Gallagher & White Ch. 01

Prologue

The woman in black knew she had done her homework properly.

The overcast cloud cover blotted out the moon completely, and what little breeze existed was enough to make the leaves rustle but would not move the cloud cover. The darkness would give her the time she needed. She crouched between two bushes, five or six feet from the ground floor window that opened into the storeroom. She'd carried out a reconnaissance visit twice previously, under heavy disguise both times, and was confident she knew what to do. Taking a good long look around her first, she emerged from between the bushes and approached the window.

First thing - gain access to the building. Taking a suction cup and planting it squarely on the glass, she cut a large circle around it with a diamond tipped glasscutter, before tapping the circle and knocking it out. She laid the circle of glass under the nearest bush. Then, the same process to remove the inner pane. So far, so good.

A lithe arm passed through the two holes and released the window catch. That would be enough to open the pane, and in itself would not be enough to set off the alarm. All the alarms were motion activated, which presented the tricky part. The window she had picked was almost at the corner of the modern red-bricked building, and if she had her geography right she would be almost directly underneath the sensor. The sensor's field would be set to view outwards into the room, not almost directly below it, as she would be. If she was careful, and moved slowly, she would succeed. Agonisingly, unbearably slowly, she raised the window one millimetre at a time until it was fully raised. The whole process took fifteen minutes and at the end, the muscles in her arms screamed with a searing pain.

She clambered onto the window ledge, and turned so that her back was to the interior of the room. That way, she could inch along the ledge and stretch her arm out along the wall, and under the sensor. One snip with the wire cutters, and the sensor cable that the security firm had made only the most perfunctory attempt to hide was severed.

She jumped silently down into the room, and waited, crouched in the darkness, for a full three minutes, just listening for any sign that her plan had gone wrong and her entry had been detected. With no sign forthcoming, she unclipped the tiny pen torch from her belt. The narrow beam darted around the room, up and down shelves, over packages and boxes until it stopped over one flat, rectangular package. She looked at the return address, which matched the address in Holland that she had been told of. She found the FedEx packing number, and that too matched perfectly. This was the parcel she was looking for. Gently, she lifted it from the shelf, careful not to dislodge any of the haphazardly stacked boxes around it.

She didn't know much of what was in the parcel, other than it was a painting and she was to treat it with the utmost care. She'd been shown a small print of the picture in case the parcel had been opened, but her Intelligence had been good and the parcel had still been wrapped as she'd been told. She briefly remembered a picture of a preaching Jesus, surrounded by worshippers, but the picture meant nothing. 'Whatever floats your boat' was her attitude.

In truth, 'The Adoration of the Masses' by Rene de Vigie-St.Amorry was not a well-known piece, although beautifully painted. Almost nothing was known of the painter, and no other works of his were known of. The painting was only remarkable because it had been painted as a Royal commission, but historians could not agree which King of France had requested it because the age of the painting had never been definitively settled on. Central to the picture, Jesus stood with his right forefinger raised, left hand cupped in front of his belly as though holding something, right foot forward as though taking a bold step. Around him, a throng of people were massed. To the left of the picture, a number of penitent women stood with their heads bowed in respect. To the right of the picture, a number of elderly seated shepherds with their staffs pointed at him in wonder.

The woman in black marvelled at how simple the job had been. The bulk of the work had been in reconnaissance, checking the position of the storeroom, finding the sensors etc. Once inside, she'd been barely five minutes and she thought of it as easy money. Well above her usual rates, which she assumed was meant to buy her silence. The tall woman with the posh accent who had engaged her services would have the other half of her money ready at the meeting place tomorrow night, and she looked forward to receiving it. She'd already spent most of it anyway.

