Collection (8 page)

Before he had finished the rest of his drink he was seated and scanning through the file. He found the entry for this morning and frowned. He wasn't doing anything risky like meeting a new client or delivering a completed canvas. He was visiting the High and looking for a girl. Cicero read the entry again. “Look for Girl.” If Lucien needed a girl, the museum was the last place he should look. Cicero himself knew of a few places in town where a guy didn't have to look very hard, and a few more where the girls did all the looking. All for a reasonable fee and minimal effort.

If that was what Lucien was up to, no wonder he hadn't told Dani. It had been a while for Lucien, but Cicero was glad to see the old guy still satisfied the occasional human urge. He closed the computer, turned the glass in his hand, and hoped Lucien was having a good time.

8

AIRPLANE.
One more variable to the problem. Lucien hoped that he had made the right choice by coming quietly. It was a little late to formulate another plan. He knew that the situation was in his control, but doubt crept into his mind. The only way that he was in trouble was if someone in his own organization had betrayed them. That was not possible.

The original painting was in the Zurich vault. To get into the vault to access the art, you needed two people with the appropriate security codes. It would have to be two senior vault caretakers, the most trusted and dedicated people in their little family. One person might possibly go insane enough to try something like this, but not two. Another possibility was that the security had been circumvented somehow. Again, very unlikely. Lucien had designed the system himself, and he was certain that any of the numerous improper access indicators he had installed would have warned him or any of the other security offices by now. If any of them were set off in any of the vaults around the world, all of the security offices were notified. They needed to know if there was a threat to any of the sites, because this would indicate a threat to all of them.

The last time that painting had seen the light of day was when he himself had put it away in the vault with the Zurich head caretaker, Franka. Lucien had spoken to her several times since then, and there was no indication that anything had happened to it in the intervening time. Franka was an excellent caretaker. If anything had happened to the original, he would have heard about it. Raleigh's new dealer must have a fake. Lucien didn't know where it came from, but he had to make it go away.

They boarded a small jet waiting on the tarmac. Jane's feet felt like cinder blocks, but she couldn't think of a way to escape. They were the only people around, and her keepers were prepared to shoot her without hesitation. Gerald and Steven escorted Jane and Lucien to the rear of the plane. They sat Lucien near the window with Jane handcuffed to him and the chair. Gerald and Steven sat across the aisle so that they could recline and not have to worry about their captives trying to wrestle a gun from them. Raleigh got on last and ignored them again. He sat near the front and proceeded to work on his computer.

Lucien tried to get some information from Gerald before they took off. “Where are we going?”

Gerald smiled. “Don't worry, you won't need your passport.”

Games, huh? “So, we're staying in the country at least.”

“I didn't say that. I mean they don't bother inspecting Mr. Harris's plane. Makes it easier to bring home various mementos.”

Steven laughed quietly. “You couldn't carry enough Cohibas onto the plane last time.”

Cigars…“We're going to Cuba?”

Gerald cuffed Steven on the head and the conversation stopped abruptly. Lucien looked at Jane. She had her head in her hands.

“Don't cry, please. We'll be okay.” Breaking down now would only make the flight worse.

She raised her head and Lucien could see that her face was red, but not from tears. “I am not crying! I am angry! You said that you would take care of me, and now we're on a plane to a country that couldn't care less about American law. We are screwed, and nobody will care when they find our nameless, probably headless, bodies!”

“We're as easy to kill here as we are there.” As he explained, Jane's face got even redder. “I mean, it's not like we'd be any safer here than in Cuba. These guys don't exactly plan to get caught.” Lucien realized that his attempt to comfort her was falling far short of the mark.

“Look, this doesn't change anything. I sold him a real painting, and he's being offered a fake. He'll see that when he goes to take a look at it. I can continue to procure paintings for him, and he'll value that. He won't kill you, I'm his golden goose.”

“I'm pretty sure the golden goose didn't have a girlfriend, much less a fake one. You can't predict how he'll treat me. I'm not valuable to him. Plus, I'm pretty sure you're not telling me the whole truth.”

