Uncommon Criminals (5 page)

Kat watched her cousin flip through page after page—black-and-white images of a family in the desert; photocopies of ancient ledgers written in a woman’s elegant hand. And countless letters from Oliver Kelly the Third, urging Constance Miller to “move on,” “give up,” and finally, “get a real hobby.”

“Oh,” Gabrielle said slowly, “I really don’t like this guy.”

But it was the last page that made them stop—because it was the last page where someone had taped a plain white business card with simple black letters that spelled the name
Visily Romani
.

A
n hour later, Kat was alone in the middle of Madison Square Park, watching the fat white flakes that floated between the gray sky and the Kelly building—a nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Maybe it was the location: high-security buildings are hard. High-security high-rises are suicide. Perhaps it was because the Kelly Corporation’s cameras were state-of-the-art, and their security consultants used to cash paychecks from places like the CIA.

It was not because of curses. It was not because of Hale. It was certainly not because Visily Romani—no matter how noble his motives—was developing an annoying habit of pulling Kat into jobs that far older and experienced (and some might even say
sane
) thieves would never dare attempt.

No—Kat shook her head against the thought, blinked away the snow that landed on her dark lashes—that wasn’t it.

“If I didn’t know any better,” a strong voice said from behind her, “I’d say you were casing that joint.”

Hale was there. Kat turned to see Gabrielle punch his arm and say, “Told you we’d find her here.”

But there was nothing playful in the way Hale was looking at her as he said, “I should probably warn you that Oliver Kelly isn’t messing around.”

And that was when Kat knew there was no single part of this job that worried her—it was everything together. From the building, to the target, to the way Hale crossed his arms and studied her through the falling snow. But most of all, there was…

“Romani.” Kat looked up at the gray sky. “They had Romani’s card.” She stood waiting for an answer of some kind, but got nothing. “So it’s legit. So I think I’ve got to do this.” She studied Hale through the falling snow. “So…say something.”

“That place is a fortress, Kat.”

“Romani wouldn’t have sent Constance Miller to me if he didn’t think I could—”

“We,”
Hale snapped.

“Of course. If he didn’t think
we
could do it.”

“I don’t like it, Kat,” Hale said, and just that quickly, Kat knew he was right.

“I don’t like it either, but I think…I think I’ve got to try. You don’t have to come with me if you—”

“No.” Hale shook his head. “No way. If you’re in, I’m in.”

Together, the two of them turned to Gabrielle, who plopped onto a park bench and crossed her legs. “So what do we know?” She stared at the building in the distance as if trying to move it through the sheer power of her mind. It might have worked, too, if Hale hadn’t stepped in front of her.

“The stone arrives Thursday from Switzerland via private charter. It will go immediately to the tenth floor, where it will be polished, verified, and appraised.”

“How long?” Kat asked.

Hale shrugged. “If they’re not distracted, I’d say three hours. Maybe less.”

Gabrielle looked at Kat. “Didn’t the Wobbley Brothers do Humpty Dumpty once in three hours?”

“
Maybe less
,” Hale said again, even louder.

“And it’s cursed,” Gabrielle chimed in. “What?” she asked when Kat gave her a look. “I’m just saying we should never underestimate curses.”

“What about transit?” Kat asked, ignoring her.

Hale shook his head. “They’ve got three different armored car companies with three different routes, and that morning they’ll flip a coin to see which one gets the job. Plus, once it’s in transit, there’s…you know…an armored truck. And guards. With guns.”

“The Bagshaws blew up an armored truck once,” Gabrielle offered.

“And guards.”
Hale’s voice rose even more. “What’s the first floor like?” he asked, but Kat was already shaking her head.

“It’s as good as you’d think it would be—maybe better. Four guards. Two uniforms at the front door, one at the staff entrance, and a plainclothes that probably rotates, depending on the day.”

“Cameras?” Hale asked.

“Lots.”

“Blind spots?” Gabrielle said.

“None.” Across the street, the lights were fading to black, and Kat saw the employees slipping from the door on the side of the building, disappearing among the commuters and workers and shoppers of midtown Manhattan.

“Night’s no good,” Kat said to their unasked question. “Even if we could get past the guards and security, the emerald’s case sinks into a reinforced titanium vault beneath the floor at closing time.”

“Basement access?” Hale asked, perking up.

“No.” Kat shook her head. “With that kind of case, there won’t be any access of any kind.”

