Masterpiece

  Marvin held his breath.

  Abruptly, the other man grabbed the handle of the satchel. He picked it up so quickly and with such force that Marvin lost hold of the buckle and tumbled into the side pocket. He could see nothing, but he knew that the drawing was on the move again. He tried to scramble up the inside of the pocket for a better view, but the brisk motion kept knocking him back to the bottom. Eventually, he gave up.

  He heard a car door close, then the faint beeps of a telephone and a new voice speaking softly. The man had a thick accent, and Marvin couldn’t understand the words. He could feel the rumble of the engine. Where were they going now?

  A long time passed, or so it seemed to Marvin, who struggled to guess what was happening in the world beyond his enclosure. There were stops and starts and brief bursts of conversation, or perhaps instruction.

  Were they still in New York? Marvin had no way of knowing. In the tense darkness, floating through an unknown, distant world, his mind looped back through time, to James’s birthday party, to the night he’d sketched the street scene, to his first breathless glimpse of Fortitude. He could feel the presence of the drawing through the leather wall of the satchel. It comforted him somehow. He thought of what Christina had said about Albrecht Dürer: a sad, lonely man, determinedly wielding his pen to bring the girl and the lion to life.

  Without meaning to, Marvin drifted off to sleep. He awoke when the motion stopped and the satchel was set down with a thud.

  Someone unzipped the satchel and opened it, which meant that the pocket where Marvin was hiding was immediately pressed flat. Marvin crawled quickly to the opening and squeezed out onto a wooden surface. He heard the foreign voice again, this time speaking in halting English.

  “Here she is,” the man said. “Beautiful, no?”

  Another voice responded. “Worth every penny. And now she’s almost home.”

  Marvin’s entire body went rigid with shock. He immediately recognized the voice.

  HiddenVirtues

  Denny!

  At first, Marvin was overcome with relief. Denny was here! Now everything would be all right. Surely he would recognize the drawing as Dürer’s original. He and Christina must have discovered their mistake. The ruse was over. Fortitude would be on its way back to the Met in no time!

  “We won’t be needing this anymore, will we?” Denny said.

  Marvin inched out from under the satchel just in time to see Denny remove Fortitude from its matting. They were in what appeared to be the empty lobby of a small building, with glass exit doors on either end, and benches pressed against the walls.

  “The cab is waiting for you?” Denny asked the dark-haired man who was hunched over the satchel.

  “Sì, signore.”

  “Go quickly, and leave this on the floor of the cab. That will keep them busy for a while.” Denny handed him the piece of matting. “And this is for you.” He held out a fat white envelope.

  Marvin had no time to puzzle over this exchange because he knew he had only a few seconds to escape. He crawled out from under the satchel and scuttled across the bench to where Denny was sitting. He climbed onto Denny’s corduroy trousers and gripped a belt loop with all six legs.

  The other man stuffed the bulging envelope into his jacket. “Grazie, signore.” Briskly, he shoved the matting back in the satchel, zipped it shut, and hurried through the glass door onto the street.

  Denny mumbled to the drawing, “All right, my darling. I have some new packaging for you, and we’ll be on our way.” He set Fortitude gently in a heavy folder, then inside a briefcase.

  Marvin shivered, still trying to make sense of what was happening. He felt a twinge of uncertainty. When would they return to the museum?

  Denny stood and his coat flapped over Marvin, obscuring his view. He must have walked out onto the street because it was cold again and they were engulfed in the noise of the city.

  This time the motion didn’t last long, and it was all walking, Marvin could tell. Eventually, he heard the soft sucking sound of elevator doors and the ding of a button being pressed. A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and keys jangled.

  There was a faint rustling and the sound of Denny humming. Marvin heard him set the briefcase down and unlock it. He must be removing the drawing now.

  “There you are, my beauty,” Denny said softly.

