A Thousand Cranes
Chapter 2
He stood by the window of his new apartment in the quiet peace before dawn, looking out over the Paris skyline. He expected a lot of Paris, maybe too much. He had paint under his nails, smudges of cerulean and yellow ochre stained his clothes. His dark hair had grown long, he pushed it back from his face. Neal walked over to the painting, leaned down and added a few tense strokes. As if one brush stroke could have changed one moment in time.
He was staring with a blind absorption for something he could not see. A truth that haunted him still.
The sun was just breaking, the lemon colored light filling his rooms. He would need to be to work soon. It was time to slip on his mask.
Victor Moreau was an impressive man. His credentials impeccable. He studied at the most prestigious art schools both in the states and abroad. Recruited right out of his graduate program to work in the elite Washington D.C. Art Crimes Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He made quite the reputation solving high profile cases, as well as being an accomplished art restoration specialist. A sly smile crossed his face, Diana Berrigan schooled him well in building an air tight identity.
By seven he was at the Louvre. He was on his second cup of coffee before most of the security day staff arrived. Uninterrupted, his thoughts traveled back to the day his plan took root.
Degas's Mary Cassatt was a tour de force of printmaking, etching, aquapoint and drypoint. But above all, Degas was a master of portraiture. It literally stole his breath away each time he viewed it. This was his fourth viewing in as many days. You never see her face, you sense who she is by how and where Degas places her. For a moment he was so caught up in the sumptuous beauty, he almost forgot the job he came to do.
He sat on a bench a few feet away as the most perfect light filtered down through the massively ornate windows, his sketch book on his lap. The first of two men entered from the eastern pavilion. He'd seen them on two other occasions. He watched carefully as they separated. He stood and approached a guard a few feet away.
"I need to see your head of security. You're about to be robbed."
"Pardon, monsieur. What did you just say?"
"You're being robbed, as we speak."
"You are mistaken."
"There's one way to find out. Wait for it…."
The first alarm went off somewhere in the massive building. Moments later he was being ushered into the security offices of the Louvre, where Henri Corot head of security stood studying him.
"So, Mon….."
"Victor. Victor Moreau," Neal extended his hand. "I think this may help speed things up." He produced his FBI badge.
"Most interesting. Art Crimes. How convenient that an expert from the FBI would be visiting at the moment a crime is being committed."
"The habits of caution run deep in our profession. I understand," Neal smiled un-phased. "But in a moment another alarm will go off. Then another and another."
An exactly as predicted the next alarm sounded. A large panel of video screens behind them began to light up.
"Impossible. The system must be malfunctioning, it is impossible for anyone to strike in so many locations at the same time."
"Exactly. That would be your inclination, a malfunction. May I?" Neal moved forward to the panel with Corot's approval. "The Atlas 40050, state of the art security system."
"Yes, we recently had it upgraded." Three more alarms went off as more guards were dispatched to the offending sounds. Corot turned to his assistant.
"Turn off the system and reboot."
"That is exactly what the thieves want you to do," Neal looked up at Corot who was on the verge of panic. "I've seen a variation of this strategy. It will take the system exactly 90 seconds to reboot. In that period of time your museum is completely vulnerable. Precisely what your thieves want. If you remember, the 1992 Vermeer heist took all of sixty seconds to complete."
"What do you suggest?" Corot said anxiously.
"Give them what they want."
"Pardon?"
"The Atlas 40050 upgrade has an override feature that allows programming while it is still online. Yes?"
"Yes."
"While in override it will look for all intents and purposes, as if the system has been shut down."
"Ah, but it will be still activated." Corot could see Moreau's expression register approval.
"Exactly. The thieves will think it has been shut down, once the alarms stop. However, when they strike their target the alarm will trigger and take you right to them," Neal smiled.
With the new programming in place Corot gave the order shutting down the system. And one by one, all the alarms came to a halt. The silence was deafening. Thirty seconds passed, forty and then at the 60 second mark an alarm sounded with a corresponding blinking light on the video screen.
"There," Neal pointed to the Egyptian Antiquities exhibit. There Monsieur Corot is where you should find your thieves."
Security took off in hot pursuit. Unfortunately the thieves were not apprehended, managing to escape before executing their plan. Half an hour later, once the appropriate reports had been filed, Henri Corot returned to the small office where he asked Victor Moreau to wait for him. It would be weeks of detailed investigations before this case was closed, but for the moment he was grateful the museum had been spared.
"We are in your debt, Monsieur Moreau. If there is anyway that we can repay you."
"Please, call me Victor. Actually, there may be a way. I was here to apply for the art restoration position you have advertised."
"You'll have to excuse me, but I took the liberty of running your information. I'm curious why someone with your credentials would walk away? And to take an entry level position. Even if it is at the Louvre."
"I expected no less from you. I would have done the same in your position. I needed a break."
