Two hundred feet until the bend, Adriana hammered the gas pedal, and the Audi lunged forward again. The blonde saw what she was doing and knew she couldn’t keep up. Her car simply didn’t have the horsepower. She did not intend to let the Spaniard get in front of her and try the same crash maneuver.
Adriana peeked over again out of the corner of her eye as she started to pass the other vehicle and saw the blonde’s hands move the wheel. Her reaction was instantaneous. She mashed the brakes and yanked her wheel to the right. The other sedan was already turning into her but now, instead of hitting her broadside, she was passing Adriana and exposing the left quarter panel. The Audi’s front right corner dug into the back left of the other car and sent it out of control. At first, the blonde’s sedan drifted, spinning around a full 360 degrees. On the second spin, the front edges of the right side tires caught the asphalt. Momentum did the rest. The car flipped over, tumbling dramatically down the road until it came to a rest on the roof. Adriana kept her foot on the brakes, slowing the Audi to a crawl as the other car stopped its devastating roll. When she was twenty feet away from the crumpled, smoking car, she pulled hers to a halt and shut off the motor.
She flung her door open and stalked toward the wreckage. The Audi’s headlights illuminated the scene,and if the blonde driver were still alive, she’d be momentarily blinded by the bright beams. Adriana approached in a cautious rage, uncertain if the blonde still had ammunition left, but as she neared, she could see that the Chameleon was lying on the ceiling of the overturned car. Blood seeped from a gash in the side of her head and mingled with the blonde curls. Her eyes were closed, and if she weren’t dead, Adriana knew the woman was certainly unconscious.
A distant noise brought her attention to the road behind. She peered into the darkness and saw two yellowish white orbs appear on the horizon. Another car was coming. Since she didn’t have any friends in the area, any new vehicles were a threat.
After a quick look to make sure the other woman still wasn’t moving, Adriana looked through the destroyed back window and saw a cylinder lying on the ceiling. It was canvas, rolled up and secured with a rubber band as if it was a common poster bought at a record store. She reached in and delicately grasped the painting. After carefully pulling it out, she examined the tubular exterior. Remarkably, it hadn’t been damaged in the wreck. Since there were no other objects in the vehicle, nothing had crushed it. Finally. A little luck.
The headlights down the road drew closer. They were only a mile away, at most. She jogged back to her car and set the painting in the backseat. After one last glance at it, she shifted the Audi into gear and took off, squealing the tires as she steered the car around the wreck and disappeared around the curve.
She doubted Jackson would still be at the rendezvous point. Adriana had been clear about that in their discussion. If she was late, he needed to take off and get out of there. No point in waiting around for someone who wasn’t going to show up. With no other good options, however, she had to try.
The Audi made short work of the trip back to the city. Along the way, she didn’t pass another vehicle but kept her eyes constantly searching the road behind to make sure no one was following, especially anyone with flashing lights. A run-in with the local authorities would be the perfect way to end what had been a strenuous evening. The lights never came, though, and within twenty minutes, she turned onto the gravel road leading to the barn where she was to meet Jackson.
In the pale glow of the silvery moon, assisted by her bluish halogen headlights, she could see the outline of the airplane resting quietly in a field. Her heart picked up its pace, and she eased the gas pedal down a little in her rush. She steered the car around an old wooden fence that lined the property and brought it to a stop several yards away from the plane. Something wasn’t right.
Through the cockpit window, she could see Jackson’s silhouette propped up in the pilot’s seat, his head tilted to the side. Her senses returned to full alert, the moment of relief replaced by another surge of adrenaline. The door on the side of the fuselage was hanging wide open.
Adriana leaned forward and pressed the ignition button, cutting off the engine. She warily opened the door and stepped out. The still, dry air filled her nostrils again, mixed with the smells of baled hay and dust. Everything was perfectly still. No insects, animals, or people. The place felt like a vacuum. With no weapon, she was a sitting duck for an ambush or a sniper. Instinctively, her eyes checked the barn’s rooftop as she tiptoed toward the airplane. With the night sky as a backdrop, seeing a shooter would be nearly impossible. She crept near the door and put her hand out to balance her weight as she stepped inside. A quick look from right to left told her no one else was in the small aircraft except the pilot.
When she stepped in, the plane jostled, and a sudden noise came from the cockpit. A second later, Jackson spun around with a snub nose revolver at the end of an extended hand, pointed right at Adriana’s face. She raised her hands slowly and waited. A crazed look filled his eyes, like a wild animal that just found an easy kill.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I ran into a little trouble. And I told you to leave.”
Jackson grinned and lowered the gun. He rubbed his eyes with the other hand and checked the time on the dashboard. “A little trouble?” he asked. “You’re three hours late. That doesn’t sound like a little anything.” He stuffed the gun under his seat and ran the other hand through his hair. “And I figured it wouldn’t hurt if I hung around for a little longer. Sorry to scare you. You caught me napping on the job.”
She lowered her hands as relief flooded her body again. “For a second there, I thought you were double-crossing me.”
The look on his face told her that was ridiculous. “Not my style, sweetie. Speaking of, did you get your painting?”
She nodded with a weary grin. “Yes. I got it. It’s in the back of the car.”
He turned around and looked out the window then back at her again. “What happened to the truck?”
“Sorry. Had to leave in a hurry. Which is what we need to do right now.”
“Roger that,” he agreed and started flipping switches. “Grab the art, and let’s get out of here.”
27
Adriana stared through her binoculars at the rows of shipping containers lined up in the shipyard. Just beyond, massive freight ships sat still in the French waters as hundreds of men and machines busily loaded the vessel with the skinny steel boxes.
Sleeping for the last fourteen hours had been impossible, even though she was terribly exhausted. On the flight from Ameca to Tijuana, she had dozed off once or twice only to wake as thoughts and images of her father filled her closed eyelids.
Getting across the border into the United States had been easier than expected. Waiting in line for almost two hours was a major hassle, but the border patrol didn’t pay her much attention. And why would they? All she had in her possession was an old painting, bound by a rubber band.
“Souvenir,” she said when one of them asked her what it was. The gruff-looking, bearded patrolman gave it exactly two glances, placed it back in the rear seat of her car, and moved her along.
They were looking for drugs or illegal immigrants hidden away in vehicles,not priceless works of art. There was no question the man didn’t recognize the painting as a Bellini. She guessed that ninety-nine out of a hundred people wouldn’t. Not to mention the fact that it had been missing since the end of World War II and knowledge of its existence was lower than other high-profile pieces.