1

The theft was reported at around nine fifteen, when someone investigated the cause of the draught in the stockroom. Lord Gallagher, the owner of the museum, was informed some ten minutes later and was not amused, although his notorious temper was itself tempered by the small scale of the crime. The most perplexed amongst his staff was the buyer, who had successfully bid on the painting at auction only the previous week. The painting itself had only just been delivered, and indeed had not even been opened, and yet the warehouse supervisor was absolutely adamant that that was only thing missing.

When questioned by police, the buyer remembered that despite the relative obscurity of the painting (combined with the fact that on a technical level, the painting wasn't even that good) there was another bidder who had seemed indecently keen to get hold of the drawing, who constantly referred to a mobile phone before raising his bid. As fierce as the bidding had been, it had stopped very suddenly, and the buyer had been left unopposed in the bidding.

The buyer, Lisa, was telling the story (with embellishments) to her colleague Tara in the canteen over lunch. Tara White, a tall and leggy 24-year old with dark blonde hair and a Masters degree, was some sort of PA to Lord Gallagher and Lisa was sure that anything she said would get back to Lord Gallagher one way or another - if she didn't say anything to her boss directly, then she'd tell his daughter Eve, who was Tara's best friend. Lisa was sure to say how fierce the bidding had been, and he she knew that there was just 'something special' about that painting and that was why it had been stolen. (In fact, the truth was somewhat different. Lisa had had a long, liquid lunch with a buyer from another museum and had simply fallen asleep in the afternoon session, and woke up with three lots left to bid on. She'd not wanted to go back to work empty-handed).

Eve feigned a polite level of interest, but her keen mind was already running through the various scenarios for such a selective crime. There was obviously something special about the painting, although she doubted whether the buyer had actually seen that for herself. Someone definitely had though. She'd taken her degree in the history of art, specialising on the Renaissance period, and she'd never heard of this fellow Vigie-St.Amorry. Maybe it was a place name and his own name was something different - as in, Rene from Vigie-St.Amorry, although she could not recall hearing of such a place. Back in her office, she pulled up a shot of it from an Internet database. It wasn't a masterpiece, in truth it was a rather charmless and poorly constructed piece, more befitting of work done by a pupil rather than a master.

The phone buzzed, and she snatched it up with an impatient 'Yes?' as though annoyed to be pulled away from her thoughts. The frown turned to a smile when she recognised Eve's voice.

"Hey you, how's work?" came the chirpy voice from the other end of the phone.

"Hey you, how's slobbing around all day spending Daddy's money?" Both girls laughed.

"Well Tara, today I had lunch with Simon, you know the dark haired one from that boy band, what's their name-"

"You didn't-"

"I bloody well did!"

"Oh you cow! He's gorgeous. How did you get to meet him?"

"The normal way, his agent rang mine, blah blah blah. And do you know something?"

"More than you can possibly imagine."

"He's as thick as bloody pig shit!" They laughed again. Tara marvelled at her friend's comments - 'the normal way - his agent rang mine' - as though that was how everyone got fixed up. She knew Eve tried to live down the 'Daddy's little rich girl' tag, but most of the time she failed quite dismally, especially whenever she opened her mouth, which was often. It would help if she weren't an in-demand photo model with a reputation for being a bit of a spoilt madam, the modelling being something Tara was sure she only did to wind up her father. Physically Eve was the opposite of Tara - natural brunette with a lusty sheen, five and a half feet tall, proud cheekbones and bee-stung lips. In spite of it all, they were true friends and loved each other dearly. "So what are you up to today then, honey?"

"Haven't you heard? There's been a break in here at the museum. A new painting has been stolen."

"That accounts for Daddy's bad mood I suppose. Was it one of the good ones, or those awful new ones where they can't colour inside the lines?"

"Well, that's the funny thing. It's quite an unknown painting really, I'm not even sure why we wanted it, let alone anyone else. I've never even heard of the painter."

"And you've got a brain the size of a planet when it comes to these things, I know. Sounds terribly interesting, I'm sure we'll get to hear about it over dinner tonight, assuming Daddy comes home. Fancy doing something later, maybe we could go out?"

