To Catch a Thief (23 page)

T
HEY FOUND
the empty express truck abandoned nine miles away from the pub. Izzy's men had responded to a call from a local couple, out walking their Pomeranians when they saw the truck angled into a ditch. The inside of the truck was filled with flowers and boxes, all tagged for delivery, but no businesses existed with the names on the boxes.

The bad news? No sign of Nell.

Izzy was searching the ground near the truck, looking for fallen bits of paper or other clues when his laptop, open inside the Land Rover, whined a noisy alert. He sprinted back to the car, scrolled through two screens and watched a cursor blink, heading northwest.

Nell's chip was broadcasting again. According to Izzy's laptop screen, she was approximately fifteen miles away, somewhere in southern Surrey. Izzy frowned as he checked the GPS and noted her rate of speed—135 miles per hour.

Light aircraft. Probably a small, private charter. Now he had a location. He triggered a receiver plugged into the dashboard of the Land Rover and tuned the unit, listening to the crackle of static. With Nell's chip operational again, he could activate the tiny transceiver in the chip's outer housing.

He worked the dial until the static cleared. Abruptly the drone of motors filled the Rover, followed by the sound of voices, barely audible over the motor's throb. Izzy tinkered a little more, then pulled on headphones to listen.

“She still out back there?”

“Like a zombie. Don't know what they gave her, but it must be heavy-duty stuff. How long till we pass Gatwick?”

“Clear in ten minutes.”

“Any contact from the west?”

“Nada. All quiet.” A man laughed. “Easiest money I ever made. With luck, I'll be knocking back a Guinness Extra Stout in Portree by six.”

Static crackled. “—idea who's paying our tab?”

The other man cleared his throat. “Better not to ask. This bunch is touchy about questions. Foreign, that's all I know, but U.S. dollars are U.S. dollars anywhere. What's that engine reading?”

Izzy flipped a button, replaying the muffled conversation, which soon veered into an argument about whether Manchester United would trounce Sheffield in the following week's playoff games.

Shifting his earphones, he opened an encrypted cell phone, dialing an old friend at the British Department for Transport. In minutes he would have airplane ID and flight plans, along with name of the owner.

Time for Plan B, he thought gravely.

N
ELL WASN'T ASLEEP
,
though she hadn't moved for at least twenty minutes. She heard two men talking, their conversation unclear over the whine of the motors. She had woken to find her legs and feet bound, a blanket over her body as she huddled in the cramped backseat of a small plane. She was still dazed from whatever they had given her in the syringe, but with every minute her thoughts grew clearer.

She forced herself to stay calm. Dakota and Izzy would be looking for her, but she wouldn't wait around to be rescued. She had to be headed to Scotland, given the bits of conversation she had picked up. Portree was the capital of the Isle of Skye, so their final destination must be close. Once she was at the castle, she could use her knowledge of the layout to find her father. Assuming that the castle was where they were taking her.

She was still in shock at the memory of her climbing partner's betrayal. Eric had always been easygoing, and he'd never broken any laws that Nell knew about. If anything, he had been overprotective on their many climbs together.
But you never really knew the people around you.

Nell frowned. She was certain she knew Dakota after only a few days spent together. She knew the force of his will and the weight of his sense of duty. She never doubted that she would see him again or that somehow they would make a future together.

But first she had to escape.

Thunder crackled somewhere to her left. The airplane dipped slightly, then hammered its way north.

The Isle of Skye

Northern Shore

D
AKOTA FLOATED
in the cold water, one brown speck among hundreds. Wind tossed the gray swells, rocking the ocean kelp bed beneath him.

With a camouflaged pair of Zeiss binoculars at his chest, he rose and fell on the restless waves, watching the castle that loomed above the nearest headland.

The SEAL opened to the patterns of weather and sky, noting the movements of the castle's security teams and timing their rotations, watching late-afternoon cloud patterns and changing tidal flows. All those factors would come into play that night.

