quoted as saying the stove exploded when turned on.
Lang didn’t finish the article, but dropped the paper and stared at the wall. It was possible, he conceded, that the stove exploded in an amazing concurrence of accident and coincidence. Just as it was possible someone had firebombed the house in Paris, he had nearly had his throat slit, and his highrise had been burglarized just to steal a painting—and a copy at that. Now the gallery that had kept a copy was also a fire casualty.
If all of that were coincidence, the Poussin made the curse of the Hope Diamond look like a lucky shamrock.
Instead of coincidence, he saw an emerging pattern, frightening in its simplicity: Whoever possessed that picture, or knew something about it, was in jeopardy. Including Lang.
But why? The original Poussin, the one in the Louvre, must have been seen by millions. The slightly different background in Janet’s copy, then, was the reason someone wanted that particular painting. And if they wanted it badly enough to commit indiscriminate murder and arson for it . . .
Lang knew four things: They were intent on erasing every trace of that painting, they didn’t care who got hurt, they had an international intelligence system as good or better than most poilce forces, and they were well prepared for the task.
The last two observations were the most frightening. Intelligence and preparation indicated a professional and a professional indicated an organization. What sort of an organization would burn and kill just to destroy a copy of the Poussin? An organization that had a very strong interest in whatever secret the canvas held.
His train of thought was derailed by Grumps’s insistent pacing. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Gimme a minute.”
He went into the bedroom and opened the drawer in the bedside table. He took out the Browning. Easing back the slide, he confirmed there was a round in the chamber. He checked the safety and stuffed the weapon into his belt. From now on, it was going to be like the credit card: Don’t leave home without it.
Tomorrow he would have to go apply for a permit. But for the moment, being caught without the gun had more dire consequences than being caught with it.
As Lang left the apartment with Grumps on a leash, he stopped in the hall to leave two telltales. The first was a tiny strip of plastic tape stretched between the door and jamb, a device any professional would anticipate and find fairly easily. Then he licked his hand and wiped it on the knob, sticking a hair to the brass. Virtually impossible to see and it would fall loose at the slightest touch.
If his reasoning was anywhere near correct, he could expect company soon.
4
Atlanta
A few minutes later
When Lang and Grumps came back in, he nuked a frozen enchilada in the microwave and fed Grumps the dog food he had finally remembered to buy. From the sounds of voracious eating, Lang judged he had made a good choice.
Lang’s meal was laced with so many chilies it could have constituted an act of war by the Federal Republic of Mexico. He scraped his leftovers into Grumps’s bowl. The dog gave him a reproachful glare and retreated to a corner, Lang’s offering untouched. Apparently Lang was morea connoisseur of canned dog food than international cuisine
Lang selected a tubular steel chair with minimal padding, one in which it was unlikely he would be very comfortable, putting it just to the side of the door to the outside hall. As the door opened, the chair would be behind it. Then he moved a three-way lamp to the other side of the entrance, its lowest setting enough to silhouette anyone coming through the doorway but dim enough not to spill into the hall outside. He put the Browning in his lap, although he didn’t intend to use the automatic unless he had to. He wanted answers, not bodies.
Then he began to wait.
There wasn’t enough light to read. So he just sat, observing Atlanta’s skyline. Far to the south, he could see jets,
Lang didn’t finish the article, but dropped the paper and stared at the wall. It was possible, he conceded, that the stove exploded in an amazing concurrence of accident and coincidence. Just as it was possible someone had firebombed the house in Paris, he had nearly had his throat slit, and his highrise had been burglarized just to steal a painting—and a copy at that. Now the gallery that had kept a copy was also a fire casualty.
If all of that were coincidence, the Poussin made the curse of the Hope Diamond look like a lucky shamrock.
Instead of coincidence, he saw an emerging pattern, frightening in its simplicity: Whoever possessed that picture, or knew something about it, was in jeopardy. Including Lang.
But why? The original Poussin, the one in the Louvre, must have been seen by millions. The slightly different background in Janet’s copy, then, was the reason someone wanted that particular painting. And if they wanted it badly enough to commit indiscriminate murder and arson for it . . .
Lang knew four things: They were intent on erasing every trace of that painting, they didn’t care who got hurt, they had an international intelligence system as good or better than most poilce forces, and they were well prepared for the task.
The last two observations were the most frightening. Intelligence and preparation indicated a professional and a professional indicated an organization. What sort of an organization would burn and kill just to destroy a copy of the Poussin? An organization that had a very strong interest in whatever secret the canvas held.
His train of thought was derailed by Grumps’s insistent pacing. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Gimme a minute.”
He went into the bedroom and opened the drawer in the bedside table. He took out the Browning. Easing back the slide, he confirmed there was a round in the chamber. He checked the safety and stuffed the weapon into his belt. From now on, it was going to be like the credit card: Don’t leave home without it.
Tomorrow he would have to go apply for a permit. But for the moment, being caught without the gun had more dire consequences than being caught with it.
As Lang left the apartment with Grumps on a leash, he stopped in the hall to leave two telltales. The first was a tiny strip of plastic tape stretched between the door and jamb, a device any professional would anticipate and find fairly easily. Then he licked his hand and wiped it on the knob, sticking a hair to the brass. Virtually impossible to see and it would fall loose at the slightest touch.
If his reasoning was anywhere near correct, he could expect company soon.
4
Atlanta
A few minutes later
When Lang and Grumps came back in, he nuked a frozen enchilada in the microwave and fed Grumps the dog food he had finally remembered to buy. From the sounds of voracious eating, Lang judged he had made a good choice.
Lang’s meal was laced with so many chilies it could have constituted an act of war by the Federal Republic of Mexico. He scraped his leftovers into Grumps’s bowl. The dog gave him a reproachful glare and retreated to a corner, Lang’s offering untouched. Apparently Lang was morea connoisseur of canned dog food than international cuisine
Lang selected a tubular steel chair with minimal padding, one in which it was unlikely he would be very comfortable, putting it just to the side of the door to the outside hall. As the door opened, the chair would be behind it. Then he moved a three-way lamp to the other side of the entrance, its lowest setting enough to silhouette anyone coming through the doorway but dim enough not to spill into the hall outside. He put the Browning in his lap, although he didn’t intend to use the automatic unless he had to. He wanted answers, not bodies.
Then he began to wait.
There wasn’t enough light to read. So he just sat, observing Atlanta’s skyline. Far to the south, he could see jets,
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