Vincent

by Meyer, Jonathan G.

  She told him about tunnels beneath the main structure of the art museum allowing for the movement of artworks without disturbing the public. Climate controlled storage rooms and an elevator with a card reader allowed for ease of movement and long-term storage of artifacts. Claire was a wealth of information.

  The afternoon passed faster than either liked. She had animals to tend to, and he had a robbery to plan. So just before dark, he asked her to drop him off across from the art museum. He explained his friend was picking him up. Her expression was puzzled, but she said nothing.

  They made arrangements to meet the next day at the Information Center. Jim asked for another tour, and Claire offered to vary the galleries for a better look at what the museum had to offer. Jim replied, “That will be perfect. I’m really interested in seeing what else is in there.”

  ****

  Vincent materialized underneath a tree ten feet away while he could still hear her car driving away. The beam burst from the ship, and he was again made unnaturally warm and four inches tall. Jim forced his way through the thick field of grass and climbed the ladder. As soon as he closed the hatch, the screens lit up giving him a view of the outside. He sat in the chair and Vincent lifted off, headed out of the park.

  Parked down the lane, beyond a gentle rise in the road, was a big black sedan. A man in a dark suit sat inside. Someone sitting in a parked car was not an unusual occurrence in a city park. Still, after his encounter with the thin man, it made Jim nervous.

  “Where would you like to go?” asked the ship.

  Jim suggested, “Let’s go back to the Arch. You can’t beat the view.”

  Darkness fell like a veil during the short trip, and it began to snow. When the ship touched down on the top of the monument, Jim could see very few of the lights below. Inside the confines of the ship, it was warm and silent. Going by the view on the screen, the outside was growing into a snowstorm.

  “Would you like something to eat,” asked Vincent.

  “Yeah. I could use a little something.”

  “What would you like?”

  Jim considered the question for a moment and asked, “How about two grilled cheese sandwiches and a cup of tomato soup?”

  “I will have to look that up. One moment please.”

  “How do you do that anyway? I mean make food appear.”

  “I have a supply of essential mineral bars the synthesizer uses to fabricate different foods. It is capable of reproducing many of the meals favored by humans. The ship was not interested in explaining its capabilities and pressed on. “Did you locate the key?”

  “You saw everything that happened. I never made it to the basement.”

  “You are returning tomorrow. Will you be able to gain access then?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Jim had been nursing an idea all day, and decided now was the time to voice his thoughts. “I believe we should bring Claire into this mission. Tell her everything. I’m sure she would help us, and she could prove to be invaluable.”

  Vincent was not so sure, and countered, “I have searched her internet accounts and found no security concerns. However, we have only known her a short time, and the risks are extremely high. You are the third human I have trusted with my story, and the first two candidates were unsatisfactory. There are already too many people aware of my existence.”

  “I don’t want to get her involved either. She has enough problems of her own, but if you want to get this done quickly and quietly, she’s our ticket inside.”

  “I am sorry, James Thompson. I cannot allow her inclusion. She would add too many unpredictable variables to the model. I have analyzed many possible outcomes and have concluded we have a seventy-nine percent chance of success. That is sufficient.”

  Jim knew Vincent was inadvertently making the robbery much more challenging than it needed to be. Jim also knew that Vincent was aware of said fact. Regardless, the ship supplied a legitimate argument, and deep down he was relieved. A plan was simpler to implement with only two robbers.

  “Since we’re doing this the hard way, I might have to go out and pick up some gear. A flashlight, a set of coveralls, maybe a grappling gun. I’ll know more after tomorrow. Do you have any more money laying around?”

  “How much do you require?”

  “Ah—say a thousand dollars?”

  “Why so much?”

  “The gear I’m talking about is not cheap, and I might need to buy lunch again,” said Jim.

  He was looking forward to seeing her again, and maybe as a bonus finding the key.

  The ship surprised him by saying, “I wish it were possible to accompany you inside. I would like to conduct a closer examination of some of those artifacts. Inside that building is the history of your world; displayed for all to see. I could learn a lot in a short time.”

  “Why can’t you? You might fit through the front door if I hold it open.”

  “I cannot get too close to people while under power. The sound of my engines become noticeable if I get within three feet of a person, and the passageways through the exhibits are restrictive. The attempt would be too risky.”

  “I’ll try and get you some close-ups of the stuff I see tomorrow. Will that help?”

  “Yes. That would be—helpful.”

  A drawer slid from the bulkhead with nine one-hundred dollar bills and five twenties inside.

  “Earth customs seem to dictate that it is less conspicuous to pay for smaller items with bills of smaller denominations. I have provided options for this contingency.”

  Vincent’s thoroughness made Jim smile. “You think of everything. Most people don’t do that, and I appreciate it.”

  In the food replicator, a steaming cup of tomato soup and two grilled cheese sandwiches toasted to perfection appeared. Jim picked up the warm sandwich and took a bite. He asked, “Has anyone ever told that you’re a good cook?”

  “No. That has never occurred.”

  “Well, you are. This is delicious.”

