Cosima comes bearing gifts.
They'd been here before, of course. Many times, in fact: in Vienna, in London, and in Nuuk, where she had stayed only long - for Cosima Caravello did notcare for the cold - enough to pilfer a whalebone corset dating back to the height of the Norsemen. But those were not the moments he remembered - no, Rusty could only think of Saint Petersburg, where she'd spirited about for the bits of the heist that did not involve her, clicking her heels together and distracting them all from their jobs. Which is not to say mistakes were made, because they were professionals, but someone had looked away at just the right moment and -
She thrusts a magnum of champagne forward, nearly knocking him in the chin. "For Mr. Caldwell in celebration of the start of a wonderful partnership."
"Wonderful," Rusty echoes, moving aside just enough to allow Cosima to slip past him; he spies a second bottleneck protruding from her bag. "You're late. Linus is already explaining everything." He underlines late with a slight waving of the bottle in his hand; the golden foil at the neck crinkles under his grip and Cosima smiles.
"Mind the gold leaf," she says.
Gold - bleeding - leaf.
"Unbelievable," Rusty says, following Cosima out of the suite's marble-covered foyer and towards the sunken living space, where the rest of the crew was seated on the various bits of opulent furniture: Turk and Frank seated on either side of a cherrywood table that was surely from the 1800s; Livingston, Basher, and Virgil sitting in a row on the cherub-printed couch, Livingston's laptop open on his lap; Danny was standing behind an armchair, the sleeves of his oxford shirt rolled to his elbows and his forearms braced on the back of the chair. He's the first to notice Rusty enter the room, Cosima trailing behind him, and Rusty makes a line to stand next to him as Cosima says, from behind him:
"Livingston!"
Livingston lifts his eyes from his laptop screen; his fingers twitch over the keys as if he could write a code to remove himself from the room. "Oh," he says weakly.
Oh, indeed.
Half an hour later, the champagne still hasn't been opened, and Cosima is finding herself far more interested in what is going on in the square below the hotel than what Linus is going on about, thinking that perhaps the lecture would be far more interesting with a bit of champagne. But Linus barely looked at her when she came in, much less her gift; he's had his nose stuck into his research for the entire afternoon.
She spins around to face front and raises her hand in the air.
Sheets and sheets and sheets of blueprints spread out on the low, glass table, marked all over by red ink; projected over the suite's electric fireplace is an architect's animated rendition of what the Astly Studio and Gallery of Monte Carlo was to look like once it was finished, and pictures of what it actually looks like are taped to the wall around the projection for comparison and context. Grainy as they may be - taken on a mobile phone so as not to attract attention - they show the architect's vision come to life in clean, modern lines. Artwork hangs on lines from the ceiling like stalactites in a glittering, glass cave.
The very make up of the gallery makes Rusty feel vulnerable and exposed, even now, from the suite. Even Basher, who is brash - though never irresponsibly so - and brawdy, is watching Linus's presentation over steepled fingers that can't quite hide his worried expression.
She presses her tongue to the back of her teeth and waves her hand around.
Linus's mouth closes around an unfinished sentence about the gallery's security, and he looks at Cosima like he's forgotten that she was sitting in the room.
"Yes?" he says cautiously.
"Can we - sorry, sorry, excuse me," she says, peeling herself from the windowsill and sidestepping around Frank and Turk. She curls her hands around the back of the couch, fingers brushing Basher's shoulder. She can smell the smoke on him and wonders if her fingers will come away smudged black with gunpowder. "Can we talk about the pay off?"
"I was getting there -"
"I am sure you were," she says, but she continues speaking without paying him much attention. "But, honestly, very little of this concerns me. I would just as soon show up for my bit and be done with it."
Tossing his laser pointer from one hand to the other, Linus waits patiently for her to be finished.
"This." She motions to the entire mess spread out in the suite "You're going to have to sell everything, yeah? I mean, that's where the money comes from - it is not robbing a casino, gentlemen. And you will lose quite a bit of money because these pieces are fairly high profile, which means they will not be so easily sold -"
As if she's saying something profound, Linus nods.
It sets Rusty's teeth on edge. "Is there a point here, Cosima?" he asks, and there's something sharp in the smile that he flashes in her direction, in the narrowing of his gray eyes.
"Rusty," Danny intones.
But Cosima doesn't seem to quite take the bait. She says, "It just seems like a lot of work for a relatively low outcome," but her full attention is focused on Linus, and his on hers. Cosima flashes another beatific smile as she shrugs, adding, "Risk versus reward, right?"
