The Art Thief's Guide To Freedom

12: Step Twelve: How To Get Arrested For Murder

"Stéphane Breitwieser, the serial art thief who raided museums around France, Switzerland, Germany and other countries on the continent from 2004 to 2011, has been arrested again in his native region of Alsace.  Several such objects were stolen from the crystalware museum in Saint Louis, owned by the fashion house Hermès. At his house in the city of Marmoutier, police also discovered roman coins from an archeological museum and other pieces from local and German galleries."

~Vincent Noce, The Art Newspaper, 14 February 2019

~**~~**~

It took only minutes for the EMT to clear her.

And surprise, surprise, she didn't have a concussion.

Yet, Nico thought as she rubbed the knot forming at the back of the head, the doctor wasn't far off. She had hit the pavement quite hard and even though her head hadn't smashed directly into the cement, the force had given her one hell of a case of whiplash.

The flames had died long ago, but still more firetrucks arrived on the scene, lights flashing and sirens screaming.

She resisted the urge to cover her head with both hands.

Speaking of them, her hands still hadn't stopped shaking since she woke up on the ground and at this point, she was pretty sure they never would.

It was probably a chronic condition that would last until she died.

Agent Patterson had since abandoned both his foil blanket and her in search of Commander Rhodes.

Apparently, he adapted rather quickly to the whole 'nearly killed two hours ago by a huge fiery explosion' situation.

Nico drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she eyed Will. He was standing next to his Commander, their profiles visible.

He bent down to nudge something on the ground as a grimace stretched across his face. His hand jutted to clutch his side and Nico saw him tighten his jaw, masking the pain.

She hadn't watched the EMT examine him but since he wasn't whisked away in an ambulance, she had assumed he had been unhurt.

Obviously, that wasn't the case.

The blast must have thrown him as well.

Her eyes darted to the smashed windshield of his SUV.

Perhaps even into the car itself. He must have bruised—if not broken—ribs.

Nico felt quite pathetic as she sat in the ambulance, suffering from skinned palms and scruffed knees while the man in front of her performed his job with broken bones.

He was trained for this.

She had to remember that.

She wasn't.

It didn't make her less of a person or weak because she was affected more by the death and destruction around her.

It was a normal and completely acceptable human response.

She muttered that to herself quietly and hunkered down.

By now, Will had risen from the ground, a warped black box housed in his hand. Nico couldn't tell if the color was from soot or paint but from the way both men examined the square, it wasn't the color that mattered.

The Commander eyed the box for a second, his head craned to the side. In a single motion, he retrieved a knife from his jacket and flicked it open, the blade reflecting sunlight directly into Nico's eyes.