echo of Tom’s laughter.
“Where do these come up?” Jennifer asked.
“Everywhere.” Ferrat sounded panic stricken.
“So he could be inside?”
“You heard what Ledoux said.”
“You don’t know where he is, do you?” Troussard hissed.
“So much for taking care of things. So much for not wor-
rying.”
“He’s in the sewers, not the museum,” Ferrat countered.
“You had your chance,” Troussard insisted. “Now it’s my
turn.”
He snatched Ferrat’s radio out of his hand. Jennifer recog-
nized the voices on the other end as first Levy and then
Ledoux, but wasn’t able to follow what they were saying. A
sullen-looking Ferrat chipped in once or twice, but mostly he
was silent. Tom’s ruse had clearly taken him by surprise.
“Come on.” With a satisfi ed nod, Troussard jumped down
from the van and turned toward the museum.
“What’s going on?” Jennifer demanded.
“Contingency plan,” he explained over his shoulder as they
ran back through the gate into the inner courtyard. “We have
a secure facility just north of Paris. The security protocol
calls for the painting to be evacuated if we can no longer
guarantee its safety on site.”
In her haste to follow Troussard out on to the street, Jen-
nifer hadn’t noticed the convoy of vehicles in the courtyard,
their engines running. Two police motorcycles
were fol-
lowed by a police van, its sliding side doors jammed open to
reveal two officers squatting inside wearing helmets and
bulletproof vests, hefting their machine guns. Then came a
2 0 0 j a m e s
t w i n i n g
gleaming white Brinks armored lorry, followed by another
police van and two more motorcycles bringing up the rear.
Given the situation, it was a reassuring sight.
The doors at the top of the curved staircase that led down
into the courtyard suddenly flew open. Ten or so armed po-
licemen ran out and took up defensive positions, scanning
the rooftops and the windows around them. Seemingly happy
that the coast was clear, two men carrying a flat metal box
were waved forward. They made their way carefully down
the stairs and toward the back of the van. As they approached
it, the rear door opened and they handed the box over.
The door slammed shut and the convoy roared into life.
Engines racing, sirens blaring, lights flashing, it shot through
the gate and out on to the street.
“There,” Troussard breathed a sigh of relief as the noise
retreated into the distance. “He can’t get to her now.”
C H A P T E R F O R T Y- T W O
DENON WING, MUSÉE DU LOUVRE, PARIS
22nd April— 5:09 p.m.
We’ve got a problem.”
Milo pressed his hand to his ear, the noise of the ele-
vator mechanism above him making it hard to hear what
Axel was saying.
“What sort of a problem?”
“They’ve opened the case. They’re moving it.”
“They’re early.”
“They’re not early,” Axel explained, panic in his voice.
“This is something else. There are cops everywhere. Fuck
knows where they’ve come from. The whole wing’s been shut
down. There’s some sort of armed convoy in the courtyard
below. They’ve locked the painting in a metal container. It
looks like they’re transferring it somewhere.”
“
Putain de merde
,” Milo swore.
“They’re on to us,” Eva, sitting opposite him at the top of
the elevator shaft, whispered anxiously.
“No,” Milo snarled. “It’s Kirk. He’s panicked them into
moving it.”
“They’re taking it down the stairs,” Axel relayed what was
happening in real time. “Out the door . . . it’s inside the ar-
mored van . . . they’re leaving.”
2 0 2 j a m e s
t w i n i n g
“Captain, you picking this up? Where’s the helicop ter?”
“It can be there in two minutes,
mon col o nel
,” Djoulou’s
voice crackled over the radio. “Can you make it back up on to
the roof?”
“I don’t want it for us. I want it following that convoy. I
need to know where they’re headed.”
“What about you?”
Milo paused as he considered their options.
“We could go back the way we came,” Eva suggested.
“Across the roof and back down the service elevator.”
“Not enough time,” he said with a shake of his head. “We
need to get down on to the street, fast. The quickest way is
straight down and out through the courtyard.”
“You’re right,” she agreed.
“Captain, we’re going to fall back to the side entrance,”
Milo radioed through to Djoulou. “Meet us there in three.”
“Roger,” Djoulou confi rmed.
Milo pulled his mask down on to his face and then looked
up at Eva.
“Ready?”
She leaned across and kissed him before cocking her gun
and pulling her own mask down.
“Let’s go.”
Pushing off from the ledge where they had been perching,
they rappelled noiselessly down the shaft, landing with a
gentle thud on the elevator’s roof. With Eva positioned to
take out anyone inside, Milo flipped the trapdoor open. The
cabin was empty. They jumped down and then pressed the
button for the ground fl oor.
The doors pinged open. Two cops were standing with their
back to them. Eva took out the one on the left with two shots
in the back. Milo dropped his partner to the marble fl oor
with a single shot to the head as he turned toward them, his
mouth gaping in surprise.
“Blow the charges,” Milo ordered.
Above them they heard the dull boom of two explosions as
Eva set off the detonators. The building shook, and was then
swallowed up by the shrill call of the fi re alarm.
“This way!” Eva threw open the door to the courtyard.
t h e g i l d e d s e a l
2 0 3
There were fifteen or twenty people gathered there, but they
scattered like startled fish as Milo opened fi re indiscrimi-
nately to clear a path across the courtyard toward the gate.
“How the hell did they get here so quickly?” Milo snarled
as the CRS out on the main street, alerted by the shooting,
took cover behind a van and began returning fire, stone chips
shattering off the doorway where they had taken shelter.
“Grenade!” Eva warned as she stepped out and fi red one
into the nearest CRS van. It exploded on impact, launching
the gray vehicle into the air on an angry fist of fl ame, scatter-
ing bodies across the street.
