Chapter 17
Easy as Klimt
STIRLING HAD been right; the van Leon had purchased for them was glorious.
Small—the roads of Eastern Europe weren’t as wide as those in America, and the small squarish vehicle with the name of a local cleaning service stenciled neatly on the doors was not nearly as hefty and decadent as their surveillance van in Chicago—but well equipped.
Josh had even spotted a coffee maker tucked back in one of the cupboards.
The Klimt job had gone off flawlessly the night before.
Tienne and Grace had slipped in, dressed in the purloined uniform of the specialized cleaners, and they’d managed to move the Klimt into a janitor’s closet.
There, they stripped the original canvas from the frame and replaced it with the forgery, and then they’d wrapped the real thing lovingly in an acid-resistant linen sheath and rolled it carefully into a waterproof, silicone-lined canister.
Which they left in the back of the janitor’s closet with a giant label, in Czech, that said, The Maiden by Gustav Klimt.
They were not actually trying to steal the painting—much to Grace’s eternal disgust. They were trying to let Kadjic know that they knew he wanted the painting.
The hope was that, since the Klimt wing would be closed until the gala—the better to reveal the Prince William—the forgery and the original painting would not be noticed until there was a crowd of people to appreciate the… misplacement.
Tonight, Grace, who’d had his hair dyed white blond and streaked with strands of gold and violet sparkles that morning after the job, and Tienne, who was the only person in the crew who hadn’t changed his hair because with his slender build and long blond ponytail, he could also be their blond woman, both wrapped colorful scarves around their necks and slouched about the gallery with tiny drinks in their hands, scooping hors d’oeuvres and lifting wallets in a desultory fashion while Carl made polite conversation with the chief docent.
All of them had their attention focused on Kadjic and his entourage, who kept stomping like theater thugs around the Klimt wing, first sneering at the Prince William and then eyeballing Carl with deep suspicion.
“Kadjic knows him,” Grace murmured in Josh’s ear, “but he can’t place him. It’s almost delicious. And Carl’s not even trying to hide. He’s using the same ID he used for the party. Who knew being an insurance guy made you bulletproof.”
“How’s Tor and my mother doing?” Josh asked.
They’d been stretched so thin that while Marco was engaged in the museum’s food facilities, Lucius had been forced to do basic manual labor on the dock to get the cofferdam into place and help the girls escape.
Julia had been going to go on Carl’s arm, but that would have been too much of a coincidence.
Instead, she and Molly had planned her outfit carefully—complete with a red wig, temporary freckles, and green contacts.
Pregnancy had added weight to her figure, and instead of bemoaning it, they’d capitalized on it, dressing her in a full green skirt and gold sweater.
She still looked stunning—as all the men in her life dutifully and enthusiastically told her—but she also appeared a little older and a lot more brazen and less reserved.
To Josh’s delight, she was fully playing into her role as Tor’s literary agent and “a friend of his mother’s,” and Tor was a charming young friend enjoying her company.
“We’re fine, darling,” Julia murmured through what sounded like a full mouth. “And Marco’s canapes are to die for. We’ll need to kidnap that boy to get him back to Chicago, mark my words.”
“No kidnapping necessary,” Tor replied. “He can’t wait to get home and try new recipes. I’m sorry, can I help you?”
From the van, Josh’s hackles went up. He did not like the edge to Tor’s voice, and in a moment, through Tor’s and his mother’s transceivers, he knew why.
“You look familiar,” came the oily voice of the man they’d been torturing for nearly two months. “Why is that?”
Tor replied, “My boyfriend works as a temporary chef at your hotel, Mr. Kadjic. I’ve seen you there many times.”
There was a stunned silence, as if the truth had been the last thing Kadjic had expected. “His eggs benedict is… unusual,” he said, with the same inflection someone else might have used when saying “full of cockroaches.”
“He uses his own recipe,” Tor said. “If you let me know what you dislike, I’m sure he’ll change it when it’s your order.”
“It is too late,” Kadjic replied, as though Tor and Marco should have been anticipating his every need. “I shall be leaving Prague in the morning and dining on the road.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” Tor told him. “I’ll certainly neglect to pass on your lack of regard.”
Josh had to cover his mouth to avoid barking laughter into his microphone before he caught the gist of what Kadjic had been saying. They’d known they might have to plant bugs on Kadjic’s vehicle, but this new information only made that more urgent.
With the press of a button, he was talking to Grace and Tienne.