“You're not valuable to him, but you're valuable to me. I know men like him. He wants what he wants, and he doesn't like a bad deal. He can be violent, but only if provoked. He deals in things, Jane, not people. He's not interested in people any further than what they can do for him. I can do things for him. If he kills you, I won't want to do anything for him. He knows that.”

“You know that. I know that. Just make sure you know he knows that.” Awkward, but effective. She tried not to sound scared, but she knew that her pitch was a little too high, her voice a little too earnest.

Jane tried to detect where he was lying, but she couldn't. He was providing her the reassurance that she needed, but a part of her still found it too convenient. Something was off, but she wasn't sure what. It wasn't a bright flare of awareness, but an underlying burn. Maybe she was lying to herself. How else could this situation end, but very badly? She had started the day convinced that Lucien was unlike any other man she had ever met, and she wasn't disappointed so far. She just hoped that he could back up his story when her life was on the line.

It suddenly occurred to her that when he said that she was valuable to him, he definitely hadn't lied. She knew that they were playing a game with the boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but he had meant what he said. Jane imagined that he was simply taking his role seriously, which he should since he had gotten her into this mess. Still, she wondered if he might feel more for her than chivalrous obligation. Maybe she would ask him, if she survived the night.

Lucien knew Jane was upset, but he couldn't make her calm down. She just had to tough it out. He had a feeling that she could and would manage that. Surprisingly, she had not fallen apart yet. She was more resilient than she looked. Then again, they hadn't taken off yet.

9

A FEW HOURS LATER,
Lucien looked out his window to see the lush landscape of Cuba below. It had changed in the past few hundred years, and yet it hadn't. Outside of Havana and away from the high-rises, there was little indication that this was a modern country. Lucien saw past and present smothering one another. The coastline seemed to remain static. The beach was sandy, the water warm and blue, and the palms swayed with the wind now as it ever did. Yet, there was a danger in Cuba that belied its peaceful setting.

Under normal circumstances, Lucien enjoyed visiting here. There were certain business deals that were best handled out of U.S. jurisdiction for the comfort of all parties, and Cuba was a good option. It was close enough to fly by private plane, and if you knew the right people, you were virtually anonymous and completely invisible for the duration of your stay. Lucien had no doubt that Raleigh Harris knew the right people, and paid well to enjoy anonymity.

The jet made a smooth final approach toward a private airstrip not far from a large estate. The compound was far enough from any cities that no one could approach it and the numerous outbuildings without being seen well in advance. There were fields and forest around the house, and Lucien knew that if he had to, he could disappear into the landscape without leaving a trace. If he travelled alone, that is.

He looked over at Jane. She had fallen asleep out of exhaustion. Her fight or flight instinct finally gave up after about an hour after takeoff. He was glad; she needed the rest. She was going to have to keep on her toes in the next few hours. There was no telling what Raleigh had planned, and she needed to be able to play along with
whatever Lucien had to fabricate to keep them out of trouble.

Jane woke suddenly when the plane bounced on landing. Lucien watched her confusion fade to resignation once she realized where she was. Maybe she'd hoped it was all a dream. He certainly did. He was pretty sure this wasn't what she'd expected when she'd got up this morning. She was a nice girl who went to museums on weekdays. He couldn't hate himself more for getting her into this trouble.

They disembarked and rode in a few jeeps up to the main house, which was more of a mansion than a simple hacienda. Gerald had removed the handcuffs on the plane and didn't bother to put them on again. It was clear that if they tried to run here, it would be taken as an admission of guilt and there would be no hesitation to kill them. After all, there was nobody around who would call the local police for a few gunshots. Any witnesses were sure to be on Raleigh's payroll.

They parked the jeeps on a large roundabout at the front of the house and went inside. The interior was a classical Caribbean colonial style plus some more recent design elements. There was mahogany, marble, and art everywhere he looked. Bright colors on the walls mirrored the tropical sherbet that usually colored the homes of the island. Lucien wondered who Raleigh's friends were. He was leading a very ostentatious life on this little island, and Lucien knew that his friends were just the kind of people he liked to deal with. People with more money than sense were his favorite type of customer. This setup was one of the gaudiest displays of wealth he'd seen. American embargo or not, Raleigh lived very well in Cuba.

