Masterpiece (23 page)

The cavernous, shadowy space was crowded with people, some lighting candles, some whispering in small groups, some nestled in the pews, heads bowed in prayer.
The thin, bearded man sat near the end of the last pew. Marvin looked quickly around. What now? A few minutes later, another man slid into the pew. Neither one spoke. The thin, bearded one set the satchel down next to the other man, stood up, and walked away.

Marvin held his breath.

Abruptly, the other man grabbed the handle of the satchel. He picked it up so quickly and with such force that Marvin lost hold of the buckle and tumbled into the side pocket. He could see nothing, but he knew that the drawing was on the move again. He tried to
scramble up the inside of the pocket for a better view, but the brisk motion kept knocking him back to the bottom. Eventually, he gave up.

He heard a car door close, then the faint beeps of a telephone and a new voice speaking softly. The man had a thick accent, and Marvin couldn’t understand the words. He could feel the rumble of the engine. Where were they going now?

A long time passed, or so it seemed to Marvin, who struggled to guess what was happening in the world beyond his enclosure. There were stops and starts and brief bursts of conversation, or perhaps instruction.

Were they still in New York? Marvin had no way of knowing. In the tense darkness, floating through an unknown, distant world, his mind looped back through time, to James’s birthday party, to the night he’d sketched the street scene, to his first breathless glimpse of
Fortitude
. He could feel the presence of the drawing through the leather wall of the satchel. It comforted him somehow. He thought of what Christina had said about Albrecht Dürer: a sad, lonely man, determinedly wielding his pen to bring the girl and the lion to life.

Without meaning to, Marvin drifted off to sleep. He awoke when the motion stopped and the satchel was set down with a thud.

Someone unzipped the satchel and opened it, which meant that the pocket where Marvin was hiding was immediately pressed flat. Marvin crawled quickly to the opening and squeezed out onto a wooden surface. He
heard the foreign voice again, this time speaking in halting English.

“Here she is,” the man said. “Beautiful, no?”

Another voice responded. “Worth every penny. And now she’s almost home.”

Marvin’s entire body went rigid with shock. He immediately recognized the voice.

D
enny!

At first, Marvin was overcome with relief. Denny was here! Now everything would be all right. Surely he would recognize the drawing as Dürer’s original. He and Christina must have discovered their mistake. The ruse was over.
Fortitude
would be on its way back to the Met in no time!

“We won’t be needing this anymore, will we?” Denny said.

Marvin inched out from under the satchel just in time to see Denny remove
Fortitude
from its matting. They were in what appeared to be the empty lobby of a small building, with glass exit doors on either end, and benches pressed against the walls.

“The cab is waiting for you?” Denny asked the dark-haired man who was hunched over the satchel.

“Sì, signore.”

“Go quickly, and leave this on the floor of the cab. That will keep them busy for a while.” Denny handed him the piece of matting. “And this is for you.” He held out a fat white envelope.

Marvin had no time to puzzle over this exchange because he knew he had only a few seconds to escape. He crawled out from under the satchel and scuttled across the bench to where Denny was sitting. He climbed onto Denny’s corduroy trousers and gripped a belt loop with all six legs.

The other man stuffed the bulging envelope into his jacket. “Grazie, signore.” Briskly, he shoved the matting
back in the satchel, zipped it shut, and hurried through the glass door onto the street.

Denny mumbled to the drawing, “All right, my darling. I have some new packaging for you, and we’ll be on our way.” He set
Fortitude
gently in a heavy folder, then inside a briefcase.

Marvin shivered, still trying to make sense of what was happening. He felt a twinge of uncertainty. When would they return to the museum?

Denny stood and his coat flapped over Marvin, obscuring his view. He must have walked out onto the street because it was cold again and they were engulfed in the noise of the city.

This time the motion didn’t last long, and it was all walking, Marvin could tell. Eventually, he heard the soft sucking sound of elevator doors and the ding of a button being pressed. A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and keys jangled.

There was a faint rustling and the sound of Denny humming. Marvin heard him set the briefcase down and unlock it. He must be removing the drawing now.

“There you are, my beauty,” Denny said softly.

He tossed off his coat, and finally Marvin could see. They were in a small, dark room, lit only by a lamp in one corner. It was some kind of study, Marvin decided, paneled in rich, reddish brown wood, with shelves of books lining the walls. Denny had placed the drawing
on a large polished table, and when Marvin looked on either side of it, he gasped.

There were three other drawings on the table.

Prudence
.

Temperance
.

Justice
.

“Time to join your sisters,” Denny said. “How long we’ve waited for you!”

M
arvin’s head was spinning. What did Denny mean? Here they were: Dürer’s four
Virtues
. As confused and scared as he was, he was overcome by a yearning to look at them. It took every ounce of his self-control to stay hidden under the belt loop, silent and still.

All the long-lost, stolen drawings, here with Denny!

The microchip was gone. There was no way for the FBI to find them. Marvin couldn’t make sense of it. Had Christina planned the whole theft? Had she switched the two drawings herself?

He trembled with horror. There could be only one explanation: Denny and Christina had stolen the drawings, all of them. As shocking as it seemed, they must have been working together from the beginning. And this was their goal: to steal the final
Virtue
!

But why?

Denny leaned over the table, and Marvin edged out from under the belt loop to stare at the four drawings.
His heart leapt in recognition. The fine, steady pen strokes were like a greeting from an old friend. The women in the other drawings were immediately recognizable as Dürer’s: Tiny as the images were, the figures were solid and substantial, anchored to the paper. Their expressions had the same pensiveness that
Fortitude
’s had—a kind of willed loneliness.

In
Prudence
, a maiden shunned the winged cupid who offered her a laurel wreath. In
Temperance
, she
poured some kind of liquid from a small jug into a cup. The lines were as delicate and miraculous as the pattern on a butterfly’s wing.

Finally, Marvin turned to
Justice
. The drawing had a dense, breathing presence not at all like the flat image in the book Christina had shown them. The girl gazed sadly into the distance, her sword resting at her side, as if she were already resigned to the unfairness of the world. She raised her scales like a lantern.

Marvin heard a long sigh. He realized with a start that he and Denny were caught in the same reverie, transfixed by the drawings.

Denny straightened and took out his cell phone. Marvin quickly dropped from his belt loop to the table, hiding in the grooved wood at its edge.