Chapter 1:
“Brian ... be careful”, said the blonde at the wheel, pulling the car to a halt and killing the headlights; it was just after midnight and the street was empty. Getting out, he looked back and grinned. “Aren’t I always?” came the answer and he closed the door.
Dressed in black from head to toe, he now pulled on a black ski mask and, keeping in the shadows, he quickly made his way to the rear of the building. The man was waiting for him and he handed Brian a holdall.
“’Ere is everything you requested”.
“Are you sure they’ve haven’t made any alterations to the alarm systems?” asked Brian.
“Not since the last test run they ‘aven’t ….. it’s all set up ... you just need to connect it. I ‘ave the password you will need”. His English was good, but there was no mistaking the heavy French accent.
“What about the cameras?”
“They will all be taken care of ... just follow the instructions. What about the money?”
“As soon as I’m back in the States, you’ll get your money”.
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t ... but how do I know I can trust you?”
“Oui ... but I don’t even know your name.”
“True and you could call the cops the minute I’m inside ... but that way you wouldn’t get your money ... it’s up to you.”
The man sighed and took from his pocket a slip of paper, which he then handed to Brian.
“Bon chance”, and he disappeared into the night.
Using the code given him, Brian let himself in through the rear door of the building and headed to his left, to the small room housing the alarm system and mains electricity.
He put down the holdall and unzipped it, removing a laptop and cell phone, which he placed on the floor and connected up. Using the password written on the slip of paper, access to the computerized alarm system was instant. He grinned, “It shouldn’t be this easy!” and he moved through the program, using the prompts, re-setting the system as required.
He then moved on, following the instructions, until he came to the cameras. He left the laptop recording for a full minute before sending it on a loop. Now the guards at the front desk should be watching a recording.
Zipping up the holdall and throwing it over his shoulder, he closed the door behind him. The most direct route to his goal was via the fire escape and the roof, much safer than making his way through the corridors, where he stood a chance of running into a guard.
Brian made his way to the top of the building and, once on the roof and keeping low, found the skylight he was looking for. He’d visited the gallery a few days before, memorizing exactly where the painting was located and smiled to himself when he saw it’s close proximity to the nearest entry point.
Removing the tool he’d requested from the holdall, Brian prized open the skylight; so far so good and he took out a length of rope which he secured to part of the air-conditioning system and, cautiously, he looked down into the room below.
Only the low emergency lighting was now on as all unnecessary lights were extinguished when the gallery was closed in order to preserve the delicate artwork. He took a deep breath and then dropped the other end of the rope through the opening. With the bag slung over his shoulder, he took hold of the rope. He tested it; it should hold his weight.
Silently, Brian swung himself over the edge of the skylight and lowered himself inside, passed the camera. Now was the next test, as he knew the floor had sensors, which would sound as soon as they detected any weight. He hoped the laptop was doing its job, bypassing all security systems in place.
Lightly, on tiptoe, he now moved across the floor to the painting he was looking for: A 17th century miniature, an exquisite piece and, holding his breath, he carefully removed the painting from the wall and laid it on the floor. From the holdall, Brian then took out the padded cover and now, safely protected, placed the miniature inside the holdall, which he then slung back over his shoulder.
Hand-over-hand, he hauled himself up through the skylight, pulling the rope up after him and carefully, he replaced the cover back in its original position. Then, from the bag, he took out a can of quick-drying sealer and secured the skylight safely back into place.
Winding the rope up he placed it back into the holdall, quickly looking around to make sure he’d left no evidence of ever having been there and then retraced his route back across the roof and down the fire escape. Silently, he re-entered the building, disconnecting and retrieving the cell phone and laptop. The system should now reset.
The car was waiting at the end of the alley, the headlights coming on as he approached. He got in and lent across, giving the driver a peck on the cheek.
“How’d it go?”
“Like a dream.”
The blonde smiled and shifted the car into gear and moved away, whilst Brian transferred the painting into an attaché case. Then, a short distance from the hotel, he opened the car door and threw the laptop, cell phone and holdall into the river.
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Back at the hotel suite, Brian took the painting, still in it's protective cover and packaged it ready to be transported to the buyer.
“Good ol’ FedEx”.