"I'm not sure Eve, your favourite bars always charge a tenner for a single vodka."

"That's the idea honey, keeps the riff-raff out. Have you got any better ideas?"

"Well, I was going to stay here and work late actually, there's something about this painting that doesn't quite make sense."

"Okay, well you work late and I'll come over to your place for around six."

"You know, six o'clock is not actually working late."

"Oh, it is. Look, I've said the 'w' word so many times I think I've got a grey hair coming. Are you sure you won't come out?"

"Well, I want to look-"

"I know, I know, you want to look for this painting. Tell you what, why don't I help?"

"Erm, help? It's been stolen Eve, it's not lost. It didn't fall behind the sofa or anything."

"Ooh look, sarcasm. Well, don't the police have any suspects or anything?"

"No, but I do. The girl who bid on it, Lisa, was telling me that someone was terribly keen to beat her to that painting at the auction, but then all of a sudden stopped bidding. Even tried to buy the painting of her when the auction finished. I was just wondering if that person decided to get hold of the painting by more nefarious means."

"By having sex with a corpse?"

There was a pause while Tara worked out what her friend meant. "No Eve, not by having sex with a corpse. That's necrophilia, something else altogether. Nefarious, it means-"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it's very interesting. So who was this mystery bidder?"

"Well, I called the auction house and got a list of all the other people who were at that auction. There's only one I don't know or who isn't connected to an organisation I know in some way. There's a name, Nathan Silberman. He bought one other piece and gave a billing address in New York."

"Ooh, I haven't been to New York in ages."

"You were there last month!"

"That's what I mean. Let's go look for it! We'll find this guy, this silverfish-"

"Silberman."

"- and ask him outright what he's done with Daddy's horrid painting!"

"I don't think we can just walk in and ask him outright. He may not have it."

"You're right, we need to be more tricky, more sneaky... we could break in and search for it! I can get in anywhere."

"Yes, we all know you're only a size six, thank you..."

"No, I'm serious! We'll go get that painting back and Daddy might get me a new car, and you can get a pay rise and everybody's happy."

"No! I can't just wander of from work like that."

"Hmmm... I know! That French chap with the underwear, the designer fellow that keeps bothering me, what's his name?"

"Maxime, Maxime Bossis."

"That's the one. He keeps ringing my agent wanting me to model some new scanties for him. I'll tell Daddy that I'm going to NY to wear some posh knickers for a Frenchman to take pictures of, and he'll tell me to take you to 'keep an eye on me' like he always does..."

"He never says that...."

"He does honey, I listen at the door of his office. He'll tell you to be my chaperone, and then we get to go to New York together! It'll be fun, it's ages since we've had a girly trip away."

"I don't know..."

"I do, my mind's quite made up, I'll get Marie to set it up now with Maxime."

"You're going to do the modelling? I thought that was just a cover."

"Heavens, no, Maxime does the best knickers. Tiny little things! He always lets me keep them afterwards, so let's go let the Frenchman get his jollies and we'll see if we can find this painting. What do you say?"

As normal, it didn't really matter what Tara said once Eve had her mind made up, which would be why just a few hours later she found herself waiting at Gatwick for the Virgin Airlines flight to New York.

The flight took seven and a half hours and they arrived at JFK (author's note - check this) at six the next morning. The photo shoot was scheduled for the next day, something Tara suspected Eve had arranged so they could spend the day shopping, catching up with Eve's many New York friends, and generally just gadding about. They checked into their Broadway hotel and were shown to adjoining suites. After a nap to catch up, they took lunch with Maxime, the French designer and his assistant Marie, to discuss their plans for the shoot the next day.