Jane looked around at the house. It looked like a 1980's drug dealer lived there. Yuck. Not only was she stuck in Cuba, but she was standing in the ugliest house she had ever seen. She was going to die on the set of
Miami Vice
. Great. Raleigh's entourage was busy bringing in suitcases as well as larger shipping crates that she had seen being unloaded from the underbelly of the jet. They left Lucien and her alone. She quickly realized that escape wasn't an option. The bad guys weren't worried about them running, because they had nowhere to run. She flopped down on one of the ridiculous gilded couches and hoped this would all be over soon.

Raleigh directed one of the burly men to bring over a tall, flat crate. He opened it to reveal a painting that Jane didn't recognize, but one that screamed “fake.”

10

CICERO LURKED OUTSIDE THE KITCHEN DOOR
trying to hear if anyone was inside. Finally, he decided the coast was clear and went in. The kitchen was large enough to prepare a small feast and contained a large table that in more elitist times would have been used by the household help for all of their meals. It was after dinner and the plates had been cleared, the food put away. Cicero raided the fridge. He was voraciously hungry and didn't discriminate based on cuisine or suspected expiration date. The pile of food he created on the counter contained pizza, fried chicken, leftover pot roast, and someone's poorly-guarded Chinese take out.

He could have come down for dinner with the others. Dani had come to the library that evening to remind him to eat, but he feigned preoccupation. In reality, he didn't want to sit at the table with everyone else tonight. Dani had been somewhat comforted, but the rest of them kept staring him down in the hallways when he surfaced to use the bathroom or grab some tea. Eating dinner at the communal table would have meant an invitation to discuss Lucien's whereabouts, and he didn't want to field more questions about when he'd be home, and if he was okay, and whether they should go out to find him. Dani had come to see him again that afternoon after remembering the GPS locator on Lucien's cell phone. She was excited to play her part in the search, but her delight was quickly crushed when Cicero fished Lucien's cell phone out of his own pocket and dangled it in front of her.

“He gave it to me last night. He didn't want to be disturbed at the museum, and we had an important call coming in to negotiate an
acquisition. Since we sound the same on the phone, he figured I could handle it. I guess you could say he trusted me.”

The pointed remark was not lost on Dani, and she had left him to his work without bringing it up again. Cicero still had the phone in his pocket and wondered for a fleeting moment if he had done the right thing with an unexpected call he had received that morning. If anyone knew the catastrophic consequences that could result from uncalculated choices, it was him. His concentration was interrupted by Laurel.

She walked briskly into the kitchen and straight for him. Cicero immediately knew he was in for a tongue-lashing from the Atlanta vault head caretaker. She was all of seventy years old, and still moved with alarming vivacity. That vivacity was immediately directed at him.

“Come out of hiding at last? The world rejoices. Where is Lucien?”

“Straightforward as usual, Laurel. How are you? You look amazing, as ever.” Laurel had always fascinated and disturbed Cicero. She was without filter of any kind. While many of the other ladies could barely summon the courage to contradict either him or Lucien directly, Laurel had treated them as if they were equals from the moment she first met them. She didn't fantasize about their lives. They were regular people to her.

In the past, and even now, the women would occasionally perpetuate an image of Lucien and Cicero as almost godlike. It bothered Cicero, but it also helped to keep people at a comfortable distance. It also had the benefit of ensuring an unquestioning following. Except for Laurel. She was not a yes-man. She was willing to fight them tooth and nail if they wanted to do something she didn't agree with.

He knew he was being foolish, but part of Cicero wanted Laurel to be just like everybody else in the house. He didn't question her dedication, but he was used to seeing it expressed in a predictable manner. Lucien had accused him of being condescending. To question Laurel's motivation was to denigrate her character, or something like that. Despite Lucien's protests, Cicero still believed a little hero-worship went a long way toward ensuring absolute loyalty.