The Thieves of Darkness (14 page)

Michael could see the pain in her eyes. He understood her better than she knew—her sacrifice of her childhood, giving up her life to make another life better.

“Sometimes we are forced to do difficult things,” Michael said, “horrible things for the ones we love. And we can’t let our actions, no matter how deplorable we may find them, erase the nobility of our intentions.” Michael stopped and turned to her. “Your sister is beyond lucky, and the fact that you raised her from a child when you were not much more than a child yourself…”

Michael didn’t need to continue. He understood, and he no longer judged.

“I started out…” Michael almost laughed, hoping to break the
melancholy moment. “I helped out a friend with some school stuff. Sneaking around our high school, stealing some things. Nothing like raising a sister, but, I hate to admit it, I enjoyed it.”

KC laughed. “You did it for fun?”

“Well, yes … no.” He paused. “Yes, at first. I would get this feeling, this rush of adrenaline.”

KC grinned. “I know the feeling.”

“It was kind of like a drug. It felt good but you felt guilty at the same time.”

She smiled and nodded.

“I never stole anything that would hurt someone,” Michael continued. “Always things that were insured or from people who I had no doubt deserved it. I never had evil intentions. I kind of left it all behind after I got caught a few years back.” Michael was not going to go into the fact that he got caught as a result of saving a woman’s life. “Ever since, my hand has been forced.”

“Is that what Simon did, force your hand?” KC asked.

“No, not at all. If anything I forced his. You?”

“We had similar intentions and goals.”

“How many times have you helped out Simon?” Michael was curious.

KC smiled, not wanting to confess too much more. “Let’s just say we’ve helped each other from time to time.”

“And you need to help him again?”

KC looked away. “I promised him, Michael.”

“I know you did,” Michael said with understanding. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to let her know how he felt. “Simon’s a big boy, he can figure this out himself.”

KC stood there lost in thought.

“Why don’t you fly back with us in the morning?”

“I made a promise, Michael,” KC said as she looked up into Michael’s eyes.

“Just think about it,” Michael said with a smile. “Don’t say anything, just think about it.”

Simon, Busch, and Cindy were just finishing up a breakfast in a small sidewalk café adjacent to the Four Seasons Hotel.

“How long have you known KC?” Cindy said to Busch and Simon, the late-morning sun accenting her auburn hair.

“My God, it must be going on thirty days now,” Busch joked as he finished off his second cup of strong Turkish coffee.

“Please ignore him, he can’t help himself,” Simon said in his Italian accent. “KC and I have been friends for five years. We were both vacationing in Austria. You were at Oxford when she and I met.”

“You know me that well?”

“KC speaks of you with pride; you’re practically all she speaks of. I’m glad to finally be able to put a face to the legend.”

“Legend?” Cindy repeated in embarrassment.

“By the way, the new job, CFO, sounds exciting, congratulations,” Simon said.

“Thank you,” Cindy said with a sincere nod.

Simon had met KC five years ago; they had both been visiting a small auction house in Bristledorf, Austria. Simon was there in hope of reacquiring
The Birth—
a painting stolen from a Catholic church in Berlin during World War II—while KC said she was just a tourist passing through.

They had both stood in admiration of the Renaissance work depicting the Nativity. Painted by the renowned artist Isidore De Maria, it had recently been put up for auction by Reiner Matis, a wealthy industrialist who was in the waning years of his life. Until 1945, Matis was known as Captain Heinrich Hund, the chief attaché of Hermann Goering, and the officer in charge of Goering’s collection of art stolen from the homes, churches, and museums that the Nazi war machine had trampled on.

At the end of the war, and with Goering’s suicide, Hund disappeared from the world along with several pieces of art. Heinrich Hund’s alias and past were known by only two people: his wife and the tall, dark-haired Italian who stood before the painting.

Simon and KC had struck up a conversation about the piece, about the oil painting’s true origin in commission for the Vatican. They ended up talking for hours about the canvas’s journey, about the war, the Church, and life. Simon explained he was there to prevent Hund/Matis from profiting from the stolen piece but had been unsuccessful in convincing the auction house to halt the bidding process, as it stood to earn 5 percent of the minimum $25 million price tag.

