“Again, I’m so sorry. I really believed they couldn’t find me, so I didn’t think I was putting you in danger.” Instead of replying, he wrapped his arms around himself, turned his head, and stared out the window.
I felt nauseous. As bad as this was, the fact that he’d gotten dragged into it made it a thousand times worse.
Sometime later, we arrived at a small airport. A private jet was waiting on the tarmac. When we climbed out of the SUV, the man who’d taken our phones joined us. He handed me our bags, which were unzipped and had obviously been searched, and accompanied us to the plane.
We found Cavendish waiting for us when we boarded, along with three armed men, who were sitting expressionlessly by the door to the cockpit. He was seated at a small table, and he gestured at the two seats opposite him. When we sat down, he smiled pleasantly and said, “Now, let’s get down to business.”
“Not before I know my family is okay.”
“Fair enough.” He took our phones from his pocket and said, “I’ll hold it, if you don’t mind. Go ahead and call Mr. Dombruso. Put it on speaker.”
I reached across the table, unlocked my phone, and called Dante, who answered with, “Are you and Armando okay, Sal?”
“So far. What about you, Nana, and Bunny?”
“We’re fine, although Nana is spitting mad. Those men left five minutes after you did. Where are you?”
“On a plane with Cavendish. I have no idea where we’re going.”
Cavendish turned the phone to face him and said, “As long as Mr. di Pietro cooperates, we have every intention of returning him and his lover to you safe and sound. Now, be a dear and don’t cause trouble, for his sake.”
Dante started to say something, but Cavendish ended the call and pocketed the phone. I asked, “How long are you planning to keep us prisoner?”
“Now, now. ‘Prisoner’ is such a dramatic way to describe our arrangement.”
“What would you call it?” I glanced at Armando during this exchange. He looked pale, and he was back to sitting perfectly still.
“I’d call it giving you the opportunity to wipe the slate clean. You took part in an attempt to steal from Mr. Ashcroft. That action has consequences. But because he’s a fair man, he’s graciously allowing you to make amends, instead of paying with a pound of flesh.”
“So, you’re not taking us somewhere to kill us?”
“If Mr. Ashcroft wanted you dead, his men would have shot you the moment we entered the kitchen.”
“Then what does he want from me?”
“This.” He pulled a binder from a briefcase and slid it across the table. When I opened it, I found a photograph of a painting that was clearly by Paul Cezanne. It featured a woman in a blue dress, seated beside a table holding an overflowing bowl of fruit. Cezanne’s paintings were usually landscapes, figure studies, or still lifes, but this was rare, since it featured two of those elements. The rest of the pages in the binder were close-up details of the painting, along with a fact sheet listing, among other things, the painting’s size and provenance.
“I assumed it would be beneficial for you to study this on your flight,” Cavendish explained. “Large scale photos will be available in the studio that was set up for you in anticipation of today’s events, along with a canvas and paints that were painstakingly sourced by an expert.” In other words, they’d always known it was just a matter of time until they caught me.
“So, he wants me to forge this painting.”
“Precisely.”
“Why doesn’t Ashcroft just buy it, or have it stolen? He obviously has the means to do either of those things.”
Cavendish leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. “That painting was Mr. Ashcroft’s pride and joy. Regrettably, he lost it in a bitter divorce, and it’s now in the possession of his ex-wife. She knows nothing about art and keeps it solely out of spite. If Mr. Ashcroft were to have it stolen, she’d know who to blame and wouldn’t hesitate to involve the authorities. She’d also get a hundred million dollar payout from the insurance company. My employer believes she’s taken enough and doesn’t deserve another cent.”
“Just so you know, I can’t do the breaking and entering to switch the original with the forgery. I don’t have those skills.”
“We know that,” Cavendish said. “All we want from you is a perfect copy. Once it’s completed, someone else will handle the switch-out.”
“Am I really supposed to believe Ashcroft will let us go when I finish the painting?”
“You have my word.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “You pointed guns at my family members and abducted us against our will. How much do you think your word is worth?”
He was completely unruffled by that. “The weapons were simply a means to an end. Would you have come along willingly without them?” I didn’t say anything, but my frown answered the question for me. “Yes, exactly. You would have run away, and we would have had to expend more time and resources to find you. That was a bit of a bother, and something we’d rather not repeat.”