Yusef clapped him on the back, smiling broadly. “You are truly blessed, my brother!”
“Çok teşekkürler! Many thanks, Yusef. I am a lucky man.”
19 Seeing Double
August 31, 2018
Zelda pushed the heavy door to her apartment building open, whistling a jaunty tune. She was enjoying trying out all the bars and cafés in her new neighborhood. Since discovering two of her coworkers lived a few streets away from her new apartment, they had been meeting for drinks every Friday night at a different location. Tonight, they also had dinner together. It was a great way to forget the work week and get to know each other better. Both of her coworkers seemed like fun people who shared similar interests. And as Zelda had learned from her previous experiences, the museum world in Amsterdam was small. Even though she was only going to be at the Amstel Modern for six months, there was a real chance they would work together again one day.
Zelda’s heels echoed off the tiles of her apartment building’s lobby as she walked past the staircase to the elevator. The businesses on the lower four floors were already closed for the night, leaving only the few residents living on the top floor. Zelda pushed the up button next to the elevator, and the door immediately opened. Gabriella was inside, crumpled up in the fetal position. Zelda rushed to her friend. Gabriella’s breathing was ragged.
“Gabriella, can you hear me?” Zelda yelled as she gently slapped her friend’s face, hoping to wake her out of this trance. Her neighbor was a diabetic who often got so absorbed in her work that she forgot to eat or sleep during her long painting sessions. In the three months since Zelda moved here, she had seen Gabriella go through two insulin dips, one of which landed her in the hospital. Zelda was pretty certain the artist’s coma-like state was due to her illness, and she only hoped a shot of insulin would be enough to snap Gabriella out of it. Otherwise, she’d need to call the ambulance straightaway.
When Gabriella moaned slightly, Zelda breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the fifth-floor button. She searched through her neighbor’s jacket pockets until she found her keys. As soon as the elevator doors opened, she carried Gabriella to her apartment, depositing her friend gently on her oversized couch. Zelda didn’t know whether to give her the insulin shot first or call the ambulance. She picked up her phone to dial 1-1-2 when Gabriella roused a little and muttered, “Insulin pen.”
Zelda sprinted to the refrigerator and grabbed the medicine. When she returned with it, Gabriella pulled down her pants and shoved it into her thigh. Moments after the insulin entered her bloodstream, Gabriella’s eyes fluttered open. “Orange juice.”
Zelda ran back and poured her friend a glass. When she reentered the room, the painting resting on Gabriella’s easel caught her eye and stopped her in her tracks. It was as if a kaleidoscope of color had exploded onto the canvas. Lines danced across the surface, interwoven through the thin layers of oil. Zelda cocked her head, studying its composition. The painting seemed so familiar, one she’d definitely seen before. But then again, Gabriella’s living room was a jumble of ongoing projects set aside until inspiration struck again. Last week, she had been working on ultra-realistic cityscapes. This was much looser and spontaneous. It reminded Zelda of the studies Jackson Pollock made for his early drip paintings, the ones that she’d researched for the Amstel Modern exhibition.
Gabriella groaned, and Zelda rushed to her. She helped her friend take a few small sips of juice, then set it on the table when Gabriella lay back and shut her eyes. The artist’s breathing grew heavy, and soon, she was snoring.
Zelda looked again at the easel and noticed it was positioned in front of another piece hanging on the wall. It also seemed familiar. Curious, Zelda rose and walked closer, examining both pieces. Her forehead creased in concentration. She leaned in closer when the truth made her eyes pop. They were two versions of the same painting. And they weren’t reminiscent of Jackson Pollock—the finished piece on Gabriella’s wall was a Pollock, his Study Number 5. The same sketch that had been stolen from the Amstel Modern last week.
Zelda felt limp and dizzy. She had to tell someone but didn’t dare leave Gabriella in this comatose state. She turned away from her friend and pulled out her phone. But who should she call? The police? Or her employer? And what should she say about Gabriella’s involvement?
