Chapter 35
35
While the royal family may have felt the princess wasn’t up for public engagements, Astrid wowed the crowd with a heartfelt speech about the jewels and what they meant to her. When she described how it felt to have them stolen, Celeste caught her glancing at Inspector Vermeulen with narrowed eyes.
When she introduced the next speaker, Celeste was surprised to see the small Belgian man step up to the podium, and not the historian. “I’d like to add to Princess Astrid’s statement regarding the theft of these jewels.”
The murmur rose in the small crowd as the princess returned to her private security detail. Celeste looked at Magnus’s watch, wondering how this interruption would affect their timing. The princess was supposed to give a talk, take a bow and leave out the front door before things popped off.
“What is he doing?” she muttered under her breath.
“I think he wants to set the record straight,” Magnus replied quietly.
“It must be known that the suspects who stole the jewelry set are still at large. This remains an open investigation.” He paused, surveying the audience. “I know that saying this might not be prudent for the occasion, but justice still needs to be served to the Swedish royal family and the Swedish taxpayer.”
If Celeste weren’t at the Nationalmuseum to re-steal a jewelry set from five years ago, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the drama unfolding before them. Princess Astrid was fuming. She hitched her black shawl around her shoulders and shook in agitation. No, it probably wasn’t prudent for this occasion, but the inspector continued.
“I’m sure the royal family is grateful that these priceless heirlooms have been returned to their rightful home. But I am afraid that this crime does come at a price...to the nation, and indeed to Europe and the arts. If any of you have any information about the case, please consider coming forward to your local police.”
The entire Sculpture Garden went silent at his request.
“Jesus Christ...” Magnus muttered under his breath.
A curator who stood nearby quickly approached the podium and yanked the microphone back. “Thank you for your...words, Inspector Vermeulen,” said the tall, thin man, dressed in a tuxedo. “If we could continue with the next speaker?”
The inspector kept his grip on the microphone. “I also want to add that Interpol does not support the display of this evidence.”
After a bit of tug-of-war, the curator finally seized his property back. “Thank you, Inspector. Your observations have been noted.”
Although it must have been difficult for him, Inspector Vermeulen was eventually forced to take a seat in the front row to listen to a talk that he didn’t want to stick around for.
And neither did the princess. She muttered something in Swedish, loud enough for the back rows to hear, before storming to the exit.
“What did she say?” Celeste asked.
“Uhh...something about short asshole with sausage fingers? It’s a rough translation.”
“Oh, boy.”
“I have to admit,” Magnus whispered, “I thought your cover story was very clever on the fly. You still have it.”
“And you did an excellent job of acting like a stuck-up, privileged academic. I knew you had it in you,” she countered lightly, keeping a smile on her face.
“Listen up, kiddos,” Lawrence interrupted. “I still don’t know when Sebastian will show up, but if you’re ready, I’d like to start the show.”
“Right,” Celeste murmured, looking at Magnus. “I’ll see you on the other side?”
He nodded as he touched her knee. His hand lingered, heavy and warm against her skin, before giving a reassuring squeeze. “Be careful.”
She gathered her purse and champagne flute and slowly rose from her chair, whispering apologies as she squeezed past attendees. “Excuse me, sorry, I’m so sorry...” When she exited the row, she followed the same path that the princess had taken moments earlier. Once she was near the main entrance, she faltered in front of the security guard who stood at one of the two stairways leading to the second floor.
“Excuse me?” she asked, looking high and low. “Where can I find the toilet?”
The solidly built security guard pointed past the refreshment table at the stairwell leading to the basement. “The elevator is not in operation tonight. You must take the stairs.”
“Thank you,” she said, placing her nearly full glass on the table. Celeste didn’t walk too fast, nor did she dawdle as she disappeared from the man’s view. Every move she made, she was keenly conscious of being followed by cameras.
Since the 2018 remodel, the changes to the museum basement were impressive. Not only were there coatrooms, toilets and lockers for patrons, but a spacious picnic area for large groups. Celeste could picture busloads of schoolchildren eating bagged lunches as she wandered deeper into the cavernous space.
Her first stop was the locker room. “Help me out, Bea,” she whispered.
“Number 116.”
Celeste followed the numbers until she got to the correct locker. “Combination?”
“19-21-5.”
She spun the dial left and right before pulling the small door open. “Thank you,” she breathed. Celeste walked straight to the bathroom with a new supply bag. She wasn’t going to dig through it until she found the appropriate toilet stall. When she did, she quickly let herself in and locked the door behind her.
