“Just answer the question.”
“Yeah, yeah, they’d know about it,” he said. “Between them and the Aryan Brotherhood, not much goes on that don’t get official approval. The white boys handle the outside stuff – drugs, contraband, that sorta thing. The Spaniards handle the protection.”
“Good. Where do they usually sit?”
Marty pointed at a table in the middle of the dining hall. “That one.”
“Follow me.”
Marty hesitated, watching his new cell mate head straight for the Familia’s favorite dining spot. The guy just walked over, took a seat, and started eating his cereal.
“Jesus, what are you doing?” Marty scurried over. “You wanna get us killed?”
“Relax. Sit down and eat your breakfast.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me? They’re letting Block B in here any second, they’re gonna ask why you’re sitting at their table. You got a good answer for that?”
“Sit down.”
Marty did as he was told. Something in the new guy’s voice forced his muscles to comply.
“Eat your breakfast,” said Jerome. “Look busy. Here they come.”
Looking up from his bowl, Marty saw the inmates of Block B stream into the dining hall. Like most mornings, three of the high level Nuestra Familia boys had shown up. They walked with swagger, displaying tattoos and muscle. The tallest, Dión, stopped dead when he saw Jerome and Marty. He pointed and muttered something in Spanish.
“C’mon, we need to get the hell out of here,” said Marty.
“Just let me do the talking.”
“Jesus Christ, you can’t be serious.”
“Be quiet.”
Dión strode over, his two lieutenants close behind him, and stood at the head of the table. They looked at Jerome, then at Marty. Nobody spoke. Jerome kept crunching on his Cuétara flakes, ignoring them. Eventually, Dión slapped both palms down on the table and leaned in.
“Amigo, you’re new here,” he said. “But that don’t mean you get to disrespect me and my boys in public. You need to move.”
Jerome didn’t look up.
“Listen, pendejo, I get copies of everyone’s papers. I know who you are and why you’re here.” He glared at them both. “So don’t fuck with me. I can make your remaining time on this Earth very unpleasant.” He paused. “Where’s the other guy?”
Jerome finished his cereal and picked up the bowl, tipping the remaining milk down his throat.
“You listening to me?” said Dión.
“Yeah, I heard you,” said Jerome.
“Then answer my question.”
“I don’t know about any other guy.”
“I got papers through. Two new guys last night, one of them is you.” He pointed a finger. “Where’s the other.”
“Your English is very good,” said Jerome.
Dión looked at each of his lieutenants. “Looks like we’re gonna get a workout this morning after all.”
The two men folded their arms and smirked.
“The only thing I’m having trouble working out,” said Jerome, getting to his feet, “is how you got papers through for a prisoner that never made it onto the bus. I’m sure you’ve got a good story.”
Dión and his men all stood well over six feet four inches tall, but Jerome still had a considerable height advantage. One of the lieutenants took an instinctive step backward.
“How about we sit down and have a conversation,” Jerome continued. “And you can tell me where you get your orders.” He stared down at Dión, who didn’t flinch. “Or does this have to get messy?”
“Look around you, cabrón.” The gang leader tilted his head. “You think you got any say in what goes on around here? You see those four C.O.s?” He glanced at the guards pacing the perimeter of the room. “They ain’t gonna help you none. Ain’t nobody in here can touch me, ain’t nobody gonna blink an eyeball if I gut you right here, right now. Maybe we just cut you up a little and see what the warden says when I tell him you tryin’ to get in my way. What you think, boys?”
The two minions grinned, exposing yellow teeth.
Jerome smiled. “The warden, huh? You guys talk often?”
Dión’s smile faded.
“And here’s me thinking the criminals I’ve met on the outside are dumb,” said Jerome. “I never even thought about the ones stupid enough to get caught.”
Marty saw the muscles in Dión’s arms tense. The other two men stepped forward.
“I think it’s time we got the warden’s attention, don’t you?” Jerome glanced down at Marty.
