The Thieves of Faith Read Free Page A

disconnected. He hung up and immediately called Simon. Michael didn’t need to hear the words; it was the tone of his friend’s voice that said it all.
    Genevieve was dead.
     
     
     
    Belange was only a rumor in the art world. A firm that dealt in black-market, gray-market, off-market merchandise for the refined taste. Paintings, sculptures, jewelry, and antiquities: items thought forever lost. An organization dealing in legendary artifacts. But the rumor was actually fictitious. Belange was a code name for Killian McShane. His was an organization of one; his place of business was actually ten addresses scattered throughout Switzerland and Amsterdam. While McShane was a true lover of art and it was his full-time occupation, not a single address bore any evidence of that fact. Each building was, in actuality, an elegant town house, its tenants leaning toward the financial services world. McShane would maintain a basement office in every address and would visit each location only twice a year.
    McShane acted as a clandestine merchant for the art world’s forgotten treasures, charging 15 percent on all transactions. His vow of secrecy and discretion was only exceeded by his security, and the security at 24, rue de Fleur was of the highest caliber. There were three guards at all times: at the main entrance, in the lobby, and on the rooftop. They were not your typical rent-a-cops. McShane chose only former military police, those trained with the requisite skills to provide his dealings the appropriate level of protection. They were hired for their two greatest talents, detection and marksmanship, and instructed not to hesitate in using either at their discretion. The electronic measures employed were cutting edge, drawing on high-end military design and museum-level countermeasures, all unheard of unless you were conversant in the world of thieves.
    Each painting or object to be traded was brought into the unmarked building under tight security and placed on display in a climate-controlled basement room secure for viewing. Upon completion of the negotiations, the monies were brought in and provided to McShane. Neither party to the transaction was ever aware of the other party’s identity and even McShane would remain anonymous, working through intermediaries. Payment was strictly through bearer bonds, so as to avoid the inconvenient paper trail of banks. The bonds would be delivered and held for twenty-four hours for verification of validity. Upon completion of the time period, both the monies and the artwork would be released to the parties in question without evidence of the transaction ever having taken place.
     
     
     
    The sexual fireworks went off exactly as planned, the perfect distraction that lured the eyes of even the most steadfast roof guard away from his duty in the way that instinct has a primordial influence over even the most vigilant of minds. They were pyrotechnics of an intimate expression. Two ladies of the evening arrived on the neighboring rooftop that sat one story lower with a student in tow and, ignoring the chill of the night, removed their fur coats to reveal soft naked bodies of perfection. They turned on their boombox to a techno grind and proceeded to entertain the twenty-year-old in sensual ways he could never have imagined, all the while putting on a show for the lone voyeur on the windy roof across the alley.
    Michael slipped over the far side parapet unbeknownst to the distracted and aroused guard. He had scaled the five-story town house, its evenly spaced granite blocks providing perfect finger-and toeholds. The elevator bulkhead supplied coverage as he silently opened his supply pack, and pulled out and secured a kernmantle climbing rope for a quick escape. He placed two large magnets at the top and base of the elevator bulkhead door, freezing the alarm arms in place, rendering them useless to indicate a breach. Michael made quick work of the door lock and slipped through, quietly pulling