The Treasure Hunt Job
AN: for fun and pleasure. . . no rights infringements intended. I'm only playing!
Rated for language and violence (after all we ARE talking about Eliot)
Part One
Boston:
"No," Eliot Spencer slammed his empty beer glass down and gestured to the television. "Listen man, there's no way that cat's coming back in the game. That tackle took out his knee. Right there!" The replay crossed the screen. "See. He's not getting back up. Game's over, dude, you may as well pay up now."
"It's not over, man." Hardison rocked back on the bar stool. "Not even close." He looked over his shoulder and caught sight of a short woman with a long dark hair staring at them from across the bar. "You've got an admirer."
Eliot glanced over. She stood alone, near the door. Despite the furrow across her brow and the fierce look in her eyes, she was damn cute. One side of his mouth curled up when she didn't shy away from his stare. The hitter turned fully toward her, almost in challenge.
She pushed away from the bar, hiked her canvas bag over her shoulder, and crossed to him. "You're Eliot Spencer."
The smile dropped off his face. "Who are you?"
"A friend of Boone's." She looked away for the first time, a flicker of pain in her eyes. "He sent me, said you could help."
Hardison watched him stand, take her by the arm and steer her away. Eliot's scowl kept him from following. Still, once they were a few feet away the cell phone came out. Nate needed to know something was up.
The door to the back room barely closed before Eliot muttered. "Talk."
"Boone is in Kandahar and he said you're the one he trusts." She dropped the heavy bag to the floor. He could see the tension bunched in her shoulders.
"He would have called."
"Three days ago he was heading into the mountains. No coms. Here," she dug her cell phone out of her pocket. "He left this." She punched up her voicemail and put on the speaker.
A gruff voice spoke through the static. "Baby, I'm here already. Heading to the hills right now. Listen, find Spenc. Think about my Fujian story. Try McRory's back in Boston. You should be able to find it, near your old neighborhood. Tell him everything. He'll take care of it. Keep you head down. Remember what I taught you."
Eliot relaxed a bit. That was Bill Boone's voice. Whomever she was, this girl was sent by a friend. "Okay, darlin', sit down. Let's start with your name."
"Amber Shaw." She sunk into the offered chair.
"How do you know that old dog?"
"Neighbors, originally. He shot a couple coyotes that were after my dog. That was six or seven years ago, but we became real close. He calls me the little sister he never wanted."
"You're Rocky." He put the nickname with the story.
"Please, do not call me that. I can't get him to stop. But no one else is allowed to use it." Amber rubbed her hands over her tired face. "I'm in trouble and I've run out of options."
"Okay," He sat down next to her. "I'm going to call someone in -" She pushed back a little, but he put his hand over her forearm. "He runs the crew. It's okay." She bit her lip, but nodded.
Eliot dialed Nate's number and he answered on the first ring, "yeah."
"I need you down in the - " The door opened. Eliot should have known. He shut off the phone. "Back room," he finished. "Nate, this is Amber. She was sent by someone I trust."
For such a short explanation, it spoke volumes. Eliot Spencer trusted so few people that the statement meant this was an extraordinary situation, one without question. Nate extended a hand. "Nathan Ford. What can we do to help?"
Amber took the man's hand. He was not what she imagined a crew leader to be. The wrinkled button shirt, messy hair and easy smile put her off guard. Perhaps, she thought, that was the plan. "Mr. Ford, a very bad man is trying to kill me."
They settled around the table and Nate asked her to start from the beginning.
"A week ago two FBI agents showed up at my work to tell me they found my bother's body." Amber gave a brief thanks for the cup of coffee Eliot sat in front of her. "My brother disappeared sixteen years ago. He was my whole world. Two years before he vanished, we'd lost our parents in a freeway accident and he stepped up, took care of everything. I always knew something bad had happened to him. At the time, though, no evidence turned up to indicate foul play and the cops concluded he just took off."
The two men waited patiently as she took a long sip of the hot coffee and gathered her thoughts. "They found his body, in his car, deep in a forest a few hours west of Boston. The feds said he was murdered. I went down, identified some of his personal items, went through an interview, and did what I could to help them. Unfortunately, it wasn't much. The next day Chuck Jenkins showed up at my door."
