Counterfeit Conspiracies

by Ritter Ames

  They drew their guns and headed for the porch. I made my move, using long-latent childhood gymnastic muscles to clear the wide, crushed path and stick a quiet landing on the tiny strip of grass along the foundation.

  I pulled the penlight I'd stashed in my bra, and scoped out the basement in two-point-six seconds—or thereabouts. Any longer carried too much risk, but the quickly lighted view told me I'd be dropping about six feet onto bare cement. That was doable.

  The extended beam of a Mag Lite flashed from around the corner as I started feet first down the rabbit hole. When my soles hit concrete, I reached up to softly set the window back into a closed position. Then I crouched into a dark ball and held my breath. Even with the locked window, I heard the cop's feet pass by, then stop. He flashed his light through the glass, across the cellar, floor to ceiling. I hugged the wall tighter and hoped he wouldn't try to look straight down.

  "Nah," I heard him talking into his radio. "There's a tiny window back here, but it's locked, and I can't imagine anyone getting through it anyway. Over."

  Still, it wasn't time to sigh in relief. The mark was due home from a NASA event soon. No need to look at my watch again to know the minutes were flying. I continued to hold my breath until I heard the oyster shells crunch when the cop resumed his recon.

  A cursory scan for infrared, trip wires, or motion detectors came up zero. The house was as technology-free as I'd been told. No doubt I was taking a chance going in before the cops left, but if I'd stayed outside I was pretty much guaranteed to get caught. And a ride in the back of a squad car to explain why I was dressed in black in a dark yard near midnight was not on my agenda for the evening.

  The open floor plan made it relatively easy to navigate without lights. Moonlight streamed through huge windows dressed in nothing but sheers. I kept to the beige and taupe walls and the larger pieces of furniture as much as possible, using the moving shadows of the cops outside to know where and when to scoot to the next spot. So far the boys in blue only appeared to be doing reconnaissance, leaving me to hope for a rapid departure when they found the house secured. At least I hope it was completely secure. I hadn't had time to do a whole house perimeter before they showed up.

  I crept up the stairs, and the landing opened up to a full-wall window that overlooked the front yard. Staying back as far as possible, I watched the blue crew huddle again at the curb.

  Please, please, please leave. I don't have much time left.

  Just as my limbs started to cramp from standing so still, I saw one give the "move 'em out" swing of the arm, and both teams returned to their respective cars. I didn't start breathing again until I saw the revolving lights stop and the headlights turn back down the boulevard.

  It was hammer time!

  The master suite was exactly where I expected, and I was probably feeling a bit too cocky as I closed the door behind me and pulled from my pocket the sharp little tool used to extract canvasses from frames. I spun around and approached the bed, and got my next shock of the night. A gorgeous baroque frame hung on the wall over the headboard...but I realized it was empty.

  I froze. There was no backup for this. Where else could the portrait be?

  A check of the closet and under the bed offered no answers. I started running through rooms, scanning each wall, behind the sofa and chairs. Nada.

  In the study I found bookcases filled with volumes and vases, but no portraits. I circled the desk, hoping for a clue. The ultra-precise Omega chronometer on my left wrist gave one quiet beep, warning me to pull up stakes and run before it was too late.

  My gaze fell on a leather bound journal atop the desk. Across the front, embossed in gold, were the words "My Women."

  His little black book? Or his blackmail roster? Either way, taking it might give me some ammunition to offer Mrs. Gleeson if the worst happened and the blackmailer came after her again. He'd obviously stashed the portrait some place else. Maybe Kat spoke to someone besides me about this, and he gotten wind of a rescue attempt?

  Either way, I needed to fly. The book went down the front of my leotard, and I slipped out the side door I'd originally planned to use for entry to the house.

  Vaulting the back wall wasn't even a challenge. I was so pumped I probably could have vaulted the whole house without too much difficulty.

  I was behind the steering wheel of my car and digging the book out of my clothes, trying to figure out what I was going to tell Kat, when a voice behind me said, "See anything interesting, love?"

  If I could have reached him, Jack Hawkes would have been dead.

  "Damn, Jack! Don't do that!" I turned in my seat and instinctively swung backhanded to try to slap the grin from his face. He caught my arm without even trying.

  "A bit nervy, aren't you?"

