His talk ended in a sharp staccato. When he was done, he said something about studying the previous four chapters for a test later in the week and that his assistant would be taking care of the lecture on Wednesday. The students rapidly took notes and then began exiting the room.
One student, however, lingered off to the side. Adriana hadn’t noticed her at first, but now she stuck out like a sore thumb since she was the only one who wasn’t trying to leave. The young woman’s hair was brown and curly, different than it had been a few days ago, but the face remained the same.
It was the Chameleon.
Adriana ducked back around the corner of the doorway as students spilled out of the lecture hall. The other thief hadn’t seen her — at least, Adriana didn’t think so. The woman was down on the left front side and Adriana up the steps at the top left, so her vantage point was slightly behind.
A million questions ran through her head. What to do? How did the other thief beat her here? And how did she know to talk to Koenig?
She must have used the same methods, Adriana realized. It hadn’t been that difficult to find Koenig. And why would she go to anyone else other than the leading expert on Rubens in the entire world? The fact that this Chameleon person was thinking the same way Adriana did made her angry.
The last of the students trickled out. She had to think fast. The other thief would be coming out soon, or so she thought. Her concerns were invalidated moments later as she heard the woman’s voice.
“Impressive, Professor. And thank you so much for allowing me to hang around to hear that.” She spoke in English.
“Ah, so you understood enough of it?” he asked her.
Adriana poked her nose around the corner of the door again and looked down. Koenig was busily placing some papers in a leather messenger bag. The Chameleon moved closer, unaware she was being watched.
“I could pick up most of what I needed,” she answered. Her hips moved back and forth slowly in her tight jeans.
Adriana shook her head. She’s hitting on him. Unbelievable.
“Yes, well, it was wonderful to have you here as a guest, though I must admit I’m not familiar with your work.”
“I’ve not had anything major published yet. But I’m hoping to have something big come up very soon.”
She had an angle; Adriana had to give her that.
The professor loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt in an attempt to get comfortable. “Well, I’m sure something will come up for you very soon if you keep working hard. So…” he shifted uneasily, creating a little space between them, “what brings you to Berlin, and more specifically, to see me?”
“Dispense with the pleasantries, I like that.” She stopped a foot short of the professor and put one hand on her hip.
“I’m German,” he replied. “We like to be direct.”
“That’s true. At least I’ve found it to be true with the Germans I’ve known. Very well. I’m here because you are the world’s foremost expert on Peter Paul Rubens.”
Even from her vantage point, Adriana could see the man blush a little.
“There are many who have studied Rubens. He’s one of the greatest artists in history. That does not answer why you are here.”
The professor’s head turned slightly, and Adriana pulled away from the door to remain out of sight.
“You see right through me, don’t you, Professor? I’m here because I’m looking for a specific Rubens, one that disappeared a long time ago at the beginning of World War II.”
There was a long pause in the conversation. Adriana risked another peek around the doorframe and saw Koenig put his hand to his face. He scratched his cheek for a second and then crossed his arms. It was evident he was sizing up this mysterious woman.
“So you are searching for The Annunciation.” It was a confident statement.
“How did you—”
“Because it is one of the most priceless treasures in the art world. Do you honestly think you are the first person to come ask me about this painting? People all over the world have been looking for it for more than half a century.”
“Have you been looking for it?” she cut him off.
He waved a dismissive hand and collected the remaining papers from his podium. “It’s a fool’s dream to think that painting is still around. It was most likely destroyed by the Nazis long ago like so many other masters’ works.” His voice trailed off, laden with grief.
“Yes,” she agreed, faking empathy, “I can’t believe what they did to so many incredible works. It’s such a shame.”
Adriana rolled her eyes. This woman clearly didn’t care about the art. All it represented to her was dollar signs.
“It was more than a shame,” Koenig corrected. “It was a vile criminal act. The world lost a piece of itself and will never get it back. Until the end of time, people of this world will never get to see those works for themselves. It is a tragedy.”
This guy sure loves his art, Adriana thought.
“I totally agree,” the Chameleon added. “Definitely tragic.”
Koenig sighed, letting his emotions drift away. “What’s done is done. I’m afraid I don’t know where that painting is or if it even still exists. I’m of the belief it was destroyed during the war after it was sold.”
“Yes, by Paul Graupe.”
Koenig appeared impressed for a moment. “Yes. That is correct. The last person to have any record of the painting was Paul Graupe, a high-end auctioneer here in Berlin.”
“I read your summary on Graupe. You said he was forced to sell the Rubens to the Nazis, probably an officer?”
Koenig nodded. “If it was indeed sold to a soldier, and it probably was, it would have had to have been an officer. They had the finances and the desire to own such things. Most of the common soldiers weren’t paid enough to make that kind of purchase, and moreover, they weren’t interested in fine art. Their concerns were more temporary in nature. Filling their bellies with beer and food were their priorities.”
“So if it was sold to an officer, there should be a record of that sale, right? I mean, auction houses keep records of that sort of thing for a long time.”
“Of course, they do. And I have seen the record for this sale. It has the date and how much was paid for it.”
But no name of the buyer. Adriana realized the reason Koenig had never gone any further in his quest. Without the name of the buyer, the painting had effectively disappeared.
“No name was attached to the purchase,” he finished his explanation, confirming Adriana’s suspicions.
The brunette contemplated the information and then asked, “Why wouldn’t they put a name on the record of sale?”
“Perhaps the buyer did not want his identity to be known. Occasionally, high-profile buyers preferred anonymity. For a small additional fee, auctioneers were happy to provide such a privilege.”
“So they paid a little extra and kept their names off the books.” She made the comment more to herself than the professor. “Still doesn’t tell me why all the secrecy.”
“I suppose we will have to leave that to conjecture, my dear. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going. Right now is when I take my lunch, and I have a great deal of research to do this afternoon.”
The brunette stepped a little closer to him. “Sure, Professor. You’re a busy guy, and I don’t want to be too much trouble. I just have one more question.”
He waited patiently as she approached, closing the gap between their bodies to only a few inches. Adriana watched the other woman’s hand reach down to her ankle slowly. In an instant, she stood up straight again, now with a pistol in her hand. She shoved the black compact barrel against Koenig’s neck, pressing against the skin hard.