2 The Dante Connection (10 page)

“It’s called brainstorming, missy.” Manny only called me missy when I did or said something to anger him.

“It’s speculation and conjecture,” I said. “Our time would be better spent looking for other connections between these different elements.”

The conversation was put on halt when Vinnie brought breakfast to the table. In less than twenty minutes he had prepared large quantities of toast, scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice and served it with a tray full of condiments and steaming coffee. We started eating. There was a small window of approximately four minutes when no animosity was observed around the table. It didn’t last long.

“Why do you have keys to Doctor Face-Reader’s apartment?” Manny carefully placed the knife and fork on his plate and stared at Vinnie. “Or did you also move in here?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, old man.” Vinnie waved his knife at Manny. “I need less than this to–”

“Vinnie.” Francine’s low warning stopped Vinnie from threatening a law enforcement official.

Mentally writing Mozart was much more productive than listening to their bickering. A connection was begging to be made. I didn’t know whether it was related to the robberies, the email, the hacker, the painting or something else. All I knew was that it was close and there were too many distractions. Too many people in my apartment, their body language, the nuances of their threats and tones were disquieting. I felt the tension slowly drain from my muscles as I finished the Larghetto of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 27.

“Jenny?”

I opened my eyes to find only Colin and Manny still in my apartment. The table was cleared and a quick glance at the kitchen confirmed that Vinnie had cleaned up.

“I need to go to work,” I said and looked at my watch. I groaned. Two hours had passed since I decided to go into my head. “I’m going to be an hour late.”

“I have an errand to run, then I’ll come in too,” Manny said. “I’ll fill Phillip in on everything we have.”

“Oh, thank you.” I was relieved and grateful for not having to yet again go over the last two days. Manny didn’t waste much more time with redundant greetings. It took him less than one minute to leave, but not before he gave Colin one last glare. I closed the door and wondered about the sense of locking the five locks. I did it anyway.

“I’ll drive you to work,” Colin said from the kitchen. He was placing our mugs in the dishwasher.

I was about to argue when I remembered that my car was still at the office. “Give me ten minutes.”

Nine minutes later I was back at the front door with my handbag and work computer in its bag. Colin got up from the sofa and smiled at me. “All set?”

“I’m ready to leave, yes.” I opened the door and waited outside until he locked the door with keys that I knew I hadn’t given him. With an inner groan I decided not to argue about that.

He took my computer bag, slung it over his shoulder and walked down the corridor. I followed him to the elevator. We fell into a comfortable silence until we were in the car and Colin pulled into the street. He was fiddling with the controls on the steering wheel. “Want to listen to the news?”

“Why do you ask when you already switched on the radio?”

“Touché.” His smile relaxed his face and he glanced at me. “I could switch it off if you don’t want to listen to it.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to hear the outcome of yesterday’s debate in the senate.”

“Are they still going on about the immigrants?” he asked. Some pop song was playing in the background. Another glance at my watch warned me that the news should be read any minute now.

“Yes, but this debate was about healthcare. The president’s wife actually had a few valid points in an interview on the television a few nights ago.”

“Isn’t she a doctor?”

“A neurosurgeon. Since becoming the first lady she doesn’t practice as much as she used to, but she’s still active in her field. Actually, she’s one of the best in her field.”

“How come you know so much about her?”

“I watched a documentary,” I said. Something in our conversation clicked with something in my subconscious. I was close to unveiling some mystery, yet it eluded me. It was unbelievably frustrating. “Turn off the radio.”

“What?”

“Turn off the radio, please,” I said. “I need to think.”

“Should I turn on some Mozart?”

I was surprised. “You listen to Mozart in your car?”

“I’ve kinda grown fond of the guy.” Colin squirmed a little in his seat. He was embarrassed. “Anything specific you want to listen to?”

“Do you have his Violin Sonata No. 21?”

With only a few glances away from the road, he found the piece and the sounds of the opening melody filled the vehicle. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat. From many years of experience I had learned to not push my mind. I focussed on the sombre harmonic accompaniment of the piano and the plaintive sounds of the violin. Even though the second theme in this sonata was written in a major key, it still carried the heaviness of the grief in the opening theme.

