The Heist

Ch. 16

Ch. 16

Ari's POV

I didn't watch my uncle go. I stayed seated on the couch, vaguely aware of Gabby saying something about spending the winter working the ski chalets in Switzerland. I realized at some point that Harry had sent Nathan out for food. I was wondering briefly how he could eat at a time like this, when he turned to me and said, "Well?"

Well what? I had no ideas. I was completely in a void of uncertainty right now. Uncle Will's voice echoed in my ears. "... even beyond you." I hated it. I hated how some thief could turn my mother's name into an epithet for danger when she was anything but that. I hated that some thief stole Savid Nuri's art and made my life hard. I hated all this- but more than anything I hated being told I can't do anything to help stop or save this.

Someone skilled had taken these paintings.

Someone with the knowledge of the new use of my mother's name.

Someone better than I had ever worked with.

Someone too dangerous to compete with.

But someone else was not afraid to disobey Uncle Will and try to do something about this... if there was anything left to do.

"You know we could always..." Harry started, but I was already up, already moving toward the door.

"I'll be back..." I stopped and studied my best friend. The look in his eyes told me that if my father's safety were something he could have purchased, he would have written me a check, sold his Monet, his Bentley, his soul. I wanted to thank him, to ask why someone like him would choose to be halfway around the world with someone like me.

But all I choked out was a pitiful, "I'll be back soon." And then I walked out, into the cold.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been gone, or where I was going. Hours passed. The surveillance video Savid Nuri had given me played in a constant loop in my mind until, finally, I found myself in the doorway of a bakery. I savored the smell of bread and realized that I was hungry. Then, just as suddenly, I realized I wasn't alone.

"If you die of pneumonia, I'm pretty sure there are at least a dozen guys who'll try to kill me and make it look like an accident."

I studied Harry's reflection in the bakery window. He didn't smile. He didn't scold. He simply handed me a cup of hot chocolate and draped his heavy coat around my shoulders. And right now, that was all I needed.

All around us, the snow was falling harder, covering the streets like a blanket-a fresh start. But I was an excellent thief; I knew not even an Italian winter could help us hide our tracks.

I turned and looked up and down the street. A trolley car ran silently across a cobblestone square. Snowcapped mountains and ornate eighteenth century buildings stretched out in every direction, and I felt extraordinarily small in the shadows of the Alps. Especially young in a place so old.

"What do we do now, Harry?" I didn't want to cry. I willed my voice not to crack as I repeated, "What do we do now?"

"Uncle Will said not to do anything." He placed his arm around me and steered me down the sidewalk. For a second, I felt that perhaps my legs had frozen; I had forgotten how to move. "Do you trust Uncle Will?" he asked me. This wasn't a fair question.

"Of course. He'd do anything for me."

Harry stopped. His breath was a foggy, fine mist as he murmured, "What would he do for your dad?"

Sometimes it takes an outsider, someone with fresh eyes to see the truth. Standing there, I knew that was the question I should have been asking all along. I thought of Uncle Will's order and Savid Nuri's cold eyes.

Savid Nuri wasn't going to get his paintings back.

Savid Nuri was never going to see his paintings again.

I brought the cocoa to my lips, but it was too hot. I stared into the swirls of chocolate as the snow fell into my cup, and, in my mind, the video kept playing.

"We're crazy," Harry said, shivering without his coat. He took my arm, tried to lead me into the shelter of a nearby café. But I stood staring at the snow as fat flakes melted into my steaming cocoa. Suddenly, I remembered a red door. I recalled playing among stacks of books and sitting quietly on my mother's lap.

"What is it?" Harry asked, stepping closer.

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was back at Heathrow, taking a test. The answer was in a book I read, a lecture I heard-all I had to do was go into the vault of my mind and steal the truth that lay inside.

"Ari." Harry tried to break through my concentration. "I said-"

"Why doesn't Savid Nuri go to the police?" I blurted.

Harry held his hands out as if the answer should be obvious. And it was. "He doesn't like the police. And he doesn't want them getting their nasty fingerprints all over his pretty pictures."

"But what if it's more than that?" I prompted. "Why keep them hidden under the moat? Why not have them insured? What if..."

"They aren't really his?" Harry finished, already nodding.

Around us, shops were closing for the night. I looked at the darkened windows, still looking for the red door that was hundreds of miles away.

"Ari-"

"Doncaster." Church bells began to chime in the distance. "We need to go to Doncaster."

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