“I can’t believe you’re sending it that way,” remarked his companion, in total disbelief.
“Best way. Fake return address on the label ... no connection to anyone. It’s worked before, so there’s no reason to think it won’t again. Besides, this way it doesn’t draw attention to itself ... nobody knows what’s in it. It’ll be in the system before you know it”.
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The following morning after breakfast, Brian walked leisurely down to the post office at the end of the street and mailed the painting. The buyer, a rich Japanese businessman, was paying handsomely. Just as well, money didn’t go as far as it used to.
They spent the rest of the day sightseeing, before returning to the hotel and changing for dinner and a spell at the tables. The hotel, 5-star, boasted one of the finest casinos in the country.
Brian felt sure he was on a lucky streak, trying his hand first at the craps tables and then on to poker. He had a wonderful poker face; no one could ever work out from his expression what cards he held and he was already the equivalent of $50K in front. It was getting late, but time for one more game and they moved on to the roulette wheel.
Handing the blonde a stack of chips, Brian instructed, “Knock yourself out”. His companion smiled, placing all the chips on one number. Brian winced. “Ouch ... are you sure?” but all he got in return was a smile and a wink.
They waited. They had drawn a large crowd, their progress from table to table had been closely monitored, by the management as well as other players, eager to see the house lose for once.
With all bets now having been placed, the wheel was spun and after what seemed an eternity, it finally came to rest: Black 24. Brian grinned and let out a huge sigh of relief.
The croupier scooped up the chips and dropped them on the table in front of Brian. Picking them up, he pocketed a few before handing the rest over to the man now hovering by his side. “I’ll collect the check in the morning”, he said to him.
“Monsieur Kinney, I fear you will bankrupt us before long.”
“I doubt that Pierre,” Brian answered and the casino manager called the waiter forward, offering the bottle of expensive Champagne to one of their most highly valued members.
Brian looked at the waiter. “Maybe we could have that delivered to our suite?” he asked.
“But of course, Jacques will bring it up to you”.
Smiling, Brian placed a €200 chip in Jacques’ waistcoat pocket, as he and his companion headed for their suite.
“My dear ... did I tell you how ravishing you look tonight?” said Brian, as they entered their rooms and he turned to place a quick peck on the proffered cheek.
“For what this dress cost I would hope so,” said the blonde, kicking of the shoes that were now starting to pinch and picking them up. Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a chip, a high denomination one, which he tucked into the top of the very expensive gown.
“Here, a little bonus”.
“Thanks Brian. I’m beat ... I’m gonna turn in ... goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Cyn” came the reply and, just as Cynthia opened the door to her bedroom, there came a knock.
“That’ll be the Champagne”, she said, smiling broadly and she closed her bedroom door behind her.
Brian opened the door to the hallway and, sure enough, Jacques was waiting with two glasses and an ice bucket containing the Champagne.
Grabbing a hold of his waistband, Brian hauled the waiter in through the door, which he then closed behind him, leading the more than willing man to his bedroom.
“That’s what I call room service”, said Brian, grinning back at him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“IS TAYLOR HERE YET?” yelled Dan Marshall, Chief Claims Assessor with AXIS Insurance, New York.
“You wanna watch that blood pressure, Dan ... you’ll be blowing a gasket before too long”, teased Justin Taylor, as he entered Dan’s office. He’d known the man for a few years now and had got used to his yelling the place down until he went red in the face.
“Is it a wonder? Christ, look at this ... came in overnight. That sonovabitch has done it again ... this time a 17th century miniature ... worth a small frigging fortune ... just spirited away. Guards doing their rounds realized it was missing ... fucking alarm systems didn’t detect a thing” and he passed Justin a photograph of the stolen painting.
“It’s a beautiful piece alright ... must have been stolen to order .. you’d never pass on a work of art like this otherwise. You got any idea who might have done it?”
“Oh yeah ... I’ve got an idea alright”, replied Dan and he turned to pick up the folder from the filing cabinet behind him.
He opened it and took out a photograph. “Brian Kinney ... this guy seems to crop up every now and again. Bit of a mystery man ... no one seems to know that much about him, but he’s usually got some blonde on his arm and he always seems to be caught on camera either entering or leaving a country around the time of an expensive heist ... and this was taken five days ago at Charles de Gaulle airport. I’ve asked the authorities there to let us know the minute he leaves”.
