Unearthed Treasure (10 page)

“Here we go,” David murmured so only she could hear. Chelsea glanced at him, her eyes dancing. She smiled, not willing to say anything just yet and possibly jinx the situation.

He appeared to understand, winking at her. Warmth flooded her chest and she looked away before the others could sense the new intimacy flowing between them. They left the pub and the cool air of the night slapped her in the face. Chelsea sucked in a hasty breath and blinked hard against the icy coldness. She focused on the task ahead of her, getting her head back into the game.

Much as she adored David, this was not the time to be distracted.

Chapter Six

“Are you ready yet?” Kent’s voice grumbled in her ear. Chelsea sighed silently, struggling to keep the annoyance out of her tone.

“As you pointed out when you hired me, this is a complex system. I’m nearly there, just give me a minute.”

“The guards at the barricades are bored,” Thaddeus added. “More than half of them are having a smoke, three have recently been delivered coffee—or someone ducked out and got them some. Looks like most of them are doing this for the overtime, not because they love the work.”

“Means it’s likely they’ll scatter and desert the moment the noise begins,” David suggested.

“You let Thad worry about that,” Kent snapped, clearly cranky.

“Okay, I’m ready to disable the cameras,” Chelsea interjected before Kent could lose his temper further. “Are we confirmed?”

“Do it.”

Chelsea typed in the final commands and the internal video surveillance cameras she’d hacked into scrambled and went offline—now showing nothing but snow. Quickly she opened up the feed she’d linked into the alarm systems.

“Cameras are down. Thaddeus, you’re cleared to start the distraction whenever you’re—” Her words were cut off by an enormous boom of a heavy sounding explosion finishing the sentence for her.

“I’m in the alarm system,” she continued, not wanting Kent’s twitchiness and volatile temper to lead to paranoia. “Sections three and five are down…and seven… Okay, we’re good to go. We need to remain clear of the main gallery, the large viewing room and the rotunda. Otherwise the place is ours.”

“Entering now,” Kent snapped.

Chelsea kept her laptop in hand, knowing she’d need to frequently check to make certain that the alarms remained off and that the cameras didn’t get back online. David was already working on unlocking the side entrance. She remained silent, letting him work in peace. A moment later the lock clicked and he opened the door for her.

“Thanks,” she said, entering first and glancing up and down the hallway. It was deserted.

“You should get your weapon,” David commented. Chelsea wrinkled her nose, but obeyed. She unzipped a compartment in her bag and drew out her gun, checking it before they continued.

“I don’t like having my hands full,” she complained. With her gun in one hand and the laptop in the other she felt more vulnerable than if she hadn’t got the gun.

“If we run into trouble I’d rather you had something for protection,” David insisted. She nodded, knowing what he meant, but since she had no intention of killing anyone tonight it still rankled that her hands were full right then.

Not wanting to argue she remained silent and followed as David led them along the route they’d planned. All along they’d hoped to come along this far, not wanting to be left behind. They walked quickly, the corridors and labyrinth of passages long ago memorised.

Chelsea froze at the echo of gunfire through her earpiece.

“What’s happening?” she asked, glancing down to her laptop screen. The cameras were still down, the alarms off.

“Nothing,” Luke answered. “We just ran into a pair of security. Surprised them—they were on their way back to base, as we’d hoped.”

Chelsea winced, hoping the men hadn’t been killed but knowing she couldn’t ask.

When she exchanged a speaking look with David, he recognised her concern, reached out a hand and tenderly touched her cheek. “It’ll be okay,” he mouthed.

She nodded, straightened her spine and jerked her chin ahead, indicating that they needed to keep moving.

Rushing now, she had to jog to keep up with him. They’d both known all along it was quite likely that people would die, but hearing that gunfire and the continual attack Thaddeus was waging outside made it all too real.

Steeling herself, Chelsea hurried, knowing the sooner they left the building the safer everyone else would be.

Only a few minutes later she and David stood at the doorway of the room where the Cézanne was kept. A large banner that read ‘Where did they start?’ hung across the doorway. The room inside was empty.

