2. Reid
REID
PLAYLIST: THE BOMB – PIGEON JOHN
“Reid!” shouts my colleague and friend, Rachel, through the entire level so loud I hear it through my closed door. We met at our training in Quantico and instantly matched. “You gotta see this!”
“What happened?” I ask as I open the door. Some of the older colleagues look slightly disturbed at me, but I don’t care. I am aware they disapprove of me, but I know how capable I am and that I didn’t land here by accident.
“Avery Zayne,” she says, and the moment she does, everyone is wide awake. That woman has been such a pain in all our asses that I can’t wait for the day I finally catch her.
“What did she do this time?” I ask with a groan as I make my way to her desk.
“It’s gold,” says Rachel, and turns her screen so I can see.
“She did not,” I say as my eyes flash over the screen.
“She did,” says Rachel, almost proud. I know she admires her.
She was obsessed with her since we took over the case after Zayne stole a Rodin Bronze from a Russian oligarch and his twelve bodyguards on his plane at Teterboro airport.
“They’re gonna study her at Quantico next year after we caught her. ”
“You are very optimistic,” I say, knowing we, as much as my predecessors, haven’t caught her for years. It is my deepest desire to catch her, and I will not rest until I get her.
I stare at the screen with the news that the Mona Lisa has been stolen from the Louvré. The OCBC is clueless; the only thing they found was a black feather.
Black feather. Avery Zayne's signature.
Gods, that woman has now bounds.
I hate, and by hate I mean I despise and disgust everyone who disobeys rules. And Avery Zayne breaks every single one of them. She steals, lies, obstructs, and destroys.
“I wonder what she wants with it,” I say. “The Mona Lisa is unsellable. She would be hunted by every other thief on the planet, let alone have the entire French executive against her.”
“It’s a whole new level,” says Rachel. “Look at the progression,” she adds, pulling up a list of all the pieces she has stolen.
I know that list by heart. I probably know that woman better than myself, which is why I get suspicious. The most valuable she has stolen so far has been a Van Gogh, but nothing in the League of the Mona Lisa.
The Mona Lisa. That painting is highly surveilled, protected by armored glass.
“How did she get it out?” I ask.
“Controlled blasting of the wall, complete blackout, a fire in a different part of the Louver, and a mass panic. She did it in broad daylight.”
“While it was open?” I ask incredulously.
“Uh-huh,” says Rachel.
“Fuck me,” I scoff out and turn away.
“Are you offering?” asks Rachel with a chuckle.
“Rach,” I say, drawing up an eyebrow.
“I know,” she says, “The ball was too perfect.”
Rachel and I both have no time for dating.
Is exhausting, and we are practically married to our job, me more than her.
I am always the first one in and the last one out, because the thieves don’t rest, and neither do I.
So, Rachel and I occasionally hook up. No one can know about it here because it wouldn’t help the whole respect thing I'm already struggling with.
Many of my colleagues believe I am too young to lead the unit, especially the men.
“You know what I wonder,” I say to direct the topic back to what matters, “When has she ever blown up something? Never. Are we sure it’s her? Because the MO looks more like Hedda to me.”
Hedda Lagner. A 63-year-old conwoman who has been caught fifteen times already stealing from museums and private individuals, and has escaped every single time we caught her.
She and Zayne are the bane of my existence.
“You think Hedda tried to frame her? But Hedda would want the win for herself,” says Rachel.
“I’m not so sure. She might not want to have the attention on her; that way, Zayne is hunted, and she can enjoy the painting in peace and quiet.”
“Better for us,” says Rachel. “If they are at war, it’ll make it easier for them to get them. It will distract them.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. I’ll give Interpol a call and see if I can get in on the investigations with OCBC. They might want all hands on deck,” I say, turn and get back to my office.
I dial my contact at Interpol.
“It’s me,” I say when he answers. “Reid.”
“Reid, how are things?” he says.
“Just heard what happened in Paris,” I say. “I have been hunting Avery Zayne for years now. I’d be willing to share my knowledge if they give me theirs. Could you find out if OCBC wants me to join?”
“I can check,” he says. “Zayne is searched in ninety-eight countries at this point. I don’t even know how that woman does it.”
