Collection (4 page)

4

LUCIEN RAN TOWARD THE STRUGGLING GIRL,
but still didn't know what he was getting into. Every instinct was telling him to run in the other direction. He was convinced, up until a few moments ago, that she was up to something. Nobody could be that combination of naive and confident without having a motive. She was clumsy and inept if she was trying to surveil him. She was downright bungling if she was trying to gain his confidence by engaging him in conversation at an art museum, of all places. This was the last place he'd be careless. It now appeared that she was the victim of abduction. The attack in front of him could easily be staged to draw him in. It was working.

Though the men were stupid to attack her in daylight and in a public place, they'd done it with minimal action. If not for himself, the whole thing would have occurred unnoticed. Their movements were fluid and efficient in a manner that suggested they were professional and very good. Suddenly, he realized the men were familiar to him. The larger man that wrenched the girl to the ground by her hair was a bodyguard for one of his best clients. There was no reason to use her to lure him when he easily recognized who he was dealing with.

In an instant, he considered his options. He could turn and escape through the front street entrance of the museum, or he could stay. Whatever these men were doing, it was not likely to be resolved by running away. Maybe she was involved and their plan had gone wrong. But if the girl was an innocent bystander, he had to help her. She was in trouble any way he looked at it. These were not the kind of men who reasoned through a situation, and Lucien felt the burden
of responsibility nudge him forward. He fought the instinct to run and calmly approached them in the otherwise empty parking garage. As he reached them, the thin man sat on the girl and put a rag over her face, she stopped struggling and Lucien knew that it was drugged. At least she was alive. When the large man tackled her to the ground, the sound of her head hitting the pavement was enough to make him wince.

The larger man continued quickly towards Lucien. “You will come with me now.”

Lucien snorted, “Why should I?”

The large man's tone of voice never changed from polite disinterest. “I'll kill her if you don't.”

“I don't even know her.” Lucien looked at the girl as she lay unconscious and wondered who she was and how she had found herself in this predicament.

The man replied with certainty, “You do know her. You met up with her in there,” he gestured with a massive hand towards the museum, “and you followed her out here, and people don't argue with people they don't know. Come quietly, Lucky. You know who we're going to see.” He started to walk to a parked van.

Lucien slowly followed. He didn't want to appear too concerned, and he also didn't want to give them any reason to believe he wouldn't cooperate. “Lucky” was a name he used to conduct less than legal business with more than ruthless clients. Since these men knew him from that part of his life, they were more than willing to make good on threats.

They sidled up to a van and Lucien decided to take a chance that they didn't want the girl involved anymore than he did. “Let her go. I'll come with you. I don't know her, and you don't need her.” They ignored him and proceeded to tie her with plastic zip ties and position her in the back of the van. Lucien regretted his hostility inside the museum, but she had surprised him the last time they had met and again today. She was bad luck, or just bad news. Shortly after their last meeting at the museum a few weeks ago, he had run afoul of some men in China that didn't share his love of free enterprise. He hadn't gotten over it yet. A man he trusted, a guide, had handed him over to a local gang for a cash reward. The gang had tortured him for
weeks in an effort to get money or anything of value from him. Lucien's brother had rescued him, and brought him back to the United States. It was difficult to know who to trust in his business, and the safest solution was to not trust anyone.

He never liked surprises, but sometimes they intrigued him. This girl was undeniably intriguing. She had shocked him by what she said when they first met. Lucien didn't know how she had figured out that the Barye bronze was a fake, but she certainly shouldn't have been able to figure it out upon cursory inspection and with no background in authentication. A twenty-something art student just couldn't do that, but somehow she had. Lucien was starting to get the feeling that his problem with her was separate from his problem with the large man in front of him. She wasn't a criminal or bait - she was in trouble.

The large man finally looked up when it looked like she was situated. He shrugged noncommittally. “If you don't know her, I'll kill her later. You'll come now.”

“I thought you said that if I did know her you would kill her, does she die either way?” Lucien tried to reason with him, but realized he wasn't going to get very far.