That night, much to Simon’s surprise, the piece known as
The Birth
disappeared. The theft never hit the news, was never mentioned in the papers. Matis had survived sixty-plus years without his former life being revealed; he wasn’t about to be exposed now over a piece of art that he never truly loved.

The following day, Simon returned to his office in the Vatican to find an art tube with a simple note:

Forgive me father for I have sinned
,

With warmest regard, KC

Thus, through a selfless, illegal act, an unconventional friendship was born, one that had grown over the years into a bond as close as family. KC had opened up about her life, her sister, about her past and her deeds. Simon was not sure if she was telling him in confession, in
confidence, or in friendship. He never judged her, understanding her path in life had been thrust upon her. He expressed none of his views, and he offered no spiritual guidance or admonition. He merely listened and answered her questions about life.

“So if you know everything about me,” Cindy said, sipping her coffee, “then you must know everything about KC.”

“The important things.”

“Like why she was in jail with you?” Cindy said with a smile, trying to coax him.

“Now,” Simon said with grin, “I’m a much better friend than that.”

“She can be so secretive,” Cindy said.

“What else does she have besides her secrets?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we all have secrets, things we prefer to keep to ourselves out of embarrassment, shame, pride, or fear. And sometimes we keep secrets in order to protect others, protect the ones we love. So, besides her secrets, what does KC have?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you date?”

“Of course,” Cindy said

“You’re passionate about your career,” Simon added. “You have a full life. What does KC have besides you?”

“I know what you’re saying,” Cindy said. “But she never seemed to have any goals in life.”

Simon paused as he leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on the table top.

“Oh, boy,” Busch said as he adjusted his large body in the small wrought-iron chair. “Here we go.”

Simon glared at his friend before turning back to Cindy.

“Are you sure?” Simon asked

Cindy didn’t answer.

“She already achieved her goal in life, Cindy.” Simon smiled. “It was you. Raising you, seeing you educated, seeing you prepared for the world. She talks of you with such pride—Oxford, Goldman Sachs. I’m
sure once she understands your new job she’ll be bragging about this latest achievement.”

“You care for her so much,” Cindy paused, thinking on his words. “I never realized she had such a good friend. Why didn’t you date her?”

Busch laughed.

“She’s more suited for Michael.”

“That, and Simon has a vow to keep.” Busch laughed.

Cindy looked at the tall, ruggedly handsome Italian as Busch’s comment took a moment to register. “You’re a priest?”

Michael and KC walked through the large arched marble doorway into the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel, lost in conversation, their laughter filling the air. The five-star hotel sat in the shadows of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia just two blocks from Topkapi in the Sultanahmet district, the heart of old Istanbul. The hundred-year-old building had been modernized from its prior use while maintaining its Turkish neoclassic exterior. The three-story, yellow-gold structure framed a lush, landscaped courtyard, combining the modern world with a historic Middle Eastern feel, harking back to the days when Istanbul was the cosmopolitan center of the world.

As Michael looked around the large marble lobby, at the high ceiling, at the small anterooms, he couldn’t help the feeling of déjà vu. It wasn’t the décor, the rattan and wicker furnishings, the desert colors and Persian rugs. It wasn’t the open Eastern feeling of the building or the international guests who meandered about. It was the building itself. There was an air about it, something familiar.

Michael and KC stepped into the cage-style elevator, the bellman closing the gate behind them. They rode up to the fourth floor, talking of sports and travel, of their desire to run with the bulls in Pamplona, climb the Swiss Alps in summer. Michael was filled with a mix of emotions
such as he had never felt. KC attracted him, she angered him, she was alluring but made him wary. His fury about the revelation of her being a thief was dissipating, replaced with fear, fear that she wasn’t capable of what she was about to undertake. Fear that she would slip away in the bowels of Topkapi Palace never to be seen again.