Before she could decide who to call or what to say, Gabriella’s eyes open and she groaned. “Oh, my head. Could you get a bar of chocolate out of the cupboard? There should be a bunch on the third shelf.”
“Sure, Gabriella. But what happened? Why were you passed out in the elevator?”
“I pushed myself too hard and forgot to eat today,” she mumbled. “I went downstairs to order some takeaway but never made it outside.” She shrugged then closed her eyes. “It sometimes happens, especially when I’m in the flow.”
“But why…” Zelda wanted to ask about the Pollocks but didn’t know where to start. And considering Gabriella’s current condition, she doubted the artist could explain herself coherently.
Instead, she got her friend a chocolate bar, then excused herself to the toilet. She needed a minute to collect her thoughts. Zelda turned on the sink and stared into the mirror. Was there a stolen Pollock in Gabriella’s living room? She wasn’t an art expert but did spend weeks studying the piece. As much as she wanted to believe it was all a big misunderstanding, she had to tell someone about it. Should she call the Amstel Modern or police first?
Before Zelda could make up her mind, a soft knock disturbed her thoughts. From inside the bathroom, she could hear Gabriella’s front door opening.
“Hello, Gabriella.” A man’s voice rang out. His accent was clipped and formal.
Zelda figured he must have a key because Gabriella was in no state to open the door so quickly. Was it her boyfriend? Gabriella hadn’t mentioned having one before. Zelda heard footsteps enter the living room, and then the man called out in Croatian. She couldn’t understand the words, but the man’s concern was evident.
Zelda opened the door to make her presence known, and a “hello” was halfway out of her mouth when a flash of motion made her look up. Her knees buckled as her head exploded in pain. Just before she passed out, Zelda saw an older man standing over her, his wrinkled face and gray hair looming closer. Then, only darkness.
20 Beer and a Book
August 31, 2018
Marko sat in a bar across the street from Het Sieraad, enjoying a Heineken and his book, the latest adventure by Clive Cussler. To his delight, they served bitterballen, a Dutch delicacy made from deep-fried beef ragout that he couldn’t get enough of. Preparing for Team Tuck’s next job had taken less time than anticipated. While Rikard rounded up a few last-minute supplies, Marko decided to see what the artist was doing. Staking out her apartment was easy enough since there was only one entrance, and from his seat by the café’s front window, he could see through the skylights that her apartment lights were on. As he waited for his second portion of bitterballen, he gazed outside and up at the moon. Fall was already settling in, and the drop in the temperature caused Amsterdam’s trees to shed. In the evening light, the leaves swirling in the strong winds reminded him of snow flurries.
His eyes were drawn to a fast-moving vehicle, speeding toward the small cobblestoned square in front of Het Sieraad. The van slowed just before it rode over the sidewalk and stopped a few feet from the front entrance. Marko lay down his book and watched with interest. Seconds later, an older man exited the building, pushing a trolley stacked up with canvases. The van’s driver opened the back door and loaded them inside.
Marko had seen several artists going in and out of the building, so the men’s actions didn’t raise any alarms. Still, habit made him take out his phone and snap pictures of both men and their vehicle, making sure the van’s license plate was visible. He then picked up his book and read a few pages, glancing up now and again at the men loading the van. They made four trips, each time bringing more canvases and painting supplies dow
n. Marko figured the vehicle was filled to the brim by now.
He had just taken a large swig of beer when he noticed the older man had made a fifth trip. This time, he was half-carrying a young woman toward the van. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but she did seem to be the same size and have the same flapper haircut that the artist had. The second man helped him get the woman into the passenger’s seat, then both men jumped inside and sped off.
Marko felt his drink catch in his throat, choking him as he grabbed his phone and dialed. As soon as Luka picked up, Marko blurted out, “Uncle, you aren’t going to like this.”
“What now?” Luka Antic sounded irritated, not concerned.