  Jack Hawkes was some level of U.K. agent, likely MI-6 by the way he operated, but I couldn’t be sure because he tended to keep to his own agenda. He was a perpetual pain in my backside, and, reluctantly at times, my "partner in crime," before I'd gone on this side-mission to help a college friend. Jack and I were currently thrown together as a team on a mission to stop what may be the art heist of the century, and the trail of breadcrumbs pointed to Miami as our next destination. I hadn't expected to see his face until our flight the following morning, and the sight of his broad-shouldered frame filling my backseat now was just unnerving enough to give my voice an edge.

  "I'm pissed is what I am!" I waved a hand. "It's... over. And I failed. What are you doing here, anyway?"

  "Oh, a little shopping. Senator Gleeson asked me to pick up an old canvas for him."

  "What?" I stared as Jack pulled an item from behind my seat back.

  There it was, a gorgeous nude infamous only because of the later-years reputation of the artist. Kat's mother was young and lovely, and the body of art should never have gained its now notorious reputation. "It's beautiful. A true work of genius."

  "That it is. Sorry I scooped it out already, and you had to leave empty-handed."

  About then a second scream of sirens erupted from somewhere several blocks away.

  "I'm guessing you went out the side door," Jack said.

  "Yes."

  "The neighbor to that side apparently has a predilection for night vision goggles, and very nicely alerted the police to my exit right before you arrived on the scene."

  "That explains why they didn't try to get inside. The neighbor saw you leave."

  Jack nodded.

  I reached between the seats to run a gentle finger along the artist's confident brush strokes. "How did you know I was going to take this?"

  "I didn't."

  "Then why—"

  "The senator's aide was a Rhodes Scholar, and we met when we were at university together."

  "So the senator already knows?"

  "Has for years. He's been waiting for his wife to bring it up but was afraid of saying anything until she spoke first. Whenever her bank account ran low he knew she'd had to make another payment, and he would find some excuse to give her more. But he'd recognized the signs lately that things were getting out of hand, so he hired a private detective to learn the man's schedule. Tonight seemed the best opportunity to make a move, especially since we're leaving in just a few hours."

  I nodded. "That was our thinking, too. Kat's and mine. The Gleeson's daughter and I were college friends as well."

  I pulled the book from my neckline. "But I didn't exactly leave empty-handed. Found this in his study when trying to discover where the missing portrait was. I think it may be more blackmail victims. We were concerned that taking the portrait would point too much toward Mrs. Gleeson, so I'm hoping this information defrays the risk."

  Jack turned on the dome light and made a grab for the book.

  "Hey, that's mine."

  "No, this is evidence—" He whistled.

  "What?"

  Jack held up a hand to silence me, then turned a couple more pages. I tried to snatch the book back, but he jumped across the seat and my
fingernails only scratched the cover.

  "You're going to tell me what that is, Hawkes."

  "A minute, please."

  Finally, he stopped shifting pages and looked up, his face a mask of disbelief. "A detailed report on human trafficking activity coming through Florida, then going out across the U.S. He's documented everything, who his clients are, what they've paid, which countries the women came from. Everything."

  "Wow." This was nothing like I'd expected when I took the journal. "So does it go to the FBI or Interpol?"

  "Probably both. You drive. I'll send someone to pick up my car later." Jack pulled out his cell.

  I should have called Kat to give her the high sign, but I needed to process a lot of this first. To figure out how to tell her the blackmailer had more to worry about than the loss of his moneymaking portrait, and do so without giving away state secrets. I also had to find a sensitive way to reveal her father knew but had kept the knowledge secret from her mother. There could be many reasons for that, both sincere—and creepy.

  Kat and I were scheduled to meet in the airport short-term parking in a few hours. The plan was to hand over the portrait, letting it go practically unnoticed from my car trunk to hers before we split up—me for my southbound flight and Kat to turn the painting over to her mother. "I'd like to give the portrait to Kat instead of the senator's aide," I said when Jack hung up from his hushed-voice call to Interpol. "I'll tell her that her dad knows, but I think this needs to be a family conversation instead of one originating with an employee."

  "Agreed. Is she meeting you at the airport?"

  "Yes."

  "We'll have a greeting party for the journal once we get to Miami. The suits are definitely interested."

  I smiled into oncoming headlights and merged onto the freeway. "Our low-tech blackmailer has just become an even lower lowlife."

  "And you, my love, have gained the prize that will give hundreds of innocent women their lives back."

  "One nasty bad guy down, one art criminal mastermind still to go."

  MARKED MASTERS

  coming soon!

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