They exited the elevator and heard Busch’s laughter, following his voice down the hall to an open door. The Occidental Presidential Suite was over thirteen hundred square feet, with white marble floors and exquisite maroon rugs. The cathedral-ceilinged home away from home was the finest in the hotel. The living room’s dark wood furnishings centered on a large fireplace. Earth-tone colors, accented in burgundy and blue, gave the old-world Turkish theme an Oriental flavor. There was a full kitchen and dining room, an oversized bar stocked high and wide. Three pieces of luggage sat at the foot of the sweeping marble staircase that led to two large second-floor bedrooms, each with an oversized bathroom, and a small second-floor office.

Oversized floor-to-ceiling arched windows and three large balconies provided picture-perfect views of the world-famous mosque, Hagia Sophia, the Topkapi Palace, and the surrounding ancient metropolis, completing a setting of old-world Ottoman luxury.

Busch and Cindy were having drinks at the bar. Busch smiled as he saw his friend, as he saw his eyes. He hadn’t seen him this happy in forever.

“I got us a room,” Busch said with a Cheshire grin.

“I thought you weren’t keen on staying,” Michael said. “Where?”

“Down the hall.” Busch’s smile managed to grow. “Despite the cost, I think it’s worth it.”

Michael stared at his friend, waiting for the joke.

“You want to know why I’m smiling?”

Michael nodded. “It would be nice.”

“Look around,” Busch said. “Look at the windows, the doors. Do you feel it? I know you’ve got a sense for these things … these kinds of places.”

Michael slowly turned, taking in the exquisite room, its marble foyer, the high ceilings. He had felt it downstairs but wasn’t sure … “What am I missing?”

“This place, this five-star hotel, used to be a prison.” Busch burst out laughing.

Michael found no humor in the moment. He had felt it in the lobby, in the halls. It sat heavy in his stomach. “You think that’s funny?”

KC smiled. “Hey, this is far better than my last accommodations.”

“Go ahead and joke.” Michael shook his head as he walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch.

Simon sat at the dining room table reading a manuscript, his beat-up, overflowing brown satchel open before him. He looked up at Michael. “Well, how was the date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Michael said. “She was just showing me the sights.”

“The sights?” Simon said with a knowing eye.

“What sights? Cindy asked.

Simon and Busch looked at KC and Michael with small smiles.

“What’s going on?” Cindy reacted to their looks.

“We just went for a walk.”

“Really?” Cindy glared at KC. “Because it seems everyone is clued in to what’s going on except me.”

“We went for walk … that’s it,” KC said. The tinge of anger in her voice ended the questioning.

The room fell quiet as the sisters looked at each other.

“Why don’t we let them catch up?” Busch said as he stood. “If you think this room is nice, wait till you see the water views from ours.”

“And who’s paying for the views?” Michael said as he sipped his drink.

“I figured you would, as a sign of appreciation for dragging me halfway around the world … again.”

Michael, Simon, and Busch gathered themselves and headed for the door.

Michael turned back to KC. “We’re flying out first thing. I really think you should be on the plane with us.”

“What time do you want to have dinner?” KC said, ignoring his question.

Michael shook his head in frustration and walked out.

“We’ll see you around six,” Busch said, covering for his friend.

A
S THE DOOR
closed, leaving the two sisters alone, Cindy’s face changed. All pretension evaporated and the real emotion poured forth. “I don’t understand how you ended up in prison.”

“It’s complicated.” Though the room was huge, KC felt as if the walls were closing in.

“You were arrested, KC.” Confusion rippled Cindy’s face. “You were sentenced to die. Nobody’s sentenced to die that quick.”

“How do you know that?” KC asked, genuinely shocked. She had never mentioned anything about being sentenced to die, she had merely told Cindy she had been mistakenly arrested but that it had all worked out.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Cindy, how did you know that?”

“Someone called, told me you were in an Akbiquestan prison, awaiting execution.”

“It’s important you tell me, who called?”

“I don’t know, goddammit,” Cindy exploded. “Someone calls in the middle of the night, tells me this, and hangs up. I call and call and call and I can’t find you. No one has seen you in over a month. When you finally do get in touch, you confirm the prison thing but lie about the rest.”