  He tossed off his coat, and finally Marvin could see. They were in a small, dark room, lit only by a lamp in one corner. It was some kind of study, Marvin decided, paneled in rich, reddish brown wood, with shelves of books lining the walls. Denny had placed the drawing on a large polished table, and when Marvin looked on either side of it, he gasped.

  There were three other drawings on the table.

  Prudence.

  Temperance.

  Justice.

  “Time to join your sisters,” Denny said. “How long we’ve waited for you!”

  Among Thieves

  Marvin’s head was spinning. What did Denny mean? Here they were: Dürer’s four Virtues. As confused and scared as he was, he was overcome by a yearning to look at them. It took every ounce of his self-control to stay hidden under the belt loop, silent and still.

  All the long-lost, stolen drawings, here with Denny!

  The microchip was gone. There was no way for the FBI to find them. Marvin couldn’t make sense of it. Had Christina planned the whole theft? Had she switched the two drawings herself?

  He trembled with horror. There could be only one explanation: Denny and Christina had stolen the drawings, all of them. As shocking as it seemed, they must have been working together from the beginning. And this was their goal: to steal the final Virtue!

  But why?

  Denny leaned over the table, and Marvin edged out from under the belt loop to stare at the four drawings. His heart leapt in recognition. The fine, steady pen strokes were like a greeting from an old friend. The women in the other drawings were immediately recognizable as Dürer’s: Tiny as the images were, the figures were solid and substantial, anchored to the paper. Their expressions had the same pensiveness that Fortitude’s had—a kind of willed loneliness.

  In Prudence, a maiden shunned the winged cupid who offered her a laurel wreath. In Temperance, she poured some kind of liquid from a small jug into a cup. The lines were as delicate and miraculous as the pattern on a butterfly’s wing.

  Finally, Marvin turned to Justice. The drawing had a dense, breathing presence not at all like the flat image in the book Christina had shown them. The girl gazed sadly into the distance, her sword resting at her side, as if she were already resigned to the unfairness of the world. She raised her scales like a lantern.

  Marvin heard a long sigh. He realized with a start that he and Denny were caught in the same reverie, transfixed by the drawings.

  Denny straightened and took out his cell phone. Marvin quickly dropped from his belt loop to the table, hiding in the grooved wood at its edge.

  “Liesl? It’s Denny. How are you, my dear? Yes, still as planned, into Frankfurt. I’ve purchased an open ticket because I’m not certain what day I’ll be traveling. You’ll arrange my transportation from the airport?”

  Denny paused, listening. “Good. Yes, that’s right. I’ll be in touch. See you soon, Liesl.”

  So that was it, Marvin thought. Denny and Christina must be planning to take the drawings out of the country. “Liesl” had a foreign sound to it.

  Marvin watched Denny decant a bottle on the desk and pour an amber liquid into a squat crystal glass. He turned to the drawings.

  “To Virtue,” he whispered huskily, raising the tumbler, and Marvin thought Denny sounded as if he was about to cry. “And to Virtue’s master, the astounding Albrecht Dürer.”

  He drained the glass and set it on the desk. As Marvin watched, he gently concealed the drawings under several sheets of the protective paper, then left the room.

  Marvin crawled across the table to where the drawings lay. As he crouched there, wondr
ously close to them, he was filled with confusion. It was impossible to think of Denny and Christina as thieves. They were devoted to Dürer’s art. Marvin pictured the two of them in Christina’s office, interrupting each other with their passion for the drawings. Was it all an act? None of this made sense.

  Then he remembered something Denny had said about people who stole works of art: that sometimes, they did it for love.

  Hatching a Plan

  As Marvin huddled there, inches from Dürer’s tiny masterpieces, a thin, sharp prick of resolve began to form inside him. He had to do something. But what? There had to be some way to stop this terrible theft. If only James were here! He needed his friend’s help now more than ever.