Tilting the binoculars, he studied the castle's rear wall. He had climbed the far corner a dozen times in his mind, pulling himself silently up toward the high parapet. Now two guards crossed the crenellated wall, and another guard passed on a lower tower. All carried radios and binoculars and used them frequently, he noted.

Professionals
. Dakota turned his head, picking up high heat readings in two outbuildings attached to the east side of the castle. The heat indicated some kind of heavy equipment in operation there. The doors were guarded by three uniformed men carrying automatic weapons.

He watched every movement at the compound, settling into the terrain, listening to the cries of passing seabirds. He had already verified the best point to enter the water pipes that connected to the moat after making certain neither the pipes nor moat had regular guard surveillance.

The water stirred beneath him, rocking the kelp bed. A thirty-foot basking shark raced past, fin breaching the surface, dragging Dakota along in the force of its wake. The sudden violent turbulence in the water reminded him that nothing was ever final, and the best plans could be shattered in an instant.

He cradled the waterproof binoculars, waiting for the wake to recede. He made his mind still as the gray water and racing clouds, watching his target. There were things he hadn't told Nell or Draycott, under orders from Ryker. The mission was not what she or anyone else believed. Only Izzy knew the full scope of his dangerous assignment.

As Dakota drifted in the cold waters, he thought about his orders and how to negotiate the rocky slope between duty and honor.

N
ELL CAUGHT
the smell of the sea as they carried her out of the airplane. She was careful not to move, feigning sleep while rough hands shoved her into what appeared to be a cold metal compartment. She resisted the urge to fight, knowing it would be useless against the three men she had heard talking after the plane landed.

She heard the roar of a motor and realized she was inside the trunk of a car. Even locked away, she caught the rich tang of the sea. Her elbow hurt and she winced as the car bumped over pitted roads.

When the car finally slowed, Nell made certain that her jacket was pulled up and her hair covered her face. She didn't open her eyes until she was lifted outside. Seabirds wheeled overhead as she took a quick glance and saw gray walls looming on a rocky slope, while the dark curve of the ocean yawned in the distance.

Scotland
.

Then she was inside the walls, carried up a long set of steps and tossed onto a small bed.

The heavy wooden door banged shut and a metal lock rang loudly as it was snapped in place.

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
two black limousines circled to the end of the castle's gravel driveway. Uniformed guards opened the doors and ushered in the first group of arrivals. None of the well-dressed “guests” seemed surprised that the guards were heavily armed, and no one protested when their bags and bodies were searched for weapons.

N
ELL'S DOOR SHOOK
.
She kept her eyes closed as the handle turned.

Hard fingers gripped her hair and yanked her upright. “Time to wake up. Someone wants to see you.”

Nell kept her movements slow, as if she was still groggy. She heard the tap of footsteps.

“Nell, wake up. Honey, what have they done to you?”

She stiffened as she heard her father's voice. Opening her eyes, she saw his ashen face. He looked ten years older, gaunt and worried yet trying not to show it.

Nell reached out a trembling hand, unable to speak with the force of her emotions.

“Are you hurt? What did they do?”

She shook her head. “I—I'm fine. A little bruised maybe.” Despite all her efforts, her eyes filled with tears. “You're alive,” she whispered. “I was so afraid…”

The door closed.

“It's going to be okay. I'm right here, Nell.” His arms slid around her. “How did they
find
you?” Her father looked exhausted and there was a bruise along his jaw. “You were supposed to stay with Nicholas.”

“Eric—Eric was involved. He called me and maybe they tracked the cell phone calls. I don't know.”

“They used Eric?” Her father closed his eyes, stifling a cough.

“Daddy, are you okay? You look…”

“I'm tired, that's all.” He gripped her hand, then turned away to pace the small room, which looked like an average servant's bedroom—except for the newly installed metal bars on the door. Abruptly he came back and leaned down, his head beside hers. “We have to convince them we're on different sides.” Jordan MacInnes kept his voice very low. “I don't want him harming you to get at me, do you understand? So we fight. We fight about everything. Hide any emotions but anger from him, Nell.”

“Who?”

“The man who controls all of this. They'll be coming soon. If I can create a diversion, I want you to run. Don't wait for me—just go. Do you understand?”

