austere, black shadow.
Uhl saw Clara and gestured to her. He was very pale. 'Let me introduce you… to Mr Bruno van Tysch.' Then the man turned slowly to face her.
Third Step
Now we have to define the figures: to give them a look, an identity. Not until the figures have been fully delineated in this way can we say that the work is finished.
'The question is,' said Alice, 'whether you can make words mean so many different things.'
'The question is,' said Humpty Dumpty, 'which is to be master- that's all'
The figure seated behind the desk is a mature, thickset man. He is wearing an immaculate dark-blue suit with a red label attached to the top jacket pocket. He is sitting at the centre of a V-shaped desk, with three framed photos on one side of it. The light streaming in through two high windows behind him emphasises his bald patch, surrounded by tufts of white. There is a certain nobility to his features: blue eyes, aquiline nose, thin lips, and wrinkles that show the inevitable passage of time but give him a distinguished look. He appears to be listening closely to what he is being told, but if we observe him more closely, perhaps he is only pretending to concentrate. He is tired and worried, and cannot really take in what he is hearing, so he is barely following it. His head aches. And on top of all this, it's Monday. Monday 3 July, 2006.
'What's the matter, Lothar? You seem lost in space.'
Alfred van Hoore (the man speaking) and his colleague Rita van Dorn were studying him wide-eyed. At that moment (or until the moment Bosch went into his trance) they had been discussing the best distribution of security agents among the guests at the press viewing of the 'Rembrandt' collection on 13 July. Van Hoore thought extra protection was needed for Jacob Wrestling With the Angel, the only work from the collection due to be shown that day. The two agents on each side of the work were not enough – in Van Hoore's view – to prevent someone in the front row from leaping on to the plinth with a sharp instrument and damaging Paula Kircher or Johann van Allen, the two canvases who made up Jacob. He was arguing for another two agents to be placed in the centre, because an attack from there could not be repelled in time from the sides. And then there were the long-distance threats. He showed Bosch a computer simulation in which a supposed terrorist threw an object at the work from any point in the room. Van Hoore was young and loved simulations; he designed them himself. He had learned to programme them when he was coordinating security for exhibitions in the Middle East. Bosch thought Van Hoore would have liked to have been a film director: he moved the computer figures around as if they were actors, dressed them up and gave them human gestures. It was during the computer simulation that Bosch had got lost. He could not bear these silly cartoons.
'Perhaps it's because I'm tired,' he said as an excuse, drumming his fingers on the desk. 'But I do think you're making an interesting case, Alfred.' Van Hoore's freckled face flushed.
'I'm glad,' he said. 'My reasoning is very simple: if we let Visual Security take care of the guests nobody will try anything. Any supposed terrorist would get away from them as quickly as possible. We need some of our people to form another group, which I have called Secret Visual Security. They would not wear uniforms or credentials, and would send alarm signals to the SWAT teams…'
Jacob Wrestling with the Angel was the first original from the 'Rembrandt' collection to be presented to the public. This meant there could not be too much protection. Nobody had seen the work as yet, but it was known that the figures were Paula Kircher (Angel) and Johann van Allen (Jacob) and that it was based on the Rembrandt painting of the same name. The models would be wearing few clothes, and their billionaire bodies – personally signed by Van Tysch – would be dangerously exposed during the four-hour presentation to the press. The Foundation's Security and Conservation departments were desperately concerned.
'I wonder,' said Rita, 'why we can't change half of Visual Security into a SWAT team in a crisis.' Bosch was about to say something, but Van Hoore got in first.
'It's the same story as ever, Rita. Visual Security is not disguised and therefore forms part of the Foundation's official personnel. That in turn means it has to wear uniforms. But under the men's suits, specially designed by Nellie Siegel, there's scarcely enough room for a bullet-proof vest. And the women agents couldn't wear vests, or even electric stunners.'
'What the agents wear shouldn't affect their ability to protect the works,' Rita complained.
Bosch shut his eyes, wishing this also meant he would be unable to hear. The last thing he needed at this point was an argument between his assistants. His head was still throbbing.
The Foundadon is just as worried about appearance as security, Rita,' Van Hoore retorted. Unlike Bosch, he was quite happy to have an argument. 'There are no two ways about it. If there have to be ten people standing in a corner keeping an eye on everything, they ought to stand out. If possible, they should even all have the same colour hair. 'Symmetry, fiischus, symmetry,' he added, in a passable imitation of Stein's arrogant voice.
At that moment, Nikki came in. To Bosch, her arrival seemed like a breath of fresh air.
'Alfred, Rita: I think we'll have to call a halt to this interesting discussion for now. I need to talk to our search team.'
'As you wish,' Van Hoore said, disappointed. 'But we still need to talk about ID for the event.'
'Later, later,' said Bosch. 'I've got a lunch appointment with Benoit, but – listen everybody – before lunch I have a few minutes when ‘ have nothing scheduled. Amazing, isn't it? I'll talk to you then.' Rita and Alfred smiled as they stood up.
'Everything's under control, Lothar,' Rita said gently as she left. 'Don't worry.'
‘I’ll try to think positively,' Bosch replied, then suddenly realised this was the same reply he used to give to Hendrickje just to make her shut up.
When the door closed behind them, Bosch took his head in his hands and breathed out a great sigh. Sitting opposite him with the apex of the desk triangle pointing at her midriff, Nikki observed him calmly. That morning she was wearing a tight-fitting jacket and trousers, whose canary-yellow colour matched the lemon yellow of her hair. Her white earpiece sat on top like a diadem.
‘I could have got here earlier,' said Nikki, 'but I had to repair the damage from spending all night in front of the computer screens with Chris and Anita. I didn't look much like a decent Foundation employee this morning.'
'I understand. Appearance is everything.' Bosch smiled in symmetry with Nikki's beaming smile. 'I hope it's good news you're bringing.'
She handed over several sheets of paper, explaining as she did so.
'Morphometric similarities, considerable experience with portraits, and in cerublastyne disguises. They have all taken part in transgender work with androgynous or either sex figures. And no one knows where any of them are: we haven't been able to contact them either through painters or previous owners.'
Bosch studied the sheets of paper spread out on the desk. 'There are about thirty of them here. Couldn't you reduce the field any further?'
Nikki shook her head.
'On Friday we started out with a list of more than four hundred thousand people, Lothar. By the end of the weekend we had cut it down to first of all five thousand, then two hundred and fifty… Anita jumped for joy when we managed to bring it down to forty-two. Early this morning we were able to sift out another fifteen. So this is the
