Intelligent Design: Revelations to Apocalypse (17 page)

Pierce frowned and shook his head. His attention shifted back to the phone. Reich put her tablet back in her belt and walked over to a pair of paintings—Renoirs—absolutely gorgeous.

“… The Federal Trade Commission said what!” Pierce yelled.

Undaunted, Reich moved to another set of paintings—two lesser known Van Goghs—perfectly illuminated.

“Beautiful. Excellent lighting can make a huge difference.” The phone slammed into its cradle behind her. She turned. Pierce stood just inches away from her, held back by his own guard.

“You must have broken in here last week! You must have downloaded information from my computer! That’s why we found nothing stolen! That’s the only way you could know all these things! I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what, Mr. Pierce? File charges on a crime that never happened?”

“I’ll—I’ll sue you—”

“Sue me for what? Not that it matters. In twenty minutes, your stock will be worth twenty cents on the dollar, at which point Reich Enterprises will buy up all the shares for controlling interests of Pierce Industries.”

Pierce’s eyes and veins bulged, enraged and stunned at the same time, and just beyond him, the young Antoinette looked very nervous. Pierce pulled away from the guard and walked to his desk. A phone rang in the adjacent room, and he slowed for a moment before glancing sharply back at her. Pierce remained still while he opened a drawer and pulled out a semi-automatic weapon.

“Sir Pierce, no! She’s not worth it!” the female guard said.

“I don’t know how you did all of this, Reich, but you will not live to enjoy your ill -gotten gains.” Pierce pulled the trigger. It clicked but didn’t fire. He checked the gun’s safety catch, then pointed it right at her and pulled the trigger again. Another click.

“Well, this is interesting,” Reich said, trying not to sigh in case he mistook her boredom for fear.

“Usually the guy with the gun does a quick monologue about how he won and how it must suck to be at the other end of the gun. I have to say I do respect your quick action, not at all what I expected from a pig like you.” She looked at her tiny wristwatch and wondered when the good guys would arrive.

“What the hell?”

“’Ill-gotten gains?’ Who says that? I mean really? That sounds like something from one of the Bronte sisters …Charlotte Bronte, actually. More of a Jane Eyre thing,” Reich said.

Pierce kept pulling the trigger, but each time, it only clicked, and he glared down at the gun looking for something wrong. His lips pressed more tightly together, his jaw grew more rigid and his frown deepened with each futile attempt.

“The firing pin has been removed, Sir Pierce.”

Pierce’s eyes widened to a degree that Reich thought was humanly impossible. Before he could utter a word, the office doors burst off their hinges, and a group of tactical police and detectives rushed in.

Talk about timing. Okay, does everyone see this piece of filth has a gun on me?

Surrounded by the mass of authorities, Pierce dropped his weapon. Uniformed men and women seized everyone. Reich smiled as more shock and awe washed over Pierce’s face.

“It’s her! She stole data from my computer!” he shouted.

The police rounded up Reich as well as Pierce, the female guard, Marie Antoinette, and the unconscious guard at her feet. She was pleased to see that two women and a man donned plastic gloves and moved almost reverently to the paintings she’d been looking at. The agitation and confusion in Pierce’s expression deepened as a detective approached him.

“What is the meaning of this? Why are you here?”

“Detective Bradley at your service, my liege,” a stout, older man, who clearly loved his processed food, said with a twinkle in his eye. With his portly stature and disheveled appearance, Chief Inspector Arthur Bradley of Scotland Yard looked nothing like his official file picture. Reich had thought he might appear in the raid, even though her reconnaissance had put him in the United States twenty-four hours earlier—probably meeting with General Farrell. Reich was glad they’d prepared for alternate escapes.

“My name is Sir Robert Phillip Pierce—”

“Detective Bradley, these paintings are original Renoirs and Van Goghs,” one of the women interrupted.

“They are well preserved and this one is from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum—this is remarkable, sir.”

Detective Bradley appeared to suppress a smile before turning back to Pierce. He took his time before he spoke, and timed each word with scratching his gray hair and flexing his fingers.

“I guess getting you for receiving stolen national treasures isn’t the human trafficking charges I had hoped to file, my liege, but it will do very nicely.”

