Interpol has already used my identity against me. I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for them. Having an international art thief and counterfeiter working to solve art crimes across Europe enhances their efforts, but Urakov doesn't need that knowledge.
"Fine, I won't call the Art Crime Team, but what are we to do?"
"We wait." Urakov leans back and pulls out a cigar. "Do you mind?"
A dismissive wave. Not a fan of cigars myself, but I don't find them irritating like most people.
"I suppose we simply wait."
"Or we can uncrate that painting and see if this Nicholas has marked it as you say." Urakov lights up, smoke curling toward the ceiling.
"I know that anthrax is important?—"
“Recovering the weapon is my mission. But even if we separate it from this painting, I will still help you recover your sweet Vivianne."
"I appreciate that." Despite any chivalrous code Urakov might have, not for a minute do I misunderstand why he's here to help. I glance at my phone, checking for a message or missed call. The battery indicates less than half a charge.
"I need to plug in my phone. Is there anything you need?"
"Only to take a closer look at that painting." Urakov puffs on his cigar.
"Okay. Let me grab a charging cord, and we'll head down to the vault." I can charge my phone there and wait for Nicholas to make his next move.
A few minutes later, I retrieve the painting from the vault. With Urakov's help, I carry it to a nearby table and set it down.
We left it crated for ease of future transport. Given more time, I would replace the painting with the copy stored in the cave. Except I know my brother.
Nicholas hid something in that painting that will reveal evidence of tampering.
While Urakov pries off the top of the crate, I plug my phone in to charge. Less than a second later, it buzzes with a text from my brother.
Father or the girl? Only one will survive this night.
You would kill your father?
What I choose is not the issue.
There is no reason to harm either of them.
My knuckles blanch around the phone, and I bite back a string of curse words. A glance at Urakov confirms the Russian isn't tampering with the painting. One wrong move could liberate the deadly spores.
We discussed the possibility that Nicholas might have booby-trapped the painting. Hopefully, Urakov's intelligence will win over his eagerness. To be so close has to be driving him insane.
The timer has been set, dear brother. Choose.
Do not do this.
It is already done. Choose!
And then?
Nicholas's head games demand something more sadistic than a simple exchange. I struggle to decipher his intent, but nothing comes to mind.
I'll tell you where to bring the painting.
I face a terrible dilemma, one made worse by my father's hastily scratched note. During WWII, Merlin faced a similar decision. I grew up with the stories of a great love won, lost, found again, and fiercely fought over—only to be ripped away by one wrong choice.
Brigitte was Merlin's first and only love.