  Vincent could be heard over his mysterious buzz saying, “Thank you.”

  Chapter Six

  Jim arrived at the Information Center ten minutes early. Two inches of snow fell overnight and the morning sun was already working to melt what the storm brought. Vincent dropped Jim off across from the museum under a tree that sheltered the ground below and allowed him to be resized without having to wade through waist high snow.

  At the museum, he was trying to look cool and collected leaning against the counter in his worn jeans and weathered leather jacket when he saw her approaching. She was dressed in a long green dress, a gray jacket, and black shoes, with her straight shoulder-length hair swinging with her stride. Watching her take the few steps from the back of the museum reminded him of several movie entrances.

  His tour was to be a private one. There were no scheduled activities today, and she agreed to show him whatever he liked. She was nervous and tried to hide it by coming directly to the point. “Where would you like to start?”

  He too was a little uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t care. There is so much here I’m not sure where to begin.” Jim was primarily here to see her, and secondarily for the mission that weighed heavily on his mind. He knew where they should start. “How about ancient Egypt? They took stone and made blocks. Right?”

  Jim lost himself in her descriptions and knowledge of ancient Egypt. Her voice was mesmerizing. When he asked how she knew so much about history, she answered self-consciously, “I have read a lot of books and done my fair share of research. Plus, working here for two years has helped a lot. Usually, if I’m not guiding a tour, I’m down in the basement adding to the tags.”

  “I’m sorry. Am I keeping you from that? We could do this another time.” In Jim’s ear, Vincent was saying, “What are you doing? Focus on the mission. Ask her if you can see the basement.”

  Over the words of the ship Jim heard her say, “Oh no, I’d much rather be doing this. Care to see some renaissance paintings?”r />
  “That would be great. Lead the way.”

  After a while, Vincent figured out he was being ignored and kept quiet.

  The museum was not crowded. It was midweek and typically slow, and Jim and Claire practically had the museum to themselves. They made good use of the opportunity.

  There was one man they kept running into while walking around the museum. He was a tall, stocky man in a dark suit, with short blond hair pointing straight up and wandering beady eyes that were not discrete enough to escape Jim’s notice. There was something about him that varied from the typical museum crowd, and he appeared to be more interested in the visitors than the exhibits.

  After enjoying several galleries, Jim decided it was time to move the plan along. “Can you show me the basement? I’d like to see how they store and protect all the artwork.”

  She took it as a challenge. “Are you trying to see how much pull I have around here? I told you the tunnels were a secure area and the general public is not usually allowed.” Again, she rewarded him with her mischievous grin—a grin that etched itself into his memory. “I do have clearance because of my work with the tags. Maybe I can talk the guard into allowing you to be my guest.”

  “Can you do that? I mean—would you do that?”

  “I think we could maybe swing a quick peek.”

  She led him to a freight elevator in the rear of the main building. On the shiny steel sliding doors a sign was attached that read, ‘Employees Only.’

  Beside the elevator was a pneumatic tube system for messages and requests. It saved time by bypassing the security measures. Jim thought it could be a way into the basement. He did not like the idea of riding in one of the high-speed capsules. However, he believed it might be possible if he took the proper precautions.

  They boarded the elevator and Claire slid her access card over the reader. The indicator for the basement turned green, and they headed downward. The elevator doors opened to a desk with a guard sitting behind it. When the young man saw who it was, he stood and smiled. “Mrs. Haversham! I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  “Hi Earl, I’m on a private tour today. I’d like you to meet Jim Thompson. He is very interested in the museum, and I promised to show him how we manage the artwork.” She snuck a wink at the man, hoping to indicate that Jim was a VIP and someone that might help fund the museum.

  His smile faded, and he pointed to a sign behind him stating, ‘NO VISITORS.’ He said, “I’m sorry Claire, but you know the rules. Everyone down here needs to be authorized.”

  “Come on Earl. Does he look like a thief?”

  Jim tried his best to look casual. The picture in his mind amounted to an unimpressive fifty-something-year-old guy with a botched haircut, and street clothes made it easier. He looked up at the guard and smiled. Earl appeared uncertain, and Claire pounced. “We’ll only be an hour or so, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t touch anything. The next time you need an idea for your wife’s birthday, I’ll even go shopping for you.”

  “Well…I guess that wouldn’t hurt. You make sure you’re back here before my shift ends in an hour and a half.”

  She happily agreed, and they rushed past the desk and into the hallway beyond. The pneumatic tube from the upper floor ended at a transfer station behind the security desk, which was always manned. The wide corridor on the other side of the desk went the length of the building, with large double doors every twenty feet. There was nothing to hide behind in the passageway, creating a long, fully exposed journey for a four-inch creature. Jim thought he might use the mouse costume, run like crazy, and hope for the best. Regardless, this mission was looking more and more like an impossible task.

  Large lettering identified the doors. Claire opened and entered one marked ‘Restoration,’ and motioned Jim inside. “You’re going to like this,” she said.