“How do you know?”

“Tokyo,” Kat and Gabrielle said at the same time.

Gabrielle shrugged when Hale looked at her. “If you don’t believe us, Uncle Felix has got the blowtorch scars to prove it.”

Kat’s gaze was lost in the distance, her voice low, and when she spoke, it was almost to herself, saying, “The stone is small, and small means easy to hide.” Hale and Gabrielle stayed quiet, letting her talk, mind working, gears turning. “But no one’s seen it in years, and if no one’s seen it, then everyone’s going to be staring, and staring people tend to…see. But staring also means focused, and focused people get scared, and scared people get distracted.…”

“So we’re back to Humpty Dumpty,” Gabrielle tried, but Hale was already shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “I’m telling you, even if we can get the king’s horses in there, there’s no way we make it
out
before someone notices the emerald is gone. And trust me, we do not want to be caught on the inside.” He cringed. “Ex-Navy SEALs. Big ones.”

When Kat spoke, it was more a hypothetical question than a challenge: “What if they don’t notice?”

“No, Kat. No.” Despite the snow, sweat was beading at Hale’s brow. “I’m telling you, if we had a month and a big crew…maybe. But Kelly is not messing around with this thing. We don’t have the time or the resources to—”

“What are you thinking?” Gabrielle asked, cutting him off.

“Kat!” Hale snapped, probably louder than he’d intended, because when he spoke again, the words were softer. Sadder. “Kat, Uncle Eddie couldn’t steal it.”

There it was—the single fact that was scarier than the guards, more worrisome than the cameras. It was the one thing that, no matter what, Kat knew she could never plan a way around. What they were talking about doing was forbidden; it went against her family and its rules, and so Kat didn’t dare look at that job through Uncle Eddie’s eyes. Instead, she looked at it like Visily Romani.

“The authentication room,” Kat said, almost to herself. “We can do an Alice in Wonderland in the authentication room.”

They stayed perfectly still in the wet air, the plan taking shape around them like puzzle pieces formed out of the falling snow. The three of them stood shaking from the cold and with the knowledge that maybe—just maybe—it might work. And maybe, Kat knew, it wouldn’t.

Gabrielle stared into her cousin’s eyes. “Whatever you do, Kat, just
do not
say we’re gonna need a forger.”

“No, Gabrielle. We’re going to need someone who can fake the Cleopatra Emerald in seventy-two hours.” Kat started walking. Her short hair blew across her face as she turned her head and called against the wind, “We’re going to need
the
forger.”

“D
o I know him?” Hale asked. Together, the cousins said, “No.” Kat and Gabrielle sat together in the backseat of the huge SUV that Hale had paid for and Marcus drove. They swayed as the big tires lunged in and out of the deep gouges in the rough road. No, Kat realized. On second thought,
road
was far from the appropriate word.

Path.

Trail.

Death trap?

The dense canopy of trees parted, and for a brief second, nothing but snow and sky stood between them and the sheer cliff with its steep drop. Gabrielle—one of the best high-wire workers to ever grace the family business—leaned close to the glass and peered into the white abyss.

Hale, on the other hand, looked as if he might be sick all over the SUV’s soft leather interior. “So are we sure this guy will be there?”

Kat looked at the pristine snow that lay before them, eighteen inches deep and completely untouched by man. “He’s home,” she said, certain that no one had been up—or down—that mountain in a very long time.

Marcus drove steadily faster. The tires spun, and the SUV skidded; but still they kept their forward progress, climbing.

“And how do we know he’ll be able to help us?” Hale asked, his voice an octave higher than Kat had ever heard it.

“Oh, he
can
help us.” Maybe it was the change in Gabrielle’s voice—the sudden inflection—or maybe Hale was just desperate to look anywhere but over the sharp cliff that Marcus was currently navigating, because he spun around and stared into the backseat.

“What does that mean?” Hale asked.

“It means…well…” Kat started, then stumbled, searching. “You see, by some standards he might be a little…”

“Weird.” Gabrielle shrugged against her cousin’s glare. “The man is ten pounds of kooky in a five-pound sack.”

“He’s
eccentric
,” Kat tried.

“Bizarre.”

“He’s got something of an artist’s temperament.”

“I say a screw loose.”

“He’s a little…unpredictable.”

But this time, there was no teasing as Gabrielle corrected, “No, Kat. The word is
banished
.”