“Kent, we’re here, where are you?”

“Just a minute.” Another few shots rang out, both in her earpiece and from just down the corridor they’d come from. Chelsea turned in the direction of the sound, but already Luke had rounded the corner and was running towards them, his gun aimed in their direction.

David moved directly between Luke and Chelsea. She lifted her hand and placed it on David’s shoulder. Part of her wanted to move him aside, protect him even as he covered her. She was caught somewhere between a girlish fluttering that he’d use his body as a shield and exasperation that he’d so willingly risk his life—which was so important to her—with such casual ease.

The point was moot. As Luke came closer to them he lowered his gun, not even breathing hard. He glanced up and down the hallway, checking for more guards. Kent strolled around the corridor as if he was on an innocent walk through the park.

“Good to see you didn’t start without us,” Kent said.

“The plan’s for you and Luke to leave with the painting,” Chelsea replied in what she hoped sounded like a bored tone. “We’re sticking to the plan, right?”

“Of course,” Kent replied mildly. Chelsea knew deep in her gut that she could trust this man almost as far as she could throw him—maybe not even that much.

Kent strode into the room, Luke covering his back and directly behind him. Chelsea glanced at David and raised her eyebrows.

“Obviously this is his moment,” David commented wryly and in a low tone. Chelsea nodded. David waved an arm, indicating that she should enter before him. Knowing he’d argue the point should she explain she wanted to protect him as much as he her, she understood that protest would be useless and would merely waste time.

She entered the room, David protectively close.

Kent held a large artist’s folder, one of those canvas, zip-up portfolios with cardboard sides that art students use to carry around their works in progress. Standing in front of the painting, Kent admired it, clearly enthralled. Luke stood beside him, back to the masterpiece, gazing around as if he expected armed mercenaries to come from the ceilings or through the windows at any moment. He held his arm high, the gun perfectly steady. Chelsea found it intriguing that the man didn’t even glance at the artwork around him.

Situated in the middle of the wall, at perfect viewing level, and lit by a number of discreetly placed spotlights embedded into the plaster, the picture was darkly sensual. Bold greens and browns showed a park or country woodland style setting, with a few couples scattered a distance away picnicking and enjoying each other’s company.

The main characters in the picture were front and centre, drawn in intricate detail. A blonde Caucasian woman was clasped in the embrace of an olive-skinned, dark-haired man. They were both utterly naked.

At first glance Chelsea thought the painting was strangely romantic, the evident passion in the embrace and the undressed state of the couple hinting at an underlying sexuality. Upon closer inspection Chelsea realised that the woman leant back, her upflung arms not necessarily the posture of a woman giving herself over to sensuality, but perhaps actually struggling with an attacker.

Divided, in the minute or so she had to assess the tableau before her, she truly couldn’t decide whether it was a sensual, darkly erotic scene or one with more sinister, rape-like undertones. Clearly it would be a matter of personal interpretation, and in that moment she could instantly understand how one could look for hours upon the scene and debate what it truly depicted.

She began to understand why someone might want to possess such a rich, complicated piece of art.

A small ping came from her laptop.

Chelsea thrust her gun into the compartment of her bag. She lifted her computer and typed a few quick keystrokes. She groaned.

“What is it?” Kent snapped. Already he had moved directly in front of the painting and was preparing to lift it down from the wall.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, typing as quickly as possible with one hand. “Section three is up and running again. Someone must be in the system, here on site.”

“Get it down again,” Kent insisted.

Ignoring him and his surly attitude she tried to corrupt the security system permanently. Balancing the success of the mission with causing the least damage, she’d originally been reluctant to truly have the Gallery offline and in need of major repair. If someone with better skills than she was there and threatening the mission, however, she’d do whatever was necessary.

As she delved deeper into the code, she noticed time stamps on some of the systems and folders she scrolled past.

