Midnight Angels (17 page)

It was also the shop that served as the Florence headquarters for the Vittoria Society.

Josie had first heard about the group in passing during a late night session at a back table in her salon. She found the idea of an organization dedicated to the retrieval of lost and stolen artifacts in order to return them to their proper owners inspiring, and quietly went about learning as much as she could about the group. It took her two years before she made the leap from interested bystander to full-fledged member, working through a friend to arrange a meeting with a Society liaison who then put her in the same room with Professor Edwards.

Josie was taken with the professor’s passion for both his teaching and the lofty goals of the Society; goals she felt were noble in the attempt and dangerous in the achievement. She was also intrigued by the dark-haired, doe-eyed girl who sat quietly by his side, waiting for her cup of hot cocoa to cool, listening intently to their discussion. It seemed clear to Josie, even during that first eventful meeting, that one day in the not distant future, the demands and burdens of the Society would rest squarely on the shoulders of young Kate Westcott.

In short order, Josie became another valued member of the Society.

Both her home and the shop were now a safe haven for members of all stripes who arrived in Florence to work on a wide range of assignments,
all of which required discretion. Josie showed no qualms about venturing into dangerous terrain, and as her reputation grew, so too did the peril of her endeavors. She could be counted on to hide a painting worth millions on the open market, often placing the work in plain sight of customers, framed in glass, hanging in the center of her shop, palmed off as yet another inexpensive copy of a masterpiece. She counted among her circle of street friends an array of gifted forgers, men and women with the talent to coat over a great work with a similar one of their own without fear of damaging the original. She had a solid network of buyers and sellers on both the open and black markets. And she could depend on her platoon of café regulars to supply her with daily doses of street gossip and museum and gallery goings-on.

Josie thrived in such a challenging and active environment, finding fulfillment in the work she did by day and satisfaction in her adventurous second life.

So it did not surprise her when she saw Kate Westcott and a young man enter her shop just as the sun was setting on yet another beautiful Florence day. She had not seen Kate since that first meeting with Professor Edwards, but recognized her as soon as she stepped into the store, the sharp angles of waning daylight blending with the impending shadows of evening. The magnetic eyes that had first caught her attention, the calm yet confident manner in which Kate walked, the ease with which she quickly embraced her surroundings, were all there, highlighted even more now that the child had been transformed into a woman.

“I was just about to pour myself a cup of espresso,” Josie said in English, the rhythms of her Chicago accent still vibrant. “I could just as easily pour out two more. You can drink them as you browse. I should warn you, though, my coffee is served hot, strong, and bitter. If you’re not up to it, just say the word.”

“Sounds perfect,” Kate said. “Thank you.”

“Save your thanks for when I do something helpful,” Josie said with a wave of her right hand. “The truth is, I could use the company. It’s been too quiet in here the last two, three days. Not sure why exactly, but it happens sometimes. You would think after all the years working this place I would get used to the pace, but my mother always said I was Chicago-stubborn, and I suppose there’s a lot more truth to that than I would care to admit.”

Josie poured out three cups of espresso and handed one each to Kate and Marco. She left her cup on the side counter next to the stove and looked over at the two students. “Your hands are too clean, so I’m ruling out art supplies, and you can get much cheaper posters to hang on your walls from the merchants by Neptune’s fountain. And not very many students can afford the type of sketchbooks I sell. That limits you to notebooks and pens, and as you can see for yourselves, I have a wide variety of those to offer, if that’s what you need.”

Kate took a long, slow sip of the hot coffee and gave Josie a warm smile. “A friend told me how good your coffee is, and he wasn’t wrong,” she told the older woman. “But he seldom is, at least not around me.”

“If your friend told you about my coffee, then he must have told you about me,” Josie said.

Kate nodded. “He speaks of you often,” she said, “and always with fondness. He told me you are one of his most trusted friends, and that I should come see you if I’m ever in need.”