“Kadjic’s with my mother and Tor—you guys need to get out to the parking lot, stat, and bug his vehicle before somebody spots the painting and goes apeshit.”
“Hear you, Anemia Boy,” Grace murmured. “Let me just slip out the side door—”
“No!” Josh cried. “Not the west entrance, you moron—it’s alarmed!”
There was a sudden shrill electronic wail, and Grace’s muttered, “Fuck.” Then, louder, “Oh no! I thought this was how I got to the U-Bahnhof!”
Grace could do many things with amazing skill.
Speak German was not one of them. But as Josh peered through the hacked CCTV feed and saw all the people gathering around him, trying to make him feel better as he—utilizing years of theater experience and getting away with everything sans murder—played the innocent fuckup, he thought perhaps with a face as beautiful as Grace’s, nobody cared how dumb he made himself look.
Unfortunately that left only one of them to bug the car, which was half the reason they were there anyway.
“Tienne?” Josh asked. “Can you surrender your pass and go out the front?”
“Oui, oui,” Tienne murmured. “Yes, I wish to leave a bit early. Too many cocktails—I am not so good with wine.”
Josh fought the temptation to bang his head against his keyboard.
“I mean coffee,” Tienne supplied apologetically. “Yes. I have been drinking Viennese coffee. It is not sitting well in my stomach. Apologies.”
Josh checked out the feed and saw that no, nobody suspected Tienne, but he too was stuck in a social situation that he was unable to escape quickly. Well, hell—it was bound to happen. Too many jobs, too short a time—improvisation was the name of the game.
“Mom,” Josh murmured, securing his earbud and grabbing the last two tracers from the drawer of tracking equipment. “Can you make nice with Kadjic for another five minutes?”
“Sure,” his mother murmured. “Cobras aren’t dangerous as long as you keep making eye contact.”
Oh God.
“Five minutes,” he repeated. “Then get the fuck out of there.”
With that, he slid out of the back of the van and made a slow spin of the valet parking area. Carl had actually driven the van and given the keys to the valet while the rest of the party had arrived via public transport or on foot, but they all had a set of these keys, including Josh.
Okay, then. He spotted Kadjic’s giant gas-guzzling American import in the corner and then scoped out the valets, who were running to and fro, and plotted a course that would get him to the town car while keeping him in the shadows.
It was slow going, and he was frustrated to find himself winded halfway through. Goddammit, he was tired of this shit.
It wasn’t until he got about three-quarters of the way there that he saw a valet heading directly for the back quarter and heard everybody shouting in his ear.
“Josh, he’s leaving!” his mother said, while Grace said, “His goon just gave his ticket to the valet stand,” and then, most concerning, was Tor.
“Shit, Josh—he spotted the forgery. He’s yelling something at Carl’s art docent now, and I think he’s made Carl too.”
“Almost there,” Josh panted, sprinting for the town car. “Fuck me. It’s going to be close.”
All the times he’d jumped off buildings or danced for hours.
All the times he’d pushed his body to its max, strong, fleet, graceful, and it turned out the most important race of his life was being run in a back parking lot as he tried to beat a valet who was attempting to finish his cigarette quickly before they both got to the same town car.
At that moment, something complicated went on in his ear—and, as usual, it had to do with Grace.
“Hey—ouch! The fuck!”
And then, that voice. “I know you.” And, almost bewildered. “I know you. I’ve seen you on surveillance—you’ve… you’ve been everywhere!”
“Mister,” Grace said, “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
Oh God—Grace. Who could rob a nun blind but couldn’t fucking lie.
“Grab him,” Kadjic muttered, and there was something jumpy in his voice.
Josh pictured the jowly mobster with his eyes flickering in all directions.
Had he seen Carl? Was he rethinking Julia?
Did Tienne appear suspect? To Kadjic—so paranoid they didn’t know where he actually lived—every interaction, every frustration of the last two months, must have been scrolling through his mind.
Josh hoped it was epic. He hoped Kadjic saw shadows that reminded him of old enemies and the faces of the dead he’d left behind in every stranger’s eyes.
“Grab me?” Grace protested. “Grab me? Help! Help! I’m being—oolf!”
Oh God. Oh God. They had Grace!
“Josh,” Carl said, his voice edging on panic. “They left. They’re heading for the valet lot themselves. Somebody sounded the alarm for the Klimt, and he knows the game is on. You need to duck out of sight ASAP.”