Chapter 25

25

J ean prepared for his night, swiftly and professionally, fueled in part by anger. He was dressed head to toe in black and was wearing soft leather gloves, but that getup was customary. This time he would be carrying small explosives in addition to his mini pickax. He would also be armed.

He was going in to retrieve the painting this evening. All the months of preparation had led up to this. It was a week before the buyer was in town, and Cyril was already applying pressure to complete his end of the bargain. He had opened his offshore account to prepare for the funds coming to him, and he had found a way to disappear after the heist. In any case, he no longer had any reason to stick around.

He pulled the leather pouch from its spot on the shelf. It was in plain view in the apartment, but nobody would be looking for it. He untied the leather straps and opened the pouch on the table, revealing the rusted trowel and cultivator. The boy had proven himself useful. The other tools were hidden in the various pouches, but he didn’t bother looking there. He took out the cultivator with the old wooden handle and unscrewed the place where the hinges were barely visible. When he had removed the end, he slid a narrow skeleton key from the hollow tube into his hand, which he then pocketed.

He was methodical in covering his tracks on the side of the school. And as he walked through the tunnel, his mind rehearsed each step he would be taking later that night. Remove the cut stones that were now resting in place without the mortar, climb over the reduced wall and unlock the iron gate. He would have to see about the rest when he got there. There was only so much he could plan for without having seen everything.

Cyril had shown up at his apartment unannounced earlier that night, barely greeting him before his interrogation. “How will you get through the wall where the painting is hidden? What are your plans to protect it from damage while you’re coming back through the tunnel? Where will you store the painting once you get it?”

Jean knew Cyril was trying to keep him off-kilter by surprising him and testing him with how well everything was planned, but Jean wasn’t threatened. He already had plans to take off following the theft and stash the painting in a safe place until the appropriate time. He was not stupid, and he wanted to survive this. Maybe afterwards he would be able to lead a cleaner life; although all things considered, there wasn’t much incentive to work a menial job for almost no pay, and he knew his part would not get him far. Perhaps he would take on just one other gig.

“I’ll bring it back here,” he had said. “No one knows me, and there’ll be no connection that could lead people back to me.”

Cyril accepted this information too meekly for Jean to be able to trust him, which was why he had secured a gun. How the mighty have fallen , he thought with black irony. There was a time in his life when he never could have imagined ending up here.

He arrived at the stone wall, drops of sweat already forming under his arms, and began removing the stones as swiftly as he could without making any noise. He had gotten accustomed to working in complete darkness here where a flashlight would be visible from the basement of the chateau. When he finished removing the stones, he stepped over the wall and began to walk towards the intersection of the tunnel where the gate was. He stood next to the corner, not daring to breathe, and when he was sure all was quiet, he peered around it.

Everything was dark in the basement, but it was lighter in the section with windows leading to the garden just out of view. When he was sure no one was there, he hesitated before going directly to the gate, then decided to continue straight to the room Etienne had told him to ignore. It only made sense for him to see for himself what was inside.

He crossed the intersection of the tunnel and was once again hidden on the other side. He couldn’t make out the outline of the door, but when he came to the end of the short tunnel, he felt for it with his fingers and found a tiny hole in place of a doorknob. He hooked his pinkie in the hole and tried to pull the door open, but it didn’t budge.

Stopping to catch his breath, he wondered if it was worth it to look in a place unlikely to contain anything of value. But he had already started on this course, and he decided to finish it. He unhooked the crowbar from his belt loop and slid it between the door frame and the door. It was sealed shut with humidity, and the hinges squeaked when he wrenched the door open. Cold with dread, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Too late to turn back now. He switched on the flashlight.

Dust-covered artifacts from centuries past lined the room—the kinds of things that might interest collectors if they were not in such neglected condition. It was clear there was nothing of value to the owner since this room had not been opened again since Etienne was here. Or maybe the owner never knew it was here. Didn’t Etienne say this was the only key? As he followed the path of light from his flashlight he realized he had indeed wasted his time. There was nothing here but useless junk. That was when he saw a gleaming white bar. He walked over and knelt down to examine it.

It was not a bar. It was a rib. Pierre. Jean forced his pulse to stop racing, his breath to slow. Absently, he noticed that the dust didn’t seem to stick to it, dulling its color. As he examined the rest of the remains, he found he could disassociate the bones from the former life that had inhabited them. Yes, it was a shock to find them, though Etienne had practically confessed, but these bones had no connection to his current mission. Satisfied that this was all there was to see, he stood and shone a path to the door. He switched off the flashlight and stepped out of the room, closing the door gently.

This time he walked directly to the gate without wasting time, slid the key in, and turned the lock. He had equipped himself with a small vial of motor oil— If only I had thought to use it on the other door —and he poured it over the hinges before he even attempted to push the gate open. It opened soundlessly.

Finally. He made his way through the short remainder of the tunnel, which opened directly into the basement, and stepped out into the open.

“Bonsoir.” A quiet voice came out of the darkness, and Jean leaped in the air, gasping.

“Be quiet if you don’t want to wake the whole household.”

“What do you want?” Jean managed to ask.

“I should ask you the same thing. I’ve been expecting you. Been listening to you scrape away in the tunnel, night after night, and had a feeling you were getting close. You’re here to steal from the viscount, aren’t you?”

