Powerstone (6 page)

As she obviously waited for a
reaction, Irene shook her head. ‘Is it genuine?’

‘Of course,’ there was pride in Ms
Manning’s smile. ‘Everything is genuine.’ She swept her hand in an arc that
indicated every picture that hung on the wall.

‘It’s magnificent,’ Irene said.

‘It is,’ Ms Manning agreed
happily. ‘And so are the others.’ Again the hand gestured toward her
collection.’ Salvador Dali, Vincent Van Gogh, Picasso, Andy Warhol, Fransisco
de Goya, Paul Cézanne, and the British ones, John Constable, William Turner,
Alexander Nasmyth, Henry Raeburn, Horatio McCulloch.’

Ms Manning repeated each name with
veneration, pronouncing every syllable as she pointed to a painting. She walked
slowly along the walls of the gallery, pausing before selected pictures as she
highlighted the style and history of the artist.

‘You see, Irene, I do not believe
that business is only about personal financial security. It is not only about
providing employment for tens of thousands and ensuring the prosperity of the
nation. It is certainly not about power and the trappings of wealth. This is
the real joy of success; the ability to preserve the artistic treasures of the
world.’

As a child, Irene had visited the
North Carolina Museum of Art in
Raleigh
but she had been too young to appreciate the experience, and had been
glad to escape to less cultural environments. Maturity, however, had brought
appreciation and Ms Manning’s enthusiasm was contagious. She stared at each
work of genius, actively enjoying the tour.

‘Because I am not attached to any
man, Irene, there have been many rumours about me. I am sure that you are aware
of them.’ Ms Manning paused at another door, her grey eyes steady. Irene felt
the sudden surge of her heart, wondering if Ms Manning was about to proposition
her, and how best to react. The naked swim suddenly became more sinister.
Perhaps acceptance was the price of ultimate success in
The
Neophyte
competition.

Ms Manning’s smile was reassuring.
‘The rumours are false. I am like everybody else in my emotional needs, but
rather than find them with another person, I find them in art; great art, the best
in the world.’

Irene felt herself relax. ‘It’s
awesome,’ she said softly. She looked back at the gallery, allowing her eyes to
scan backward, unconsciously assessing the value of each masterpiece that hung
on the wall. ‘What is this room worth?’

‘It could not be bought,’ Ms
Manning said, ‘but its real value is not in dollars, but in art. Follow.’

The door was of plain wood,
varnished to a soft sheen, and led to another room of spectacular sculptures.
Three Assyrian warriors strode across a stone plateau, their beards plaited and
swords displayed. Behind them stretched a screen of brilliant mosaic. ‘These
pieces all come from
Asia
,’ Ms Manning said. ‘Do you recall
the fall of
Baghdad
, when the museums were looted?
And the destruction wrought by the Taliban in
Afghanistan
? I had my people working there to salvage what I could,
and this is the best of the results.’ Her smile was a little wistful. ‘You may
think it wrong to keep looted art, but it is safer here than anywhere else.’

Irene met the smile, aware that Ms
Manning was challenging her, possibly in an attempt to shock, or probing for a
conscience.

‘You see, Miss Armstrong, we live
in a disrupted world and nobody knows how long it will last.’ Ms Manning’s
voice had altered, and Irene knew that she was speaking about something close
to her heart. ‘Our world is crumbling; we live faster and more disrupted lives,
families are splintering and the hegemony of western civilisation is
threatened. These are facts, not opinions.’

Irene nodded. Nobody could deny
that the present frantic pace of the world could not continue.

‘The barbarians are at the gates
of
Rome
,’ Ms Manning was no longer
smiling. ‘Al-Qaeda is only one threat; China is rapidly replacing the United
States as the world’s superpower, India may be next, and who knows what new
thing will come out of Africa?’

Irene listened, aware that Ms
Manning was revealing another side of her character. This was not the
hard-nosed businesswoman talking, but a concerned, even a scared woman. ‘And
when this world ends, Miss Armstrong, what will we have to show for millennia
of civilisation?’

Realising that the question was
rhetoric, Irene waited for an answer. ‘Art. We will have art, but only if we
collect it
now
and preserve it somewhere safe. Somewhere like this.’ She
smiled again in a lightning change of mood that Irene found immediately
suspect.

‘Follow.’ Ms Manning pushed open
another door.

There were more rooms of
sculpture, one for each continent, and chambers of silverware and jewellery,
ancient parchments and mediaeval books, carved stones from
Europe
and treasures from Mayans and
Aztecs, Maori figurines from
New Zealand
and magnificent jade artefacts from
China
, multi-armed Hindu gods from
India
and intricate gold work from
West Africa
.

‘This is amazing,’ Irene repeated
as she walked from treasure to treasure, from priceless Indian silk to pottery
that had been looted from the Summer Palace of the Chinese Emperor, from a hand
painted Bible that the monks of Iona had hidden from the Vikings to a Persian
chess set and a jewelled horse from Mongolia.

‘It is,’ Ms Manning agreed. ‘And
you could be the heir of all of this, if you successfully complete the final
task.’

They stood before the throne of a
Chinese Emperor, under the shadow of a pot-bellied Buddha. Soft lights
highlighted Ms Manning’s cheekbones and accentuated the clarity of her eyes.

‘Heir?’ Irene played for time,
allowing the atmosphere of this secret museum to percolate through her. ‘As
neophyte?’

‘As my successor; my
sole
successor.’

The connotations were obvious. ‘So
I must dump Patrick.’

‘Do you think he is a fitting
partner for you? Do you think that he would appreciate these artefacts, care
for them and secure them for the benefit of future generations? Do you honestly
think that Patrick McKim is the most fitting person to entrust with some of the
finest treasures that humanity has produced?’