“No. I said I would kill her if you didn't come with me. If you don't know her, she's useless, and she can identify Steven and me.” The thinner man nodded his head politely in Lucien's direction. “If you do know her, there's no reason to harm her, unless you're uncooperative. Well? Are you being uncooperative, sport?”

Lucien could see that he had little choice in the matter. He didn't even mind going with the men, but he didn't want someone else involved if things got messy. Still, the girl didn't deserve to be killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he could, he would help her. The only problem was keeping her quiet afterwards. He could probably guarantee her discretion with a little cash incentive. Money usually goes a long way to convince young women that their memories were faulty.

Lucien sighed.

“Fine, I'll come with you, but this is ridiculous. We could resolve any problems over coffee. Maybe some pie. I'll even buy.”

The large man glared. “Get in.” He escorted Lucien to the side of
the van. There were seats in the front, but the back was designed to haul cargo, not people. The girl was lying on her side with her hands and feet bound. Her mouth had a thick piece of duct tape across it. Steven had been quiet and efficient at his job. Thankfully, she was breathing and her hands were in front of her. Lucien knew from experience that having your hands tied behind you hurt a lot worse. He was reasonably certain that she would wake up in a foul temper, but without broken bones. He remembered the look on her face when she had seen him approaching her from the museum. She was scared, and her eyes were asking for help. That combination of fear and trust wasn't something he saw everyday, and it affected him.

The large man grabbed the rag and a bottle of liquid from the van.

“Lay down in the back, now.”

Lucien wrinkled his nose at the dirty bottle.

“You don't need to romance me with the chloroform. I'm coming with you, aren't I?”

“You're coming with me now. In 10 minutes, who knows?” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I don't like distractions while I'm driving.”

“You know, I'm not an unleashed Lab. I can sit still for extended periods of time. I promise not to crap on the upholstery.” The man motioned vigorously toward the open door. Lucien looked at him carefully. He knew the man and his friend had carefully orchestrated this abduction. They'd parked the van in a blind spot in the parking garage where the security cameras didn't reach. The large man had pulled the girl down just before she got into range of the nearest camera. The small man had bundled her into the van within minutes of her fall. Any person who may have wandered over thus far would have seen a few guys calmly talking to each other, two of them fashion victims of a military-inspired black ops collection, but nothing suspicious. Both kidnappers were armed, with their guns bulging under their black jackets. If he refused to be knocked out, he had no doubt they would be violent, and the girl would likely suffer also.

“Fine, let's get going.” Lucien got into the van and sat down cross-legged.

The large man leaned in and put a firm hand behind Lucien's head and the rag over his mouth. He startled a little, breathed deeply
several times and went slack. The large man held the rag over his mouth for a few more moments until he was certain Lucien was out cold. The thin man pulled his body straight, taped his mouth, and zip-tied his hands and feet to match the girl. The large man got behind the driver's wheel and the thin man climbed into the passenger's seat.

As they exited the parking garage, the thin man, Steven, spoke for the first time in a small, soft voice.

“Well, that was easier than expected.”

“Don't count on it,” thought Lucien from the back of the van.

5

CICERO SAT AT THE COMPUTER
in the library. The room was floor to ceiling books on every wall and antique furniture throughout. Thick velvet drapes blocked out the midday sun, for which Cicero was thankful. He was typically a night owl, and the glare of the sun was still an unwelcome sight. London was nice for the clouds. Atlanta tended toward the sunny. After getting dressed, he had snuck into the library without being seen by the rest of the house. They were busily humming about the kitchen, the offices, and studios. It made Cicero wish for the solitude of his operation in London. When he could, he lived separate from the others to maintain some sense of privacy, however contrived. Here, you couldn't divest yourself of your responsibilities for a moment. It was all very focused and not a lot of fun.

