Ghost Ship

  Joe reacted calmly. “If it’s real,” he said. “I’ve seen half a dozen forgeries of this painting in the last ten years, some of them quite good. I’ll get excited when I know it’s the genuine article.”

  “I assure you,” Than Rang said from behind them, “this is the real thing.”

  Joe shrugged, opened his briefcase, and removed a small device that looked like a camera.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Than Rang asked.

  “It’s an infrared scanner,” Joe said. “Set to the proper frequency, it will look beneath the paint to see if other images are present.”

  Than Rang looked a little nervous, and Joe wondered what would happen if an image of Mickey Mouse or Bugs Bunny appeared when he turned on the scanner. Most likely, all hell would break loose between Than Rang and Acosta and their two sets of thugs. Not a cross fire Joe wanted to be in the middle of.

  He turned the scanner on and studied the painting. Fortunately, no cartoons appeared, but several stray lines were obvious. The design looked like the outline of a small building. Joe made a few notes on a pad and switched the scanner off. “Well?”

  “I’m not done,” Joe said. “Lights, please.”

  The room was darkened, and Joe used an ultraviolet light to test the shades of white pigment.

  “I see no repairs to this work,” he said. “No signs that new paint has been added. In fact, the fluorescence level is right on target. The pigments match those from the 1800s.”

  The lights came back on, and Joe noticed Than Rang had begun to look pleased.

  “What about those stray marks?”

  “Few know this,” Joe said, making up a story he hoped couldn’t be quickly verified, “but Manet painted this work over the beginnings of another. The marks beneath are believed to be the outline of a carriage house in Toulouse.”

  “So this is the authentic item?”

  “Or a perfect forgery,” Joe said.

  “What are you suggesting?” Than Rang blurted out.

  “Nothing,” Joe said. “But tell me, did you steal the painting?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then you bought it from the men or women who did,” Joe pointed out. “By their very nature, that makes them criminals. Surely you didn’t take it on face value when you handed them their payment.”

  The Korean bristled at the remark. “I would not be foolish enough to buy a fake.”

  “There must be some way to tell for sure,” Acosta said.

  “Bring the lights up to maximum,” Joe said. “One thing that can’t be faked is what’s called craquelure. As the painting ages, the oils dry out and the paint cracks. Based on the age of the work and the type of paint used, specific patterns will appear. It’s somewhat like an artistic fingerprint.”

  With the lights up, Joe examined the surface of the painting. From what he’d been told, French craquelure tended to form in curving, sweeping lines, while Italian paintings tended to crack in squares or little rectangular blocks, which was why the Mona Lisa looked the way it did up close.

  To Joe’s chagrin, neither pattern appeared on the Manet. There were vertical cracks, and a few horizontal ones, but nothing that looked like what he’d been taught to expect. He pulled out a magnifying glass to give himself a second look, and to buy himself some time. But the more he looked, the more convinced he became he was looking at a fake.

  While Joe played art expert, Kurt tailed the mystery woman from the yacht. The longer he followed her, the more he noticed she was moving in a deliberate pattern. Out from the bar and then back, checking a quadrant of the garden at a time, and then reporting back to her date.

  “She’s looking for something,” he said to himself.

  He moved in closer and managed to overhear part of her conversation. The man called her “Calista.” So now he had a name, even if it was an alias.

  She shook her head at something the man asked and then spoke. “Acosta and Than Rang are nowhere to be seen. They must be making the exchange now. Time to get in position.”

  The man nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s be quick.” Kurt turned his back and eased in between two Korean businessmen who were having a spirited debate, nodding his head as if he agreed with something that was being said. The businessmen looked at him oddly, then went back to their conversation.

  Calista and her date moved past Kurt and separated, heading off in different directions. Kurt followed Calista as she made her way from the terrace into the covered part of the ballroom and down a short hall. She slipped through a doorway and disappeared as it closed behind her. Squinting, Kurt noticed the sign on the door. The ladies’ room.

