Marked for Revenge

by Jennifer S. Alderson

“It gave me a chance to try out long hair. What do you think?” Ivan added quickly.

  The customer service representative laughed a bit too loudly. “Well, you don’t look sickly at all. And I do like your hair better long. That wig suits you.”

  She finished filling in the required information then handed his passport back. “Thank you, Mr. Antic. I think you’ll be satisfied with the space. I will adjust the climate control to your specifications, and the humidity and temperature should be optimal for storage within a few hours. The key code allows you twenty-four-hour access. If you have any concerns, just ask the manager for assistance. There is always one on duty. I will take you over to the office and introduce you after we finish here.”

  “That would be great.” Ivan had trouble keeping his hand steady when handing over enough cash to secure the unit for three months. Renting this space meant he was almost at the finish line. Vengeance was so close he could taste it.

  “You can always renew your contract at the same rate,” the service representative added as she gave him the keys.

  Ivan shook his head. As soon as the last robbery was complete, he would send out the press release and begin moving the artwork. A week later, half of it would be on its way to Turkey. And the rest, well… His plan brought a smile to his lips. “Thank you, but that shouldn’t be necessary.”

  34 Plea for Help

  September 15, 2018

  “Zelda Richardson, it’s nice to see you feeling better.” Officer Vos shook her hand firmly. Luckily, both she and Officer Landhuis were available when Zelda asked for them at the front desk of the Amsterdam police bureau on Leidseplein. Zelda figured it would be easier to talk to them about Gabriella and Marko than having to rehash all the details of her assault with someone new.

  “Let’s sit in interrogation room number three. It’s quieter in there than by our desks.” After they’d taken seats around a metal table, Vos asked, “What can we do for you? Do you remember something you would like to share with us?”

  “I was curious if you had found anything else out about the man who hit me.”

  Officer Vos shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. We were able to track the van as far as Eindhoven, but we lost sight of it on the A2.”

  “Oh. What about Gabriella? She’s still not home. Have you found out anything more about what happened to her?”

  “No. Another team has been assigned to her missing person case.”

  “Oh.” Zelda bit her lip, unsure what else to ask. She’d hoped the police knew where her friend was so she could tell this Marko guy Gabriella’s location and be done with the whole thing.

  “Is there something the matter?” Officer Vos asked, her tone gentle and concerned.

  Zelda figured she had nothing to lose. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but a guy is pressuring me to find Gabriella. He’s convinced I know where’s she’s at, but I really don’t. I think he’s been following me—at least, he knew my boyfriend and I went to the Sanadome on vacation last week.”

  “Did he harm you or threaten you with violence?”

  Zelda thought back to her conversation with Marko. “No, it was more how he made a point of telling me he knew where we’d gone. It was creepy. And he sent me weird text messages while we were gone. The second time Marko came by, my boyfriend returned just as he was beginning to get aggressive. I don’t know what would have happened if Jacob hadn’t of come home right then.”

  “Could we see the messages he sent?”

  “Of course.” Zelda passed Vos her phone. She and her partner read through the four from Marko then handed it back.

  Officer Vos gazed at Zelda with a frustratingly neutral expression. “They aren’t exactly threatening, though the ticktock is kind of strange.”

  Zelda sighed, exhausted by the past week’s events, the police officers’ lack of enthusiasm, and her poor health. The spa had helped tremendously, but she still had dizzy spells and dull headaches. “No, perhaps they aren’t scary in tone, but I don’t know this guy, and I’m not good friends with Gabriella. The fact that Marko came by my apartment twice and messaged so often about her freaks me out.”

  “How did he get your phone number?” Landhuis asked.

  “I, ah, gave it to him.” Zelda felt silly saying it aloud. “He came by looking for Gabriella the day I got out of the hospital. He said they were childhood friends, and he was only in town for a few days. His telephone didn’t have an international plan so he couldn’t receive or make calls. That’s why he asked for my number so he could call me from his hotel’s phone.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Officer Vos could muster.

  Her partner intervened. “The messages are quite vague and not enough to press charges or even pick him up for questioning. Can you describe Marko for us?” Landhuis held pen to paper.

  Zelda’s eyes shot to the right as she recalled his appearance. “Skinny, tall, and long straight hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes were dark brown, and he had a scruffy beard—yeah, beard might be too strong a word. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Everything he wore was black—his jeans, sweater with a hoodie, and high-top sneakers.”

  “And his voice? What language did he speak in? Did you detect any accent?” The urgency in Officer Vos’s voice caught Zelda’s attention. For the first time since she’d entered the room, she felt as if the officers were actually interested in what she had to say.

  “His voice was kind of high for a man but not feminine. He spoke in English, but the way he clipped his words reminded me of Gabriella. I bet he’s Croatian, too.”

  The two officers bent their heads together and whispered back and forth. Finally, Landhuis stood up and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Officer Vos smiled but said nothing. Her steady gaze was unsettling.

  Minutes later, Landhuis returned with a stack of photographs. “Your description reminded us of a suspect in an ongoing investigation. Can you look at these photos and tell us if you recognize any of these men?”