“But what about you?”

I'll be fine, Nell. Just remember what I said. Don't give him
anything
he can use against us.”

M
ORE BLACK LIMOUSINES
cruised up the driveway, followed by a silver Aston Martin and a white Rolls-Royce Corniche. Each car was met, each guest was carefully checked for weapons and ushered inside. By eight in the evening. Glenmor Castle's little parking lot was full.

The last car was a black Escalade. The side door opened, a small motorized ramp powered down, and a sleek silver wheelchair buzzed along the ramp. The wizened old man in the chair had mahogany skin and papery white hair and looked around him with cold arrogance.

His name was Bujune Okambe and he had led the military force of his African state until staging a successful coup d'état. That same afternoon Okambe proclaimed himself president and took personal control of his country's newly discovered oil reserves. Now he was one of the wealthiest men in the world.

His aged hands shook on the wheelchair controls as he submitted to the weapon search. Then with icy impatience he motioned to his striking daughter to follow him up the walk to the castle.

Martim Gonsalves's guest list was now complete.

The auction was about to begin.

T
HEY CAME
for Nell twenty minutes later, two tall men with scars on their cheeks and leaden eyes. One wore a blue tie, the other wore green. The stocky one in the blue tie grabbed her arms when she didn't move fast enough, shoving her toward the stairs.

“Where are we going?” she snapped.

No answer.

Nell glanced at her father, then looked up as they were forced into a big service elevator. From the smell of cooking food, it had to run down near the kitchen and food service area.

Jordan went in first, followed by the bigger guard, with Nell close behind. Suddenly her father made a strangled sound and locked his hands over his chest, staggering back through the open elevator door.

“Get in, fool.” The big guard hauled him back, but Nell's father groaned, his arms flailing at the guard's face.

“My heart. Crushing. I can't—
breathe
.”

When the second guard leaned down for a closer look, Nell dropped her sweater over his head from behind and yanked the arms in a knot. While her father grappled with his captor, she ran back down the passage to a small storage closet located beyond the corner. She opened the door a crack, tossing linens onto the floor, then ran down the opposite hallway and waited, crouched behind a cart full of dirty laundry.

Her throat was dry, her heart pounding.

Both guards sprinted along the corridor and the big one stopped at the storage closet, holding up one hand. The second guard nodded and drew a revolver, kicking at the linens.

Silent, Nell crept back toward the elevator along a parallel hallway. Her father was very pale, gesturing upward. Nell climbed the wooden panels inside the elevator, pushed open the small access door at the ceiling and climbed out, then lowered the access door.

She heard footsteps and angry voices below her as she climbed with adrenaline-fuelled grace, hand over hand along the small emergency ladder inside the elevator vault.

Three stories higher the vault ended. Nell hesitated. She pulled the grate from a ventilation duct and crawled inside, her heart pounding.

The elevator creaked and then shot past. When the doors opened, two guards dragged her father out.

“Where is she?”

Her father shrugged. “Women, always making trouble. I told her not to—”

The guard snapped the butt of his gun across MacInnes' jaw. “Where
is
she?” he repeated.

“I told you. I don't—”

Another blow, harder this time. Nell heard her father's muffled groan followed by the sound of his body hitting the wall.

“Next time I'll shoot you, old man. Where
is
she?”

She spotted a commercial fire extinguisher mounted near the floor opening. As her father was struck again, she pulled the heavy unit free and climbed back onto the elevator. She tossed out the safety pin and waited until it cracked against the floor far below.

The guards shouted, and the elevator began to descend, with Nell clinging to the roof. As the guards struggled in confusion inside, she lifted the emergency access door and dropped the body of the fire extinguisher on the bigger guard.

“Nell,
go
.” Her father's voice was harsh. “Don't do this.”

She jumped down into the elevator, struggling with the second guard, who kicked her against the wall and then raised a pistol to her father's head.

Nell froze, raising her hands slowly. When the elevator doors opened, three more guards were waiting out in the corridor.