After she was alone, safe from cameras and meddling inspectors, she went through the bag that Beatrice left for her. A small velvet bag of Magnus’s replica jewelry, a tightly wound length of nylon rope. She raised a brow when she spotted Lawrence’s tranquilizer dart gun. “Oh, boy...” she murmured to herself.
“Hey, you asked for it,” Lawrence said in her earpiece. “It’s just extra security. If you don’t need it, don’t use it.”
“Let’s hope I don’t need it,” she said as she continued through the items. “Bea, is this one of those EMF devices?”
“Slap it on the back of the plexiglass and it should disable the Abloy locking mechanism. It should be the fastest option, just be careful when you separate the case. We want to make sure that everything looks as natural as possible.”
“Thank you, sis.”
“Just let me know when you’re at the right place. I’ll cut the lights and let you get to work.”
“Will do.” The last few items of importance were familiar tools that she’d worked with in past jobs. A pair of nonslip socks and gloves, a roll of duct tape and two magnetic climbing handholds. She kicked her high heels off, stuffed them in her bag and slipped the socks on. She climbed the commode and stretched to feel around the vent shaft above. Four screws attached to the cover needed to be dealt with. She made quick work of them, stuck several pieces of duct tape to it and pressed the grate beside the dark opening in the wall. She shrugged into her backpack and hoisted herself up into the unknown.
“I’m in the vent,” she said, pulling the grate over the opening. “I’m sticking the cover on with duct tape. I don’t know how long it will last, but at least I’m hidden.”
“Roger,” Lawrence replied.
Celeste quickly shuffled horizontally in the darkness for a few feet before the vent bent at a ninety-degree angle. She rolled over onto her back and shimmied her upper body up the shaft and worked to stand.
It was time to use the magnetic handholds to scale the vent.
Celeste switched them on and began the labored process of sticking and unsticking her hands against the metal tunnel while her nonslip socks anchored her enough to rest her arms.
“This historian has far too many slides for this kind of audience,” Magnus whispered in her ear. “But I can tell he’s nearing the end. So, you might want to book it, CeCe.”
She gritted her teeth as she unlocked one of her magnet handholds. When she pushed herself up, she gave a strained reply. “I hear you, Mags. I’m about halfway through this shaft. I can see the light... I’m looking forward to that blackout, Bea.”
“Just remember,” Bea cut in. “You’ve only got a matter of minutes before the officials figure out they need to run upstairs.”
“Their priority should be getting these people out of the building before then,” Magnus said. “By the time the lights come back on, you need to be out of the Treasury Room, CeCe.”
“I know,” she said, sweating under her wig. The muscles in her arms were on fire with every foot she climbed. Never did she anticipate this ventilation shaft being so fucking tall. But she was traveling to the second floor, and according to the 2018 remodel, the basement had been expanded, making her climb slightly shorter.
Thankfully, after several more minutes of upper-body strength she didn’t realize she still had, Celeste was face-to-face with a second-floor vent. Her arms shook while she held herself to the grate covering, but she was securely stuck in place. As she peered through the narrow slats, her pulse quickened. “Fuck. I don’t think this is the Treasury Room,” she whispered.
“Okay, what do you see?” Beatrice asked.
She took a deep breath and studied the gallery in front of her. Her gaze snagged on a painting of a young woman with a cello on her lap and a lute in her hand. “Uh... I think this is a van der Helst. Maybe The Musician . Where does that put me?” Celeste asked, suddenly forgetting the layout of the second floor.
“It’s the Dutch Golden Age... That means you’re just outside of the Treasury Room. Please let me know when you want me to cut the lights.”
“I’m going to kick out this vent, but I’ll need to repair it with duct tape before I get inside the room. How long will I have before the steel gate comes down?”
Her protégé paused before answering. “Thirty seconds.”
“Fine.” Celeste took a few deep breaths. “Just give me a minute.”
“CeCe...” Magnus whispered.
“Just give me a minute,” she hissed. “Trust me for once.”
He didn’t reply.
Celeste steeled herself, wondering if she had what it took to trust herself . This wasn’t five years ago. This was now. She was now in a ventilation shaft, wearing a beautiful ball gown, sweating like a pig. Celeste St. Pierre had the guts to pull this off. It was now or never. “Bea, cut the lights. Let’s go.”