walls; several displayed throughout the room on carved, mahogany easels. In the center of the room, towards the back, sat a large intricately carved antique desk. Directly behind the desk stood a lone easel with a painting covered in linen.
'Ah! Mr. Engelond.' Simon hobbled out from the back, supported by an antique cane. He plopped down into the leather chair behind the desk. Neither man offered their hand.
'Herr Jones, there is a problem with your leg, no?'
Simon presented him with a cold smile. 'Problem with the leg, yes. Unfortunately, the doctors have no idea what is wrong.'
'That is too bad. My sympathies.' There was no sympathy in Engelond's voice. 'May I?'
'Of course.' Simon pointed to the painting behind him.
Engelond softly placed the attache upon the desk; walked over and uncovered the painting. He took great pains to examine it up close; then backed away to observe it from across the room. Something in his face changed. Engelond's look was almost beatific. After several minutes he crossed the room and stood before the desk.
'Ausgezeichnet!' Magnificent. He pointed to the attache. 'Thirty million additional dollars, as we agreed. Bearer bonds, of course.'
Simon had arrived in Switzerland a week ago. Upon arriving at the shop he unpacked the package from Christie's Auction House. An antique cane, coral in color with a long shafted curved handle made in 1872. 'This will do just fine,' he thought.
The following day the crates arrived from America. Simon spent the better part of the next couple days unpacking and setting them on display. With the chores out of the way he called Engelond and set up an appointment for today.
'Very good. Mr. Engelond, what would you prefer? Take the Van Gogh with you or, if you prefer, I can deliver to your home.'
Engelond gave the appearance of considering the question. 'If you would be so kind, please bring it to my home tomorrow evening. Shall we say 10:00pm?'
The world turns upside down
I filled Nathan in on the events of the previous week.
'Well, buddy, how can I help?'
Nathan, Thomas Jefferson and I have been joined at the hip since boyhood. We have always had each other’s backs. I gave it some thought.
'Nate, I think that it's time to reel in the bad guys. We know who they are. The only question that remains is how to do it. The other thing is that I think that I would like to keep you in the background, at least for now. We're too exposed. They know me, Kelly, TJ and probably even Jaw. I'm open to ideas if you guys got any.'
'Hey, man, we could, like always pop 'em.' Don't let TJ fool you. He graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Business School. He turns the street talk on and off like a faucet. Equally impressive is to witness his WASP persona when he believes the situation calls for it.
'No popping. It's bad enough that I had to kill that guy out at the farm. I had no choice, but I still don't like it.'
Nathan stood up and began pacing the room. 'We have to set up a scenario where these guys incriminate themselves. The broad strokes are simple. They want the painting, we have the painting. Somehow, someway we have to get them into the same room with you and get them talking. The obvious question is how.'
TJ is bopping his head to some internal rhythm. 'Listen, man. Like call theses bad asses up. Tell 'em you had enough and that you're willing to deal. Let them choose the location. We go in, like all wired up. Turn the tapes over to the feds. What do ya think about that, man?'
'Thin,' I reply, 'real thin. It will set off their radar. They have to come to us.'
We ate more pizza, guzzled more beer and batted around more than a few ideas. I didn't like any of them.
My cell rings. 'I've got some news on the phone dumps from the bad guys.' Its Connor following up on the stuff that TJ sent him from the confiscated cells.
'What have you got brother?'
I can hear him riffling through some papers. 'The bad news is that the dead guy from the farm house was using a burn phone. For the most part he was calling two other burn phones.'
'I hear a but in there.'
'There was one call. It was to a private security firm in France. Securite Internationale de Contrat. They provide 'strategic and operational support' to companies and governments around the world. They have been in business since 2003.'
Little alarm bells were going off in my head. 'What else?'
'Eckhart managed to get into their personnel data base and match up the photo you took with one of their employees. His name was Philippe Martin, a French national, former military. These guys work in two man teams. The man that he was usually paired with was Alain Durand, also a Frenchman, also ex-military. He's the guy that you wacked with the shovel.'
'Where is Durand now?' I can see where this going. The pieces are falling into place faster that I thought possible.
'Back home, in France. My guess is that they didn't want him around for questioning, you know, with his buddy dead and all. You're going to love this; I saved the best for last. I got the extension that Monsieur Durand called at Securite Internationale de Contrat.'
I couldn't help but smile. 'LaVache. Jean Pierre LaVache.'
The only thing that I hear on the line was long distance static. After a long pause Connor asked, 'Holy cow, Batman, how in the hell did you know that?' I told you that he enjoys Americanisms.
'We met briefly. Quite the gentleman, really. For a bad guy.'
'That's what I like about you brother, always full of surprises. How do you want to proceed?'
'Let's move to Phase Three.'
'Don't you think that we're moving a little too quickly?' Connor should know, being a professional con man and all that.
'Yeah, you may be right but at this point I want to finish this as soon as possible.' I was careful not to mention the painting while talking on a cell. Might as well broadcast it to the entire world. 'The sooner this is brought to a conclusion the sooner everyone will be safe. Besides, the excitement is building quickly and it may be best to strike while the iron is hot.'
'Whatever you say. You're the boss. Phase Three it is, I'll get on it right now. Talk soon.'
I turn to Nathan. 'I have an idea. I'm not entirely sure about the specifics, but I know the first step.'
I told him what I had in mind. Just at that moment my cell rang again. I thought maybe Connor was calling back with something that he forgot.
Doo Wop once told me in passing that if you want to make God laugh, make plans.
The screen on the cell read 'Private Number'.
'Picker.'
An electronically modulated voice spoke. 'Mister Picker. We… have… you're girlfriend. You… will… do as… we say or she is… dead!'
I hung up the phone.
October 1976 Engelond's Chateau
The two men sat.
Outside was cold; 34 degrees. Three inches of snow covered the ground. The stars almost close enough to