Somewhere in the distance laughter mingled with the sound of harp music.

T
HE SMALL STONE ROOM
where they took her was full of people in formal evening attire.

Three cases gleamed beneath small focused beams. Ten men and one woman circled the cases, watching light play over the delicate face of a woman with a haunting smile.
La Gioconda
had never looked more mysterious.

Three sketches.

Nell caught her breath in awe. Da Vinci's genius shone in the smooth curve of the woman's cheek and the shading of the expressive eyes. Was there smug satisfaction in her gaze or did her face hide some piece of secret knowledge? Scholars had argued about that expression for centuries.

“Gentlemen, and ladies, I am Martim Gonsalves. I welcome you.” As a slender man in an Armani suit moved from the back wall, the group parted to make way for him. “This is what you have come to bid on. You are looking at Leonardo's preliminary chalk sketch for the
Mona Lisa
, with probable oversketching by Michelangelo, noticeable in the fine marks at her shoulders and her hands.” All other sounds in the room faded. Every face studied the three examples of Renaissance genius.

Martim continued calmly. “The piece was recently discovered in a bank vault in Switzerland. How it came into my possession need not concern us tonight. You see three cases here as a precaution, should one of you plan an act of theft.” He eyed the group coldly. “One of the pieces is real. The other two are holographic images. If you have questions about authenticity, I suggest you direct them to Jordan MacInnes and his daughter. Her credentials as a conservator and art expert are a matter of record and you all know Jordan personally, of course.” A guard squeezed Nell's arm, holding her in place beside her father.

Martim strolled through the silent group, smiling. “Recently, this sketch was removed from the National Gallery. As you would expect, all copies of authenticating tests and supporting photographs are available, in addition to those that have already been e-mailed to you. The curator at the museum was most thorough.” He smiled thinly.

“Martim, one question.” A wheelchair hummed over the wooden floor, steered by an old man with leathery skin. “I respect your experts, of course, but with a price so considerable I require spectroscopy results and pigment analysis. Further, I want proof that these lighter marks belong to Michelangelo. Can you provide these things?”

“Mr. Okambe, shrewd as always.” Martim's eyes narrowed. “Here are two experts to answer all your questions.”

He motioned to Jordan, who gripped Nell's arm tightly and guided her toward the cases. Heads nodded in recognition and several of the men reached out to shake hands as Nell's father passed.

Several people frowned but no one commented about Nell's rumpled clothes or the bruises on her father's face. Nell realized that this was the shadow world she had imagined for years but had never glimpsed until now.

Her father held out a folder. “My daughter will answer any questions you may have, starting with Mr. Okambe's.”

She summoned the calm arrogance that these assembled buyers would respect. The only other female present was a striking African woman with scars in the shape of tears dotting her high cheekbones. The woman studied Nell with disdain, moving closer to the man in the wheelchair, carrying herself like a princess.

In a clear, calm voice Nell explained the results of the various tests, riffling through the folder she had been given. Her host would not know that she had already studied the data line by line, of course.

When she was done, Gonsalves nodded. “An excellent explanation. Now are all the questions answered?” The buyers shuffled and then murmured assent, and their host gestured to his security chief, who punched a number into the keypad. The heavy door opened. “Caviar is now being served in the Blue Ballroom. I will join you there shortly to begin our bidding.”

Mr. Okambe gestured to the tall woman—his daughter or his mistress, Nell wasn't sure. “Make Jordan's daughter wait. She must explain the results of the last infrared test.”

Martim smiled but shook his head curtly. “Any questions are open to all, Mr. Okambe. It is fairer that way.” He gestured to Nell. “Elaborate on the test for us.”

Nell ignored the imperious edge to the man's voice and kept her cool smile in place. As she explained how the paper and materials showed results consistent with da Vinci's style and dating, Mr. Okambe listened closely, his chin sunk against his chest. Then he raised one hand, palm up. Nell saw the same set of tear-shaped scars along the base of his wrist. “One moment. I understand that this art is cursed. I do not take such a thing lightly.” At his words, excitement snapped through the room.