The information connected and formed a picture that crashed into my mind. I gasped and pushed my palm against my chest. I had it. I had the connection.

“What? Jenny, what is it?” Colin started to slow down and turned on the indicator to pull off the street.

“No.” I sat up. “Go. We need to go to La Fleur Galerie. Now.”

“Why?”

“It’s there. We need to go now.” I pointed to the right. “Turn here. It is about five minutes away. We’re close. We must get there now.”

Colin turned into the street I indicated. His attention was taken up by manoeuvring his large SUV through the tight streets of downtown Strasbourg. “Jenny, what is going on?”

“It’s a message.”

“What message? What are you talking about?” Colin drove us as far as he could in a second narrow street and parked illegally. “We’re going to have to walk the rest of the way.”

“Let’s go.” I jumped out of the car before he finished his sentence. We needed to get into this medium-sized art gallery. It was located in the centre of the tourist district on a street that had been closed for traffic. I could see the corner of the building about eighty metres ahead of us and increased my pace.

“Jenny, talk to me.” Colin was next to me, lengthening his stride to keep up with me. He sounded worried.

I took a deep breath. I needed to focus my thoughts. The excitement of the connection had me reverting back to scattered behaviour. To neurotypical people it didn’t make sense and was often referred to as crazy behaviour. I needed to line up my thoughts in a logical manner.

“What was wrong with the painting?”

“Apart from it being a forgery, the lion replaced Dante in the painting. Everything else is exactly like the original.” He narrowed his eyes. “What about the lion?”

“Lenard is a variant of Leonard which means ‘lion strength’ or ‘strength of a lion’. That’s the anomalous lion in the painting.” I took a shaky breath. “The second sentence in his email says, ‘Mayhap the mother of all might be their saviour’. The name Genevieve has Celtic roots with the meaning ‘of the race of women’ or ‘mother of the race’. Whatever vengeance he has planned, he thinks I can stop it. Either stop it or play some other preventative or abetment role. And I’m sure the clue is in the original painting hanging in this gallery.”

“Jesus.” Colin stopped me a few metres from the front doors of the gallery. “Jenny, if this is a personal message, it could be a personal attack. I don’t think it is a wise idea to go into the gallery alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have you,” I said and continued walking. “Besides, what could go wrong? It is an art gallery in the city centre surrounded by tourists, with secur
ity personnel, security cameras–”

“Which can all be hacked.” He caught up with me and grabbed my elbow. “We should phone someone.”

“Who? Do you want to phone Manny?” My sincere suggestion offended him greatly judging by his expression. Since he hadn’t told me what his problem was with Manny, I chose to ignore the shimmer of guilt I felt. I pulled my elbow out of his grasp and knocked on the glass door. It was before opening hours, but I could see personnel moving around inside. It was my second, and louder, knock that got the attention of a skinny young man. I glanced at Colin. “Look at all these people inside. We are perfectly safe. I’ll just have a quick look at the painting.”

The door opened before he could reply. I took a deep breath and readied myself for my best performance at social interaction.

Five minutes later Colin was looking at me with a slack jaw, and the young man was escorting us to the painting. My name and credentials delivered in a kind but authoritative tone worked wonders. All with the help of years of studying, observing and practicing.

The young man led us through the front of the museum towards the back. We passed a few people, but apart from curious looks, they didn’t pay much attention to us. We went up a set of stairs to the next floor. None of the rooms had doors, a few had a heavy rope preventing access. Colin was absorbing everything in our surroundings. A practiced thief.

We reached a large room dedicated to the most prominent works of art. The Beata Beatrix was in this room. I put my social skills to practice again. After only one minute’s discussion, the young man agreed that I could lift the heavy rope to enter the room. He left us to call his supervisor.

Colin was right behind me, his body a loud expression of disagreement. I ignored him and stepped onto the carpet. Most art galleries favoured wooden or tiled floors. This carpet was a Persian that left half a metre of uncovered tiled floor space running the length of the walls, framing the beautiful handcrafted rug. All the walls in the room were filled with paintings from the eighteenth century, but it was the painting straight ahead that caught my attention. The Beata Beatrix was hanging in the most prominent place in this room.