Jean had, by now, collected himself, and though his arms were relaxed, his every sense was alert. The man was not holding a gun, and he remembered that his own was in fairly easy reach. He glanced behind the man at the wall, and saw the sealed alcoves Etienne had been talking about. That was what he needed to break through. “I’m not sure why I should take you into my confidence.”

“Well.” The man paused as if he were thinking. “You see, one move on my part and I can trip the alarms. Yes, it was clever to come through the tunnel, and I’m not sure how you even know about it because it’s not something that’s generally known. I work here, and even I didn’t know about it until I started hearing you in there. But you see, the viscount has alarms everywhere. Motion detectors. You’ll trip them off before you even make it upstairs. I know where they are.”

Jean’s heart sank as the promise of half a million slipped away, not to mention the threat on his life that would now be a certainty. It was one thing to disappear from Cyril after producing what he wanted and getting paid. It was another thing to disappear without having handed over what was promised. Etienne had been clear about that.

“It was my plan to take something specific,” Jean finally said. “So what do we do now?” He was too proud to beg, and he hoped the man could be bought.

André Robin could be bought. He wouldn’t have dreamed of doing something so disloyal and out of character—not to mention, illegal—a year ago. But he was facing increasing pressure to pay his gambling debts and knew that physical harm would be the next step. “Something can be arranged,” he finally answered. “What is it you want to take, and what’s in it for me?”

Jean hated inviting someone else into his plan, but he didn’t have a choice. He also didn’t know how low of a cut this man would accept. After a brief pause, Jean answered, “An old painting buried in a wall down here. Twenty thousand euros.”

Ha. André snorted quietly. “The Manet. The staff talks, you know, although everyone thought the painting was gone. But helping you get that Manet is not worth less than one hundred thousand to me.”

Jean pretended to mull this over, but he already knew he would accept. He would be left with four hundred thousand, and he might even be able to shake the guy off his tail without having to pay him.

“Deal.” He gave a nod, then rushed on. “We’ll need to plant explosives in the wall to get the painting, then take it back out through the tunnel. You can seal the wall up after me and close the gate.”

“Oh, no,” his rival fired back. “I’ll never see the painting, the money, or you again. We’re going to do this correctly, and it’s not going to be tonight.”

“What do you mean it’s not going to be tonight?”

“Even if we avoid the motion detectors, which I know how to do—figured it out before I started hanging out here at night—the sound of even the most quiet explosive will set off the sensory alarms. The viscount doesn’t take any chances.”

Jean sighed, now looking at his opponent with more respect. “So what do you propose?”

“We wait until the spring ball, which will be held in the chateau next Saturday night. The alarm system will be shut down, and although I heard the chief of staff talking about heavy security, they won’t waste it down here. No one will look twice at me being here. They’ve already asked me to be on hand to direct people for the fireworks display.”

“Fireworks,” Jean repeated, alert.

“And that is when you’ll set off the explosives. This way, you have time to prepare my payment, and I can either facilitate your escape or hinder it, depending on whether you have the money or not.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “I can’t get your share until I get mine. And I won’t be coming here with a suitcase full of cash.”

André, who until this point had been in full control of the situation, was now at a loss. “You can’t put it in my bank account or they’ll wonder how it got there.” He started to stammer. “I...I’m going to have to find out where you live so I can get the money afterwards. That’s the only reason I’m doing this. I don’t want to get mixed up in anything complicated. I’m an honest guy, you know.”

“Yeah, me too,” muttered Jean. He wanted a cigarette, but didn’t dare light one. Now he began to assess his self-appointed partner more shrewdly. The guy could prove to be a greater liability than he had previously thought if he couldn’t keep his cool. He could ruin everything.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” André said, blinking rapidly. “I’ll help you get in and out. But when you go, I’m coming with you. And I want to keep the key to the gate until then.”

Jean thought for a minute, rubbing his chin, and then came to a decision. “Sure. That’s fine. We can do it that way. But then you’ll need to build the wall back up after I step over it tonight, and close the gate for me since you have the key. It’s better if you’re familiar with the tunnel anyway. Come on.”

“You’re lucky you have me for this, you know,” his partner said, the rush of danger infusing his voice with nervous gaiety. “You would never have been able to pull it off yourself.” André shook his head and gave a shaky laugh. He led the way past the gate into the dark tunnel, when suddenly he stopped short. “But why would I need to rebuild the wall after you when you can do it yourself? I just need to lock the gate—”

His reflection was too late. Jean had slipped the crowbar out of his belt loop and into his hand, and he brought it down hard. André slithered to the floor without a sound, and Jean dragged him to the room. I knew there was a reason I came in here , he thought, exultantly, although he was shaking. Closing the door behind him, he switched on the flashlight and searched for the piece of burlap he had seen earlier. He wadded this into a ball to form a makeshift silencer and finished the job. Then he stood, shaking and sweating, before doubling over and emptying the contents of his stomach.

Determined, Jean wiped his mouth and left the room. He took one last glimpse into the basement as he closed the gate then turned back to the wall he would have to rebuild after he climbed through. He had been hoping this would be the last time he would have to see that wall, but it was not to be.

I may not have been able to do this without you , he thought grimly. But now you’ve told me everything I needed to know.