“Don’t bring me into this.”
“Relax, just concentrate on being a reliable witness.”
“Witness to what?”
“These three little ladies getting sent to the infirmary.”
There came a blur and Marty flinched. He saw Dión thrust something at Jerome’s stomach with a short, sharp jab. Jerome caught the gang leader’s wrist and twisted, lashing out at Dión’s nose with his other hand. He hit the Spaniard hard, crushing the nasal bridge.
Dión dropped whatever weapon he was holding and Jerome pushed him backward into one of his buddies, sending both men toppling to the floor. Grabbing the third gang member by the shoulders, Jerome brought his forehead down hard, hitting the shorter man in the face. Marty couldn’t see what had happened, but there was a loud crunching sound and the second lieutenant went down, clearly out of commission.
The first lieutenant recovered, shoving the groaning Dión off him and onto the tiles. He jumped to his feet and lunged, something sharp in his hand. With one fluid movement, Jerome caught the man’s arm and aimed a jab at the throat. The gang member choked as the blow hit home, clutching at his larynx with his free hand. Jerome finished with a fist to the jaw, knocking his opponent flat on his back. He didn’t get up again.
“That should do it,” said Jerome, turning to Marty. “Just make sure you get us a meeting with the warden. Tell him we want to make a deal, or something. You can just make it up. He’ll be curious enough to see what we know.”
Marty saw three guards sprinting in their direction, drawing Tasers. They were shouting something in French.
“I hate this part,” said Jerome.
One of the guards fired his weapon, hitting Jerome in the chest. The needles dug into his flesh, connected to the handset by a length of thin wire. There was a fizzing noise and Jerome tensed, his teeth clamped shut. Another guard fired and Jerome fell to his knees, his face screwed up in pain.
Then he passed out.
Chapter 37
AFTER CUTTING THE external telephone line, Gerard led them up to the roof of Jean Dubois’ grand townhouse and examined the skylight. The early morning sunshine made the job easier and it wasn’t long before he’d found a way through. Pulling out a short knife hidden near his ankle, Gerard unscrewed the hinges that held the frame in place and waved Leopold over.
“Regardez, once I remove the pane, we’ll have thirty seconds to deactivate the alarm. We don’t have the code, so you’ll need to pull out the power line from the main circuit. You can use this,” he handed Leopold the knife. “Force the panel open with the blade and cut the blue wire.”
“You’ve done your homework,” said Mary. “But why him?”
“He can move quicker than I can.”
“Where’s the panel?” asked Sophie.
Gerard smiled. “Most people expect forced entry through the front door, so they install the alarm box as far away as possible. Look.” He pointed. “Near the top of the stairs. Just don’t make any noise. If there are any security guards they could radio for assistance.”
Leopold nodded.
“I’ll be watching from here. If you get into any trouble, I’ll pull you out.” He pulled open the skylight and held it up.
The consultant eyed Gerard’s thick arms and didn’t doubt his promise. Crouching, Leopold sidled over the edge of the open window and eased himself down until he was hanging by his a
rms. He let go and dropped the final few feet, bending his knees as he hit the carpet. He landed silently. The upstairs hallway was dark and empty, and he could make out a series of corridors leading off to other parts of the house.
Moving over to the alarm panel at the top of the stairs, Leopold jammed the blade between the lid and pried the box open, exposing a circuit board. He noticed a chunky battery and a mass of wires. Spotting the blue lead running from the battery, he severed the cord and tensed, half expecting the alarms to sound.
Nothing happened.
His grip on the knife relaxing slightly, Leopold turned and made his way back to the skylight and waved the others down. Gerard lowered Mary and Sophie to the carpet before jumping down himself.
“The gallery is this way,” said Sophie, heading for one of the corridors.
“I’ll go in front,” said Gerard, holding up his hand. “Let’s hope the lady of the house is asleep.”