“Jenny, wait.” Colin’s fingers brushed my elbow. He had tried to grab my arm again, but I was faster and I left him at the door, walking straight to the painting. He was not happy with me. “Seriously. Wait. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“You know I don’t work with feelings,” I said without looking back and took the last four steps to the painting. On the second last step, something clicked under my right foot.

“Freeze!” Colin’s shout was what stopped me. It was so remarkable for him to raise his voice that I immediately knew to take it seriously.

“What’s wrong?” I was standing with my right foot ahead of the left, most of my weight resting on the right. “Should I not move at all? Is speaking okay?”

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly said when I started to turn my neck. “Speaking is okay, but no moving. Okay, Jenny?”

“Okay.” This was proof of my trust in Colin. Despite his disappearance out of my life, my anger towards him and my confusion about his issue with Manny, I trusted him. But I didn’t know with what. “Tell me what is going on.”

“Jenny, I want you to stay calm. Don’t shift your weight at all. Can you do that?”

“I’m doing that. Now tell me what is going on.” I was becoming annoyed with the concern I heard in his voice.

“When I tell you, I don’t want you to react. I don’t want you to go into your head either, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Because you rock yourself when you’re in your head and that would not be good.”

“Colin.” My voice was low and I pushed the words through my teeth. “Tell me what is wrong.”

“I think you’ve just stepped on a bomb.”

Chapter NINE

“A bomb?” I almost laughed at the ludicrousness of the notion. “Colin, you can’t expect me to believe that.”

“Argue all you want, just don’t move.” I heard him move and found it very difficult to not look over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” When he didn’t answer me immediately, I spoke louder. “Not speaking to me is making me feel unsafe. That makes me want to go into my head and not come out again. If you tell me what is happening, I can deal with it rationally and intellectually.”

“I’m coming to you, but I’m going to walk along the wall. I don’t want to step on the carpet at all.”

“Why?”

“Look at the painting. What do you see against the wall?”

“I assume you are not talking about all the paintings hanging on the wall.” I let my eyes inspect the wall in front of me. I was about a metre and a half from the wall. I had actually planned on stepping right up to it, inspecting the original for clues in the message this person was trying to convey to me. “There’s a thermometer next to the Beata Beatrix, which is odd. Why would they need to check the temperature? Surely it is controlled by the air-conditioning. It’s rather the humidity that needs to be controlled in an environment like this.”

“Look more carefully.” Colin’s voice was a bit closer.

“There is a wire running from under the carpet to the thermometer and from the thermometer to the back of the painting.”

“Exactly.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“Without sounding as paranoid as Francine, I think that you were lured here with the clues. I’m sure there is a pressure plate hidden under the carpet where you are standing now. Again I’m merely guessing, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. I also think that those wires are leading from the pressure plate to a bomb behind the painting. Either that or…”

I didn’t like the way he stopped himself from continuing. “Tell me, Colin.”

“Or you’re standing on the bomb.”

He was standing to the right of me now, about a metre away. His eyes narrowed at the wiring and I could see in the economy of his movements that he was trying his best to not jolt anything. He took another careful step closer and leaned in to look at the wires leading from directly under my feet to the painting. He aligned his head to the wall, not touching it, trying to look behind the painting. It was the two quick blinks that made me want to crawl into my head and hide in Mozart’s harmony forever.

Colin straightened and looked at me with great severity. “Do not move. Not a muscle, Jenny. Don’t adjust your weight, don’t change your breathing, don’t even blink.”

“That is impossible. Blinking is an involuntary–” I stopped speaking. He must have said this either to bring his point across or to distract me. The latter almost worked. I got the point.

“I heard the click when you stepped on that plate, Jenny. I have no idea what will happen if you move. Even just looking down could alter your weight distribution and it could set the bomb off.” He took out his smartphone and tapped on the screen. “We’re phoning for help.”

“Does Vinnie know how to disable bombs?” I asked.

“I’m not phoning Vinnie.” The pronounced curl of his lip gave me a hint before he confirmed, “I’m phoning Millard.”