Kat felt the truth wash over them, silent and chilly as the snow. Then she shook her head. “So he and Uncle Eddie don’t get along. That has nothing to do with his work. His work is good.”

“I know, but if Uncle Eddie doesn’t want anyone to use him—”

“Well, Uncle Eddie also says no one should steal the Cleopatra Emerald. Don’t worry, Gabrielle. Not even Uncle Eddie can kill us twice,” Kat said, turning back to the frosty glass.

“Oh, if anyone can…” Hale twisted and stared down the steep cliff again.

“Besides,” Kat said as the SUV slowed, “we’re here.”

Marcus guided the car from the twisting road into a clearing where the dense pines gave way to an even smaller lane, a low stone fence, and a tiny cabin with smoke spiraling into the sky. Icicles hung from the roof, and the whole thing might easily have been made out of gingerbread.

“Yeah,” Hale said, staring out the window. “He’s got to be a criminal mastermind, all right.”

Outside the SUV, the snow was up to Kat’s knees, and she had to hold Hale’s arm to steady herself as they waded their way through the deep drifts to the small shaded stoop.

“Hale,” Kat said slowly, “one more thing you might want to know about Charlie.…”

Gabrielle was ahead of them, her long legs skirting over the drifts like the wind.

“Yeah?” Hale said.

“He’s Eddie’s brother.…”

“Okay.”

“And…”

Looking up at Hale, Kat had to think that the sky was so clear, so blue, so close. Hale was close. He felt
with her,
and she honestly didn’t know whether or not that scared her—what she should or should not say. For a moment, there didn’t seem to be anything to say at all.

But just as quickly, that moment was over, because the door was swinging open, a gruff voice was saying, “Who’s there?” and the three of them were turning, staring at the familiar face of Uncle Eddie.

“Kat?” She heard the worry in Hale’s voice and knew he was already formulating cover stories and concocting lies.

“It’s okay, Hale. He’s—”

“Hello, Uncle Charlie.” Gabrielle pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head, and the wind blew through her long hair. She was beautiful—Kat could see it. And yet one of the best artists in the world seemed to barely notice. He was too busy staring past her, squinting against the glare of the sun that bounced off the snow—a blinding white.

“Nadia.” His voice cracked and his lips quivered, but his gaze stayed locked on Kat. The best hands in the business were shaking as they pointed toward her.

“No, Charlie. This is Nadia’s daughter, Kat. Remember?” Gabrielle whispered. “Nadia’s gone, Charlie.”

“Of course she is,” the man snapped, and straightened and pulled back from the door. “Come inside if you’re coming.”

Kat and Hale stood alone in the sun, watching the old man disappear into the shadow of the house, and that was when Hale mumbled, “Uncle Eddie’s got a twin.…There are
two
Uncle Eddies.”

“No.” Kat shook her head. “There aren’t.”

* * *

False walls and fake IDs, frames with forged paintings, necklaces with imitation gems. Kat was well aware that most things in her world were a little bit unreal, but it had never seemed so obvious until she stood on the threshold of the tiny cottage at the top of the world. She thought of Mr. Stein’s house in Warsaw, entire rooms dedicated to the search for treasures that were gone, hidden, lost—perhaps never to be seen again. But Uncle Charlie’s house…Charlie’s house was the opposite in almost every way.

Three Mona Lisas hung beside the doorway. The mantel over the fireplace held at least a dozen Fabergé eggs. There was a basket of bearer bonds by the fire with the rest of the kindling, a set of hand towels in the bathroom that, had they not been made from terry cloth, would have been, collectively, an exact replica of Leonardo’s
Last Supper
.

It was the oddest sort of museum that any of them had ever seen, so they turned slowly, taking the whole sight in.

“Forgive the mess,” Charlie said, pushing aside a pile of canvases to clear a place on a faded wingback chair. “Haven’t had company in a few days.”

Or years, Kat thought, remembering the long snowy drive. She stood quietly, watching Hale’s gaze sweep over the room, waiting for his eventual, “Um…Charlie?”

The old man jumped a little at the sound of his own name, but still managed to mutter, “What?”

“Is that a real Michelangelo?” Hale pointed to a sculpture that sat in the corner, covered with hats and scarves and dust.

“Of course it is.” Charlie patted the sculpture on the back. “Nadia helped me steal it.”

Gabrielle and Hale seemed almost afraid to look at Kat then, as if the mention of her mother’s name might be too much for her. Only Charlie seemed immune to the silence.

