Dan found the slot and slid the card in. The door opened a crack. With one last glance at the activity in the lobby, they quickly slid inside.
The door clicked shut behind them softly. Amy let out a breath.
“When did you turn into such a criminal? I didn’t even see you move!”
“There’s a fine line between criminality and genius,” Dan said. “That’s what Lightfinger Larry used to say.”
The hallway was carpeted in severe gray. Steel-framed art marched down one wall. The offices on their left all had glass walls. They could hear the murmur of voices from behind a door to the right. Amy put a finger to her lips. They tiptoed down the hallway, slipping past the empty offices. They were lucky that it was a Saturday. The glass walls gave them a sightline into offices that looked like living rooms, with sofas and easy chairs and paintings on the walls. Amy stopped short.
“I think that’s a Rembrandt,” she whispered, pointing at a small dark painting on the wall of the largest office. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“Sorry. Only one art heist a week for me,” Dan said.
They tiptoed past and kept on going. Finally at the end of the hallway, a door on the right was marked REKORDBURO. Amy nodded, and, after listening for a minute, they cautiously pushed it open. The office was empty.
“Whew,” Amy whispered after they closed the door behind them. “Lucky. I think this is where the records are kept.”
Unlike the elegant offices they’d glimpsed, this room was small and cluttered. A small desk with a fax machine was shoved in between a table and the door. The rest of the room was filled with filing cabinets. The old files could be right here.
“I don’t think they would have digitized their transactions from eighty years ago. But they should have dead files.”
Amy peered at the labels on the filing cabinets. “Bingo. These are the records from the 1950s. There are no records for the 1940s … they closed the business during World War Two … so … here!” She stopped before the last filing cabinet. “The records from the 1930s.” She opened the drawer and groaned. “This could take a while. They aren’t filed by the name of the object. It’s by date. We know it’s 1932, but we don’t know what month.” She handed Dan a hanging file. “Let’s get started. We have to get this done before the auction is over so we can leave with the crowd.”
She opened the first file. Records were kept in a tiny, neat handwriting. Amy slumped against the cabinet. “These are in German. Of course they would be.”
“It’s all right,” Dan said. “It will still say ‘de Virga.’”
She and Dan bent over the files. They had to keep the light off, so they used their penlights, flipping through paper after paper. Their eyes almost crossed trying to decipher the thin, spidery handwriting or faint typewriter ink, all written in a language they didn’t know. Occasionally, they would freeze if they heard footsteps outside. Amy’s palms were damp with nerves. If they got caught, what would they say?
Finally, just when wild goose chase was starting to dance around in Amy’s brain, Dan whispered, “Got it.”
He passed over a paper. Amy saw the words de Virga and mappa mundi.
Amy’s heartbeat speeded up. Here it was, the original notes on the auction of the antique map. “I can’t read the rest,” she murmured. “But look – there’s a list of names: ‘Prof. Otto Hummel … Jane Sperling … Marcel Maubert … Reginald Tawnley.’ And there’s a notation next to each name.”
“Doesn’t Ian speak German?” Dan asked. “Maybe we can get a good enough resolution on a photograph to send it to him.”
“Worth a try. And if he can’t translate it, he can find a Cahill who can.” Amy spread the sheet out on the floor and took a photograph with her phone. She e-mailed it to Attleboro.
A loud noise sent them shooting to their feet. Amy looked around wildly, but Dan laughed softly. “It’s just the fax machine,” he said.
“Make it stop,” Amy groaned. “Somebody might come in. We’re overstaying our welcome.”
Dan crept over to the fax machine. “I wonder if it’s somebody bidding on an Old Masterful.” He mimicked a snooty British accent. “ I say, old chap, a million for that drawing of the cow. Make that two million… .”
Amy stared down at the phone, willing it to chime an answer. When she looked up at Dan, he was staring at the fax in his hand.
“I think you’re right about overstaying our welcome,” he said. He walked over and handed her the fax.
INTERPOL MOST WANTED
AMY CAHILL DAN CAHILL
ALERT TO ART DEALERS, MUSEUMS, AUCTION HOUSES
BE ON LOOKOUT FOR TWO SUSPECTS. CONFIRMED THEFT OF CARAVAGGIO MEDUSA FROM UFFIZI. CONSIDERED TO BE PLANNING ADDITIONAL HEISTS IN EUROPE. BELIEVED TO HAVE CROSSED THE ITALIAN/SWISS BORDER. IF SPOTTED, CONTACT INTERPOL NUMBER BELOW.
“It’s from some guy named Milos Vanek,” Dan said. “He’s the detective assigned to our case, I guess.”
“Photos and descriptions,” Amy said, looking at the next sheet. “This is not good.” She stared at the photos on the paper. They were their real passport photos, so they had been taken a few years before. On the fax they were smudged and indistinct. One piece of luck, anyway. “This can’t be the only fax machine in this place. We’d better get out of here.”
They jumped again when Amy’s cell phone vibrated. Amy pressed SPEAKER and Ian’s voice rang out.
“Simple to translate,” he said. “Easier than homework. Back in 1932, somebody at the auction house made a list of potential buyers for the de Virga. Those four names that have the little crosses and notations next to them? They were the clients that had to be treated with kid gloves. Hummel was a professor but he had family money. Jane Sperling was a socialite from Chicago. Maubert was an art dealer – there’s an address in Paris – and the last one – Tawnley – was an Englishman who had a private library.”
Amy looked at the names again. “Can you do more research on the names?”
“But why?” Dan asked. “We know they didn’t buy it. It disappeared before the auction.”
“It’s the only lead we have,” Amy said. She folded up the paper and slipped it into her pocket. “The auction house knew that these four people really wanted the de Virga. Maybe one of them stole it.”
“We’ll get back to you,” Ian said, and hung up.
Activity in the hallway outside had increased. They could hear footsteps and voices.
“Come on,” Amy said uneasily. “We’d better get out of here before somebody reads that fax.”
When they cautiously cracked open the door, the gray-carpeted hallway was empty. They swiftly made their way down it. When they turned the corner, a door to the right was open, and they saw Frau Gertler standing with her back to them. A man in a dark suit with an earpiece approached and handed her the fax.
Frau Gertler read the fax, then snapped it back to the security man. “Search the auction room,” she ordered. “Discreetly. There are two teenagers here that could possibly be them. Just keep a sharp eye out.” She hesitated. “My key card is missing. Better search the back rooms as well.”
If Frau Gertler moved an inch, she would catch them out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, they began to back up.
Amy jerked her head. Next to them was a keypad. Dan took out the key card and swiped it through. The door opened and they slid inside and closed it. They were in the luxurious office they’d glimpsed earlier, the one with the Rembrandt on the wall. They leaned against the door to catch their breath.
“We’ve got to ditch this place fast,” Amy said.
Dan hurried over and checked the windows. “They’re sealed. We could break one, but …”
“Alarms.” Amy said. Her gaze roamed over the office, and she found herself staring at the brown and amber painting on the wall. The Rembrandt.
Alarms, she thought again. Usually, they were trying not to trip them.
But this time … maybe an alarm could help.
Amy slipped the Rembrandt off the wall and turned it over. Just as she’d hoped, there was a small electronic device stuck to the back.