Marko glanced around and realized the café was full. This was not the right place for this conversation. He placed a fifty euro note under his half-full beer glass and stepped outside.
“I’m outside that artist’s apartment now. Two men just drove away with her and a bunch of paintings. I don’t know where they’re going, and it happened too fast for me to follow them. But I did take photos.”
“Send them now,” was the terse reply. A few moments later, Luka said, “The older man is Ivan Novak. I don’t know the other one.”
“That’s Ivan?” Marko had never seen him before but knew he was project managing the Robber Hood job. Ivan Novak had arranged for Team Will to help Marko and Rikard pull off the Amstel Modern theft. “I thought you said that none of the work would be moved until after we finished?”
“That was the plan, yes.” Luka growled into the phone. “What happened exactly?”
Marko knew how important this deal was with the Turk. In hushed tones, he told Luka everything that had happened. Just as he was finishing up, Marko heard sirens in the distance.
“What is that noise?” Luka asked.
Marko stared wide-eyed as the small square in front of the artist’s building filled with vehicles, all with lights blazing and sirens blaring. “Four cop cars and an ambulance just showed up.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. Several officers and ambulance personnel are rushing inside the artist’s building. I can’t tell you much more without attracting attention to myself.”
“Do what you need to do but find out.”
Marko was silent a moment before saying, “I will do my best, but I would hate to jeopardize my other projects. The next is slated for tomorrow.”
“Of course, you’re right. See what you can find out tonight. Otherwise, I have friends on the Dutch police force I can ask.”
Marko noticed a crowd of onlookers had already begun to form in the square. He joined them, keeping to the back as much as possible. Ten minutes after the police arrived, the ambulance personnel wheeled a stretcher outside with a young woman laying on it. Marko could see an oxygen mask on her face, meaning she was still alive. He didn’t recognize her but took a picture anyway. Could this woman’s injuries be related to the artist’s exit minutes earlier? Or were the two incidents unrelated? Marko knew he needed to find out.
He ran back to his car and followed the ambulance to the VU University Medical Center.
Unfortunately, the woman was already inside by the time he parked and made his way to the emergency room’s reception desk. He inquired about the woman, stating that he knew his neighbor was brought here, but not knowing the woman’s name didn’t help matters. The nurses refused to tell him anything, and the hallways were only accessible by key card. He wouldn’t be able to find out more without risking imprisonment.
Marko went outside, lit up a cigarette, and pulled out his phone. “You said you know somebody in the force? Maybe you can call in that favor…”
21 Welcome Back
September 1, 2018
Zelda opened her eyes slowly. The light felt like knives stabbing her brain.
Her mouth felt like sandpaper stuck together with dried saliva. She glanced around, desperate for anything to drink. A pitcher stood on a white table next to her but too far away to reach without sitting up.
On the bed, close to her arm, was a call button on a long white cable. She moved her hand toward it and noticed a tube sticking out of her wrist. She pushed the red button in, trusting someone would respond quickly.
Her head felt heavy. She gingerly touched her forehead and felt a thick bandage. Her hand followed it around her head and found it seemed to cover her entire scalp like a helmet.
Moments later, a nurse rushed in, her smile bright. “Well, well. Welcome back.” She raised Zelda’s bed into a sitting position, and while the movement was gentle, it still caused her whole body to shake in pain.
“Welcome back?” Zelda asked, but the words stuck in her parched throat and came out as a nasty cough.
The nurse instinctively poured a glass of water and stuck a straw in before placing it between Zelda’s cracked lips. “Try drinking this—small sips.”
Zelda drank greedily, feeling the liquid rush through her body. Water had never felt so good. She leaned back against her pillow, momentarily refreshed. “What the heck happened to me?” Her voice sounded strangely deep. “The last thing I remembered was being in my apartment… Or was I?”
A frown crossed her face as she rubbed her temples, careful not to move the bandages wrapped around her head. Her memories were flashes of unconnected images.
