Stolen Princess
Ferrin
Nothing spurs chaos like darkness. My father was a mean bastard and a feckless drunk, but every now and then, he’d throw out pearls for me to scoop up. That was one of them.
“Lights and cameras out in sixty seconds,” comes the voice through my earpiece as I glide through the room, moving from case to case, eying the sparkling gems that gleam and glow against their perfectly angled light until I get closer to the case I’m here for.
“You’ll have sixty seconds before the alarm triggers and the backup comes on after that,” Sven tacks on to his twin’s prompt as if I didn’t already know this.
As if we haven’t gone over this plan no less than a hundred times, run it through in multiple stages with multiple contingency plans and routes, and mapped out every last detail for the last three months.
Granted, that’s not a lot of time when planning a heist of this magnitude, but fuck it. We had a deadline that couldn’t be changed. Not the first time I’ve smashed and grabbed.
I shift along, coming to stand before the case housing two items. One is a fake. The other is real. It’s the real one I’m here for, but I plan to take both. You’d never know the other is a fake unless you know the truth behind Princess Desta’s tiara, which few do. I happen to be one of them.
I’m here for the Necklace of the Empress.
It carries the largest, most symmetrical pearl in history, attached in a drop pattern to a flawless eighty-carat pear-shaped green diamond that curves up into branches of different-shaped and sized flawless diamonds.
The estimated value of the piece is somewhere around a hundred and twenty million.
The reality is, it’s priceless given its origin.
It was fashioned for the first queen of Messalina and has lasted through the centuries.
The tiara, on the other hand, which boasts the Emerald of Egypt along with other large, flawless diamonds and gemstones, would be the prize if it were real.
I’m still fucking furious about it, especially after seeing the replica now.
I can’t believe that hag nicked it from my safe.
It had to have been her. No one else knew I had it.
Not even Lars and Sven, whose house the safe was in.
Lars’s voice crackles in my ears, drawing me back. “Three. Two. One. Lights out.”
A heady cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins zips through my blood, speeding up my heart and making my skin hum. I tap the button on the side of my glasses, and they switch to night vision just as the lights flicker out. Shrieks and startled gasps surround me as people panic.
“Minute timer started,” Sven announces, and I get to work, ignoring the rush and bumping of bodies, screaming women, and crying children. The guards shout out, demanding that everyone stay still and not panic. Obviously no one listens.
I reach beneath the table and feel my way until I locate the wire before I slip my knife through it, severing the connection.
Then I pound my gloved hand up with as much force as I can, knocking the case loose and unlatching the hinges.
Shooting back upright, I remove the heavy plexiglass case, snatch the necklace and tiara from their holders, stuff them into my pockets, and get myself the fuck out of here.
I duck my head and rush in behind a couple, pulling the silicone nose, cheeks, lips, and chin from my face, removing the fake teeth, and my wig as I shuffle along with everyone.
“Twenty seconds.”
I straighten up, remove my glasses, and swing around to the back entrance the janitorial staff uses just as the lights flicker back on and the cameras are live once more.
The alarm sounds, blaring and flashing red lights overhead.
A new set of screams pierces the air, muffled by the heavy industrial door I’m on the other side of.
It’s a long hallway, all white walls and concrete floors.
I grab the plastic bag from beneath my hoodie, hold my breath, and open it up, hastily shoving my disguise inside before resealing it and dropping it in the incinerator shoot.
The bag is lined with hydrofluoric acid, which will eat the silicone and other fibers while destroying any DNA.
There are no cameras in this hallway, but I still keep my head down as I take off my hoodie, revealing my janitor costume complete with an ID badge hanging from my waist. I apply my other set of prosthetics to my face, mashing the nose on and smoothing out the wrinkles. Then I pop in the new fake teeth.
“Where are you?” Sven murmurs in my ear. “Police are less than a minute out, and security has already held everyone who entered aside.”
“I’m at the back door. Is it clear?”
“Yes.”
Better fucking be.
