Fool Me Twice (Riley Wolfe 2)

“Let me see!” Riley said, and she led him behind the plastic curtain to where she had laid out the finished cartoon. He got down on all fours and examined it closely, going over every inch, twice. When he was done, he stood up, grabbed her, and returned the sloppy kiss. “It’s magnificent!” he said. And still speaking in a whisper, he said, “You know what to do now?”

She nodded. “Take the cartoon to Frankfurt, lose the disguise, wait for you.”

“I’ll be right behind,” he said. “As fast as possible. And then—”

“And then I am gone,” Monique said triumphantly. “Totally, completely out of it and gone!”

Riley nodded. “I’ll give you directions to a safe place,” he said. “It’s in a wilderness area, in the Adirondacks. Very important, Monique—you go directly there and wait for me!”

“Don’t be too long,” she said. “I fucking hate trees.”

“Stroll out of here like you’re just going for lunch, and don’t look back,” he said. “Don’t stop for anything until you’re in Frankfurt. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He held her shoulders for a long moment, looking into her eyes. “Be careful, Monique. This isn’t over yet.”

She looked back at him just as intensely. Then she smiled. “It is for me,” she said.

* * *

—

Ever since Captain Koelliker had convinced him that Signor Campinelli was, in all likelihood, attempting to steal the Urbino Bible, Father Matteo had been nervous, uneasy, and reluctant when he stopped for a chat with the man. Today was different. Today a wave of excitement had washed away all his discomfort. Because today—

“You see, Father?” Campinelli said, and his voice betrayed that he, too, felt the excitement. “The vacuum seal is now in place!”

The two of them stood side by side, craning their necks upward to where a shallow black plastic tray had been fitted precisely over The Liberation of St. Peter. “It is held in place by six vacuum clamps,” Campinelli said. “There—at the corners, and in the middle of each side.”

Father Matteo stared, forgetting for the moment that this man was a criminal, that he wanted to steal a priceless relic—forgetting everything except that he was witnessing the pinnacle moment of a wonderful new restoration process.

“The vacuum clamps . . . ?” Father Matteo said.

Even though the sentence was incomplete, Campinelli understood him. “Do not concern yourself, Father,” he said reassuringly. “The pad of the clamp that touches the fresco is a very soft, nonabrasive material. It cannot possibly harm the fresco.”

“Of course not,” Father Matteo said softly. “And when the seal is removed—the process is complete? The fresco is fully restored?”

“Absolutely,” Campinelli said. “Nothing left to do but clean up.”

“Wonderful,” Father Matteo said. “And when will—how long must the seal remain in place?”

“Ah!” Campinelli said. “An excellent question, Father! It is vitally important—absolutely crucial, Father!—that the seal remains completely untouched for at least three weeks! At least. Otherwise . . .” Campinelli shuddered and shook his head.

“What?” Father Matteo said. “What would happen?”

“The process that is occurring absolutely has to take place under the seal,” he said. “In a lightless vacuum. Exposure to the atmosphere would cause a chemical reaction that would actually melt the plaster, Father. The fresco would literally liquefy and drip off the wall.”

“Dear Lord,” Father Matteo said.

“Yes, it’s unthinkable. Absolutely dreadful. So,” Campinelli said, “whatever else happens, the seal must remain in place for a minimum of three weeks—four would be better, but three at the very least. Remember this, Father,” Campinelli said, placing a familiar hand on Matteo’s shoulder, “if I should die, or if I am kidnapped by gypsies—whatever happens, Father!” He lowered his voice and spoke even more urgently. “The seal must not be removed for at least three weeks!”

Father Matteo stared at Campinelli, somewhat stunned by what he’d said, and by his urgency in saying it. But all he said was, “I will remember.”

* * *

—

And why do you think he said that, Father?” Captain Koelliker said, raising one eyebrow.

“I am sure I don’t know,” Father Matteo confessed. “At the time, it did not strike me as . . . suspicious?”

“No? Really?