Boston, MA
“Pull me out,” Trudi says.
Eula goes around to her feet and pulls.
Now out of the hole, Trudi rolls onto her back and holds up a leather-wrapped tube.
“That’s it,” I say. “That’s the kind of tube they used.”
“Holy cow!” Eula says. “We found it.”
Trudi sits up and opens the tube. She barely touches the edges of the canvases, surely hesitant to disturb the art, scared of damaging it. “It looks like a few paintings are in here.”
She lies back down, squirms deeper into the cavity, and retrieves another similar tube, and then a large, stiff envelope. The last thing she pulls out is a small crate.
“Okay,” Trudi says. “Now, how are we going to get all this out?”
“We should leave it,” I say. “We can call the police and tell them where it is.”
“Do you think they’ll believe us?” Trudi asks.
Eula adds, “The curators of this place aren’t likely to let them start pulling the walls apart on some random, uncorroborated tip.”
“Open the envelope,” I say.
Trudi holds it open for me, and I pull out a small piece of plastic. I give it to Trudi. The plastic is clear and stiff and holds a tiny sketch of a man with a mustache and wearing a hat, no more than two inches by two inches.
“That’s the proof,” I say. “It’s a Rembrandt self-portrait.”
Trudi and Eula slide the art back into the cavity and push the board back into place.
Trudi hands the tiny Rembrandt out to me.
“You hold on to it,” I say.
“You should. The reward is yours.”
“I don’t want the reward. I just want the art found so everyone stops coming after me.”
“You can gain a lot more freedom with five million dollars.”
I shake my head. “All that money. I’d still have something people want. I don’t want it.”
Trudi opens her mouth to argue.
Eula says, “We should get out of here. It’s probably about time to meet Samuel.”
I turn and head for the stairs. Trudi and Eula follow me.
We make our way back to the car.
As I sit in the back seat, I organize my thoughts, make my final decisions.
“You need to take the reward,” Trudi says.
I don’t answer.
A few minutes pass.
“You know I’m not a murderer, right?” I ask.
Trudi looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Where is that coming from?”
“Do you believe that?”
She pulls her eyebrows together. “Of course. Why are you asking me that?”
“It’s just important to me that you know that.” I look out the side window.
She doesn’t push further, but I have the feeling she’s plotting a way to make sure I take the reward. I’d meant it when I told her I didn’t want it. If the art is found, no one has a reason to come after me anymore, and maybe Mr. Hayes will fade me like he promised . . .
With Eula’s help, Trudi drives to Boston Common and manages to find a parking space in front of what appears to be a large apartment or condo building. We get out of the car and cross the street to the Boston Common visitor’s center.
Eula looks around at the expanses of grass and trees. “This place is huge.”
“And of course Samuel didn’t specify where in all this he wants to meet.” Trudi rolls her eyes.
In the visitor’s center, we find a map. I have no idea where we should go, but Trudi says almost immediately, “This is it,” and points to the Soldiers and Sailors Monument in the middle of the park.
We take wide asphalt walking paths behind the visitor’s center and then turn left until we come to the monument. It’s what looks like a granite tower, basically a Doric column, with a female bronze sculpture at the top and smaller sculptures and plaques on the pedestal. Around it is grass and a wide ring of concrete edged by concrete benches. There are no people around the monument itself, perhaps because the temperature has begun to drop even lower.
We look for Samuel.
“Why do you think he meant to meet us here?” Eula asks Trudi.
“Soldiers Monument. Trust me,” Trudi says. “Spread out and keep watch for him. Make sure he doesn’t miss us.” Then she adds to me, “Try to stay hidden as much as you can. I doubt the Irish mob had a presence at the Old North Church or the Paul Revere House, but they might here.”
We walk in different directions. I head to a path leading away from the memorial that has a lot of tree cover. The trees are well pruned with high canopies, but they’re thick and make the area darker. I can see a building not far away next to what looks like a large pond.
Awkwardly with my right hand, I move the gun Samuel gave me from my left pocket to my right. I assume he took it from the guy in the ball cap back at the house in Atlanta, without Trudi noticing.
I wait.
I replay over and over again what I need to do.
“Dream.”
I jump, and then I turn and see Samuel stepping out from behind a tree.
“How’d you get there?” I ask.
He opens his mouth to speak, but then his head snaps to the right. A man is approaching from the building.