  Large wooden tables dominated the room. Some designed for standing and working on larger pieces, and others for sitting and fine detail work. A dark skinned woman with graying hair sat hunched over a painting with blobs of half mixed colors on a palette to her right.

  The masterpiece she was restoring was from the eighteen hundreds, and her concentration was crucial. She stopped and sat back when Jim and Claire entered. “Hello, Claire. Aren’t you taking the day off?”

  Claire smiled and answered, “My friend Jim wanted to see the museum. I’m showing him around.” She turned to Jim and said, “This is Yolanda, she is the best restorer we have. When she gets done, whatever she works on is like new.”

  Jim nodded and said, “Don’t mind us, we’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”

  Racks and shelving units filled the walls, with a wide assortment of artifacts, paintings, and sculptures waiting their turn to go under the hands of the experts. The two visitors walked around the tables talking and admiring. Jim tried to get close to the objects so Vincent could get detailed views of the human treasures. The collection took Jim’s breath away.

  They spent fifteen minutes talking to Yolanda and discussing various items. After circling the large space, they said their goodbyes and left.

  The next room she showed him was labeled Long-Term-Storage and was climate controlled. A small foyer separated the expansive storage room from the hallway. Once inside the storage area, there were rows of racks and shelves, each section labeled and organized according to period. This room housed a good selection of the artistic endeavors of the human race, and for that reason, there was no dust or spider webs.

  Claire jumped from object to object reading the tags attached to them, and adding a short verbal description along with her insights. This place was her world, and her excitement was contagious. They spent more than an hour marveling at the different items, until Claire mentioned, “We should be getting back to the security desk. If we are late, Earl will kill me!”

  On their way out, she noticed a small gray block on an upper shelf and pulled it down to show Jim. “This is something we know nothing about. It was found in a corn field in Iowa and….”

  Jim did not hear what else she had to say, as Vincent’s voice in his ear overrode hers, “That is it! What she holds is the key we seek!”

  He considered his options. Jim could break in at night, manage to scurry past the guard and all the way back to this room—somehow getting through the foyer—and then manage to get the heavy three-inch block back outside. He had a decision to make. There would not be another opportunity this good. When she placed it back on the shelf and turned to leave—he picked it up and put it in his jacket pocket. With that one little action, Jim became an art thief.

  ****

  Jim was an unlikely candidate for dishonesty. He always found it better to stick to the truth and avoid the lies. He worried that Claire and Earl could lose their jobs if he were discovered.

  Earl was gathering his things and getting ready to leave when they reached the security desk. Jim said they would have to hurry if he was going to catch his ride, so he rushed her to the elevator and up to the main floor.

  When the sliding doors opened, the out of place man in the dark suit was waiting for them. Coming up the steps from the front of the building was the thin man from the coffee shop, clearly on his way to join his partner. Jim grabbed Claire by the arm and said, “We have to go. Now.”

  Claire saw the actions of the men and was more confused than frightened. She found Jim’s response more alarming. They rushed hand in hand to the parking garage, jumped into her car, and made their way to the surface.

  “Who are those men? Do you know them?” asked Claire. “…and why are we running?”

  Jim was at a loss. He could not explain his actions without breaking his promise to the ship, and in any case, he had no idea how those men could know what he had done. Still, he did not think their appearance a coincidence. The only answer to Claire’s questions he could provide was a lame, “I’m not sure. I didn’t like the way they were acting.”

  Claire drove out of the garage and started down
the lane to the main street.

  Jim asked, “Can you drop me off in the parking lot? I’ll have my ride pick me up there.”

  Claire had been quiet long enough. “You need to tell me what’s going on, Jim. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you are not acting very rational right now. Can I drive you someplace? Really, I don’t mind.”

  Jim’s primary objective at the moment was to get Claire to leave. Whatever this was, he did not want her involved. He knew that Vincent was somewhere nearby, and more than anything he wanted to be back inside the ship. If he could get the key to Vincent, the mission would be over, and he will have saved the world.

  “I’ll be fine,” he told her. “My friend should be here any minute. I’ll just wave him around to the parking lot.”

  She started several times to ask questions, and then let them fade. It was obvious Jim would not answer. It made her a little angry—and scared. “All right. If that’s the way you want it.”

  “I’m sorry, Claire. Can you write down your number so I can call you? I had a great time today, and I’d like to see you again.”

  “Do you even have a phone?”

  Embarrassed, he replied, “No. However, I plan on getting one. I’ll call as soon as I do.”

  She appeared skeptical while jotting down her number. She did not like being rushed away. Jim got out of the car and walked around to stand by her door. Without another word, she handed him the slip of paper, gave him a half-hearted smile, and drove away.

  As she was driving out, the black sedan was pulling in. Inside was a tall, beefy man and a shorter thin man, and they were headed towards Jim. He did not wait to greet them and took off running. Behind him, he heard the sound of tires crunching on plowed snow that stopped suddenly. And then car doors. He did not turn to look as he ran for a stand of trees; where Vincent could work his magic and take him aboard. He ran even faster when he thought he heard something ricochet off the trees ahead of him.