Irene did not have to think hard.
She knew that Patrick had many good qualities, but art appreciation was not
among them. ‘Perhaps not.’

‘Then he is not the man for you.
Or you are not the woman to replace me.’ It was a direct challenge. Ms
Manning’s eyebrows rose again.

‘Suck an elf!’ Irene looked around
her. She was being offered the world, but the price was high. She had to decide
what was more important, a continuing relationship with Patrick, or to become
one of the richest women in existence. She shrugged; there really was no
contest. ‘So it’s goodbye to Patrick then.’

‘Good choice,’ Ms Manning said.

‘And the final task?’

Ms Manning made another of her
sweeping gestures, encompassing the entire collection. ‘Your final task is
something that Kendrick could not do by keeping to the rules.’ She held her
eyes. ‘I have told you my fears for this world, and how I am attempting to save
what I can before it is too late.’

Irene nodded. ‘You have,’ she
agreed.

‘Well then, I want you to add
something unique to Mannadu. I want you to bring something priceless and
irreplaceable. And something that is not already held in the
United States
.’

During the last few months, Irene
had learned to expect the unexpected, but this final assignment stunned her. ‘But
how?’ Irene failed to hide her consternation. ‘I cannot afford even a decent
print, yet alone a piece of original sculpture.’

‘Use your imagination,’ Ms Manning
told her. ‘Remember I said that Kendrick, who lives by the rules, could not
complete this task. I’m sure that you realise that I did not purchase most of
this material over the counter.’

‘You mean I must steal something?’
Irene could not keep the shock from her voice.

‘I also said that a business
leader must create her own rules. Use any method you think best, and I will
allow you a budget of one million dollars and a time limit of one year. From
today.’

‘Jesus.’ Irene shook her head. If
Ms Manning was investing a million dollars, she must be expecting a return
worth considerably more. She had never suspected that Ms Manning would
countenance any criminal activity, yet alone encourage major theft; Irene’s
estimation of her host altered rapidly. Once she adapted to the initial
surprise, she realised that she actually admired Ms Manning all the more. ‘And
if I succeed?’

‘If you succeed, you will replace
Kendrick, permanently. If you fail, you must take the consequences of your own
actions. You and I will have no more contact, and the Manning Corporation will
never employ you, in any capacity. You may be in jail, or you may be on the
streets.’

‘On the streets,’ Irene echoed,
and looked around the room.

The green Buddha stared down at
her, implacable and unemotional.

* * *

‘Can’t we just keep the million
and run? Patrick asked.

Irene shook her head emphatically,
denying her own temptation. ‘Not ever, baby. I want that position more than
anything on earth.’ She had not mentioned the minor detail that he would not be
with her.

They sat side by side on the couch
in the lounge, with their legs and shoulders comfortably touching and the
Book
of
World Art Treasures
at their feet. ‘It’s a bit of a conundrum,’
Irene said, ‘much more difficult than any of the other tasks that she set.’ She
stood up and walked to the kitchen.

‘It is exactly what Ms Manning
intends it to be, it is the final and defining obstacle between you and your
dreams.’ Patrick lifted the remote control and flicked on the new television
that dominated one corner of the room. ‘You have to steal some great art
treasure that will add to the collection of one of the richest people in
America
. Sounds like quite a challenge,
Irene.’

‘The million dollars might help,’
Irene made two mugs of coffee and returned to Patrick’s side. ‘But I don’t know
anything about art theft. You have some shady friends; ask them where I start.’

Patrick sipped the coffee. ‘I have
no shady friends,’ he denied, ‘I only have friends who are sometimes forced to
do shady things.’ He gave her the charming grin that highlighted his eyes, and
she snuggled closer.

‘My apologies. So ask your
oh-so-respectable friends where I should start.’

‘No need. I will answer for them.’
Patrick pulled her even closer. ‘We start by selecting something to steal,’ he
decided. ‘Then we work out how to do it.’

‘We?’ Irene’s conscience quailed
slightly. ‘You don’t have to get involved. If I fail, they’ll throw me in jail
and bury the key.’

‘And if we succeed, I’ll be with
the richest woman in
America
.’ Patrick’s blue eyes creased as
he grinned to her. ‘So what will we go for? The
Mona Lisa
?’

Irene killed her scruples; she had
to make her own rules. ‘That’s been done before.’

‘
The Scream
?’

‘Stolen a few years ago. The
Norwegians will be more careful next time.’

‘Michelangelo’s
David
?’

‘Too difficult to transport. No,
no,’ Irene shook her head. ‘I’ll have to think of something even more
spectacular. I’ll have to think of something that has never been thought of
before; something that nobody would ever dream of stealing because it’s too
valuable. Something that makes the whole world sit up and take notice, so that
even Ms Manning is impressed.’

Patrick put aside the remote
control. ‘Like robbing
Fort
Knox
?’

‘Yes, except the
Fort
Knox
of art treasures.’

‘Let’s check the internet,’
Patrick said, rising on the last word. He had hardly glanced at the book.

Irene looked over his shoulder as
he typed in
World Art
Treasures
. ‘Seven million and sixty sites,’
she said. ‘Plenty choice then. Where do I start?’

‘At the beginning,’ Patrick said,
quietly. ‘Get a pen and paper, Irene, and start to take notes of site
addresses. We’ll pick the most valuable.’

‘And the most portable,’ Irene
added. ‘There’s no point trying to wrestle a forty foot slab of Aztec gold over
the
Rio Grande
; the Border Guards might just
notice.’

Patrick nodded and began to scroll
down the first page. ‘The Pyramid of Cheops, I don’t think so.
Temple
of
Anada
? That’s bigger than
Central Park
. How about a nice Chinese head?’