  He looked for a place to linger, but the hall was a dead end. Instead of getting too close, he actually moved back, loitering in a spot from which he could watch the hall in the reflection of a smoked glass window.

  Soon enough, the door swung open again.

  Kurt kept his eyes on the reflection as she made her way back toward the garden. She passed him without a glance. But Kurt noticed something different about her. Her walk had changed. It was more refined, less brisk. The dress seemed to fit a little tighter, the figure inside was a little fuller.

  Kurt couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t have to, he knew what he knew. The woman who’d come out of the restroom was not the same one who’d gone in.

  On the fifty-second floor, Joe stared at the painting, wondering what to do. If he pronounced it a fake, all hell would break loose. If he claimed it to be real and it was some kind of test set up by Acosta or even Than Rang, his cover would be blown.

  “Well?” Than Rang said. “What is your verdict?”

  Joe stroked the goatee that had been glued to his face. “It . . . it . . .” He turned to Acosta and in full character said, “It brings a tear to my eye to see such an old friend once again. Never did I think it would be recovered.”

  Than Rang relaxed. Acosta sighed.

  Joe exhaled along with them. “Yes,” he said. “I can assure you, this is the bona fide work of the master. Look at the touch. Look at the depth. You are both very lucky men.”

  “Very good,” Acosta said. He motioned to the man with one hand and pointed to Joe. “Pay him.”

  A briefcase was produced that looked exactly like Solano’s. “The second half of your fee. One hundred thousand euros, as we agreed.”

  Joe opened the case, looked over the money, and then shut it quickly. Unfortunately, even as he did so, the one-handed man was taking the case Joe had brought in with him and carrying it off with the tracking device inside.

  “My pen,” Joe said. “It’s in the case.”

  Acosta laughed and slapped Joe on the back. “You can buy a whole factory of pens with what I’ve paid you.”

  Joe chuckled in an effort to cover his chagrin, but as the one-handed man was already disappearing into a conference room he decided not to draw any more attention to himself.

  “Enjoy the remainder of the evening,” Acosta said. “Perhaps the young women you were engaged with earlier will still be unattached for the evening.”

  “One can only hope,” Joe said.

  Than Rang gestured toward the elevator and Joe walked that way. As the bell pinged and the door opened, Joe heard Than Rang speaking to Acosta. “Your people have passed the test. Our business is complete. Get them ready to move.”

  Joe couldn’t linger any further. He stepped into the elevator and waited for the doors to close.

  As soon as the elevator began to descend, Joe activated the microtransmitter the CIA had given him, a tiny waterproof device that was clipped to one of his molars. He spoke almost silently without moving his mouth.

  “Got your ears on, buddy?”

  A moment of silence rang out before Kurt came back. “I’m here,” Kurt’s voice replied.

  The tiny speaker resonated against a bone in the jaw that connected to the ear. It truly sounded as if Kurt was in his head.

  “I’m on my way down,??
? Joe whispered.

  “Mission accomplished?”

  “Not exactly,” Joe said. “I think we’d better make a quick exit, stage left, right, center, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “Well, for one thing,” Joe said, “the painting is a fake. I’m pretty sure Than Rang knows. And if Acosta realizes it or Than Rang begins to think that I know and just didn’t speak up yet . . . Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be in Solano’s shoes at that point.”

  “Except that you are in Solano’s shoes.”

  “Exactly,” Joe said. “Beyond that, they took the case with the transmitter in it. Gave me a matching one filled with cash. But without the tracer, we can’t finish the mission anyway.”

  “Not necessarily,” Kurt said. “I’ve found us a plan B.”

  “Plan B?”

  “The one person in the world as interested in locating Sienna as we are. And if I’m right, she’s just going into action.”

  “Your mystery woman.”

  “Appearing as a redhead today and going by the name of Calista.”

