Chapter Twenty-One
“S ee the feathered strokes?”
Mathias peered at the small, framed painting of a hare poised on its hind legs. There was an eerie glint in the animal’s eye.
“Dürer was famous for fashioning his own woodcuts,” Elise murmured beside him, enraptured. It was almost endearing, how fascinated she was by this stuff.
They were at an auction house in Cologne, a morning’s drive from Calais, and Mathias was about to bid on a private collection of paintings that had come to market following a patron’s recent death.
He had two clients on the lookout for an original Dürer, and if he was successful at the auction, he planned to find out which one wanted it more.
“Shall we?” Mathias gestured toward the bidding room, which was quickly filling with an even split of art enthusiasts and cutthroat procurers like him. He recognized several familiar faces among them.
He sat with Elise in the second row, and his appraiser began marking numbers on the bid sheet.
She scribbled little notes about pricing and her suggested upper limits.
They made a good team that way. While she relied on him for the actual bidding, she had an eagle eye for quality, and her estimates were never off by more than a couple grand.
When it came to securing what he wanted, Mathias employed an aggressive bidding strategy.
He was confident he could foist whatever he bought onto one of his less discerning clients—those whose wealth eclipsed their general intelligence.
Getting them to part with some of their money was practically a public service.
The auction started up, and Elise tapped his sleeve and pointed to the top figure on the sheet in her hand.
Mathias inclined his head and raised his paddle, making the opening bid.
He was soon engaged in a heated back-and-forth with a rival dealer, Jereon Klauss.
He and Klauss had crossed paths at many such auctions, and Mathias found it almost impossible to back down.
The Dutchman appeared to share this same fault.
The bidding stood at fifteen over Elise’s upper limit, and she was making a cross with her index fingers to get him to pull back.
She glared at Mathias as he once again moved to lift his paddle.
He caught her look and reluctantly relented.
The piece went to Klauss, as did the two other lots of Dürer paintings that were up for auction that morning.
Mathias was seething by the time the room broke for an intermission.
He spotted Klauss in the crowd, and before Elise could speak, he strode toward the man and backed him against the wall.
Klauss was a tall man who looked to be in his fifties.
He wore his hair slicked to one side and had a confident little sneer that seemed permanently fixed on his face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mathias snapped.
Klauss blinked in mock surprise. “What do you mean, Mr. Beauvais?”
“You’re tailing my picks.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“The fuck you hadn’t,” Mathias said.
“This is a fair auction, and I’m representing a client.”
Mathias gave a snort and turned to leave.
“Just a moment, Mr. Beauvais.” Klauss reached out to touch Mathias’s arm and glanced around at the other auction attendees. “As it so happens, there’s a piece you came into recently that I was hoping you might be willing to part with.”
“So you thought you’d see if I’d cut a deal?”
“Well, not exactly—”
“Which piece?”
Klauss’s eyes shone. “The pheasant still life you purchased at the auction in Luxembourg last month.”
Mathias scanned his memory for the piece the man was talking about.
There had been a painting in poor condition that Elise had convinced him to buy, with the reassurance that she’d arrange for its restoration.
She’d said she had a hunch, and he vaguely remembered her prattling excitedly about it on the drive back to Calais.
But he couldn’t for the life of him remember why. He beckoned Elise over.
“Klauss,” she said stiffly.
“Dumont,” he returned, equally aloof.
“Klauss, here, says he’s looking to trade the Dürers he just paid an arm and a leg for,” Mathias said.
“Trade them?” Elise repeated, sounding confused. “For what?”
“Some still life we bought in Luxembourg.”
“Is that right?” She inclined her head toward Mathias.
“Can I speak with you?” They stepped away, and Elise lowered her voice to a fierce whisper.
“That piece is a Cézanne. I just had it authenticated by a contact at the Musée d’Orsay.
Klauss must have found out. It’s worth more than a dozen Dürers. ”
Mathias shrugged. “So? We don’t have anyone interested in buying it. I have two clients ready to pay me for these ones.”
“Not yet, but wait until it’s done being restored. You’ll have people beating down the door—our friend Klauss included.”