Hiding out in the library was one way to avoid the prying eyes of the rest of the house. The desk was enormous with drawers and nooks everywhere, but the only records Lucien kept were contained on a laptop computer. It sat like a desolate island on the expanse of dark antique wood. Modernization had hit the smuggling world. Sometimes Cicero missed papers and books, they were more satisfying to hold in his hands and leaf through in his own haphazard way. Lucien had finally convinced him of the importance of having a small, portable, and easily transferrable record. However, their business had certain legal ramifications that didn't need to be easily accessible. The computer was password protected and the files encrypted, but Cicero knew Lucien as well as he knew himself and within moments he was through the security protocols and wading through the last few weeks of activity.

The contents of the laptop were periodically downloaded to a server in the vault, and then wiped clean from the memory. If the laptop fell into the wrong hands, the information they got would be limited to whatever had been recorded since the last download. Also, during the download the archivists in the house would catalogue the latest entries appropriately and add them to the other records of Lucien and Cicero's life. Having complete files of what they did through the years made their work easier. If they needed to figure out whom they had sold a painting to 30 years ago, what the account balances were on their international accounts, or access their inventory of forgery supplies; all it took was a few keystrokes on the main server.

Reviewing any of Lucien's information older than a few weeks would require Laurel's help to get through vault security to the server. Under the house and behind several layers of physical and electronic security measures lay the main server and the vault containing the Atlanta house's portion of their collection of artwork. It was the reason this house was here, and held the best security they could buy, or design themselves. As such, it took two authorized people to access these areas. Laurel would help him get whatever he wanted, but she would also deliver any number of scathing and accurate assessments of his character in the process. Cicero decided to save that for another day and satisfy himself with what he could access on his own. Laurel didn't like him, and he found her as prickly as ever. The last time he visited the States, she let him know how much she disapproved of him. He let her know that it was none of her damn business how he led his life.

Cicero moved smoothly through the files and had progressed from the banal accounting figures to Lucien's most recent journal entries. It wasn't exactly the equivalent of reading his diary since he included his business dealings in the daily reports. However, it wasn't all expense breakdowns and inventories. Lucien wrote his personal entries intermixed with the financials. As he read, Cicero felt his brother's growing detachment and depression in the journals. There were no details of social activity, no outings that were not required of him by his business dealings. He barely left the house. Lucien may have stumbled into his recent Chinese troubles with an unconscious determination to hurt himself.

Cicero felt guilty that he hadn't seen this coming. He spoke to Lucien on the phone at least once a week, and shared anything and everything that was on his mind no matter how embarrassing or awkward. Apparently Lucien hadn't shared Cicero's candor. For the past six months, his brother had started to drift away from everyone who cared about him. Since Cicero arrived a few weeks ago, those closest to Lucien had mentioned how great it was to have Cicero back in the house to visit his brother. Cicero knew he personally annoyed most of the people who lived here, including Laurel. It seemed what they really missed was the palliative effect of his visits on Lucien. There was a tentative knock at the door.

“Yes?” Cicero looked up to see Dani's face peeking into the room. She was Lucien's latest personal assistant and archivist. Cicero's voice was usually deep and crisp, but it was still a bit hoarse since he hadn't spoken to anybody yet today. He noticed absently that he sounded rough and dangerous, which amused him, but didn't delay Dani.

“Lucien hasn't returned home yet.” Dani's brown eyes couldn't help but betray her worry. She looked to be about fifty years old, still quite athletic, with her hair twisted back into an intricate braid. Cicero knew Lucien valued her honesty and sense of humor, but at the moment she was exuding concern where he would prefer professional detachment.

Cicero cleared his throat, “So?” He returned to scanning the documents on the laptop, annoyed at the mother hen vibe. Lucien needed to lead his own life and land on his own two feet again. The China episode had scared the personnel in the Atlanta house, but Cicero knew that it was a fact of life in an unpredictable business. People got hurt when they committed crimes and interacted with criminals. Lucien needed to get back in the game, or lose confidence in himself forever. If Dani had her way, she would have had him laid up in bed for another few months with pudding cups and comic books. It was undignified. All this mollycoddling had made him weak.