Justin took the photograph from him. It was of a brunet, a tall and extremely attractive man who obviously had a good body under the expensive, yet casual clothing he was wearing. But there was something about the man’s eyes; they were hauntingly beautiful and they seemed to be looking straight at the camera and Justin felt a tingling up his spine.
“Well, if you think he’s involved ... why don’t you just have the Police pick him up and question him?”
“Well,” replied Dan, “we haven’t got any real evidence against him yet ... just circumstantial. No one seems to know that much about him, though he's appeared on the guest list of all the right social gatherings ... not that it seems he attends any, but rumor has it he's involved in the fund raising for one or two charities ... we have to have a little more on him before we can do anything”.
“Okay ... usual deal?”
“Usual deal ... the finder’s fee on this one should be a tidy sum of money. If it happens to lead to a conviction, all the better”.
“Any idea where I start?” asked Justin, hardly able to take his eyes of the photograph.
“Pittsburgh”.
“Pittsburgh ... why Pittsburgh?”
“Kinney’s got a place there. It’s his home town and from what we can gather spends most of his time there ... apart from a half-dozen trips abroad a year where it seems he's a bit of a gambler. Maybe that's why he has to steal ... maybe he's got a habit.”
“Mmm ... can I keep this?” asked Justin, indicating the photograph. “Sure", answered Dan, "and you better take the file. You need to do your homework ... from what little information there is”, and Justin took the file from him and headed for the door.
Dan called him back. “Justin, he’s no fool ... you start snooping around he’ll know we’re on to him, so be careful”.
“Will do, Dan”.
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Justin crossed town to his own office where Daphne, his PA, greeted him as he arrived and pointed at the file Justin was holding. “That looks interesting. Where we off to this time?”
Justin dropped the papers down on to her desk. “Well, Daph, you better go home and pack a few things ... we’re off to Pittsburgh”.
“Pittsburgh? Why is it you get all the glamorous assignments, Justin?” and he shot her a look as he headed into his office to pick up his laptop before going home himself and packing a bag.
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They were on the turnpike with Justin at the wheel of his car and Daphne was going through the folder. “This guy's a bit of a mystery ... goes overseas a few times a year though ... London ... Paris …. Rome ... so what the hell’s he doing in Pittsburgh?”
“Dan says he’s from there originally ... that he’s still got a home there”.
“Oh yeah”, she answered, looking through the papers, “Here it is ... Brian Kinney, 32 ... born Pittsburgh and attended Carnegie-Mellon … took Economics and Media Relations and Marketing Communications.”
“His Father seems to have worked at some pretty shitty jobs until he died of cancer some years ago and it doesn’t say much here about how he got his money. Oh, wait a minute ... here’s something. Looks like there was some sort of inheritance when he was about 20, but there's nothing to say what he's been doing the last 12 years apart from some low-key charity work. His Mother’s still alive and he has a sister, Clare, a single Mom with a couple of kids".
She shot him a quick glance. "There's no record of Kinney ever having been married though."
She picked up a photograph taken of Brian at one of the few charity functions he’d actually attended; he was wearing a tux. “He’s pretty hot, Justin”, she said, grinning at him.
In the fading light inside the car, Justin hoped Daphne couldn’t see he was blushing slightly and he cleared his throat before speaking. “Is he ... I hadn’t noticed. Doesn’t he always have some blonde with him?” Daphne looked through the papers some more. “Cynthia”, she informed him.
“Yeah, well she seems to be with him most of the time from what I can see ... so don’t go getting any ideas ... okay, Daphne”.
“Okay ... you’re the boss”, she answered him, but Daphne kept on grinning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Justin Taylor, 30 years old and with a Fine Arts Degree, had worked as a freelance Insurance Investigator out of New York for the last three years. And in that time, he’d begun to make a name for himself, investigating, recovering or brokering deals enabling the recovery of several valuable pieces of stolen art, leading to a successful conviction on more than one occasion. And now he had Brian Kinney in his sights.
To be continued.
August 20th 2004