“Fake identities,” I say. “I have uncovered over a hundred already. I don’t even want to know how many more there are.”
“Blimey,” says my contact.
“So, can you?”
“I’ll call you back. Give me thirty,” he says and hangs up.
Minutes pass like hours. I walk up and down in my office, glancing outside the window here and there, and my mind is racing. Something about the entire thing feels off.
I open my laptop and pull up all the known cases we have connected to Hedda Lagner.
Hedda, who has stolen several Rembrandts, blew her way into the Metropolitan and robbed a private collector via a tunnel she dug. That France job doesn’t look like Avery Zayne at all. It looks like Hedda.
I search further for any known connections between Hedda and Avery Zayne.
My phone interrupts my search as it rings. I don’t know the number, but I recognize the country code for France.
“Shaw, FBI Art Crime Unit, New York,” I say.
“Bonjour, Miss Shaw. This is Commisaire Inès Abrègè, with the OCBC,” says a woman with a very melodic tone.
“Peter gave me a call, letting me know you have information that could help us regarding the theft of the Mona Lisa.” Her English is hard to understand, but I caught the most necessary things.
“Yes,” I say. “I have been hunting her for years now, and might know her better than anyone on this planet, but I believe we are looking at a setup.”
“What do you mean?”
“As far as I can tell from what was given to the media, I believe the person you are looking for is Hedda Lagner. It’s her MO.”
“Why do you believe that is?”
“Hedda Lagner is known for accessing her targets by force, tunnels, explosions, and even drove a truck into a building once. She comes in forcefully and acts without care. Avery Zayne is different. She is a ghost, leaves no traces except for her signature, the feather. She acts in the shadows of the night; she is careful and efficient, not loud and forceful.”
“I understand,” says Inès Abrègè, lost in thought. I stare at the screen with a photo of Hedda at a soiree, and if I am not entirely mistaken, it is the very same one Zayne later stole a diamond collar from the exhibition before any of the guests were let in.
Two thieves in the same room.
It is then that a thought crosses my mind.
“What I wonder,” I say. “Was anything else stolen, or just the painting?”
“I cannot tell,” she says. “We have been very focused on the Mona Lisa, as it is the most valuable in the entire musée.”
“Check for it,” I say. “Because I can’t rule out both of them working together. A heist as loud as that one screams for distraction,” I say and carefully add, “And by check, I mean especially those relics that aren’t on display. Avery Zayne likes what isn’t for the public eye.”
“You seem to know her very well,” she says.
“Very,” I say. “I studied her since I was in university. I wrote about her in my thesis.”
“I will speak to the chief to get you involved and cleared for help with our investigations,” she then says. “I believe we could need your experience very much. It is a catastrophe!”
“It is,” I say, “I’ll arrange everything on my end if you give a green light.”
We hang up, and I stare at the picture of Hedda Lagner. Could they have been working together? Hedda for the blow, the loud, attention-seeking, while Zayne gets in secret what she wanted?
But then those thieves don’t work well together. They are both independent women who lie and trust no one. They operate alone.
Or haven’t they?
I get up and hurry to Rachel’s desk.
“I need you to run a prompt. Cross-reference of all time-stamped known locations of Hedda and Zayne,” I tell her urgently.
Rachel is my girl, all things tech. While I’m not a dinosaur, she is way more effective; with her major in Computer Science, aside from Criminology, she seems to be more proficient in tech.
“Huh,” says Rachel, and pulls up a chart. “There’s an awful lot of correlation.”
There is indeed.
My phone rings.
I take the call.
“You were right,” says Inès Abrègè, “Something else was stolen, from the conservation at non-public display, the Crown of Charlemagne.”
Napoleon’s Imperial Crown.
“I knew it,” I say and scoff-chuckle incredulously. “That’s Avery Zayne. They were working together. We’re looking for two of the most notorious thieves who did this.”
“Merde,” says Inès, and while I don’t know much French, I know what it means, and I haven’t related to anything more.
Catching them if they work together is nearly impossible. But who am I not to try? One day, one of them will make a mistake, and I will be there to catch them.