Perfect Scoundrels (6 page)

D
espite the fact that Alexander Petrovich was a member of the court of Catherine the Great, he was not a royal. Even though he apprenticed with Moscow’s finest carpenters, he was far more than a mere craftsman. No, what Petrovich really was was an artist. And like most of the great artists in history, his work eventually wound up at the Henley.

Oh, there was no denying that things at the Henley had changed in the past few months. From the moment a small business card bearing the name
Visily Romani
had appeared in a locked (and supposedly secured) wing of the museum, many said that the Henley’s luck had shifted.

First there were headlines. Later, there was fire and chaos. And when the smoke finally cleared, a group of frightened schoolchildren was found locked in a gallery, and Leonardo da Vinci’s
Angel Returning to Heaven
was gone. And soon the Henley’s reputation as the most exclusive (not to mention secure) museum in the world had vanished.

But months passed. The smell of smoke faded. And now the
Angel
and Romani and perhaps even the children themselves were gone for good, and things were finally returning to normal.

Or so the Henley thought.

It was a rare sunny day in London when Kat stood in the courtyard outside the museum’s main doors, staring up at the atrium made almost entirely of glass. Kat’s life had changed inside those walls. Walking in, she had been Uncle Eddie’s great-niece, Bobby Bishop’s daughter. But walking out, Kat had had a piece of Holocaust art under her arm and a new purpose to her step, and she never looked back.

So it should have felt nice walking through that massive atrium and back into the sight of her former glory. But it didn’t.

For starters, there was the wig that Gabrielle had purchased and Kat had been afraid not to wear. Then there were the heels her cousin had forced her into and the thick glasses that completed her disguise. But more than anything, there was the terrible sense of dread that filled her gut as she walked past the wall where
Angel Returning to Heaven
had once hung.

So, needless to say, Kat was glad for any excuse to walk in the other direction. Glass sculptures dangled from the tall ceilings, floating in a nonexistent breeze. But when Kat turned a corner, she had no choice but to stop dead in her tracks.

“Hey, Kat?” Gabrielle asked through the comms unit in her ear. “Are you at the Petrovich room yet?”

Kat said nothing.

“Kitty…” Hamish tried again. “Kitty, are you—”

“Guys, we have a problem,” Kat finally managed to mutter.

“What?” Gabrielle said.

“The Petrovich exhibit isn’t
in
a room.”

Kat looked down the long promenade, at the desks arranged in the center of the massive corridor, each surrounded by velvet ropes. Guards were stationed on either end of the long hall filled with school groups and tourists and art lovers just out for the afternoon.
“It isn’t in a room!”
she spat in frustration.

“Okay, Kat. Just calm down,” Gabrielle was saying, but Kat couldn’t answer—couldn’t even pull her eyes and mind away from the desk that was inches away. There was nothing but a soft velvet rope between Kat and the beautiful mahogany piece that bore the label
FROM THE ESTATE OF HAZEL HALE
.

Part of Kat wanted to jump over the rope, kick and claw at the desk—break it into a million pieces if she had to. Find the will, and be gone. Of course, she knew a basic Smash and Grab would never work at the Henley. Still, a part of her wanted to try.

“Are you ready, Kitty?” Hamish asked. “Kat?”

She took a deep breath. And said, “I’ve seen enough.
Let’s go.”

I
f Carlos’s apartment had seemed cold to Kat when she first saw it, then the following night the room felt absolutely frigid.

The London skyline was perfectly clear through the tall glass walls, with the London Eye spinning around and Big Ben overlooking the House of Commons. Kat was a hundred stories above it all, hidden in a fortress of steel and glass, and yet she couldn’t help feeling entirely too conspicuous, like anyone and everyone could see what they were doing. Even though Hale was on the other side of the Atlantic, Kat still wished she could draw the blinds.

“So what do we know?” Gabrielle asked. In the reflection of the windows, Kat saw her cousin sashay into the room.

“They’ve changed their guard patterns,” Hamish said.

“And most of their guards,” Angus added. “Which I don’t mind at all, I can tell you. One of those blokes was bound to remember me, handsome as I am.”

“Simon?” Gabrielle asked, but he just kept staring at the computers spread out on the table in front of him. It was like he didn’t hear a thing.

“Simon!” Gabrielle shouted.

“Yes.” He bolted upright, startled. “Yeah. Okay. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good,” everyone but Kat said in unison.

“Oh.” He deflated.

“What?” Kat asked.

“I don’t really have good news; I was just hoping to soften the bad,” he said.

“Just tell it like it is, Simon,” Kat said.

“Well, they’ve changed their cameras since we hit them last fall,” he began.

“That’s good news there, isn’t it?” Hamish tried.

“These have facial-recognition software,” Simon added. “So…no. But I don’t think they have any records of our faces from last time, so…hey…that’s good news!”

He seemed so happy, so proud of himself. And Kat couldn’t be still a moment longer. She started to pace.

“Cat in the Cradle?” Gabrielle said.

“We don’t have Hale,” Hamish said.

“You could do it,” Gabrielle challenged.

“Do I look like a classically trained violinist to you?” he asked, and Gabrielle didn’t broach the subject again.

“Then what about an Ace’s Wild?” Simon said.

Angus scooted forward. “
With
a little Count of Monte Cristo?”

“Exactly,” Simon said, excited.

“Yes.” Gabrielle crossed her arms. “That is the perfect way to remind everyone at the Henley that
we
were the kids locked in a supposedly abandoned gallery when the
Angel
was stolen.”

“Maybe that back door into their computer system is still there,” Simon said, and Kat could practically hear his palms sweating. “If it is, maybe I could—”

“Chill, Simon,” Gabrielle said, looping an arm around his shoulders. “Breathe.”

