“Yes. They even believed they’d located it in a cave somewhere in central Germany yet found nothing but an empty mine. The last known person to have had contact with the painting was a man by the name of Paul Graupe. Other than that, we have no further information. It is up to you to uncover what we could not.”
“You mean like with the Bellini?”
For the first time, the confident voice on the other end of the line sounded confused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think you know exactly what I mean. You set up the entire thing with the Bellini. You knew Espinoza had it all along, yet you made me go through the whole song and dance to figure out what had happened to it. You think I believe it was just a coincidence that the Mexican drug lord just happened to be having a big party at the exact same time I needed to get in there? Come on; give me some credit. I’m not stupid.”
“Ah. I see. So, Monique must have said something.”
“She didn’t say anything. I figured it out on my own. My point is, if you know where this painting is and the only problem is that you don’t know how to get in and steal it, just tell me and save us both a lot of time and trouble.”
The man took a deep breath. “I had to put you through the rigors of the previous test because I had to know if you were capable. I can see now that you are. I assure you, though, from here on out, I am pulling no strings. Graupe is the only lead we have on the painting. We don’t know where it is and cannot find a shred of evidence to point us in the right direction.”
“If you’re lying to me—”
“Might I remind you, Ms. Villa, you are in no position to bargain. I still have your father, and I am paying you well for your services. The deal remains the same. Recover the three paintings, or your father dies. Succeed, and you get him back as well as a significant amount of money.”
“I already have a significant amount of money. All I care about is getting my father back.”
“Oh, I know,” he said in a sarcastic tone. “It’s the reason I chose this form of motivation for you. Money wouldn’t have been enough.”
“It might have been if you’d asked nicely.”
“Yes, but this is just so much more fun, don’t you think? Oh, I suppose that’s only for me. Well, I seem to be rambling, and if you’re half as good as I believe you to be, you’re trying to trace this call right now. Which means I only have about another fifteen seconds. Find out all you can about Graupe. He’s our best lead. You will receive a text message from this number detailing the particulars of your drop-off on Friday. Be sure that you are not late, and please, don’t try anything stupid again.”
The call ended abruptly. Adriana looked down at the screen and noticed it was blank, leaving her with only the sound of pouring rain smacking against the window and the occasional thunder from the passing storm.
She sighed and looked out the window again. The phone started ringing once more, and she eyed its screen. It was a friend this time.
“Hello, Emily. Did you get it?”
“No,” the Axis director replied regretfully. “We almost had him. He was scrambling everything pretty hard. Whatever tech he has at his disposal, it isn’t cheap. Normally, it doesn’t take us that long to get a lock on someone’s location.”
Emily Starks was the director of Axis, a top-level security agency in the American government. It worked in the shadows, beyond the scope and jurisdiction of the FBI and CIA. Some had called it a black cell, a group of rogues recruited to do the dirty work the American government didn’t want to claim. Such was the price of keeping evil away from America’s borders, and its allies. Only eleven agents were kept on the books. Doing so made things simpler, clearer, and much easier to administrate. Recently, Emily had added a twelfth agent. It broke the precedent the agency had long stood by, but it was someone she knew she could call on from time to time. He’d been the best Axis had ever employed. Now, he worked on an as-needed basis.
Adriana had called in the favor hoping that Emily and her team could triangulate the position of the man behind all this. Her ruse had almost worked except that he knew exactly what she was doing.
Emily interrupted her thoughts. “We know he’s in Western Europe. That’s about as close as we could get. He was right, though. Just a few more seconds, and we would have had him.”
It was worth a try. Adriana should have known he would be savvy to her scheme. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to always be a step ahead. She had no idea how to reverse that.
“Thanks for trying, Emily. I appreciate your help and the generous use of your resources.”
“This is what we do. Well, sometimes. Don’t worry about the resources. We’re well funded. I just want to help you get your father back. If there’s anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Adriana thought for a second and then responded. “Actually, if you don’t mind doing one other thing.”
“Name it.”
“Can you run me a list of the wealthiest men in Belgium? I’m talking about the top 5 percent. If that list is too long, make it the top three percent.”
“Sure, we can do that. Why Belgium?”
Adriana sniffled and rubbed her nose. “Because that’s where I think he’s from. You know what. Scratch that idea, Emily. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I know someone else who is probably sitting at a computer right now who can come up with that list within the hour.”
“Tommy’s kids?”
“Exactly.” Adriana paused for a second and then made another request. “There is someone, though, I’d be interested in knowing more about, and I think you’re just the one to help me.”
2
Allyson Webster peeked out the window into the dreary London morning. The rain had been coming down all night, and the streets below were soaked through. Black umbrellas covered pedestrians as they set about their Sunday morning activities. On a weekday, the sidewalk would be almost invisible, the vast mob of people walking to work or to the Tube providing a blanket-like cover. Allyson found this weather depressing, and it was one of the main reasons she had returned to the United States to establish a permanent residence. Only a few places in America seemed as wet as England, and she actively avoided those.
She kept a flat in the north part of the city. It wasn’t an inexpensive investment, but she found that having a place to stay in London was more useful than hassle, especially when her primary employer lived there.
The apartment was sparse, with nothing mentionable in the way of decorations. A metal clock, a two-person sofa and matching club chair made of brown, rough fabric, sat against the wall facing a midsize flatscreen television. There wasn’t even a coffee table. She figured why bother if her visits were only to snag a place to sleep and eat.
Her muscles were starting to feel a little better, but a few spots were still tender from the car crash in Mexico. If she was honest with herself, it was a miracle she even survived. The car must have flipped over several times before coming to a stop on its roof. On top of that, the other woman would have likely killed her if Evan hadn’t been coming to her rescue. The headlights on the horizon and the sound of his car had sent the other thief away with the painting and leaving Allyson for dead. A closer look would have revealed she was still breathing.
She winced and clenched her teeth. The Bellini was literally in her hands, and she let it slip away. The thought of the money lost was bad enough, but the fact that someone else had got the better of her sent her anger over the edge. Allyson wouldn’t let that happen again.
The cell phone on the bare kitchen counter started vibrating and interrupted her thoughts. She hurried over to it, checked the caller ID, and then answered. “What’s up, Frank? I thought you weren’t going to call until later tonight.”