I crack the door and peek outside. Empty, but the sirens are loud, both from inside and outside of the building. I pull a cigarette from my front shirt pocket and light it even though I don’t smoke. I move along the side of the building, smoking while casually speed walking toward the parking lot.
“Hey, you there?” A voice comes from behind, speaking in Italian.
Fuck.
Slowly, I turn to see a uniformed security guard.
“What’s all the commotion?” I ask, also in Italian, taking another drag of my cigarette.
He eyes me up and down, then notes my badge. “Someone cut the power.”
My jaw drops. “No. For what?”
“Some jewels were stolen. You see anyone suspicious?”
Only me.
“I saw two blonde women running in that direction.” I point with my cigarette toward the front of the building. “I thought they were running from the alarm. There were others doing the same.”
“Thanks! You should probably get back inside. Not sure this is the time for smoke breaks.”
“Right!” I laugh. “Wild. Thanks and good luck.”
He doesn’t spare me another glance as he turns and runs after fictitious blonde women.
The moment he’s gone, I take off for the fence line, throw myself over it, and sprint through the brush and shrubs and fucking pools of water.
The European Historical Preservation Society decided to be trendy and put their Gems of Fortune and Grandeur exhibition on in an artists’ warehouse on the southern Italian-Messalinian border.
It’s surrounded by marshlands and a two-lane highway, and that’s it for about ten kilometers before you hit Palemento and another thirty-five before you hit Carona.
Tough in and out if you’re trying to escape by road, but also a motherfucker to track someone if they’re not.
Wind rushes across my face and through my hair as I run with everything I’ve got.
I’m trying not to think about the possibility of snakes or other critters anxious to kill me in here.
Instead, I pump faster, using the high shooting up my veins to my advantage.
That was too easy. At least that’s how it feels.
Everything went to plan. That never happens, but I don’t think they were expecting a heist, and it showed.
Their security was shit, as you can tell since I’m now running off with a necklace and a bogus tiara.
I mean, they had armed guards and a small special forces unit at the front to intimidate, and a few scattered throughout, but their technology was subpar at best.
A smile cracks my face as I wipe sweat from my forehead.
This is the start of a very big day, and it’s not even noon yet.
At the fallen tree that’s bent in half and sticking out of the water, I take a right and locate the path.
My feet are fucking soaked and miserable, but who gives a shit?
Up ahead, I spot the parking lot of the school we used as a rendezvous point.
They’ve been parked here and used the school’s WIFI to log into the exhibition servers.
Lars is standing outside the van smoking a joint, his orange hair blazing in the sun. Sven’s doing something on his phone, but both freeze when they hear me coming and twist to peer into the brush.
“It’s me,” I yell out as I get closer, slowing my pace and gasping for air.
Both break out into applause. “Did you get them both?” Sven asks, tucking his phone in his back pocket. It’s annoying how identical they are, and if they didn’t have slightly different facial hair—Lars has stubble and Sven a full beard—you’d never be able to tell them apart.
“Yep,” I tell them, trying to fight my excitement. “For real.”
Both of their eyebrows hit their hairline. “No shit? The tiara was there right next to the necklace? For real?”
The tiara was a last-minute add-on to the exhibit.
Our focus was the necklace. At least it was mine.
It was bashert—or meant to be—as my Danish housemother used to call it.
We learned that’s where they were going to put it just this morning.
You’d assume a tiara like that—priceless and belonging to the stolen princess—would be in its own case as its own exhibit.
Except it’s a replica so they might have been afraid of too many solo eyes on the prize.
Now their jaws have dropped. “You’re shitting me!” Lars belts out a laugh.
“Nope.” I grin smugly. “Not even a little. Where’s my knapsack?”
Sven grabs it from the front seat of the van and tosses it at me. I put it on my back, looping my shoulders through the straps. I can’t wait to change out of these clothes. Maybe even get a shower in.
“Let’s see it. Let’s see both,” Lars demands.
“My buyer didn’t know about the tiara, so I’ll take the necklace to him. You can manage the tiara.”
That’s when they stop and shit, I may have overplayed that one.