Mathias studied his appraiser. It was a bold move. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her. “It doesn’t happen often, Dumont, but sometimes you surprise me.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
When they rejoined the anxiously waiting Klauss, Mathias gave him a complicit smile. “I’ll think about it.”
They returned to their seats, and the auction started up again. The painting in the next lot—some technicolor Cubist monstrosity—wasn’t on their list. Mathias lifted his paddle. Almost immediately, Klauss followed.
“What are you doing?” Elise hissed beside him.
“Fucking with him,” Mathias replied with a smirk.
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived back in Calais. Mathias knew as soon as he pulled the car up outside the warehouse that something was wrong. The roller door had been pulled all the way open, and a black BMW was parked out front.
Elise leaned forward in the passenger seat and squinted through the windshield. “Did we forget to lock up?”
“No.” Mathias reached beneath his seat and pulled out his gun. Here we go. Might as well get it over with .
At least the timing had worked out. He’d finally decided what to do about his Albanian problem. But he would need all the leverage he could muster to pull it off.
Elise gasped and stared at him, wide-eyed, as he checked the chamber and tucked the pistol into the waistband of his slacks. “Where did you get that? Do you even know how to use it?”
“I think I can figure it out.” He pulled out his phone and enabled the location-tracking function then slipped it back into his pocket.
“This is all my fault,” Elise said, her voice rising in panic. “If I hadn’t pushed so hard with the Indonesian dealer—”
“Shut up and listen.”
Elise snapped her mouth closed. It was a tone he hadn’t used with her before. Mathias had no more patience for theatrics.
“I need you to keep a clear head, understand?” he said.
She nodded.
“You’re going to take the car to number nine, Rue Carnot. If Rayan’s not there, go and find him. Got that?”
“He’ll know what to do?”
Of that, Mathias had no doubt. He yanked open the car door. “Don’t wait until I’m inside. Just drive.”
“You’re going inside?” Elise’s face had gone white.
“I have what they want. They’re not going to do anything to me until they get it back.” And they’re not going to find it here.
No sooner had Mathias made it halfway across the parking lot than he heard the squeal of tires. Elise banked a hard right and gunned the car toward the road. There came a loud crash from inside the warehouse, and he approached the open door cautiously, his hand resting on the handle of his gun.
Several shelves had been overturned, and a mess of merchandise was strewn across the floor.
It was lucky he’d sent Elise away. She would have had a coronary.
Mathias could see two men in sports jackets attempting to pry open the lid to a crate of packing material by the entrance to the office.
The office itself looked undisturbed, which meant they hadn’t made it that far yet.
“Afternoon, gentlemen.”
The men looked up with matching sour expressions.
“You realize this isn’t a junk shop. That’s some pricey product you’ve tossed on the floor. Unfortunately, house rules apply: you break, you buy.”
One of the men tossed his crowbar to the ground. Together they stalked over to Mathias. “Our boss wants to speak with you,” the taller one said. He was lanky, with a prominent scar that cut through his left eyebrow. He had the same accent as Marsela but appeared far less innocent.
“I’ll speak with her here.”
The man shook his head. “You’re coming with us. You and that little receptionist of yours.” He sniggered and peered past Mathias as if expecting Elise to materialize.
Mathias contemplated the cost of the stock he currently had stored at the warehouse. The apes had already done enough damage, and if the situation got messy, the last thing he needed was for it to happen at his place of business. That would prove difficult to explain to the cops.
“Just me, I’m afraid. That’s not a problem, is it?” He pulled back his jacket to reveal the pistol nestled by his hip.
The man scowled and glanced at his partner. He muttered something back, and they entered into a rapid-fire exchange in Albanian.
“I don’t have all fucking day,” Mathias prodded.
The shorter man nodded grudgingly, and together, they walked to the car parked outside.
Mathias got into the back seat, and they headed out of town, driving south along the coast. Mathias kept an eye on the road signs, clocking them as far as Capécure before the driver turned inland and began a winding route through the countryside.
They must have been near Saint-Léonard when the car made a sudden turnoff.
The driver navigated a long, narrow road flanked on both sides by mature sycamores.
At the end of the road was a large country villa crawling with ivy.