  The elevator finally hit the eleventh floor and stopped. As soon as the doors were open, Joe stepped out. “Let’s make this quick. Where are you?”

  “Getting ready to sneak into the ladies’ room.”

  “I knew you were desperate,” Joe said, “but that’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?”

  “She went in a minute ago,” Kurt whispered. “Someone else came out wearing her clothes. I assume that was to throw off Than Rang’s cameras. But no one else has come out yet at all.”

  “Do you think she went out a window or something?”

  “Or a back door,” Kurt said. “I’m about to go in and find out.”

  “Makes sense,” Joe said. “On my way.”

  By the time Joe reached the restroom, Kurt had pulled a janitor’s cart in front of the bathroom door and ducked inside. Joe found him looking for a secret panel, knocking on the walls and listening for a hollow spot. There were no windows or back doors to speak of.

  “What about the air vent,” Joe said, studying the louvered metal grate that covered it.

  “People don’t really climb through air ducts,” Kurt said from inside one of the stalls. “Mostly because they are designed to carry air and people are heavier than air.”

  “Especially after all those hors d’oeuvres at the party.”

  “Look at this,” Kurt said, waving Joe into the stall and pointing to the floor, where a fine layer of white dust lined the polished granite tile.

  “Looks like drywall dust,” Joe said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Kurt said as he found a seam that had been hastily covered by a quick-drying plaster—although it wasn’t dry yet.

  With a little effort, Kurt was able to dig his fingers into the seam and pull the panel out. It was a three-by-three-foot square. Just big enough for someone to climb through. “Either they have very large mice or she went through here.”

  “Where does it lead?” Joe asked.

  Kurt put his head inside. “I saw these on the building schematics. It’s a crawl space between the walls. Lots of pipes and electrical wire. It’s dark to the right side, but there’s a sliver of light perhaps a hundred feet down on the left. It looks like the crack beneath a door.”

  “Can we fit?” Joe asked.

  “Only one way to find out,” Kurt said, climbing in.

  Joe locked the bathroom stall door and followed Kurt into the crawl space. He did his best to replace the panel once he was inside and then turned, immediately banging his head on one of the pipes. The impact reverberated through the dark.

  “Keep it down,” Kurt whispered.

  “I can’t see anything,” Joe said.

  “Hold on.”

  As Joe watched, a bluish white light filled the space, courtesy of the screen on Kurt’s phone. It was enough to navigate with, and Kurt began clambering forward. Joe followed until they reached the spot where the light was filtering in.

  “Inspection panel,” Kurt said. A small handle in a square metal door presented itself, and Kurt ducked down, twisted the handle, and eased the door open.

  “What do you see?” Joe asked.

  “Back office hallway and a fire escape.”

  Kurt wedged his broad shoulders through the narrow door and out into the hall. Joe followed, squeezing through and straightening up once he was free.

  Kurt glanced back at him. “You’re a mess.”

  Joe looked at himself. His spotless white jacket was smudged with black grease and swaths of gray dust. He took it off and removed his tie, stuffing them back into the crawl space before closing the door.

  “I was getting tired of that monkey suit anyway,” he said. “Which way now?”

  “Good question,” Kurt said. “Not much she can do back here. If she wants to intercept the hackers, she’ll have to beat them to whatever mode of transport they’re going to be using.”

  “There’s a helipad on the roof,” Joe said.

  “And a garage underneath the building,” Kurt added.

  “If she was going to take the elevator, she wouldn’t have come this way,” Joe said.

  “That means she’s on the stairs.”

  Without delay, Kurt moved down the hall to the fire escape and eased the door open. Like most fire escapes, the stairs were metal, descending in a rectangular zigzag. Even before he was fully inside, Kurt could hear rapidly moving footfalls echoing in the space.

  He moved to the edge of the rail as Joe slipped inside and shut the door. Gazing down, he spotted a woman’s hand on the rail moving rapidly toward the basement. But it was not alone— another hand trailed hers.