“Why would you give us the tiara?” Sven asks suspiciously.
I give them my most annoyed drawl even as I reach for the knife I keep in my back pocket. “I didn’t say I was giving it to you. I simply said I couldn’t bring it to my buyer. I figured you had ways to sell it, but if not, it’s all fine by me. I’m sure I can find someone.”
They exchange looks, but then we hear sirens. “Fuck. There.” Lars points to the distance. “Shit, I didn’t have my earpiece in. Fuck!”
“Go!” I turn and head back for the marsh while they go for their van.
“Wait! Give us the tiara.”
“Now?” I feign incredulity. “We’ll meet up at the second point.”
“Fuck that. Give it to us. You’ll run out.”
“What? Me?” I point at my chest, not the least bit hurt by their accusation, but let them think I’m a good guy.
The sirens are getting louder, and I’m out of time for acting.
“Fine. Here!” I reach into my pocket and pull out the tiara.
The stones catch in the sun, particularly the giant emerald, and their eyes gleam with triumph.
“I hope this shows my love and loyalty.” I toss it at them, turn, and run.
I don’t stick around to make sure they catch it or get away.
Frankly, I don’t care. If they get caught, it’s easier for me.
Tomorrow we’re supposed to meet up at a warehouse outside of Carona. Tonight, the three of us were going to split up.
Except tomorrow I won’t meet them at the warehouse, and if they get caught and try to drop me to the police or special investigators, they won’t get far. They think my name is Rhys Stephan—like anyone actually has that last name.
So cliché, but Rhys Stephan is infamous.
A wanted jewel thief throughout the EU. A master in his field, never having been caught after over a dozen successful heists.
No one knows my real name or exactly what I look like, including Lars and Sven.
I always wear some form of disguise with associates.
Every police render of me is different and inaccurate.
And fingerprints? I give them none.
I have prosthetics on, same as my face.
I don’t run. This time, I move along the edge between the marsh and the woods, heading in the direction of Messalina, and away from Italy. I don’t know how long I walk for, but I’m drenched in sweat, and my high has completely waned, leaving me hungry, thirsty, and utterly spent.
The room I rented for the night is in the opposite direction from here. I pull out my phone, and it shows me I’m in the middle of nowhere, an endless forest of trees and tall grass, along with the marsh that has transitioned into a small river.
I pool my hands under the running water and splash it all over my face and hair before I cup some and take a drink.
I pull off my janitor outfit back into a T-shirt and short and give myself a brisk rinse, the water cold and refreshing.
I don’t dare pull out the necklace. It’s in the trap pocket of my janitor trousers, and that’s where it’ll stay until I can get somewhere safe.
I’ll think about that later, and since it looks like this is where I’ll be camping for the night, I need to find a safe spot.
Standing, I peer around, shading my eyes from the intrusive sun, but in doing so, I catch the faintest hint of something in the distance, locked behind a solid wall of thick brush and towering trees.
I squint and rush to the nearest tree, climbing up a few branches until I get a better looksee.
Son of a bitch, it’s a building. Not one that’s marked on my GPS. It’s ancient-looking and likely abandoned, so that’s probably why. It’s not as though someone lives out here in the middle of nowhere. But that’s what makes it all the more perfect for me.
I climb down, traverse the river, and set out into a jog, anxious to get inside out of the sun and openness.
The bushes are thicker and more difficult to manage than I anticipated they’d be, all overgrown with sharp vines woven through them.
It takes the better part of an hour to work my way through, but once I do, I find myself gaping at the good-sized cottage with a three-story-high tower on one side.
The grounds around the cottage are well-maintained and include three large gardens of vegetables and herbs.
My stomach rumbles, begging me to go there first, but my curiosity has its way with me, and I prowl in a crouch to the edge of the first floor toward one of the windows.
Slowly I lift, and when I get a look inside, I inadvertently gasp, sending a flash of fog across the windowpane.
“What in the bloody fuck is all this?” slips past my lips just as a sharp, shooting pain blasts through the back of my skull, and everything goes back.