  Marvin scurried down the table leg and across the rug to the desk. Swiftly, he climbed up and crossed its smooth expanse to the window ledge. The glass panes were filmy with winter grit, but Marvin could see the length of the street quite clearly. It was a tree-lined block with handsome brick and stone town houses on either side, interspersed with shops and restaurants. Not dissimilar to the Pompadays’ own neighborhood, Marvin thought. So perhaps they were still on the Upper East Side somewhere. This notion comforted him, even though a few city blocks would be a month’s journey from a beetle’s perspective.

  He scanned the desk desperately, trying to think what to do next. There was an upright metal tin of pencils and pens, a pad of paper, a small tray of paper clips and rubber bands, and a sheaf of envelopes and newspapers. Marvin crawled over to the stack of papers.

  It must be Denny’s mail, Marvin thought. He knew a little about the human system of mail, because Papa had explained it to him several weeks ago, when, tragically, Cousin Buford had been scooped up with Mrs. Pompaday’s real-estate contracts, sealed inside a flashy orange and purple Federal Express envelope, and mailed to one of her clients. When Marvin asked where he’d been sent to, Papa said that the address was written on the front of the envelope, though the beetles had no way of deciphering it. (Comfortingly, Papa did explain that, wherever Buford was headed, he was sure to arrive by 10:30 the next morning.) The family could only pray he’d survived the journey and made a new life for himself somewhere in the city. Privately, Marvin had his doubts about Buford’s ability to make a sandwich, much less a new life for himself. But there was no point in dwelling on what couldn’t be helped.

  Thus Marvin knew that the writing on the envelope told the mailman where to deliver it. He hesitated at the edge of the stack. One of the newspapers had a white label stuck to it. Could it be the address of this apartment? The place where Dürer’s Virtues were being held captive? Marvin considered this possibility. If there was some way to get the mailing label to James, he’d at least know where to look for the stolen drawings . . . as long as he got the address before Denny packed up the drawings and left the country.

  It was a long shot, but the only idea he had at the moment, and it was certainly better to do something than to sit there fretting while the drawings disappeared forever.

  He crawled across the thin newsprint to the label. It had to be unstuck somehow. Careful to protect the lines of type, he gently chewed the foul-tasting yellow glue that gummed the label to the paper. Using his legs to lift and tug it, he eventually dislodged the whole thing.

  Pleased with himself, Marvin dragged the label over to an empty surface of the desk. It was slightly tatty at the edges and wet from his chewing, but it still held three complete lines of black letters. He spread it flat and set about meticulously folding and rolling it, exactly as he did with his blanket and towel whenever the beetles went camping. When he’d reduced the label to a tidy bundle that was about as long as he was, he scanned the desktop for something to tie it with.

  He caught sight of Denny’s jacket, flung over the chair. A scattering of Denny’s gray hairs clung to the shoulders, just as Marvin had hoped. He crawled over to fetch one and then used it to tie the rolled label to his underbelly, cinching the strand of hair like a belt.

  As one would imagine, this made it very difficult indeed for Marvin to walk. He waddled back to the stack of mail and sat down under the corner of the newspaper, heaving with exhaustion. Now he just had to think of a way to get the label in James’s hands.

  His thoughts were interrupted moments later when Denny appeared in the doorway of the study, speaking urgently into his cell phone.

  “What? What do you mean? Christina, I don’t understand.”

  Christina! His accomplice. Marvin shuddered with disgust. How had he let himself become so fond of her?

  “What happened?” Denny continued. “They did? Just the matting? Oh, of course, with the tracking device. My dear, calm down, it’s difficult to understand you.”

  Marvin scooted out from under the newspaper to hear him better. Why was Christina upset? Their plan had worked perfectly.

  “Well, it’s a terrible shame, but why are you so—”

  There was a long silence, and Denny leaned against the table, listening intently. He rested one hand inches from the drawing of Justice, tapping the table lightly. Suddenly he sucked in his breath.

  “No! The real Dürer? Christina, you must be mistaken.”

  Marvin scooted out from under the pile of mail, thoroughly bewildered. Of course it was the real Dürer, they’d stolen it themselves. Very faintly, he could hear Christina’s high, frantic voice on the other end of the line.

