Julian looked at me. His winking would’ve been redundant. Better that I be the one to scare the crap out of Tracy.
“Feel what?” Tracy repeated.
“For instance, and this is just an extreme example to illustrate a point,” I said. “Let’s say, if a gun happened to be pressed against the back of your head.” I quickly raised my palms. “Not that that would ever happen.”
“No, that’s definitely not going to happen,” added Julian quickly. “Because when you’re in that room, you’re going to keep everything in front of you.”
This was Julian at his finest. I may have earned a PhD in psychology, but he was born with one. When you really want people to take your advice, don’t merely tell them what to do. Instead, make them fully understand why they need to do it. Make them feel it. Down to their core.
Rest assured, Tracy now fully understood. I need to keep everything in front of me.
“Now let’s talk about the exchange,” said Julian. It was the perfect segue. “We’ve got a mob boss, a Monet, and a fifty-million-dollar transfer on the sly from a foreign government. What could possibly go wrong?”
The arrangements were set. Tracy had gone back and forth on the phone with Brunetti and Laszlo multiple times. Brunetti wanted the exchange to happen in a place of his choosing, namely, someplace he controlled. Fittingly, Laszlo wanted it to happen at the Hungarian consulate. The compromise that Tracy pushed for was “Switzerland,” someplace neutral. He’d suggested the Roxy Hotel, which we knew would work for Brunetti since it was right across the street from his restaurant. Still, Brunetti insisted that he be the one to book the room. He’d clearly seen enough footage of hotel sting operations over the years.
Lastly, Brunetti and Laszlo were each allowed a plus one. But only one.
“The guy that Laszlo brings to authenticate the painting,” said Tracy. “Should I be worried about him?”
“In what sense?” asked Julian.
“It’s one thing to google the name ‘William D’Alexander,’ it’s another if this authenticator goes asking around about him. Obviously no one in the art world has met me, let alone heard of me.”
“You’re right, and normally that could be a problem,” said Julian. “But it won’t be, not tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“Because the supposed expert accompanying Laszlo probably wouldn’t know a Picasso from a pizza, let alone whether a Monet is real or fake.”
“What he means is that the guy’s not an art expert,” I said. “He’s Hungarian intelligence. He’ll be there to protect Laszlo, the painting, the whole deal itself.”
Tracy nodded. He got it. He knew we could hear the calls on both her cell and office phone, but still. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?” he asked.
“I figured it was better to show you the special Dick Tracy glasses first,” said Julian. “You know, to make you feel better about there being more than one guy in the room with a gun.”
“Great. How’d that work out for me?” asked Tracy. It clearly hadn’t.
“Not as well as I had hoped,” said Julian.
“Any other surprises you want to share?”
I was about to chime in with a definitive no when the phone rang. We all froze for a moment. It wasn’t any of our phones.
Julian swung back around his desk, looking at one of his monitors. “Damn,” he said. “I was afraid this might happen.”
I knew he could see her caller ID. At the eleventh hour, literally, Laszlo was getting a call from the powers that be. Not the ambassador. Not anyone here in the states. The true powers that be. The head of Hungarian intelligence. He wasn’t calling simply to wish her good luck.
Julian put the conversation on speaker so we could all listen in. Laszlo hardly did any of the talking.
Their plan had changed. The Hungarian ambassador was no longer taking the Monet back to Budapest with him. Laszlo was now to personally escort the Monet back on a private jet that had already been arranged out of JFK. She was not to let the painting out of her sight at any time.
“I understand,” said Laszlo, not questioning anything. She was given the time of the flight, which terminal, the full details.
If she wasn’t happy about this new development, she sure wasn’t letting on. She was a good soldier. Or maybe she simply understood the extra precaution. They’d come so far in finally getting the damn painting back, why leave anything to chance? Laszlo would simply go a little farther in making sure it arrived back to Hungary safely. It made sense.
And it completely screwed up our plan.
No one said the words out loud after the call ended, but all three of us were thinking the same thing. What the hell do we do now?
“We postpone a day, give us some extra time to figure out another option,” said Julian.
“Too risky. Postponing will spook both sides,” I said.
“Dylan’s right. It’s now or never,” said Tracy.
Julian folded his arms, nodding. Whatever blind spot he had for American musical theater he more than made up for with British playwrights. “Noël Coward, it is,” he said. “The show must go on.”
I reached for my phone, hitting speed dial. It was just the spark of an idea, far from fully formed. But if it was going to work, I knew one thing for certain. We needed more help.
“What are you doing?” asked Tracy.
“Expanding the cast,” I answered.