"I was a threat to my supervisor's career, Phillip Kramer Chief of D.C. Art Crimes Division. He spent a great deal of time making sure no one took it away. And he didn't like me, probably because of my reputation for taking chances, not waiting for written approval."
"There was nowhere for me to go. I left, it was a mutual decision. I'm sure you've already read the glowing references he gave me."
"Yes, quite impressive."
"I've wanted to return to painting. So I came to Paris in search of my muse."
"Mary Cassatt? She is lovely. We have security footage." Corot nodded toward the video screen and image of Neal sitting in front of the Cassatt portrait. "You have been here four days in a row sketching her."
"One more question, if you don't mind. What tipped you off to the robbery?"
"Fast forward the security video to today. There, you see the two men enter. They keep their heads down, faces turned at an angle where the security camera cannot get a clear image. However, more importantly. They never look at one sculpture, not one painting. They pass her without the smallest glance," he gestures to the Degas work. "Anyone who would ignore such beauty could only be a criminal."
Corot laughed for the first time that day. "The job is yours, with one condition. You also consult for security."
"Merci. I have one condition, as well." Neal said.
"Done."
Victor Moreau was given a space to paint in the Degas collection, where the afternoon light was perfect.
Later as he left the Louvre, a text came through on the burner phone he purchased that morning. Went like clockwork. Payment received. Nice working with you.
It was done. He tossed the phone into the blue water of the Seine. Neal Caffrey was no more. Victor Moreau walked along the Pont des Arts, his body in step with the rhythms of his new home, but his heartbeat would always be in New York City.
Wcwcwc
De Gaulle Airport seemed much smaller and a lot nosier than he remembered it. The sounds amplified the nerves he was already feeling. He hurriedly picked up his bags and took a taxi to the small hotel just up the street from the Louvre museum. Peter stopped to catch his breath. It still felt unreal to him, the idea that Neal was alive, that at any moment he could possibly run into him on the city streets of Paris. He wanted to unpack, but left it for later; a sudden hopefulness washing over him.
The museum steps were covered with people taking photographs, resting their feet. It was a cool morning, but spring like in the sun. He threaded his way through the crowd and up the stairs of the grand palace. At the information desk, he asked if the Degas collection was all in one place. It was. The exhibit was mainly confined to four rooms on the next level.
The first room housed the little ballerinas, while the second was dominated by a wall of Degas's dancers. Dancers filled another room, but beyond the dancers was a smaller room, where a crowd had gathered.
An elderly couple speaking in Italian, a group of tourists and what appeared to be students pointing to a painting in progress in low voices. Peter blended into the shifting circle of people who had gathered. After a moment the artist leaned closer to the painting, studying something; his long dark hair barely grazing his shoulder. He turned to take in the texture of the paint, where the sunlight hit it.
Then he was there, across from him. Neal. It was Neal. Peter's heart jumped ridiculously in his chest. He wavered for the briefest moment, his legs threatening to give out, when he felt a hand on his elbow.
"Monsieur, can I help you? Are you well?" a young security guard asked him.
"Thank you, I'm fine. Just a bit of jet lag." Mercifully there was a bench nearby, where he could sit. "What's going on?" Peter nodded toward the growing crowd.
"Ah, Monsieur Moreau. They come to see Victoir paint. He takes his lunch hour to work here. He says the afternoon light is the most perfect he's ever found."
"How long has Mr. Moreau been with you?" Peter asked softly.
"Not very long, three months perhaps. He does restoration work for the museum mainly and also consults with our security officer. He helped to thwart a major robbery and it was all the talk. The museum was so impressed they offered him a job, on the spot. It is said that Victoir's one condition, would be that he have a space to paint here. His work is magnificent. No?"
"Yes." Conscious only of his heart beating, Peter watched the painting come to life under Neal's hand. It was Kate. He recognized her immediately, slender and strong. She was smiling, her eyes shining …filled with love for him. She wore a grand blue dress from a bygone era. Her expression caught so brilliantly, it was as if she was about to move…to laugh.
Neal half turned as if he felt his gaze, but then went back to his painting oblivious of the crowd. Peter had half forgotten how striking he was, how graceful and strong. There was such a look of joy on his face as he worked.
It would be so easy to walk over to him, interrupt this new life he had made. He wanted to hear his voice again, reassuring, confident and warm. Peter's hands trembled slightly. Is that what I should do? Am I doing this for Neal? He rose to his feet.
"Monsieur, will you be okay?"
He went quickly down the steps without looking back and walked as far and as fast as he could until he could breathe again. He sat down on the first empty bench he could find and reached for his cell phone.
"Diana."
"Peter, is that you?"
"I need a favor, Di."
"Anything."
"I need everything you can find on Victor Moreau."
TBC
Author's Notes
Thank you so much for all the encouragement to keep going. What are your thoughts so far? Should have the next chapter up soon.