  “Sure,” Zelda said, pulling the five mug shots close. She carefully examined all of them, focusing in on their eyes. The second photo sprang out at her immediately. Even though his chin was clean-shaven, and he was clearly a few years younger, but Zelda was positive number two was Marko. “That’s him. I am sure of it.”

  The officers exchanged surprised glances. “That is Marko Antic.” They both looked at her carefully, clearly gauging her reaction.

  “Okay.” The name meant nothing to her.

  “I have to tell you, Zelda, I am quite surprised he told you his real name. Marko was involved with the robbery at the Amstel Modern. He freelances now and again but works mainly for his uncle, the head of a powerful Croatian mafia. Are you certain you have never seen him before? Perhaps you worked with him in the past?”

  Zelda felt her body go cold. Did the police think she was working with that psycho? “Of course not! Good God, the mafia? What was Gabriella involved with?”

  “You tell us. When we talked to you in the hospital, you thought you’d seen a stolen painting in her apartment. Do you think that could have anything to do with Marko Antic’s interest in her?”

  “I don’t know why Marko wants to find Gabriella so badly. All I know is that I can’t help him. I’m not you. I don’t know the first thing about tracking down a missing person. I have no idea where Gabriella might have gone, and I told Marko that, too. Trust me, I would love nothing more than to find her so she can sort this mess out.”

  Vos let Zelda’s words sink in, nodding slightly. “You have been working at the Amstel Modern for three months, correct?”

  “Yes,” Zelda said with a start, thrown off by the officer’s question.

  “How did you find out about the position?”

  “One of my professors emailed it to me and about two hundred other museum studies students. I’m on his weekly mailing list of new job openings, which he sends out to students and recent graduates.”

>   “And after you accepted the part-time research position, no one approached you to help them with a robbery?”

  “Wait—what? Of course not! Look, I came here today because I am in way over my head and don’t know what to do.”

  “I think that’s the first true thing you’ve said since you arrived, Zelda.”

  Zelda frowned at Officer Landhuis. Coming here had been a huge mistake. “I am not involved with the Amstel Modern robbery or any of the Robber Hood break-ins.”

  “You must admit that it is rather odd that you work for the Amstel Modern, live next door to an artist you claim possessed one of the stolen pieces, and you are in contact with a known criminal who is definitely involved with the robbery,” Vos pushed.

  Zelda wanted to scream. Instead, she closed her eyes and sucked in her breath. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I came to you for help. I don’t know why Marko is targeting me or searching for Gabriella. How many times do I have to repeat myself before you believe me? Are you sure the missing person team hasn’t found out anything about where Gabriella might be? If only we could talk to her, I know she would tell you I am not involved in any of this.”

  “We are actively searching for Gabriella, but we will not be sharing our investigation with you or your friends, Ms. Richardson,” Vos stated.

  Zelda gulped. The officer’s return to formality scared Zelda more than her chilly tone. When she stood up, her whole body trembled. “Can I go now?”

  “You are free to go. For now. We’ll be in touch soon.”

  Zelda nodded tersely. Ignoring the officer’s outstretched hand, she turned on her heel and raced out of the station as quickly as she could. Once outside, Zelda had to force herself to walk calmly toward her bike. What just happened, she wondered in despair. She went to the police for help and now had the feeling they thought she was somehow involved. It didn’t make sense. Worst of all, she was nowhere closer to finding Gabriella or getting Marko off her back.

  “What do you think?” Officer Vos asked as soon as Zelda Richardson left the interrogation room. “Was she trying to get information out of us to pass along to her boss? Or is she really the innocent victim she claims to be?”

  Landhuis stared at the closed door, briefly lost in thought. “Her story is rather farfetched. Honestly, I get the feeling she can’t deliver what she’d promised and is trying to make things right with the mafia.”

  Vos bobbed her head in agreement. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she is working with them somehow. She barely reacted when we told her who Marko was—as if she already knew. And it is quite a coincidence, her job, neighbor, and Marko. Maybe she was supposed to be babysitting Gabriella, but the artist made a break for it and took the stolen Pollock.”

  “You might be right.” Landhuis threw his hands up in the air in mock defeat. “What the hell? We don’t have a single viable lead. Her name is already on our list of persons of interest, and the Amstel Modern’s head of security hasn’t ruled out staff involvement. We didn’t share Zelda’s original statement we took in the hospital with the Amstel Modern staff, did we? Why don’t we have a chat with their director and Zelda’s coworkers on Monday? I’m curious to hear what they have to say about Ms. Richardson.”

  Vos snapped her fingers. “Hey, did you see that email from Detective Prins? We should let him know about Zelda and the Pollock, as well.”

  “You’re right. His team did say to pass on any lead.”

  Vos recalled the email Detective Prins, the officer leading the Robber Hood investigation, had sent to the entire Dutch police force yesterday. He asked everyone to be on alert for any new information about the Robber Hood gang or the stolen artwork.

  In his email, Detective Prins asked all officers to share any lead with him, no matter how obscure it may seem. In Officer Vos’s mind, this qualified. Zelda’s accusations were quite farfetched, but she suspected that even a longshot would be welcome right now.