  “No, I was in the gallery yesterday, and I didn’t notice anything amiss. Of course I wasn’t looking closely, since you’d wrapped it up yourself. You’re right, it was confusing, but my dear . . . I just can’t believe it. Are you sure?” Denny paused.

  So Christina hadn’t known! So many feelings raced through Marvin that he barely remembered to hide himself when Denny walked toward the desk to get his coat. In the shadow of the newspaper, he slumped in relief. Christina was not involved. Her love for the drawings was real. Her friendship with James and Karl was true.

  “Yes, yes, I’ll come over at once,” Denny said. “I need to see this for myself.” Marvin could hear another flood of tinny commentary through the phone, and Denny waited, one hand on his coat.

  “It’s too much to contemplate, that Fortitude would be gone now too.” Denny paused in heavy silence, but the idle movements of his fingers over his coat betrayed his calm. Marvin twitched, furious. What an act this was! “If you’re right, I must contact my director and the Getty’s board of trustees as soon as possible, of course.”

  Marvin could hear the anguished tones of Christina’s response, and remembered that Fortitude had been on loan from Denny’s museum. It didn’t even belong to the Met. That would make Christina’s horror and guilt all the more keen, he knew.

  Denny listened for a minute, then said, “No, no, I saw the care you took, I was there with you. You mustn’t be so hard on yourself, Christina. I still—to be completely frank, I still don’t understand how it could have happened. James’s likeness was remarkable, but . . . you’re certain the original is gone?”

  Oh, what a liar he was! Marvin could barely contain himself.

  “Yes, yes. I’m so sorry, my dear. It’s just unthinkable. Have you notified museum personnel? The police?” Denny waited. “All right, that makes sense. I’ll come immediately, and we’ll do it together. Perhaps you’re mistaken after all, Christina. Oh . . . James is there now?” He frowned slightly. “He did? Hmmm . . . yes . . . I see.”

  Marvin felt a wave of gratitude sweep through him. James was there! If only he could get to James, he would figure out how to explain everything. There had to be a way to save Dürer’s lovely masterpieces before they were lost forever.

  “I’ll meet you in your office in twenty minutes,” Denny continued. “We’ll speak to your director together.” He clicked off his phone and reached for his jacket.

  This was his chance, Marvin realized. As Denny gathered his coat from the chair, Marvin ran awkwardly to the edge of the desk, careful not to bump the rolled label that was affixed to his belly, an
d dove straight through the air toward one sleeve.

  His body was much heavier than usual, and he barely reached his target. Desperately pedaling his legs, he clutched the fabric just as Denny yanked the jacket over his shoulders.

  Denny turned to the table, smiling down at the drawings. “And now, ladies, I can’t very well leave you out in the open for anyone to see.”

  He strode over to the study’s closet and removed the briefcase and a fistful of packaging materials. Very gently, with surgical precision, he set about wrapping the drawings in protective paper and laying them flat inside the briefcase. Small as they were, they fit quite easily. Then he clicked the briefcase shut and returned it to the closet.

  Marvin watched in silent dread. He could only pray that this was not the last view he’d have of Justice, Fortitude, Prudence, and Temperance.

  A minute later, he found himself clinging to the jacket sleeve as Denny hurried out the door to the Met.

  With the Help of a Friend

  After a brisk walk that seemed to cover ten or twelve blocks—Marvin noted with relief that they were close enough to the museum not to need taxis or subways—Denny ran up the stairs of the Met and finally strode through the door of Christina’s office. There, Marvin took in the dismal scene with one glance. James and Karl both looked stricken. Christina was sitting at the table, her blond head bowed, her hands covering her face. Her glasses were strewn in front of her, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

  “My career is over,” she said. “Over. Who will ever understand this? How could I have done such a terrible thing?”

  “Christina,” Denny said soothingly, “let’s be sure first. I’ve talked to you at least six times since the drawing left the museum, and up until now, everything was going as planned. I just can’t believe you made a mistake.”