Reich smiled as she watched Pierce’s expression move from anger to shock to fury within seconds.

“I don’t own any real Van Goghs, Renoirs, or anything like that! I … I was set up! Someone broke in here last week—”

The jovial detective cut him off.

“So, let me guess—instead of taking anything, which thieves are known to do, these bandits left you priceless paintings. Now that’s a group of thieves that aren’t straight on the purpose of grand theft! Yes, my liege— they left you priceless treasures rather than stealing them. Now that just makes perfect sense. Will that be your defense, my Worshipness?”

Reich enjoyed Detective Bradley’s sarcasm directed squarely at Pierce, but then the detective’s gaze fell on the young Antoinette and his expression turned to worry and concern. He walked towards her.

“And how old are you, little one?” he asked in the tone a parent might use with a child. Reich remembered that Bradley had two granddaughters, eight and ten. The girl didn’t reply, and another officer, an older woman, stepped up beside her.

“It’s all right, dear. You won’t get in trouble.”

After a moment of unnatural silence, a small voice spoke.

“I’m fourteen.”

Bradley nodded, as if he’d expected that answer, and turned back to Pierce, clenching and unclenching his fists. Reich suspected he was trying to control an impulse to hit Pierce. No one would blame him.

“I truly don’t know which part of you I detest most, Pierce. Fortunately, I’m just a lowly public servant, and it will be up to the judge and God to decide your fate.”

Bradley looked away, clearly revolted by his proximity. He motioned his officers to take him away, then turned back to instruct the female officer. Pierce moved slowly, allowing the young lady to go first, then rushed Reich and slapped her with his unrestricted hand. The slap stung, but Reich went with the momentum and spun in place while bringing her leg into a roundhouse kick. It caught Pierce in the jaw. By the time the officer who’d been binding his hands caught up to him, Pierce lay on the ground out cold next to the unconscious guard. Reich took a moment to feel her jaw while she looked over her handiwork.

“Pig.”

The detective stood over the fallen prisoner and smiled, seemingly unconcerned about Pierce’s condition. Bradley nudged him with his foot to make sure he was unconscious and nodded approvingly. A devilish smile came over him as he looked up at Reich. Reich wondered if he knew about the INTERPOL thing last month. She suspected that he did.

“And to top things off, I am in the presence of still further mysteries,” Detective Bradley said.

“Me? I’m just another party guest, detective. I wish I was more than—”

“Just stop, Ms. Reich. I know who you are. And just off the record, I’d let you walk out for clobbering this punk, but that’s not entirely my call. INTERPOL is on their way here to talk to you. While I appreciate your staff giving us the heads- up on the ‘king,’ and the artwork, I’m still a law enforcement officer, and in light of your history of slipping through our fingers, no matter how noble, I need to detain you. Once they’re done, you and I need to have a serious chat about your prior work and adventures.”

He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and motioned for her to turn around.

Yup … all the things they said about Chief Inspector Bradley’s tenacity and determination are all true. Plan B.

“All right, Detective, but could I please go to the bathroom to check my mouth, relieve myself and please … do you have some other bindings? I’m allergic to certain metals.”

“Allergic? Really? You’re allergic to handcuffs?”

“No, sir. I’m allergic to certain metals. Anaphylaxis. Not pretty once it gets started.”

She stroked her face as if it still hurt, and coughed. Bradley stopped handcuffing her, looked her straight in the eyes, and considered the requests. He nodded to a larger woman to join him while he produced one of the plastic ties often used for mass arrests. Relieved, Reich took a good look at the woman.

Officer Virginia Spenser. Wrestler in college, national competitor, and just started a serious mix martial arts program. He’s not taking any chances.

“All right, Ms. Reich, but I want you to wear these, and Officer Spenser will join you in the closet while you take care of business. I’ll be outside and close at hand, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you kidding? Do I look like I’m a threat?”

Bradley chuckled as he firmly tied her hands in front of her.

“With you? The Houdini of the FBI and INTERPOL interrogations rooms? A legend to be feared by human traffickers and queen of escape? No, I am not kidding. I take you very seriously, Ms. Reich. And I’m not going to miss an opportunity to talk to you later about much bigger things.”