“But—” he started, and Kat cut him off.

“They closed that back door before they plastered over the nail the
Angel
hung on. No one is ever going to use that again.”

Simon hung his head, mourning the fact that a most excellent security breach had had to die for their last mission
to live.

The silence stretched out, wrapping around them like the city skyline on the other side of the glass. It felt for a moment like they were floating, suspended, flying down the Thames. Kat prepared herself to feel the crash.

“’Course, we could do this the easy way.” Angus sounded like he’d been waiting hours for someone—anyone—to state the obvious.

“An
easy
way?” Kat said. “To rob the Henley?”

“An easy way to get into the
Hale desk
in the Henley.” Hamish was up and walking purposefully across the room. “If only we knew someone. Someone named…”

“Hale?” his brother guessed.

“Precisely,” Hamish said.

“No,” Kat told them with a quick shake of her head.

“I know ol’ Hale is busy, Kitty Kat,” Angus talked on, “but he’d come if you called him.”

“No,” Kat said, walking toward the coffeepot in the kitchen. She was tired of being cold. “I won’t call him.”

“Fine, then,” Angus said, following. “I’ll call him. I bet even
the
Hale of Hale Industries would be glad to jump on that corporate jet and…what’s the word?”

“Jet,” his brother supplied.

“Yes, jet over to help. He’d be—”

“No!” Kat snapped, then drew a deep breath. Her hands began to shake, so she set the coffeepot down. “Hale can’t help, okay? He just can’t.”

“And why would that be?” Simon asked.

“Because, technically, Hale doesn’t know we’re here,” Gabrielle said.

Kat felt the truth of it wash around the room until, finally, Angus had to ask, “Then who does know?”

“Marcus,” Kat said. “And Marcus’s sister.”

“And Uncle Eddie,” Gabrielle added, defiant. “This time, Uncle Eddie totally knows. And approves.”

Angus eased forward. “What’s going on, Kitty?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try us,” Hamish said.

Kat couldn’t help herself. She risked a glance at Gabrielle, who nodded. “It’s just…” Kat spoke slowly. She had to build up the courage and momentum to say, “It’s just that Hale might not be the real heir. Okay? It might all be a con.”

“A con?” Simon asked. “Like a Prodigal Son?”

“No.” Kat shook her head. “Well, not exactly. We think there may be a different will. A real will that gives the company to someone else. And it may be in that desk.”

The words washed over them all, the truth settling down around them. It seemed to take forever for Angus to say, “Call me heartless, but isn’t the current will…you know, the one that gives our friend Hale about a billion dollars…a
good
will as far as we’re concerned?”

It wasn’t an easy question, so Kat wasn’t in a hurry to answer. She sank onto the sofa and thought about Marcus and Marianne and finally the look in Hale’s eyes when he’d told her that the only member of his family he’d truly loved had trusted her most precious possession to him and him
alone.

“I don’t know, Angus. I really don’t. I just know I need to find out the truth.”

“Then we find the truth,” Simon said. The Bagshaws nodded.

“How much time do you think you’ll need with the desk, Kitty?” Hamish asked.

Kat placed her elbows on her knees and thought. “I honestly have no idea.”

“The world record for cracking a Petrovich is two minutes fourteen seconds,” Simon said. When the others gaped at him, he shrugged and added, “There are tournaments. I’m a fan.”

“So the low end is two minutes,” Gabrielle said.

“Not counting the exit,” Simon filled in.

“Not counting the exit,” Gabrielle agreed with a nod.

“Okay,” Hamish said, “if that’s the low end, what would the high end be, do you think?”

The question hung over them like a cloud, but all eyes turned toward Simon, who admitted, “Some have never been cracked.”

“Well, if Hazel
used
the secret compartment, that means she
found
the secret compartment,” Kat said, reassuring everyone, but mostly herself. “And if Hazel found it, I’m willing to bet I can too. I just hope it doesn’t take too long.”

“I’ll rig you up with a button cam,” Simon told her. “We’ll all be able to see what you’re seeing, and help if we can.”

“Good,” Kat said. She was under the distinct impression that she was going to need all the help she could get.

“Are you sure Marianne doesn’t know how it works?” Gabrielle asked.

“She swears she doesn’t,” Kat said. “So that means…”

“It might take all night,” Simon finished.

“So all night you shall have!” Angus said with a slap of his thigh. Then he scooted close to Simon and whispered, “How do we get her all night?”

Sweat was beading on Simon’s brow. “I don’t know. No one’s ever done the Basil E. Frankweiler at the Henley.”

“It’ll have to be someplace the guards won’t check and the cameras won’t see,” Gabrielle said. “Simon, can you arrange that?”

“No go,” Simon said with a shake of his head.

“You were able to loop the video feeds before,” Gabrielle said.

“Yes, but before, the Henley had a chink in their armor. They’ve fixed it.”

Angus opened his mouth to protest, but Simon cut
him off.

“Look, we can blind some of the cameras, but it will have to be manual. And temporary. There’s no way I can access their system again. Well, no way to easily access their system on this kind of time frame. We’re definitely going to need a blind spot.”

“So we just have to find a place with no guards and no cameras for eight to twelve hours in the most heavily monitored museum in the world.” Kat took a deep breath. “Okay. How hard can that be?”

No one answered, and Kat was glad for the silence. It was times like this when she was supposed to be able to ask her father for advice, her uncle. Her mother. But the truth of the matter was, it was the Henley; and she was the only person she knew who had ever been in and out…clean.

Well, almost the only person, Kat realized as another thought occurred to her. “I know what we need.”

“What?” Angus asked.

Gabrielle met her cousin’s eyes, and finished. “Help.”