk. I’m here to prevent a burglary.
I go up the main staircase. I’m standing in a long hallway with high arched windows overlooking the courtyard. I check the map they gave me downstairs again. This floor is laid out in a big rectangle with the courtyard in the middle. To my left is the Early Italian Room, which sits in a corner. If you round it, you hit the Raphael Room and the Short Gallery. That’s where all of the Degas drawings were taken from. To my right is the Dutch Room. That’s the money room. Three Rembrandts, a Flinck, the Chinese beaker, and the Vermeer. I start in there.
I imagine I’m one of the thieves. No doubt they’d visited the museum numerous times before the heist. The museum still has empty frames hanging where some of the pictures once were—a reminder of what was stolen. I walk past each of them and try to think like a criminal. Hands down, I would go for the Vermeer first. Get the most valuable one in case you have to abandon the rest and bolt. I walk the entire room, noting the empty frames, then double back past the hallway and through the Early Italian and Raphael Rooms into the Short Gallery.
This is a no-brainer. You have one person steal the pictures from the Dutch Room while the other is taking down all the Degases in the Short Gallery. Then you grab the Manet on the first floor on the way out.
So how do we prevent this? The easiest thing to do would be to stop the guards from even opening the door in the first place. We take down the fake cops on the street and then we don’t have to go into the museum at all.
But a little voice nags me that this plan won’t work in the long run. The thieves will just come back another night. No, the only way to truly end this thing is to end it in the museum. To stop the burglary while it’s in process. I’m suddenly conscious of my heart beating away inside my chest, and I don’t know if it’s nerves or excitement. Probably both.
I find Yellow and Violet downstairs in the courtyard.
“There you are,” Violet snaps. “We’ve been ready to go for like twenty minutes.”
I check my watch. It’s eleven thirty. “We have until five to get back.”
The two of them stare at me, blank faced.
I shake my head. “I thought it would be best if we made a plan of attack. I figure we put one person in the Dutch Room and one by the Short Gallery upstairs, then we have one of us act as backup down in the Blue Room where the Manet is. That way if—”
Yellow holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Why are you talking? We’ve already got it figured out. We’re going to wait outside and call the police to report two suspicious individuals loitering around. That way they never have to enter the museum. We save the art and spare the guards the trauma of thinking they’re going to be dragged to the basement and shot in the head. Win-win.”
“Yeah, and what happens when they come back the next night?” I ask. “You’re going to leave that to chance? Uh-uh. We need to find a way inside the museum so that we can be there when the break-in happens. Then we apprehend the perps, tie them up, and bolt back to the present before we’re seen by the cops. We’ll be nameless, faceless heroes.”
“No,” Yellow says. “This mission is to prevent the burglary from happening. We’re going to do it the quick, easy way.”
“That’s not going to work!”
“Violet, are you ready?” Yellow asks. Violet nods, and the two of them turn and head toward the front door.
“Listen to me!” I shout after them, but they’re already gone.
I ball up my hands into fists. I want to punch something. Or someone. I’m not going to let her blow the entire mission. I’ll do this myself. I head back up the stairs. I’m about to learn every square inch of this museum. And I’m going to be here on March 18, 1990, at 1:24 a.m.
CHAPTER 13
I rifle through the clothes hanging in my closet. 1990. What was popular in 1990? I think of all the old sitcom reruns my mom liked to watch back when she was still having normal phases—before she started rapid cycling—and pull out a pair of black jeans. I slip them on and roll up the bottoms, then grab a plain black sweater. I shove my feet into black sneakers and hope this is close enough. Before I leave, I pull my dark hair back into a ponytail. Simple. And then I grab my bag. Can’t do anything without the stuff in this bag.
Yellow and Violet are already standing with Zeta in the main room. Zeta’s still wearing khakis and a sweater, so I guess he’s not joining us. I won’t lie—I wish that he was. I mean, I get the whole trial-by-fire thing, but not having him on this mission seems more like trial-by-volcanic-eruption-spewing-lava-onto-the-unprepared-people-of-Pompeii. Annum Guard has a warped way of doing things, that’s for sure.