Samuel curses. “Let me handle it, okay?” he says to me.
I nod and glance around, trying to find Eula and Trudi. I can’t see either of them.
I turn back to the man approaching. I stare . . .
“Dream?” Samuel asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you know him?” I ask Samuel.
“Not as well as I thought I did, but yes. I thought I’d lost him—that must have been him I saw when I got on the tram. I might need to handle it physically. Just let me deal with him.” Then he adds, “What’s wrong?”
The man was now within speaking distance. “Oh, I think Javier is having the same issue you had just a little while ago.” He turns to me. “So, Dream, dream anything interesting lately?”
Samuel glances at me, then back to the man. The man I’d thought—hoped—I would never see again. He looks different. His short hair is now buzzed off, and he hasn’t shaved his face in several days, but it’s definitely him. I couldn’t forget those dark eyes that’d always scared me a little, even when he’d tried to make them kind.
“Dream,” Samuel says as he watches the man, “what’s wrong?”
“I know him,” I say. “That’s Dr. Brone.”
“Dr. Brone?”
“From the hospital. He was my doctor.”
Samuel moves casually forward as he speaks to Dr. Brone. “Playing lots of roles, are we? Uribe’s henchman, my handler, and Dream’s doctor. How long have you been setting this up?”
“A while. You fell very nicely into the plan, by the way. Letting me talk you into going after the Gardner Museum art. Very helpful. Thanks.”
“But not al-Sadr?”
“No, no. You did that all by yourself. I just used it to my advantage.”
“You want the art?” I ask Dr. Brone. “You did all that to me, to Clara, all the others, just so you could get the art?”
“The money I can get from the art,” he clarifies. “Once you give up the location, I’m gone. You’ll never see me again.”
“What about Samuel?”
“What about him?”
“You won’t bother him once you have the art?”
“I couldn’t care less about Samuel. Once I have the money, I’m gone. You have my word.”
Samuel glances back at me. “You know what to do, Dream.”
I take the gun from my pocket.
Dr. Brone laughs. “We both know you won’t fire that thing.” He draws a gun from his waistband and aims it at Samuel. “But I think you’ll trust me when I say I don’t have a problem firing a gun.”
Samuel glances at me, nods slightly, and then pulls a gun from his pocket and fires at Dr. Brone.
I fire toward Samuel.
They both fall. I wipe the handle of my gun and throw it.
Almost immediately, there are sirens coming through the park, as if they were called in advance.
Flashing lights.
Two police officers run toward me from the building. “Freeze.”
I put my hands up. “He tried to shoot us. Please call an ambulance.”
Only a few seconds later, a police cruiser and an ambulance drive up the wide walking paths. The EMTs quickly load Samuel onto a gurney. They leave Dr. Brone. Perhaps they’ll come back for him. I feel bad that I don’t really care.
“Samuel!” It’s Trudi’s screaming voice.
She runs past the monument toward the ambulance.
I walk to the back of the ambulance where they’re loading Samuel, and inside is a familiar face. He nods.
“Samuel!”
Someone closes the ambulance doors, and the vehicle drives around the monument toward a different path.
“Samuel!” Trudi runs past me and chases the ambulance. I’ve never seen anyone run with such exertion, every muscle being used to help her go faster.
Eula, running from a different direction, comes to a stop next to me. “Are you okay? What happened?”
I’m not sure what to say. This all happened so quickly. I knew what was going to happen, knew the consequences of it, but knowing and being prepared are more different than black and white.
Trudi gives up on chasing the ambulance and runs back to me. “What happened?” she demands.
“He’s dead.”
“What? What’re you talking about? What happened?”
A police officer walks up to me. “You need to come with us, sir.” One of them takes me by the arm, and I walk with them to a police cruiser.
“No,” Trudi demands. “He has to tell me what happened!”
I sit in the back and look out the window at Trudi. She screams at me, but another police officer holds her back. “Let me go!” she yells. “What happened to Samuel?!”
Her face slowly crumples, and tears start streaming down her cheeks.
She backs up away from the officer.
Then she drops to her knees. I can hear her sobbing, even through the window. Eula kneels next to her and holds her as she falls apart.
“I’m sorry, Trudi,” I murmur.
As the cruiser drives away, I pray I’ve done the right thing.
“Lord, help my poor soul.”