A powerful car burst through the pall of smoke and fi re, its
tires tracing a broad black arc on the tarmac as it skidded to
a halt alongside them. The doors fl ew open.
“Get in,” Djoulou screamed.
They both dived inside and the car screeched away, Eva
smashing the rear window with the butt of her weapon and
providing a murderous volley of covering fi re.
“Where’s the convoy?” Milo barked, ripping the mask off
his face.
“About two miles ahead.”
“And the men?”
“On their way.”
“Good. I want that van stopped. Nothing’s changed. In
fact, this should make things even easier.”
C H A P T E R F O R T Y- T H R E E
INTERNAL COURTYARD, DENON WING,
MUSÉE DU LOUVRE, PARIS
22nd April— 5:12 p.m.
You hurt?” Jennifer helped Troussard to his feet, wiping
the dirt from her hands and knees where she had dived
for cover behind the staircase’s stone balustrade.
“I don’t think so.” He was shaking, his face blanched with
fear. Blood was dripping from a deep gash on his forehead.
Jennifer glanced around at the incongruously hellish scene
amidst the Louvre’s serene splendor, her ears still ringing
from the sound of the gunshots. At least five people were
dead, their bodies twisted into strange, inhuman shapes, the
ancient cobbles spattered with blood. Perhaps another seven
or eight were badly injured, their low moans and shrieks of
pain combining with the muffled sound of sirens and the per-
sistent scream of the fire alarm into an anguished sym-
phony.
This wasn’t Tom’s work, surely. Not the Tom she’d known.
A thief, yes. A criminal, undeniably. But not someone who
would fire indiscriminately into a crowd of people. Not a
killer. Not unless he’d changed far beyond anything she’d
ever suspected.
“
Mon Dieu
, the paintings!” Troussard gave a pained cry at
t h e g i l d e d s e a l
2 0 5
the sight of flames surging from one of the upstairs windows
and licking the stonework. “I need to help.”
“You need to get yourself stitched up.” Jennifer grabbed
Troussard’s arm and steered him roughly toward what she
assumed was the sound of approaching ambulances and po-
lice cars. “That’s a bad cut and . . .”
She tripped, cursing loudly as she lost her balance and
landed heavily on her hands and knees. She struggled to her
feet and looked to see where she had caught her foot. It was a
raised manhole cover. Or rather, a manhole cover that had
been lifted and not replaced properly.
The sight gave her a sudden, terrible thought.
“I need to see the video footage again,” she ordered Trous-
sard.
“What?”
“The video footage,” she repeated. Troussard looked at her
blankly, his eyes wide and staring. He was in shock. “Sit
here.” She eased him to the ground and pressed his head be-
tween his knees. “Wait for some help.”
She sprinted to the other side of the courtyard and made
her way downstairs. The control room looked as if it had
been ravaged by a violent tropical storm; the digital fl oor-
plan was flashing like lightning, alarms thundering, tem-
pers boiling over as people ran this way and that like ships
that had been ripped from their moorings and carried out to
sea. Levy was cowering in the corner, her face in her hands,
crying. In the center of the room stood Ledoux, a look of ut-
ter panic etched on to his face. Still and silent, he was at the
eye of the hurricane that was raging around him.
Jennifer fought her way through the swirling gale of peo-
ple and grabbed him by the arm.
“I need to see the tapes.”
“What?” he shouted over the noise.
“The courtyard where the convoy was. I need to see the
tapes.”
“Why?”
“Because I think Kirk may be on that van.”
He eyed her blankly for a few seconds and then with a nod
led her to the bank of video screens.
2 0 6 j a m e s
t w i n i n g
“Bring up the internal courtyard,” he ordered the operator.
The sudden energy in his voice suggested that he welcomed
the opportunity to focus on anything other than what was
happening outside.
“When from?”
“When did the convoy get here?” Jennifer asked.
“About an hour after you,” Ferrat answered breathlessly,
having rejoined them. “What’s going on?”
“She thinks Kirk may have been in the armored van,”
Ledoux explained, his eyebrows raised skeptically.
“Impossible,” Ferrat snorted.
“Play it back,” Jennifer instructed the operator. With a
nod, he brought up the footage of the courtyard from just
before the convoy arrived. She stepped forward and studied
the picture.
“Stop. Can you zoom in here?”
He nodded and focused on the manhole cover she had
tripped over. A few seconds later it disappeared from view
as the police vehicles and armored van parked up next to the
steps.
“We need to see the other side,” she said impatiently.
“This is the only angle of the courtyard we have,” he ex-
plained.
“Then roll forward to just after the convoy left and show
me that same shot again.”
He forwarded the tape, stopping it just as the vehicles
moved off. This time when he zoomed in, however, the man-
hole cover was raised at one end. It had been moved.
She turned to face the two men, a resigned look on her
face.
“That manhole is no more than ten feet from where the con-
voy was parked. Kirk must have let himself into the sewers,
come up into the courtyard and crawled under the armored
car.”
“What are you saying?” Ledoux shook his head, con-
fused.
“I’m saying that if you don’t get the
Mona Lisa
off that van
now, you’ll never see her again.”
C H A P T E R F O R T Y- F O U R
RUE DE RIVOLI, 1ST ARRONDISSEMENT, PARIS
22nd April— 5:12 p.m.
Tom wasn’t sure when the idea had first occurred to him.
Perhaps when he had realized that his only real chance
of stealing the
Mona Lisa
was to somehow get it beyond the
safety of the Louvre’s protective walls. Or when he had read
through the security protocols that had been included with
the files Rafael had left him, indicating the circumstances in
which the painting might be evacuated from the museum.
Or, more likely, when he’d caught sight of Jennifer at the
Louvre and conceived that the museum staff were far more
likely to listen to her than to him.
Not that he was feeling particularly pleased with himself