Amber described him as best as she could and continued. "My brother used to run around with him when I was a kid. He was that guy, you know, that hung out with the younger kids so he could act like a big shot. Looking back, though, he always had cash in his pockets. Michael hung with him more and more after our folks died. I guess I always knew they were up to something not-quite legal. Michael paid the bills, so I never asked."
"Anyway," She mentally shook off the old images. "Chuck comes banging on my door within in an hour of the FBI dropping me off. He tried to act all distraught, like the Feds talked to him first, but he's a terrible liar. Like I wouldn't wonder why he was in Colorado Springs to begin with. The whole conversation went from 'are you okay?' to 'what did they say?' to 'give me what they gave you' in ten minutes. He started to get rough." Amber shrugged, but couldn't complete hide her smirk. "I had to break his nose. Boy, that really pissed him off."
"What exactly did he want from you?" Nate tried to ignore Eliot's chuckle.
"I got one little bag of stuff that was on Michael that the Feds didn't keep for evidence. There was his watch – it used to be Dad's; a picture of the two of us that was stuck in the visor of his car; and his keys and key rings." She whispered the last. "His wallet was destroyed during decomposition."
"So why was Chuck interested?" Eliot finished his beer.
"I wondered it too. So I started to dig. The more I found out, the more he pushed. He stalked me everywhere I went, tried cornering me a the store, broke into my house and tore it apart. He even knocked out the brakes in my car. It's a good thing I know how to down-shift and had a field to plow into. I pulled out every trick Boone taught me. I stopped traveling alone or in any kind of pattern. He forced me into leaving work, because he went in with a 12 gauge and scared the crap out of all of them. The last time he caught up with me, he didn't bother talking and just tried to shoot me. I withdrew my money and have been operating on cash. I made here in a beater I bought off Craigslist. It's not even registered." The more she explained the angrier she grew. "He's stalked my friends, beat up some of them that pushed back. He's taken shots at me. I have a feeling I know what he's after, and for a payout like this, he'll kill me. No problem."
"What sort of payout?" Nate asked. "You think he and your brother pulled a job of some sort."
"I think the stumbled into THE job." She smiled bitterly. "And Michael took the key to his grave."
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
Nate looked over the items Amber had spread on the table. His brain sped through the possibilities. He picked up and examined each one in turn.
A picture of a younger Amber and her brother dressed up for Halloween, she as prisoner in black and white, and her brother in a very convincing security guard uniform. It was marked 'Halloween 1989'. Next to that was the faded and aged photo from Michael's visor. Again, brother and sister stood arm in arm, but this time standing in front of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum sign. On the back was written 'WSC B6 D104 B1 L23 17 55 34 2'. The key ring held a key for a master lock. Most interesting was the handwritten note on a utility bill envelope. "Am, Won't be back until tomorrow night. Here's pizza money. Okay to call Becca. No parties! Remember to put trash out in the morning. M." However, the words on the back held Nate captive – 'Art = Vermeer'.
Amber waited a while before pointing out another detail. "Michael wrote this note March 17, 1990. It was the last thing he ever left me. It was on top of a bunch of college applications for schools I wanted to attend, but knew we couldn't afford."
"Wow." Sophie leaned back in her chair, wide-eyed and shocked.
"Wow." Parker leaned forward on her elbows, grinning like a fool.
"What?" Hardison asked, feeling left out.
Nate finally looked up at the brunette sitting pensively across from him. Eliot stood behind her chair. They'd met less than an hour ago, and the hitter already stood as her protector. If she was right, if these clues added up, she was going to need protecting. "Yeah, there's a lot of people who would kill for a half billion dollars."
"What?" Both Eliot and Hardison bellowed. They instantly began talking at the same time.
"Half a billion, with a 'B', billion?"
"Assassins will come out of the woodwork. . ."
"What in the hell is worth - ?"
"Damn it, If Boone knew –."
"Guys!" Nate yelled over the top of them. "Guys! One at a time." He motioned to Eliot.
"What the hell?" He swept his hand over the table, too agitated to say much more.
"What he said." The hacker agreed.
"The Gardner Heist."Parker breathed, a euphoric droop to her eyes.
"In 1990 the Gardner Museum was hit. The two thieves dressed as security guards got away with twenty-two painting that would now be worth more than $500 million." Nate began.