Josie finished her coffee in two long gulps and rested the empty cup in the middle of a bronze sink. She reached into a cookie jar and pulled out a long brown-filtered cigarette and a thin blue butane lighter. “We all have our vices,” she said, clutching the cigarette between her teeth and lighting it with a quick flick of the lighter. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s your smoke,” Marco said, “but it goes into our lungs. I mean no disrespect, of course.”

Josie tossed him a look that was part bemusement and part distaste. “Is he always this annoying or is he just nervous?” she asked, her eyes on Marco, her question directed at Kate.

“A little bit of both,” Kate said. “But don’t worry. Marco’s easy to warm to.”

Kate’s kind words caught Marco off guard, and he felt his face warm.

“Is he involved with you or just tagging along to keep you company?” Josie asked.

“We’re not dating, if that’s what you’re asking,” Kate said.

“I wasn’t,” Josie answered with a shrug, taking a deep drag off her cigarette.

“I came to see you because I need help,” Kate said.

“Fair enough,” Josie said, dropping the remnants of her cigarette into the bottom of her coffee cup. “What is it you think I can do for you?”

Kate glanced at Marco and then back to Josie. “Professor Edwards told me you helped him out of a number of very delicate situations, and that you were one of his—”

Josie put a hand on Kate’s right shoulder, her fingers gently squeezing the soft flesh under the thin white shirt. “What is it you want me to do, child?” she asked, her voice easing toward tender.

“Break the law,” Kate said.

CHAPTER
21

I
T HAD BEEN THREE FULL DAYS TO THE HOUR SINCE THE DISCOVERY
of the Midnight Angels, and Kate was flat on her stomach, hands braced against a hardwood floor, her eyes adjusting to the flickering shadows that swept over the tiny room. She glanced to her left and gave Marco a reassuring look, doing her best to silently calm his visible fears. She rested the heels of her feet against the base of an old wooden desk and began to run her fingers along the whitewashed floor, looking for the loose planks Josie had assured her would be there.

Marco’s right hand reached for hers and he held it tight, his fingers clutched around her wrist. “I will only ask this one final time,” he whispered.

Kate turned toward him, rested her other hand on top of his and gave him a calming smile. “I already know the question, Marco,” she said, her words spoken softly in the near darkness of the room.

“And?”

“And yes, I’m sure,” Kate said. “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything in my life. We are doing the right thing and we’re doing it for the right reasons.”

Marco nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “I have no idea why, but I’m starting to think you know exactly what you’re doing.”

She patted his hand and nodded, then slowly eased her hold. “Help me find the loose planks. Josie said they would be no more than fifteen feet from the front right leg of the desk.”

Marco slithered a few inches forward and tapped at the floorboards at his side. “These first two I can pretty much lift out,” he said. “I might
need a small knife or something like a letter opener for some of the others.”

Kate reached into a rear pocket of her jeans and eased out a thin black penknife. “This should be good enough to get it done,” she said, slipping the edge of the blade against the side of one of the floorboards. “Once I lift it, you grab it and slide it free. We’ll need to clear away at least ten, maybe twelve boards to give ourselves room.”

“And what about the layer that rests between the boards and the ceiling below?” he asked. “What if it isn’t as easy to break through as Josie suggested?”

“It’s a good plan, Marco,” Kate said, digging into a second floorboard. “Josie did her part. Now we just have to make sure we do ours.”

“How much time do we have until the next guard shift?”

“Twenty minutes, if they’re right on the clock,” she said. “That should be good enough for us to get the floorboards lifted and pencil sketch where we plan to punch out the hole in the Sheetrock.”

“Then we wait for ten minutes before we break through,” Marco said. “I know you already knew that. I just wanted you to know I remembered it as well. I hate that you might think of me as a coward.”

Kate paused and looked away from the floorboards. “I would never think that,” she said. “In fact, it’s just the opposite. You need to be very brave and very trusting to even attempt what we are about to do.”