The nurse rolled a table up next to Zelda’s bed and put the glass on it. “You’ve had a hard hit to the head, which resulted in a fairly serious concussion. Your memory may be a bit unreliable for a few days. Try not to worry too much. You should be your old self quite soon.”
Try not to worry? Zelda felt helpless. She hadn’t seen the inside of a hospital since she’d had her tonsils out as a young child. And she’d never been knocked out before. “Where am I?”
The nurse hesitated. “VU University Medical Center in Amsterdam. Let me get the doctor for you.”
A few minutes later, a serious-looking woman, not much older than Zelda, entered. Despite her solemn demeanor, her smile lit up her face. “Nice to see you again.” She half sat on Zelda’s bed and shook her a hand. “I’m Doctor Maring. We met yesterday evening, but I doubt you will remember since you were still unconscious. How are you feeling?” She searched Zelda’s face as she waited for an answer.
“My head really hurts. Actually, everything hurts.”
The doctor nodded. “It will take a few days before the intensity of the pain lessens. You have been receiving a low-level dosage of morphine intravenously. I’ll adjust the dosage to help take the edge off. I have to say you had us all worried.”
Zelda automatically touched the bandage swaddling her head. “Really? Is it that serious?”
“You have been unconscious for twenty-nine hours. Your vitals were strong, so we didn’t suspect brain damage, but the wound is deep. Luckily, you’ve got a thick skull.” Doctor Maring smiled as Zelda’s face drained of color.
“That’s what my mother always says.” Zelda chortled nervously. I’ve been unconscious for a day? How could the doctor think this is the moment for a joke, she thought.
A knock on the door made the doctor rise. “The police asked me to inform them as soon as you regained consciousness. I imagine that’s them.”
Zelda could feel herself tensing up.
“You don’t have to talk with them for long, but they are concerned for your safety.” Doctor Maring took her hand. “Zelda, if that wound had been an inch deeper, we wouldn’t be talking right now. Anything you can tell the police about your assailant may help them find whoever hurt you.”
Zelda dipped her head slightly, not wanting to set off another stab of pain. “Of course, I’ll do my best. But it hurts to think.”
“I’ve already warned them that you will need a few days to regain your memory completely. Tell them whatever you can remember now. They can always come back once you’re feeling better.”
Zelda’s visitors knocked again, and Doctor Maring opened the door. “Please, come in.”
&n
bsp; A man and woman, both in uniform, entered. They exchanged handshakes with the doctor before approaching Zelda, smiling as they did. The woman introduced them. “Hi, Zelda. I’m Officer Vos, and this is Officer Landhuis. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” she mumbled.
Officer Vos chuckled politely. “We understand you need to rest, but we would like to ask you some questions about Friday night. Do you think you could try to help us?”
“Yes, I want to try.”
“Excellent. Can you walk us through what you remember about that night? When did you get home? Why don’t we start there?”
Zelda closed her eyes and concentrated hard. Scenes from that night began flashing through her mind, but not in the correct order. She rubbed at her forehead. “I got home late from work. A few of us from the Amstel Modern had drinks and dinner at a café close to my apartment. I was tired, so I took the elevator. When the door opened, my neighbor Gabriella was inside. She was passed out on the floor but was breathing. I know Gabriella has diabetes and keeps insulin pens in her refrigerator, so I took her back up to her apartment.”
The female officer touched Zelda’s foot to interrupt. “How did you know Gabriella has diabetes?”
“We’re friends, and it’s happened before. When she’s working on a new painting, she forgets to eat, and her blood sugar dips too low.”
Zelda suddenly looked up to the officer, a jolt shooting through her neck. “Wait, where is Gabriella? Is she here at this hospital, too?”
“You mean Gabriella Tamic? The woman who lives next door to you in apartment number seven?” Officer Landhuis joined the conversation, double-checking his notepad as he spoke.
“I don’t know her last name, but she’s the only Gabriella in the building.”
Marked for Revenge Page 9