"They weren't pros, though." Sophie picked up. "They cut the paintings straight out of the frames. Some very valuable pieces were taken - Rembrandt's seascape and the Vermeer are worth hundreds of thousands each - but they also took paintings of far less value than some others they left behind. It didn't make any sense."
"The cops never even came close to a viable suspect. It's still unsolved." Nate finished.
"You think her brother was one of the thieves?" Eliot clarified.
"I think my brother was one of the thieves." Amber looked up, over her shoulder at him. Her eyes showed nothing of the excitement gleaming the eyes of the others. Sadness shadowed her pretty features. "I think it's why he died, and I'm damn sure it's why they're after me."
He put both of his hands on her shoulders, rubbing slightly. "I won't let them get anywhere near you."
Amber closed her eyes, almost against her will. She believed him. Even though they had just met she knew he was the same kind of man Boone to be. Their word, their duty, meant something. Besides, for the first time since the FBI arrived at her door, she felt safe. His hands helped the tension in her shoulders, but it also intensified her exhaustion. She'd barely slept in over last two weeks.
Nate took in the dark circles under the girl's eyes and how she nearly collapsed under Eliot's hands. "Okay," He pushed back from the table. "We need to dig further into this. We also need to get a bead on Jenkins. Eliot, we'll get started on that, and you can get Amber settled in. I think it's best we keep her close for now."
"But –"she began to argue.
"When was the last time you slept?" Nate leaned forward, looking very fatherly.
"A while."
"Get some rest, and give us a chance to do what we do."
Silently Amber acquiesced.
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
Amber swam out of the deepest sleep, becoming vaguely aware of the soft pillow and dark navy sheets pulled close to her head. She breathed deep, the masculine scent embedded in the linens making her feel warm. She wanted to bury herself further in to the darkness and drift back to sleep. The nagging voice, the paranoid part that kept her alive, screamed. "Where the hell am I?"
She came straight up, fully aware. In an instant she registered the room. She sat in a king size bed, comfortable, and covered in simple high quality linens. One window, with a sliver of light shining through the cracked black out curtains was to her right. An heirloom tall boy dresser sat nearby, its top scattered with hair ties and a couple watches. A brown leather club chair, half covered in a pair of jeans and a jacket, took up a corner. Through an open door, she could see into a large master bathroom with its own natural light source. The other door was closed.
Her tension faded with the recall of Eliot offering up his room for her. 'Six hours,' Amber though as she looked at the side table clock. 'Doesn't even feel like I rolled over.'
Slipping out of bed, she readjusted her pajamas and moved to the closed door. Out of habit, Amber paused, listening for anything on the other side. Quiet tunes of Garth Brooks reached her ears. Otherwise, all was silent.
Opening the door a little, she immediate saw Eliot, back to her, standing in the kitchen. He had a red and white dish towel flung over his right shoulder. She watched. He worked away at the cutting board, intent on his task.
Amber cleared her throat softly as she moved into the main area of his flat.
Eliot looked over his shoulder. A half smile touched his face at the sight of her in the gray tank, lavender pj bottoms and tussled hair. "You're up."
"M-hm." She shuffled closer.
"Hungry?"
"Starved."
"Hope you like Mexican."
"Love it." A yawn took her by surprise.
He chuckled. "You were out cold. I checked on you a couple times."
Alarms went off in head. She slept through someone coming into the room?
Eliot caught the look of shock, even though she tried to hide it. "Hope you don't mind."
"Um, no." Amber shook her head. "It's fine. Thank you." She pulled at her lip with her teeth. "Sorry. I'm just. . . it's been a while since I've been able to put my guard down. You know? Guess I really needed the rest."
"Don't apologize." He tossed a couple handfuls of thinly slice onion into a hot skillet. "That's why you're here. Rest up, and let me worry about it. I'll handle it."
Let him worry about it. Amber rolled the idea around her head. It was something Boone would say. She believed him, too. For her, trusting someone to water her plants was a stretch. Trusting someone to handle a threat to her life? It was in a completely different stratosphere. Still, she believed him. Eliot would handle it.
"What can I do to help?" She smiled at last.
"Nothing, darlin'," He smiled back. It was a genuine smile, touching his eyes. "Just park your ass over there. It'll be done in about ten minutes."
Following his gesture toward the sofa, a realization hit her. "You don't have a television!"
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
"What have you found?" Nate lowered himself into the chair, staring at the images flowing across the multi-screen display. Hardison was scanning through them too fast to make sense of them.