  Kurt stepped back and held up two fingers. Joe nodded. Kurt pointed to their feet. “Shoes,” he whispered.

  Joe pulled his shoes off as Kurt was doing the same. “At this rate, I’m gonna be naked by the time we catch up to her.”

  “That ought to scare her,” Kurt replied. “Not to mention everyone else involved.”

  Leaving their shoes behind, they began to descend in their socks, treading lightly but quickly, and staying away from the inside rail, where a quick look upward from either of the targets might give them away.

  They were passing the sixth floor and headed for the fifth when the woman and her friend reached the bottom floor. The door at the base of the stairwell opened, and they could hear the unmistakable sound of a gun with a silencer on the barrel. Three dartlike shots were followed by a dull thud, and then another.

  “They’ve taken someone out,” Joe whispered.

  Kurt stooped and peered over the edge. What looked like a pair of guards was being dragged into the stairwell. Calista and the man took several items from the bodies, covered them hastily with a tarp, and then went out through the door into the garage once again.

  “What are they up to?” Joe wondered aloud.

  Kurt had no idea. When the door banged shut, he started to move again, racing down the stairs as fast as he could. He made it to the bottom of the stairwell and pressed against the door, looking through the wire safety glass window. He saw the woman clearly now. Her hair was short and black again, and she was dressed in a uniform like one of Than Rang’s guards.

  “She’s climbing into the cab of an eighteen-wheeler,” Kurt said.

  “What about her friend?”

  Kurt glanced around. He couldn’t see the man, but the sound of a door slamming and a slight vibration in the mirror of a second truck suggested he’d gotten in the second rig. For now, they just sat there waiting.

  “What’s the story on those guys?” Kurt asked, glancing back to Joe.

  As Kurt watched the trucks, Joe moved back into the recesses of the stairwell where the dead men were covered by the tarp. “Ammunition belts and empty holsters,” Joe said. “Radio clips on their belts are empty. I’d guess these men are security specialists, not drivers.”

  “Makes sense,” Kurt said. “Some
body has to ride shotgun on an operation like this. By the looks of it, our two friends have split up, taking the place of these two. They’re each in a different truck.”

  “Guarding the cargo and waiting for the drivers to arrive,” Joe suggested.

  “That’s my guess.”

  “So now what?”

  “Stowaway time,” Kurt said. “We get on board, they load up the other hackers and hopefully take us right to Sienna.”

  “What if Sienna is being held in Kim Jong-un’s palace?” Joe said.

  “Then we get a tour of North Korea,” Kurt said.

  “Not sure I like that idea,” Joe said. “They don’t have a lot of Mexican food up there, you know. Or much food in general, for that matter.”

  Kurt didn’t exactly like the idea of ending up in the Hermit Kingdom himself. But he didn’t think they were going there. “From what Colonel Lee said, the border is closed. Even if it were open, there’s no way these guys are driving across the DMZ in a pair of big rigs with the DaeShan logo splashed all over them.”

  “That makes sense,” Joe said. “I’d still rather call in the cavalry.”

  “We stop these guys on this side of the border, we’ll never find Sienna,” Kurt said. “I didn’t come this far to show my hand before the final deal. But if you want to stay here, I understand.”

  Joe shook his head, and with a grunt pulled off the goatee, completing his transformation from Solano back to Zavala. “And go back to the party upstairs? I don’t think so. But if we’re not going into the so-called Democratic Republic of North Korea, then where are we going?”

  “Colonel Lee said the cyberattacks weren’t directly traceable to North Korea, even though they’re fairly certain North Korea was behind them. He said this Unit 121 had people working all over the world: in China, Japan, hidden here in Seoul. If that’s the case, then we might not even leave the city.”

  Joe broke into a grin. “I like the way you think,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll turn out to be wrong as usual, but there’s something to be said for remaining positive until all hope is actually lost.”