A few emotions pulled at his facial muscles before he tightened his lips and bit down on his jaw. People did this when they attempted control over wayward feelings. He lifted the phone to his ear.

Manny didn’t take long to answer. Before Manny had time to be sarcastic, Colin started speaking. “Jenny stepped on a bomb. We are at La Fleur Galerie. I’m pretty sure she stepped on a pressure plate. Yes, a bomb. Would you like me to spell it for you? No, you cretin, she’s not moving. Just send GIPN and their bomb disposal guys. And get someone to evacuate the building.”

From where I was standing I could hear Manny shouting at Colin. The words were not clear, but the message was. The shouting stopped abruptly and Colin lowered the phone. “He hung up. But he is phoning the cavalry and he is on his way too.”

I didn’t ask about his incorrect use of cavalry. The GIPN weren’t soldiers on horseback. They were an elite group of highly trained policemen and women. Much like the American SWAT teams and other emergency response teams. In the background a phone rang and I wondered if it was the order to evacuate. I turned my attention to Colin. “You should leave.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“With my IQ, that is not likely to happen.”

He rolled his eyes. “You might have an incredible IQ, Jenny, but it is possible to be stupid as well.”

“It’s a harsh and ugly word, used far too much in modern society.”

“I agree, but in this case it is accurate. You will indeed be acting far less intelligent than you are if you think that I am going to leave you here alone.”

“According to you, there is a bomb under my feet or in front of my face. Of course I want you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, so you can stop that argument right now. Nothing you can say will change my mind.” The jut of his jaw indicated his determination as well as his anger.

“Why are you angry?”

“Because you didn’t listen to me when I told you to wait.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I thought about this some. “With your experience as a thief, your feeling that something is wrong is obviously derived from your learned observations and analysis of the environment around you. I was wrong to discount it as irrelevant and unimportant. But you really shouldn’t call your subconscious observations feelings. That was what made me lose interest in what you were saying.”

There was a slight narrowing of his eyes before he smiled at me. Whatever he was about to say got interrupted by the young man calling to us from the doorway. “We’re leaving. Nobody knows what is going on, but we were told to leave you guys in here. Is everything okay?”

Since I couldn’t turn around to speak to the young man, Colin took over. His smile was almost convincing as a relaxed, charming expression. “Everything is just fine. It’s best if you get your colleagues out of here right now and take the morning off. I’m sure your boss will contact you when the gallery will be ready to open again.”

“Okay, if you say so.” I heard the doubt in his voice, but there was a bit of excitement too. It could be from the prospect of having a paid day off or from the potential raise in status he could receive from his friends if he had been at the scene of some interesting crime. His footsteps disappeared down the stairs.

“How’s your balance?” Colin asked.

“I’m fine.” Without moving my head I dropped my eyes to my extended right leg. “I don’t know for how long my muscles will be able to hold this position.”

Downstairs, the front door opened, allowing the chaos of sirens and running footsteps in. I hated not being able to turn around and see what was coming at me. All I had was Colin’s expressions. The one he had now was of recognition and annoyance. Manny had arrived.

“What the fuck are you doing here, missy?”

I almost smiled at Manny’s insensitive handling of such a delicate situation. And I was grateful. I would not have appreciated patronising concern in a carefully modulated tone. Not from Manny. A muted argument between him and some stranger with a deep voice drew my attention to Colin’s face. He looked amused. The argument gained volume until Manny proclaimed, “That is my girl in there. I know how to handle her and will not leave here. Tell them, Doc. Tell them that they don’t need kid gloves.”

I almost shrugged, but stopped in time. Not moving was a challenge. “I don’t know what kind of gloves they’re going to need to see if there is a bomb or to disable it. If they need kid gloves, you should let them use them, Manny.”

There were chuckles behind me. Colin’s smile erased the anger he had exhibited when Manny had spoken. I didn’t understand the humour of this moment.

“How many people are there?” I quietly asked Colin.

His eyes zoomed in on the doorway and beyond. “Manny, a man dressed in a bomb suit, two men looking like they’re from the emergency response unit and I see another two further away from the door.”

“They all have guns, don’t they?” I deeply disliked weapons.