Linus smiles faintly back at her, and says, "From what I've heard, you're the biggest risk here."
There's silence, except for the tapping of Livingston's laptop; it seems more frenzied. Frank and Turk, who had been watching the conversation like a match at Wimbledon, freeze, staring somewhere between Linus and Cosima. Both of Danny's eyebrows raise, but his eyes betray the fact that he's trying very hard not to smile.
Cosima rocks onto her toes, looking thoughtful. "And the reward is better than I am?" she asks. Her lips curl into a smile. "What aren't you telling us, Linus-Son-of-Bobby-Caldwell-Caldwell?"
The tension in the room doesn't disappear, but it does seem to melt, just slightly.
The question is not - or rather, it shouldn't be - 'what isn't he telling them?' as much as it is (should be) 'what aren't you telling me?'
But Linus is playing that close to the chest for now.
The light begins to fail, casting a glare on the projection screen; Basher stands and stretches, and the team seems to fan out around him, disbanding for the evening. Some are going out for dinner; others straight to their respective living arrangements. Linus doesn't know where Frank is going, and he doesn't ask. Just catches Frank's eye as Frank puts on his jacket, and Frank walks to the door with Virgil before doubling back, crying forgotten reading glasses.
Virgil thumps Frank on the back once and runs to catch up with Turk; plush as the hotel is, the walls are not so thick that Linus can't hear the sounds of the brothers Malloy roughhousing their way down the hallway. He pictures the vases of flowers and the framed artwork in the hallway; bland and commercial as it all is, the decor is inoffensive, and he's sure the other patrons of the hotel would rather not experience the Malloys' unique demonstration of brotherly love.
"My blood sugar is low," Frank says when the room is vacated. Danny and Rusty, talking in low voices by the wall of picture windows, don't seem to count. "You're going to have to make this quick."
Linus makes a note to have hors d'oeuvres at the next meeting. "We need a forger."
Forgers - not to mention forgeries - had not been part of Linus's speech. There had been a lot of talk about security - Livingston was probably back in his room, looking into the ultra-sophisticated, extremely advanced security that Monte Carlo was famous for; he was definitely halfway through a bottle of Prozac - and quite a bit of discussion about playing the part of curators and connoisseurs and buyers. Something for everyone, Linus had said, so everyone will have to be at their best.
Careful to neither agree nor disagree, Frank says, "A forger?"
"I need a perfect copy of this," Linus continues, passing a picture of Raphael's Portrait of a Young Man across the table. "Perfect," he repeats. "Aged down to the minute. Every scratch in place. This portrait was -" Picking up the the photo, Frank says, "A Nazi causality, I know. They found it. It was all over the news." He pauses, thinks. "Which is why it's going to be at the exhibit." In the past few years, Linus has earned the reputation as one of the best in the business - the best member of a team, of course, never as the idea man - and Frank is getting a front row view of why. His hands are quick and precise as he straightens his blueprints and staff rosters. There's nothing uncertain about it, just like there's nothing uncertain in his tone when he says, "I need the painting for tomorrow."
Frank laughs. Linus's hands never stop moving.
Disappointment floods through Frank's chest, spreading into the pit of his stomach and sitting heavily there. It's impossible. He'd always thought Linus more sensible than this - there was no way. No way. "Are you trying to make me pass out?" he asks. Linus shrugs, but his expression doesn't change. He really has been taking lessons from Danny. "We're going to need a hell of a forger."
"The forger."
"The - damn."
"Go have dinner, Frank. They have an excellent filet here."
Bobby Caldwell's son, Frank decides as he exits the room, is certifiable. The conversation has left Frank feeling like he's wading through water; he can't even muster up annoyance at the taupe hallway. And he's going to tell the elder Caldwell as much. Write him a note, even, letting him know about his son's first job. About the sheer amount of work that's going into it, and that he believes it can be done in a month; that he believes it can be done with just nine people.
Bobby is probably going to end up reading about it in the papers after they have all been locked up.
And yet, Frank still has the picture in his pocket. He's going to try to get into contact with The Forger.
But first: a really good red wine.
On Linus's tab.
"What's this?" Linus asks, tilting the bottle of champagne back to read the label.
"Cosima brought it," Rusty says.
Linus grins. "Beware Italians bearing gifts?"
Rusty claps him on the shoulder as he slides past. "Danny always knew you were a quick study."