Nell moved toward the display cases, cutting in front of the African man's wheelchair. “True.
Maledetto
.” She let the sound roll over her tongue, watching the reaction to her words. “Legend says it was cursed by da Vinci after it was stolen from him, possibly by his disreputable servant. If you buy this piece, you should understand that harm may come to you.”

Martim's jaw locked in a line of fury. He moved casually beside Nell and took her arm, then his fingers twisted harshly on her wrist. “A legend, no more, my dear. We are adults here, not children who cry and run from shadows.”

As Martim's fingers tightened cruelly on her arm, Nell bit back a gasp.

“You've explained all that we need to know, my dear.” His nails dug into her skin, a painful warning. “Now you must let our honored guests relax before our business begins.” He glanced at Mr. Okambe. “You are satisfied?”

The old man nodded, then wheeled outside, with the regal woman close beside him. In his wake the room cleared quickly, and as soon as the door closed, Martim Gonsalves turned and slammed Nell against the wall. Pulling a small metal unit from his pocket, he drove it under her chin.

Nell fought to breathe, the world flashing white as Gonsalves triggered the power on the Taser.

T
HE MOON WAS A BROKEN
sliver against racing clouds as Dakota neared the base of the castle wall. In a few smooth strokes he found the mouth of the water pipe.

His rebreather unit hissed quietly against his mask, the tide driving him forward onto the heavy iron grate at the opening of the pipe. He pried the cover free and slid inside, the water churning up mud in turbid waves around him. Small fish shot from the pipe's bottom as he navigated by the infrared dial of the compass on his wrist.

Abruptly the tunnel opened. Mud gave way to gravel and weeds and drifting sediment as he came to the edge of the castle moat.

He checked his watch.

One minute early.

Inching from the water, he waited, hidden by reeds. Dakota counted out the seconds, following his prearranged schedule. No guards moved over this part of the grounds. There was no flare of heat around him, no movement on the high parapets. Crawling through the reeds, he reached the low grass, his breath loud in his ears, his mask down and rebreather turned off.

Somewhere a bird cried shrilly as Dakota had his first glimpse of the wall he had to climb. Weathered and stark, its stone face loomed up above the loch's edge. He sighted his route, picking out ledges and cracks by the uneven heat patterns that still reflected the afternoon sun.

He read the wall just the way Nell had told him to do, picking out his first three footholds. With his route clear, he eased out of the grass, ready to climb, one foot braced against a ridge of stone.

Then he stopped.

Something she'd said—something important.

The shoes.

Quickly he stripped off his rubber-soled diving boots and stowed them in his pack. Wearing only thin climbing shoes, he grabbed his first hold and toed into small cracks with his weight centered.

Somewhere a car door slammed. The buyers would be inside now.

Find a grip, weight steady. Roll from your feet
.

He was already at the arrow loops when a bird shot out of the darkness, diving at his head. Dakota held steady, despite the talons shredding the back of his Neoprene suit. Ignoring the slash of pain at his shoulders, he willed himself to stay motionless.

With a loud cry, the bird soared away into the darkness. Dakota looked up, reading the wall, and reached for the arrow loop. Suddenly the narrow ledge beneath him crumbled.

He swung free, legs dangling. Instantly, he jammed his hand into a crack and held on with two knuckles just the way Nell had shown him.

Near the moat a light cut through the darkness, followed by the static screech of a walkie-talkie.

N
ELL COULDN'T BREATHE
,
and the burning pain wouldn't stop.

Her father's voice rose in fury.

“Put your toys away, Martim. It is time for business,
not
ego. I will take care of my difficult daughter.”

Time stretched out. Finally the metal box slid away from Nell's neck. Her knees crumpled and she braced her shoulders against the wall to keep from falling.

“Then take care of her now. Otherwise, I will rip the tongue from her throat.” Martim smoothed his suit with tight, angry movements. As he punched in the key code he shot a cold look at Nell.

The door slid open. A tall man with silver hair waited in the doorway flanked by two bodyguards. His cool eyes held the confidence of a man well accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed un-questioningly.