  “Why don’t we give Detective Prins a call first?” Vos said.

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  35 Team Will’s Last Assignment

  September 14, 2018

  Tomislav and Sebastijan were looking forward to robbing the Kronenburg Museum. After twenty-four long days of surveillance, bad food, lightning-fast planning, uncomfortable hotel beds, and adrenaline-filled nights, they were ready to be done with the Robber Hood job and go home. They had left Kronenburg as last because it would be a cinch to break in. They could literally pick open the emergency exit door at the back and walk straight into the exhibition hall they wanted to rob. The three pieces on their list were all hanging in one room, located in the center of the building. If they entered the property through the woods, they could easily avoid the gaze of the caretaker, whose apartment was in the attic of an old house to the left of the modern museum. Two quads were already rolled into place and covered with a camouflage net. They could easily cut through the forest and dunes, making them the perfect getaway vehicles. Even after they triggered the alarm, they’d be in and out before the caretaker could find his slippers. They figured they’d be back in Wassenaar before the first cop car arrived.

  The two men scurried out of the forest and across the lawn. They kept to the shadows in case the caretaker happened to be looking outside from his apartment window a few hundred feet away.

  They raced over to the rectangular building, a mix of glass, stone, and wood. In contrast to most contemporary architectural statements, this one was subdued and elegant and actually fit in with the surrounding field and forest.

  Tomislav pushed the building’s architecture out of his mind as he and his partner approached a window in the middle of the long rectangle. No cameras were visible, but both men knew they were there. They clambered through the manicured flower beds surrounding the building to get close to the door. Sebastijan turned on his headlamp, briefly shining it inside. They could see their targets from here—three Kandinsky sketches created with pencil and oil. They were still hanging in the same spot as they were last week. He turned off his headlamp and nodded to his companion.

  The simple lock was ridiculously easy to pick open. Seconds later, Tomislav was inside and holding open the door for his partner. They operated under the assumption that motion detectors would have just alerted the caretaker to their presence and location. Meaning they had five minutes and counting.

  As they entered the exhibition hall, Tomislav pulled out his wire cutters while Sebastijan snapped open a padded canvas bag. When he cut the first sketch loose, vibrations on the wooden floor caused them both to freeze.

  Was this a new kind of alarm, Tomislav wondered as a whooshing noise made him turn.

  Rushing straight at them were two rugby-sized men, their security uniforms straining against their rippling muscles. Though both were surprisingly silent, their weight couldn’t help but vibrate through the wooden floors.

  One guard tackled Sebastijan as the other grabbed Tomislav’s shoulders, careful not to jostle the Kandinsky in his hands. He dropped the piece, letting the sketch crash to the floor. The glass shattered loudly. Sebastijan was on the ground with a giant on his back. Tomislav knew there was no saving his partner. He had to save himself.

  Tomislav broke free from the guard and raced out of the hall. The security man slid across the broken glass, quickly catching up. The adjoining hall was filled with giant orbs and foot-tall vases made of blown glass. When he noticed his pursuer closing in, Tomislav knocked several off their stands to slow the guard down before whipping around the next corner and through a dark entryway. An imposing wall of rusted red metal stopped him in his tracks. He looked up and saw it was at least two stories high. It wasn’t a wall, he realized, but a tunnel that curved to the left and disappeared into blackness. Tomislav couldn’t see where it led, but he could hear the guard behind him. In a panic, he ran inside, hoping it would ultimately take him into the next room.

  As soon as he entered, sounds became muffled, and his breathing and heartbeat floo
ded his ears. The further he ran, the darker it became. He wasn’t crossing into the next room but entering the center of something larger, the walls seeming to bend and contract at will. He ran forward and hit his head hard on the rusty wall. Feeling along the sides as he continued at a slower pace, Tomislav had to fight the growing feeling of claustrophobia as the walls narrowed until it seemed as if they would meet. Noises behind him told him he had no choice but to push on. The walls were so close he could barely squeeze through. His panic rose until they suddenly opened up again, and he was in a wide-open space inside a maze of metal. A surge of euphoria tempered the dread filling him. A large opening to his left was an exit. As he departed the sculpture, he felt happy and light, convinced he’d experienced what the artist had designed it to do.

  His elation was destroyed moments later when the security guard tackled him, pushing him back up against the rough surface of the sculpture. Tomislav kneed the guard in the balls, and the larger man rolled off him, doubled over in pain. The wiry thief raced out of the hall and into an area filled with giants wearing swimsuits, lounging under a beach umbrella. He turned left, heading back toward the open window and their quads.

  Behind him, it sounded like the guard was closing in. Tomislav turned to see the larger man baring down and then his shoulder slammed into a wall. His body swung left, and he rolled down a flight of stairs. At the bottom, his head slammed against the concrete as his body sprawled out limply. Above him, a strong light shone like a beacon. His eyes instinctively followed the light, turning his head to see a swimming pool floating above him. Tomislav blinked, positive he was hallucinating.

  Heavy footsteps descended the stairs. Moments later, the guard stood over him, smiling, and Tomislav lay back in defeat.

  36 A Drunken Dare

  September 14, 2018