“Now
that’s
one of mine.” He pointed to the Rembrandt on the wall, dusty and old and perfectly identical to the one that had hung above Uncle Eddie’s fireplace all of Kat’s life. The original didn’t matter. Not to Kat. Not when there were two perfect forgeries hanging a few thousand miles apart, like a portal linking two totally different worlds. When Kat looked at Charlie’s painting, she tried to see how it might differ from its twin, but the differences were not a matter of canvas or paint. The differences, Kat knew, were in the paintings’ lives.

“You look just like your mother.”

Kat jerked, her uncle’s voice pulling her back into the room and the moment. She felt her eyes begin to water and knew she wasn’t the only one seeing double.

“Yeah.” Kat wiped her eyes and hoped no one noticed. “I guess I do.”

When Kat moved toward him, she thought that he might bolt and run, but instead he caught her arm and held her there. His hands were covered with varnish and stain—an artist’s hands. Unburned and unscarred. And yet he just squeezed harder, tighter than a vise. There was something real about the master forger when he stared into her eyes and said, “Does he know you’re here?”

Kat shook her head.
“No.”

When he released Kat’s arm and dropped into a chair, Gabrielle grabbed a footstool and pulled it closer. “Uncle Charlie,” she started, “we have a job—a big one.”

“
You
have a job?” he asked, then laughed, quick and hard. “Where’s your mother?” he chided.

“She’s busy,” Gabrielle told him. “And we’ve pulled plenty of jobs on our own.”

“I don’t suppose you heard about the Henley?” Hale said, but his smooth smile broke when faced with Charlie’s glare.

“Beginner’s luck,” the old man countered.

“We can do this, Uncle Charlie.” For the first time in her life, Gabrielle sounded like someone who genuinely needed someone else’s approval. “We’ve got a plan.”

“You’re children,” the old man hissed.

“Like Nadia was a child?” Gabrielle said. “And my mother. And—”

“Don’t touch that,” Charlie snapped, and Hale inched away from the Ming vase that held an assortment of ratty old umbrellas.

“We came a long way to see you, Charlie,” Gabrielle said.

The old man cut his eyes at her. “The ride is always easier on the way down.”

“We wouldn’t have come if there was anything in this world you couldn’t make,” Gabrielle said, not flirting; not lying. It was in no way a con when she told him, “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need the best.”

“I am the best.” It was the sure and steady voice of someone who knows that it’s true. And yet, Kat couldn’t help but notice that he rocked slightly at the waist. The artist’s hands trembled. “I’m retired,” he said, looking away. “And your uncle doesn’t want you here.”

“
You’re
our uncle too,” Gabrielle protested just as Kat eased onto the stool and caught her uncle’s eyes.

“Someone is using one of the Pseudonimas, Uncle Charlie,” she said, and watched him turn as pale as the snow. “Have you heard that?”

“It’s not me,” he snapped.

“I know.” Kat reached for his hand, but he flinched and pulled away. “I know,” she said again, softer this time. “But I need your help, you see.”

“We,”
Hale inserted.

“We
need to do a job for Visily Romani.” Kat took a deep breath. “We need the Cleopatra Emerald.”

And in a flash they were there—the steely resolve and power of will that Kat had seen so often on the face of Uncle Eddie. “No!” the man snapped, rising from the chair and pushing across the room with so much force Kat almost lost her balance.

She struggled to her feet, but the man didn’t stop, didn’t turn as Kat went on.

“The Kelly Corporation is moving the emerald to its corporate headquarters in New York two days from now, and we have to steal it, Uncle Charlie. Visily Romani needs
us
to steal it.”

“No one
has
to steal the Cleopatra Emerald. Eddie knows that. We know that. We know…We learned that lesson the hard way.” He turned to Gabrielle. “You should go.”

“Charlie, please.” Despite her smaller than average size, Kat crossed the room in three long strides.

“I can’t make that in…It can’t be…I’d need…”

“I’ll get you whatever you need,” Hale said.

“It cannot be done!” The old man yelled so loudly that Kat half feared an avalanche. “I can’t make that. I can’t make it. I can’t…”

“We don’t need you to make us a fake Cleopatra Emerald, Uncle Charlie.” Kat’s voice was low and kind and even. When she touched his arm, he didn’t pull away. “We just need you to give us the one you’ve already got.”