“Damn, someone is here, upgrading the system,” she explained as the situation became clear. “Hurry up, Philippe, our small window just closed. I’m good, but I’m a grafter, an inside person. Hacking is just an interesting hobby. If this guy is a professional I can only delay him, not stop him.”

“Do it,” Kent grunted as he lifted the painting down from the wall. Chelsea didn’t know if he meant shut the upgrade guy down, or corrupt the system, or something else, and in part she didn’t care. Clearly his attention remained predominantly on the artwork.

Dividing her attention between holding off the man trying to get the alarms and cameras back up and running, and Kent, she winced as he destroyed the gorgeous antique frame surrounding the painting. Wood splintered with a crack that sounded eerily similar to breaking bone.

With a care she hadn’t seen him use with anything else, he removed the canvas from the frame and transferred it into his folder. Chelsea tried to shut down the surveillance as soon as the sections were up and running, but she knew it was a losing battle.

“He’s reached our section,” she warned. “If we’re unlucky they can see us now.”

“Then it’s time to go,” Kent said, his tone far friendlier now he had what he wanted. “We’ll go back through the amateurs and section two—is that still down?”

“For now,” she nodded, understanding what the bastard was doing. “But section five is up and that’s the only other—”

“You said the reason you wanted to come along was distraction, so go be one,” Kent said.

Chelsea sighed as Kent and Luke hurried out of the room. Snapping her laptop shut, she then shoved it into her bag, pulled out her gun and spare ammo and zipped her pack tightly shut. Grateful for the pockets in her jeans, she crammed spare clips front and back, checked her gun and looked at her lover with a wry grin.

“This is fun, right?” she asked dryly. “Shooting our way out of the National Gallery, hoping to not kill innocent people who have every intention of killing us while that backstabbing arsehole takes the coward’s way out?”

David chuckled, seeming cool and not fazed in the least.

“You wanted excitement, darling,” he pointed out. She threw her head back and laughed, chambering a round in her gun. She felt better with a hand free, the balance of her small pack an easy, almost comforting weight.

“Come on, let’s go kick some butt and finish this,” she said. “I’ll take point, you watch our arse, and no heroics this time. We’re going to have a long discussion about you putting yourself between a cocked gun and me.”

“Instinct,” David replied blithely as they left the room and turned in the direction opposite to that from which they’d come earlier. “My mother bred a gentleman, don’t you know.”

“You’re a chivalrous man to your fingertips,” she agreed as they ran hard. “But I’m not some quivering, virginal innocent untrained in the fighting arts. Besides, I want to protect you with an equal intensity.”

The sound of gunfire came from a neighbouring corridor, distracting her. Chelsea dropped the discussion and swore.

“This way.” David took her free hand and tugged her down a different hallway. For a second she baulked.

“That leads to the main gallery—”

“I think the quickest route will be best just now,” David insisted. “Chances are our friends have all the internal systems back up and running. Faster is better right now.”

Realising he was right, she let him tug her forward and together they sprinted. They ran past sculptures and priceless works of art, glass cabinets showcasing rare pieces of ancient jewellery and weapons of war. She ignored them all, focused purely on their escape.

“Halt!” a deep voice boomed from in front of them. Chelsea sighed, knowing it would have been too much to hope that they wouldn’t be confronted. David stood beside her, his gun raised. Their shoulders pressed together as they faced off against the four men.

“Lower your weapons,” the guard insisted.

“We can’t do that, mate,” David replied coolly.

Chelsea remained silent, assessing the four security men. Two appeared hardened, determined. She was shocked that they had guns. Part of her mind decided they must be some of the newer recruits after the false alarm this morning. Mercenaries, perhaps. Their postures and shooting stance indicated they’d been in the military.

They’d be problematic.

The other two were younger, clearly new to the job, and possibly in their first confrontation. Neither held weapons, only batons. Unless directly confronted in close quarters Chelsea didn’t see either man being a problem.

It rubbed her the wrong way to kill or seriously injure such men. They were all merely doing their job, responding to a breech in security. She and David were doing their jobs, trying to fight the good fight, but she couldn’t find it in her to kill these men.