"You want to run this without Eliot?" Alec looked up from the keyboard.
"I don't think he's going to come back here until Amber is awake." Sophie smile. "He seems to have appointed himself her personal protector."
"Actually, someone he trusts appointed him her protector." Nate explained.
"Huh? Who?" Parker asked through half a mouth of Lucky Charms.
"Don't know. It's someone Eliot trusts. That's enough." He said plainly. "Go ahead, run it."
"Okay, Chuck Jenkins." A picture of a stocky, balding guy in his early forties popped up. "Run of the mill thug. Had several juvenile arrests for petty theft, assault. As an adult he graduated to check fraud, car theft. Never seemed to hold down a real job outside of a bar somewhere. He has some known associates, but even they're the hired muscle and not really criminal masterminds. He has $312.48 in his bank account. No hidden funds I could find."
"Any idea where he is now?"
"He used his ATM card at a gas station across town. Bought fifteen gallons of cheap unleaded, two packs of cigarettes and a half rack of, ew, Keystone." Hardison pulled up a map. "He's had cell phone activity in this neighborhood. No hotel, so maybe he's crashing with a friend. He's definitely in the city, though."
"Does he have any ties in the city?"
"Maybe to some local talent from back in the day."Hardison shrugged. "But he's mostly been working up near Chicago. I've set up a facial recognition cross check to catch if he's seen with any know locals."
"Keep an eye on him." Nate nodded.
"So how does he tie into the Gardner?" Sophie curled one foot under her.
"Still working on it." Hardison pulled up a few more pictures. "Jenkins had ties back then to this guy, John Roche. He was linked with Arthur Carlton."
"He was a black market dealer." Sophie sat up a little straighter. "I remember hearing about him. He died, didn't he?"
"Yeah, he turned up in a New Orleans hotel room with several dozen bullets in him." Nate provided. "So do you think Carlton ordered the job?"
Hardison scoffed. "Don't know. If he did, it was damn sloppy. As a dealer he should have taught them not to cut the paintings from the frames."
"Art = Vermeer" Nate remembered aloud. "What if it was a play to move up in Carlton's favor?"
"Maybe," Hardison agreed. "Sure."
"But where are the paintings!" Parker finally exploded.
"Parker!" Sophie jumped. "Calm down."
"I think we need to find out more about Michael's movements before he disappeared." Nate turned to the thief. "Why don't you see if Amber is awake yet."
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
"So, Hardison is following Jenkins movements. He uses a card, a cash machine, or drives past a fucking traffic camera and we'll know." Eliot watched her devour her second helping. "They're also running down information along a couple other avenues. If there are other clues to the heist we'll find it first ."
They would make a hell of a payday, if it really did lead to the Gardner paintings. She knew she would have to broach the subject of money soon. For now though, feeling somewhat safe was enough.
She mopped up the last of the sauce with a piece of tortilla and ate it. Pushing the plate away, a content sigh slipped out. "That was the best damn meal I've had in ages."
"Thanks."
Standing, Amber scooped up the plates and headed to the kitchen.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" He followed.
"Dishes. You cooked."
"Nope." Eliot reached for the plates.
"Yes." She side stepped.
"No."
"Yes."
"Children." Parker's deadpan voice startled them both. Amber jumped so bad the dishes leapt from her fingers, crashing to the floor.
"Damn it, Parker." The hitter growled. The blond thief stood in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed. She shrugged her shoulders with a 'what did I do?' look. He knelt to help Amber pick up the mess. Standing, his hands full of broken plate, he grumbled again. "What? Parker. Huh? What?"
"Nate asked me to see if Amber was awake yet." She said as if it explained everything.
"So, you couldn't use the front door!"
"If she was still sleeping, I didn't want to wake her." Parker looked at him like she was having to explain that water was wet.
"You. . ." He started and stopped a few times. "There's something wrong with you." Eliot muttered under his breath.
Amber wiped up the floor, trying to get her racing heart under control. She finally turned to Parker. "Could you please let Nate know I'll be there as soon as clean up and change."
"Sure." Parker gave a big grin and turned back into the bedroom.
"No!" Eliot boomed. "Front door." He pointed.
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
"You sure about this?" Amber looked over her shoulder for the fifth time. Eliot was leading her down the street to a coffee shop. There were so many people out, it was hard for her to keep an eye on everyone.