The bodyguard stepped up and led them through into the gloomy hallway, where Leopold spotted a crack of light toward the back wall.
“There,” said Sophie. “Behind the door. Someone’s left the lights on.”
Gerard reached the door and paused, apparently listening out for any sound of movement beyond. With a curt nod, he eased the door open, flooding the corridor with light. Leopold stepped through behind him, blinking hard as his eyes adjusted.
“Wow, this place is not quite what I expected,” said Mary.
Leopold couldn’t agree more. A large, circular room, not significantly smaller than a modest Paris apartment in its own right, waited for them. Hung from its walls were several dozen paintings of various sizes and styles, each presented in a gilded frame and individually lit by wall-mounted bulbs. A small brass plaque beneath each announced the artist and title, and in the center of the room stood a backless wooden bench, positioned to allow the sitter an unobstructed view of any part of the gallery.
“I don’t see ‘The Virgin Mary with Saint Anne’,” said Sophie. “He must have hidden it. But there’s nowhere in here I can think of that would make a good hiding place.”
“That’s because you’re only seeing what’s right in front of you,” said Leopold. “We have to think like Jean Dubois. Figure out what he would do.”
“How do we do that?”
“Jean Dubois was not exactly a criminal mastermind.” Leopold walked over to one of the paintings and inspected the frame. “But he was smart enough to know that entrusting the Da Vinci to anyone else would have been a fatal mistake. He would have hidden it in this house somewhere. And he wouldn’t have wanted to get his family involved.”
“Jean loved his family,” said Sophie. “He’d never do anything to hurt them.”
“Which means he would hide the painting somewhere nobody else in the house would look. And what better place than here, in his own private sanctuary?” He ran a finger along the frame and smiled.
“But where exactly?”
Leopold stood in front of the painting, an original Dominico Morelli. “This seems to be roughly the right size, doesn’t it?” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“This piece is the center of Dubois’ collection. I guess his favorite.” He lay the painting on the floor, face down. He pulled out the knife.
“What are you doing?” asked Sophie, stepping forward.
“This is the only frame that’s the right size,” he said. Without waiting for a response, Leopold slipped the knife between the frame and the backing, slicing open the protective tape.
“Be careful, don’t damage it.”
Leopold ignored her and peeled away the brown paper fastened to the inside of the frame. Tearing away the last of the tape, he felt his heart skip.
“What’s that?” asked Sophie, kneeling down next to Leopold.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he looked up. “I give you our missing painting.” With a grin, he held up “The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne”.
“You’re kidding me,” said Mary. “People were killed for this? I don’t get what the big deal is.”
“That’s not surprising. Most people don’t know a good thing when they see it,” said Sophie.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind.”
“No, go on, enlighten me.”
“Can we do this later?” said Leopold. He turned his attention to the painting. “Oil on wood, very fragile. We can’t transport it without a protective case or it might fall to pieces. I’ll need to take some photos and leave the original here.”
“Use this,” said Mary, handing over her cell phone. “You should get a high enough resolution for what you need.”
“Good. We can upload the photos to the web. Hopefully, Rousseau will get the hint.”
“He’s not exactly going to call this whole thing off on the basis of one photo,” said Mary. “He’ll need to do some digging. That could take days.”
“But it should be enough to cast doubt,” said Leopold, lining up the camera and taking a handful of shots. “Which gives us our first advantage. We’ve got the details on the black sedan that was following you, the fake I.D., and I’m guessing they’ve found camera footage of the shootout in the parking lot by now. If we can find just one connection between the other shooting victims, something that links them to Dubois, then we’ve got enough evidence to stay out of jail. We can arrange for the US embassy to take us in until then.”
“Finally, you’re starting to make sense. You done with that?” she held out her hand.
“Let me hang on to this for now,” said Leopold, slipping the handset into his jacket. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
“Not while you’ve got my phone.”