“And don’t forget to include foolish in there as well,” he said, managing a nervous smile. “It often goes hand in hand with bravery and trust. Love, too, I suppose. But only if you happen to be a romantic.”

“And are you?” she asked.

“I like to think so,” he said, struggling now to find the words. “I like to think we both are.”

Marco wished he could tell her, let Kate know how he felt, what was in his heart, that he cared for her not just as a friend but as something more. Much more. But he had never had such feelings toward any woman before, none that were this strong, that drew him in this close. And until he knew for sure how she felt about him, he feared venturing any further than he already had.

“We’ve come this far,” Kate said, “let’s not get caught now.”

Marco stared at her for several seconds and then nodded as he quietly rested the discarded floorboards up against a side of the thick, mahogany
desk that dominated the small room. He could feel the thin lines of sweat running down the center of his back, cool to the touch, his fingers and palms clammy as they reached out and grabbed the loose slabs of wood. And he could taste the fear, coating his tongue thick as a fresh dab of paint, his mind racing with the doubts that had filled his head since he first embarked on his dangerous journey with Kate.

He had no way of knowing if the noise they were making, as slight as it was, could be heard in the silence that engulfed the small room just above the sealed-off portion of the Vasari Corridor, less than a dozen feet separating the two of them from the resting place of the Midnight Angels. He wondered what it would feel like to be caught, dragged away by the authorities, forced to explain to unknown faces the reasons why they were attempting to steal a treasure that had been left hidden for these many centuries.

Resting a final plank against the desk, Marco glanced out the small window above his head, a full moon filling the late night sky above Florence. He took a deep breath and realized he was, as of this moment, no longer an art student working toward a master’s degree and a teaching position at a prestigious school.

He was now a thief.

THE YOUNG MAN
and the older woman stood in the shadows of the Ponte Vecchio, the rough tide of the Arno River echoing through the empty streets.

“Is the van in place?” the woman asked.

“Yes, Josie,” the young man said, “parked just a few meters away, outside the towing zone, as you requested. And at this hour, it should take the driver no more than five minutes to get to his destination, even at reduced speed.”

“And was the inside of the van properly padded?” Josie asked. “It doesn’t help anyone if the product gets damaged in transport.”

“Safe enough for a newborn,” the young man said. “Moving them out was never the problem.
Getting
them out is what most concerns me.”

“They’ll make it,” Josie said, lighting a fresh brown cigarette, her face briefly glowing from the flame. “They’ve got the guts and the plan. All they need is a little luck.”

“Why’d you let them go in alone?” the young man asked. “Or go in at all, for that matter? We could have found a more experienced team.”

“It’s their find, Peter,” Josie said, blowing a thin line of smoke skyward. “It belongs to them. They’re the ones who should bring it out. It’s how I want it to go, and how Edwards wants it done as well. The fewer hands on this, the better it’s going to be for all concerned. There’s going to be more than enough to keep us occupied once word of the discovery leaks.”

“You think they’re the real deal?” Peter asked. “We’ve gone down this road a few times in the past, thinking we made a rare find, only to come away with nothing to show for our trouble.”

“We’ve had some solid finds these past few years,” Josie said, glancing down the dark and empty street. “That Caravaggio we found buried near the Duomo two years ago was nothing to brush aside.”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make,” he said.

“Then what is?”

“We have yet to find a piece of work that was only rumored to exist,” Peter said. “Anything the Society has recovered up until now could be documented in some archive in the basement of a museum somewhere. This would be the first truly lost work we’ve ever come across. I find it sort of stunning that, if it is indeed the case, a university student managed to do what a worldwide network of academics and art experts never could.”

“That’s because she’s not just any university student,” Josie said. “That young lady up in that office is herself as rare a find as anything you, me, or any other member of the Society could ever hope to unearth. If anyone can bring in a lost work, she’s the one.”

“She’s better than Professor Edwards?” Peter asked.