"Yes, I'm sure." He put his hand lightly on her elbow. "I'm not going to let anything happen. We're just running in for a quick to go cup before heading up to Nate's."
Few people sat in the coffee shop, being late in the afternoon. A couple sat close in one corner, pouring over real estate ads. A dark haired woman read 'Cat's Cradle' at another table. The only other patron was an impatient skater tapping on his board, waiting for his order. A tiny little woman behind the counter greeted them cheerily. Her voice matched her form, it was high and tinny.
Eliot placed their order, almost grimacing each time the little barista spoke. He caught the skater staring at him. His feature slid into a hardened glare. "What?"
"Nothing, man." The skater apologized. "Just checking out your tribal thing, whatever it is. Pretty cool."
"Oh." The hitter remembered he was wearing a silver and turquoise Cherokee pendant. "Thanks."
They waited a little while before the barista gave them their drinks. Testing the temperature with a sip, Amber noticed the skater tapping away on his smart-phone. He glanced up, and hurriedly tucked the phone away. She felt the hairs on her neck stand.
"After you." Eliot held the door open for her.
She went through, stealing another glance back. Then several things happened at once. Amber nearly ran into a human wall, as Eliot's crushing grip pulled her arm backwards. She fell into a metal bistro table, crashing over the chair and landing on concrete hard. Her mind failed to register the hot coffee spill down her shirt.
Eliot barely perceived the threat before his body reacted. Moving Amber away with his left hand, his right fist crashed into the bigger man's throat causing the trachea to collapse. The goon stumbled back, unable to breathe. Following his momentum, Eliot continued the counterclockwise spin and brought his left elbow into the second man's solar plexus. He doubled over. Eliot's knee connected with the side of his head and the man went down. The third man's fist grazed Eliot's jaw, but he moved with it dropping and hitting the third man on the side of the knee, tearing through ligaments. The hitter rose, putting the strength of his legs behind the punch to the other's jaw. The third man came clear of the ground and landed hard on his back, unconscious.
The whole exchange took seven seconds.
Amber stood just in time for Eliot to grab her hand. "Come on."
He pulled her down the street, as she looked over her shoulder. People were just beginning to the gather around the guys on the ground. Amber nearly tripped and figured she better pay attention to where Eliot led her. He walked fast, a furious scowl on his face. His trained eye never stopped scanning the crowd, the cars, the building windows. Soon they reached their building.
"Do you have another change of clothes?"
"Yeah." Amber pulled the wet coffee stained material away from her chest. Now that her heart rate dropped to normal, she fought to remember everything. It all happened so fast, but she still caught the details of the attackers. Eliot's ferocity and speed stood out as the strongest recollection. "That was pretty impressive."
The corner of Eliot's mouth curled into an evil grin. "That was nothin'." The seriousness returned. "I recognized one of those guys. I think Chuckles got himself some help."
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
"So, Jenkins went running to Frankie Padula." Nate leaned back in his chair, watching the three different traffic camera feeds at the same time. The bulky Jenkins huddled outside the entrance to Padula's Italian Pastaria. He knew the place. They had really good puttanesca and an active crime syndicate.
"It makes sense." Eliot cracked open a beer. "I heard a lot of Carlson's muscle took work with him."
Nate nodded. "Jenkins looks up old friends, and they lead him to Frankie. He figures he can't get to Amber on his own. So, what? He figures some of the take is better than none of it and lets Frankie in on the secret?"
"What's to keep Frankie from just knocking him off and taking it all for himself?" Parker asked.
"Good question. He must have part of the puzzle too and is keeping it as insurance." Nate shot out of the chair and began pacing. "What do we know? Michael left Amber a padlock key and he wrote some sort of code on a picture at the Gardner."
"Man, I've checked everything I can think of." Hardison threw out. "It's not coordinates, or an account number, or a lock box, or –"
"Damn it! Can't you just say 'I don't know'?" Eliot barked. "It's not that fuckin' hard."
He only received a glare in return.
"We need a Rosetta stone." Nate muttered to himself. "Okay!" He slapped his hands together. "We need eyes and ears in Frankie Padula's place."
"How in the hell –"
"That's not –"
"You can't just waltz into –"
"Hardison, how's your pallet?" Nate cut them all off.
"What?"
"We need to steal a winery."