“We should seal this back up,” said Gerard, moving closer. “We have what we came for. If we stay here any longer, we might run into Mme. Dubois. I expect she’ll be sleeping lightly after recent events.”
A faint noise at the doorway caught Leopold’s attention. Gerard heard it too and reached for his holster.
“I wouldn’t worry about the old lady.” A figure swept through the door, dressed in a charcoal suit and holding a gun in both hands. “She took her late husband’s advice and left town two days ago.” The accent was German.
Gerard froze, his back to the intruder. He rested one hand on his weapon.
“Don’t do that.” The figure stepped into the light. He met Leopold’s stare. “I see you remember me. So you know what I’m capable of. I had hoped to catch up with you at the apartment, but, unfortunately the police beat me to it.”
The consultant saw Gerard tense, his eyes flicking to the right. A signal? Leopold couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll need you to pass me the cell phone, please.” The German held out a hand. “Bring it to me.”
Leopold didn’t move. “How did you find us?”
“Bring me the cell phone.”
“It won’t do you any good. I’ve already uploaded the photographs.”
The intruder pursed his lips. “That was an error, Mr. Blake. Those photographs were the only thing keeping you alive. As it stands, I have no more need for any of you.” He brought the gun up and aimed.
Gerard chose that moment to attack. Spinning on his back leg, he aimed a kick to the intruder’s face. The German saw it coming and dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding contact. Gerard span, bringing his other foot around as his opponent regained his footing. The bodyguard’s blow hit home, forcing the German back toward the door. The bodyguard lifted his firearm and took aim, but the intruder was too fast, dodging inside the larger man’s reach and rolling out of harm’s way, gun still in his hand.
Gerard whipped around, bringing his own weapon to bear. The intruder feinted, stepping to the side as Gerard moved in. He grabbed the bodyguard’s arm and wrenched it backward, simultaneously aiming a kick to the knee. Gerard buckled. The German lifted his handgun and aimed in Mary’s direction.
“Down!” Leopold dived, tackling
her to the floor. Sophie followed suit.
The intruder hesitated for a split second, apparently trying to choose a target. The momentary lapse in concentration gave Gerard the opportunity to free his arm. He aimed a jab to his opponents throat, causing the other to stumble as he tried to avoid contact.
Lunging from his crouching position, the bodyguard tackled the smaller man, sending them both crashing into the wall. Leopold heard a crunch of glass and wood as several frames splintered and fell to the floor. Gerard jabbed at the German’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The intruder grunted and twisted, bringing up a knee. Gerard blocked with his forearm, dropping his gun.
“Get out of here!” Gerard ordered.
The words took a second or two to hit home. Leopold’s brain kicked into action and he grabbed hold of Mary’s wrist.
“We need to go,” he said.
“You don’t need to tell me twice.” She tugged at Sophie’s arm. “Come on, I think we can make it to the door.”
“I’ll try and give Gerard a hand. Maybe buy us all some time.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Leopold let go of Mary and sprang to his feet, diving at the two men. He lowered his shoulder and went for the German’s legs, lifting the man up into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mary and Sophie reach the door. He felt a dizzying pain across the top of his skull and toppled to the ground, grasping his crown in both hands. He felt something warm and wet. Was that blood? Looking up, he saw the intruder shove Gerard backward a couple of feet. The bodyguard stumbled, trying not to trip over Leopold.
Then came the shot.
Ears ringing, Leopold didn’t register the sound at first. In close quarters, the noise of a gun firing was deafening. He patted himself down, feeling his chest for any signs of an entry wound. There was nothing. He looked around and saw that Mary and Sophie had managed to get out.
Then he realized what had happened.
Chapter 38
GERARD FELL TO his knees, blood pooling on his shirt. The German brought the gun up again, aiming for Leopold this time. Gerard grunted and lunged forward, shoving the smaller man back against the wall.
Wanted: A Leopold Blake Thriller Page 13
