It had been a few days since America had returned home, his winnings stored away into a room he had built on his own with all his free time. He watched on the news as London pursued Mr. Matthews/Ferguson; he was the first suspect since he fit every bit of evidence that could convict him.
When England saw him he didn't see America. No, the darkness, makeup, hairstyle, contacts, and uniform all made him look like dear Mr. Ferguson. The officers looked through his locker and found the red duffel bag, something laced with chemicals that corresponded to the gas used that night. They searched his home and background, learning about his multiple past lives. At his home they discovered he was an alcoholic who would verbally abuse his family. His wife said nothing about "Calvin." He was on the run now, and America didn't have to do a single piece of paper work.
America got an itch inside him, one that came ever so often. He stood up from his couch and turned off the news, walking to his old, abandoned storage room. He walked past the memories-the suit, the musket, the old toys and photos- and came up to a little desk with a little wooden stamper on top of it. It was nothing eye catching, but to him it was thirty years of hard work under no eye of anyone else. He made sure the door behind him was shut before he pushed over the stamper, its peg attached so that only it moved without the rest of its body. The floor behind it moved apart, the boxes and objects on top of it moving with it since they were all sort of "props" to avert the eye. There was a stairwell that led down to a lower storage area; one America had built out of sheer boredom and on a whim for thirty years; now, though it gave such a grand purpose. He walked down, the trap door above moving back to its previous state.
There were only a few steps until he reached a platform which lit up with his movements; the room was quite high. He stopped at the end of the stairs and looked as the white tiled room, floor and wall, were lit up, revealing pedestals and walls covered in the gems of the world. The first things on the wall on the left were the paintings of China, the swords of Japan next to them. On the right wall was the Mona Lisa, mourning for new companions to join her on that wall. Then there were the Romanov Jewels which had three large pedestals for them.
Then, in the center, was a round platform, about the size of one of those round couches you'd find at a shoe store, only this one was hard and white. This white platform sported the jewels, crowns, and all other bits of the Jewel House that America had taken. He stared at his riches, hidden away beneath centuries worth of old memories that he could never find the nerve to throw out.
He gave the room one last glance and turned around, leaving the room and returning to the couch where he drank a Coca-Cola he had out. He knew he would have to eventually take something of his own nation as to not cause suspicion, and he already knew what it would be, but he would have to wait a little while. Every nation was beefing up its security and that didn't exclude his own.
There was an emergency meeting in Italy being held by the few countries whose artifacts had been stolen or were most likely subjects to be stolen as the thief obviously was going after the larger countries artifacts first. America was to go to this meeting which was to be held in a week's notice, so he had some planning to do. His escapades were becoming much more difficult, but fun nonetheless. He lay back on his couch, thinking about what to do.
"Let's see; Declaration of Independence this week or David next week?" He sat there in wonder.
He always gave himself at least two weeks or so before striking again, but the world was getting restless…and so was he. He wondered. It would be hard to steal David, but for him it was either David or a part of the Sistine Chapel, and he didn't have the heart to break up such a masterpiece. Then there was the question as to how he would steal David. Heavily guarded, heavy, large, not possible to hide in a car obviously…then he had an idea.
Smoke and mirrors would do the trick. Now, he just needed more time.
A week or so to work; this would test him for sure, but he was America, he could do what he wanted. He needed guard schedules, schematics, weight and height of David, everything. He'd have to use a few new gadgets he'd been working on, but none of them would be able to hide Michelangelo's David and transport it. That would take a little time to set up, but it would be possible nonetheless.
"Well Italy" he laughed to himself. "Here we come."
(I DO NOT OWN HETALIA)