“University girls don’t date teenage geniuses,” Hamish translated.
“Okay. Great. So Simon’s a dropout and you two are…here.” She pointed at the Bagshaws. “But guys, it’s not a big job. I mean, we just need to get into Hale’s grandmother’s flat. That’s not exactly—”
“Oh, the flat is nothing.” Angus pulled an apple from a bowl on the marble counter and took a big bite as he said, “Hale’s aunt inherited the place, and she’s kind of…”
“Unpleasant,” Hamish filled in while Angus provided his own (far less flattering) word.
Simon talked on. “So the whole staff is turning over. Getting in and out with all the chaos would be a cakewalk.”
Kat studied the solemn faces that were looking back at her. “So that means the problem is…”
“The desk is an original Petrovich.” When Simon spoke, he began to subtly vibrate in excitement. “I mean, a real Petrovich. Did you know that Catherine the Great herself discovered him and—”
“Simon,” Gabrielle said. “Focus.”
“Sorry.” He pulled his thoughts back together. “It’s just, I’ve always wanted a Petrovich,” Simon said. “Those desks are like works of art.”
“And that, dear cousin, is the problem, because there is going to be an exhibition of Petrovich’s finest work at…” Gabrielle let the words drag out long enough for Kat to guess.
“The Henley.”
“Yep,” Hamish said. “Welcome to London.”
“Can’t we get in before the museum takes possession?” Kat asked.
Angus gave an exaggerated sigh. “The Henley picked up the desk three days ago.”
Gabrielle nodded, then hopped onto the counter and crossed her long legs. “And so that means…”
“We have to rob the Henley,” Simon said.
Kat sank onto a truly uncomfortable sofa. “Again.”
Despite the fact that Alexander Petrovich was a member of the court of Catherine the Great, he was not a royal. Even though he apprenticed with Moscow’s finest carpenters, he was far more than a mere craftsman. No, what Petrovich really was was an artist. And like most of the great artists in history, his work eventually wound up at the Henley.
Oh, there was no denying that things at the Henley had changed in the past few months. From the moment a small business card bearing the name Visily Romani had appeared in a locked (and supposedly secured) wing of the museum, many said that the Henley’s luck had shifted.
First there were headlines. Later, there was fire and chaos. And when the smoke finally cleared, a group of frightened schoolchildren was found locked in a gallery, and Leonardo da Vinci’s Angel Returning to Heaven was gone. And soon the Henley’s reputation as the most exclusive (not to mention secure) museum in the world had vanished.
But months passed. The smell of smoke faded. And now the Angel and Romani and perhaps even the children themselves were gone for good, and things were finally returning to normal.
Or so the Henley thought.
It was a rare sunny day in London when Kat stood in the courtyard outside the museum’s main doors, staring up at the atrium made almost entirely of glass. Kat’s life had changed inside those walls. Walking in, she had been Uncle Eddie’s great-niece, Bobby Bishop’s daughter. But walking out, Kat had had a piece of Holocaust art under her arm and a new purpose to her step, and she never looked back.
So it should have felt nice walking through that massive atrium and back into the sight of her former glory. But it didn’t.
For starters, there was the wig that Gabrielle had purchased and Kat had been afraid not to wear. Then there were the heels her cousin had forced her into and the thick glasses that completed her disguise. But more than anything, there was the terrible sense of dread that filled her gut as she walked past the wall where Angel Returning to Heaven had once hung.
So, needless to say, Kat was glad for any excuse to walk in the other direction. Glass sculptures dangled from the tall ceilings, floating in a nonexistent breeze. But when Kat turned a corner, she had no choice but to stop dead in her tracks.
“Hey, Kat?” Gabrielle asked through the comms unit in her ear. “Are you at the Petrovich room yet?”
Kat said nothing.
“Kitty…” Hamish tried again. “Kitty, are you—”
“Guys, we have a problem,” Kat finally managed to mutter.
“What?” Gabrielle said.
“The Petrovich exhibit isn’t in a room.”
Kat looked down the long promenade, at the desks arranged in the center of the massive corridor, each surrounded by velvet ropes. Guards were stationed on either end of the long hall filled with school groups and tourists and art lovers just out for the afternoon. “It isn’t in a room!” she spat in frustration.
“Okay, Kat. Just calm down,” Gabrielle was saying, but Kat couldn’t answer—couldn’t even pull her eyes and mind away from the desk that was inches away. There was nothing but a soft velvet rope between Kat and the beautiful mahogany piece that bore the label FROM THE ESTATE OF HAZEL HALE.
Part of Kat wanted to jump over the rope, kick and claw at the desk—break it into a million pieces if she had to. Find the will, and be gone. Of course, she knew a basic Smash and Grab would never work at the Henley. Still, a part of her wanted to try.
“Are you ready, Kitty?” Hamish asked. “Kat?”
She took a deep breath. And said, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”
If Carlos’s apartment had seemed cold to Kat when she first saw it, then the following night the room felt absolutely frigid.
The London skyline was perfectly clear through the tall glass walls, with the London Eye spinning around and Big Ben overlooking the House of Commons. Kat was a hundred stories above it all, hidden in a fortress of steel and glass, and yet she couldn’t help feeling entirely too conspicuous, like anyone and everyone could see what they were doing. Even though Hale was on the other side of the Atlantic, Kat still wished she could draw the blinds.
“So what do we know?” Gabrielle asked. In the reflection of the windows, Kat saw her cousin sashay into the room.
“They’ve changed their guard patterns,” Hamish said.
“And most of their guards,” Angus added. “Which I don’t mind at all, I can tell you. One of those blokes was bound to remember me, handsome as I am.”
“Simon?” Gabrielle asked, but he just kept staring at the computers spread out on the table in front of him. It was like he didn’t hear a thing.
“Simon!” Gabrielle shouted.
“Yes.” He bolted upright, startled. “Yeah. Okay. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Good,” everyone but Kat said in unison.
“Oh.” He deflated.
“What?” Kat asked.
“I don’t really have good news; I was just hoping to soften the bad,” he said.
“Just tell it like it is, Simon,” Kat said.
“Well, they’ve changed their cameras since we hit them last fall,” he began.
“That’s good news there, isn’t it?” Hamish tried.
“These have facial-recognition software,” Simon added. “So…no. But I don’t think they have any records of our faces from last time, so…hey…that’s good news!”
He seemed so happy, so proud of himself. And Kat couldn’t be still a moment longer. She started to pace.
“Cat in the Cradle?” Gabrielle said.
“We don’t have Hale,” Hamish said.
“You could do it,” Gabrielle challenged.
“Do I look like a classically trained violinist to you?” he asked, and Gabrielle didn’t broach the subject again.
“Then what about an Ace’s Wild?” Simon said.
Angus scooted forward. “With a little Count of Monte Cristo?”
“Exactly,” Simon said, excited.
“Yes.” Gabrielle crossed her arms. “That is the perfect way to remind everyone at the Henley that we were the kids locked in a supposedly abandoned gallery when the Angel was stolen.”
“Maybe that back door into their computer system is still there,” Simon said, and Kat could practically hear his palms sweating. “If it is, maybe I could—”
“Chill, Simon,” Gabrielle said, looping an arm around his shoulders. “Breathe.”