He tested the binds to make sure they held her wrists firmly, then took her arm and walked with her while Officer Spenser followed.

Thorough and not too trusting. Dammit! His record doesn’t do him justice.

“You know there are several bathrooms on the ground floor,” she suggested.

“And I’m sure they also have wonderful windows you could somehow slip through. In fact, why use windows? You’ve done that before. I think I’ll find one that’s three stories up with a thin skylight or no window at all, if you don’t mind.”

Bradley methodically opened and closed doors until he found a bathroom. Then he asked Spenser to watch her closely and disappeared into the bathroom. After a minute, he emerged with a small grin.

“Well, Pierce does like his baths. Anyway, please do not attempt to go through the window—it’s a sheer forty-foot drop.”

Reich stood for just a moment giving the best annoyed look she could muster. Not deterred, Bradley gestured her in.

“So, I have to keep these on? What happens if I need to …? You know?”

“You were going to have to wipe regardless. That’s why Spenser’s here.”

“Really?”

Wow … no chances with this guy. I bet Lux and Vespere would like him too. I bet he’s hairy all over and he’s the perfect height for them.

“No problem, love. I’ve had to do this before.”

Reich did her best to not chuckle at Spenser’s pleasant response; her soft voice was somewhat incongruous with the thick-set, muscular woman.

“And don’t be cheeky—Spenser here was quite the wrestler in her day,” Bradley warned.

Reich marched into the bathroom with Spenser hot on her trail while the detective left the door ajar so he could listen. Reich walked straight to the toilet, extended both arms in front of her as far as she could, and then retracted them quickly and forcefully into her chest. Her elbows jutted beyond her back, and the plastic binds broke, freeing her hands. Reich turned and threw a punch deep into Spenser’s solar plexus. The officer gasped, the air knocked from her, and tried to keep from doubling over. Reich clamped one hand over Spenser’s mouth and nose and wrapped both legs around the woman’s waist. She struggled for air and tried to stay on her feet while Reich continued to apply pressure on the woman’s torso and talked as if nothing were happening.

“You don’t have to grimace. I didn’t get a chance for a wax.”

The woman’s knees weakened and her eyes rolled upwards. Reich released her legs, stood, and guided the woman down so she didn’t crash to the floor and bring the detective inside. Once the semi-conscious officer lay on the floor, Reich took a thread from her pocket and placed it, a micro-transponder and transceiver, on the woman’s collar, then she moved to the bathroom vanity and flushed the toilet.

“All right, it’s time for you to wipe.”

Reich hoped she said it with enough indignation. She dug deep into the back of the cabinet and was rewarded with the black satchel that contained climbing gear and lines.

“No. That was a courtesy flush,” she said and flushed a second time.

Ironic … Pierce being right about nothing being taken last week but leaving a whole lot of stuff behind … the art was costly, though.

While the toilet filled with water, she unpacked the bag, hooked the rope to the toilet and tossed the other end out the small window. She slid into the climbing harness with well- practiced ease and was partially out the window when Spenser started to cough. Reich pushed off and rappelled down the four stories. She was releasing herself from the harness when Bradley yelled from forty feet above.

“Dammit! Reich! Stop right there! Just stop!”

Reich never looked back; she oriented herself and ran towards the closest ten foot wall by the road. She hoped Lux was waiting there as planned and not indulging herself with those damn chestnuts and lemons.

She sprinted through the manicured garden, dodging low branches and exposed roots, until she came to the estate’s wall, a hundred feet from the main gate and road. Without slowing, she scaled a low-lying branch then a series of other branches and ended up a few feet from the wall.

She slid over the wall and hung there for a moment in preparation, then let go and dropped the remaining ten feet. She remained crouched until she saw Lux leaning against her car throwing chestnuts in the air and catching them in her waiting mouth.

“Lux! What the hell, woman! You’d think you might be a bit more discreet and wait in the car? What if security found you…” Reich stopped as her field of vision around the car widened to include a pile of three estate guards lying unconscious on the ground.

“Hmm. Show-off.”