“All except for Manny and the bomb-suit guy.” Maybe Colin didn’t see Manny’s weapon, but I was sure there was a gun somewhere on his person.

“Ms Lenard?” the deep voice asked from the doorway. It sounded like his voice was coming through a speaker.

“It’s Doctor Lenard to you,” Manny said before I could answer.

“My apologies. Doctor Lenard, my name is Edward Henry. I am an EOD technician and am going to make my way to you.”

“What is an EOD technician?” I asked.

There was a moment of silence. “Explosive Ordinance Disposal technician. I disarm bombs. Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Can you hold still and not move?”

“I haven’t moved since I’ve stepped on this thing. Colin told me not to move.”

“I assume you are Colin?” There was no doubt in my mind that Edward hadn’t addressed that question to me, so I didn’t answer.

“Yes, I am.”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to carefully make your way out of the room.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Colin looked at me when he said that.

“I have to insist.”

The thought of Colin leaving me to face Edward and a potential bomb by myself caused me to make a strangled sound. I wanted to give in to the overwhelming desire to simply walk out of here. Or even better, go into my head and bathe in Mozart.

“Jenny?” Colin’s eyes flew to me and narrowed.

“Please don’t leave,” I whispered. “Rationally I know you should not be here, but I really don’t want you to leave.”

His right hand lifted as if to touch me, but it stopped mid-air and then fell to his side. “Nothing and nobody can make me leave you.”

“Sir, you have to leave now.” The voice came from my left, the opposite path Colin had followed to get to me. I slowly turned my head just enough to have this man in view. He wore something I could only liken to a space suit.

It was a full-body suit made of material that looked impenetrable. I doubted he was able to get dressed without any help. The suit even covered his head and had a helmet with a visor. That explained why his voice sounded like it was filtered through a sound system. His hands were uncovered which, after a moment’s thought, I realised must be to give him the freedom I could only imagine was needed to disable an explosive device.

That last thought combined with Edward’s awkward movements in that blast suit brought home the severity of this situation. As quickly as I could without changing my balance, I focussed on Colin. I would much rather look at him than at the spaceman. I desperately wanted to reach for Mozart in my head.

“I’m not leaving. You’ll just have to work with me here,” Colin said to Edward, but didn’t look away from me.

Edward stopped and looked from us to the doorway and back. “Who are you people?”

“I’m Doctor Genevieve Lenard and this is Colin–”

“That’s not what he was asking, Jenny,” Colin interrupted me and I knew it was to prevent me from revealing his surname to a law enforcement official. “We are citizens in need of your expert help. I will not get in your way, I will not comment on what you do. I’m here for Doctor Lenard.”

It was the first time Colin had addressed me professionally and it didn’t feel right. As much as I had hated him shortening my name at the beginning of our acquaintance, I now only responded to him when addressed as Jenny. The same as Manny calling me everything but my real name.

“Frey, are you sure about that?” Manny spoke from the door, giving away Colin’s surname. “As much as I don’t like you, SOP requires that you leave.”

“Standard Operating Procedure,” Colin said before I could ask about the acronym. Then he looked over my shoulder towards the door. “I’m not leaving. Just as you’re obviously also not leaving.”

“No way in hell I’m leaving Doctor Face-Reader with the likes of you,” Manny said.

“It’s all settled then.” Colin looked back at me. “Don’t get startled and move, Jenny. Bomb guy is almost next to you.”

“His name is Edward,” I said and turned my head a fraction. Indeed, the heavily suited man was about two metres away from me, walking slowly on the tiled floor. “Hello, Edward.”

His head snapped up and he looked at me through the visor. After a few seconds’ inspection he nodded. “Hello, Doctor Lenard.”

“Please call me Genevieve,” I said. Colin made a rude noise, but I didn’t want to look at him. That would require a fast movement.

“Right. Genevieve.” He stepped closer until he was within reach of the wires. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

“Colin thinks–”

“Only wild speculation,” Colin said. This time I slowly moved my head to glare at Colin. I hated being in a situation where I was forced to count every word I said. I already had to focus on not moving to a safer place – my head. Colin didn’t respond to my glare. He was looking at Edward. “If you feel along the carpet, it will be easy to locate the pressure plate.”