The shoot would take place at an extremely seedy hotel in the Bronx, all dirty walls and bedraggled furnishings. As far as anyone could make out, this was to highlight the contrast the difference between the exclusive and outrageously expensive lingerie - the cost of one particular bra would be enough to hire the room they would be shooting in for an entire month - and the squalid surroundings. Tara had many misgivings about the location, the reasoning behind the location, and so on, but instead took to privately wondering why posh women would see these fancies knickers in a Bronx flea-pit and suddenly decide their life's work was to own a pair. Worlds apart, a thought that often occurred when she was with any acquaintance of Eve's.

Maxime was fawning over Eve, as many men did. The ice-blue eyes could give off a stare that would split obsidian, and she could be as bitchy and sarcastic as the loudest queen, but when she wanted to she could be so charming, so affable and approachable that she'd been known to illicit serious proposals of marriage inside fifteen minutes. The real Eve lay somewhere between those two - fun-loving, friendly and generous, definitely sensuous, but accustomed to getting her own way and pouting when there were obstacles to that.

His big plan for the shoot was to pair Eve with another girl and have them shot in this sleazy dive, done up to look as cheap as possible, as though they were two call-girls you'd hired for the hour. They'd hired Geoff Thorn, an arrogant young Londoner, to do the shoot. Thorn was known for many controversial pieces of work, his photography, his paintings, his rants about left-wing politics... he was pretty much rent-a-soapbox. It seemed that he never tired of hearing his own voice and was definitely from the school that any publicity was good publicity. Tara could see the ads now, before they were even shot. Not only were they going to be billboard ads in the States, they would be given away in a special supplement in the forthcoming edition of the UK's top selling lad mag. This was always something that Tara found bizarre - how many pairs of $500 knickers would they sell through a men's magazine?

The other girl was a controversial US rapper by the name of Sabrina. Half Spanish and half Brazilian, she had the looks and body of a supermodel, the intelligence of a politician and the mouth of a marine. If half the rumours about her were true, then she re-defined the term wild child. Eve owned one of her CDs: it was in the glove compartment of her car right at that moment. Known partly for her pragmatic, real-life raps over languid, Blue Note inspired jazzy rhythms, she was also much in demand as a model with a tall, slim figure and seemingly endless legs, and cascading loose jet-black curls. Her delicious caramel coloured complexion had lent itself to some stunning photosets, and, if the urban myths were to be believed, some amateur hard-core pornography in the days before she was famous.

They met early next morning to take advantage of the wan, early morning sunlight. The room itself was dirty, with bedraggled curtains of an indeterminate colour and age. The sun struggled to find a way through, casting long shadows in the rest of the room. There was no carpet and the floorboards were coarse and stained. The few rugs were similarly disgusting, and there was a smell in the air as though the windows had not been opened in some time. The wallpaper was completely missing from most parts of the wall, and what little remained was a hideous seventies design in beige and brown. Disturbingly, there were three bullet holes in the wall opposite the door, and there were bullets still in two of them.

There was a bag of underwear in some seriously sleazy styles and colours, which delighted both girls. Thorn (as he insisted on being called) was overjoyed to see that the girls were both up for it, and neither showed any false modesty, peeling off in front of him almost immediately to start trying the undies on. The lingerie was mostly lace with either silk or PVC, with stylings borrowed heavily from bondage paraphernalia - studs, little loops of chain, collars, and so on. They'd both insisted on doing their own make-up, which meant that there was just the three of them in the hotel room in Queens that morning. The make-up was cheap and trampy, smudged black and enticingly over-the-top reds. Eve had gone for the slightly more feminine lingerie in dark blue silk with exquisite black lace, while Sabrina's set was black PVC with white lace. Both girls wore stockings; Eve's attached to a suspender belt, whilst Sabrina's were fishnet hold-ups.

They started with some very tame shots, the girls sat in their lingerie with their backs to the wall, staring out of the window, purposely looking bored and disinterested. A few more of them appearing to fasten and unfasten each other's bras or suspender belts. Then, in a moment when Thorn was changing the roll of film in his camera, Sabrina leaned in close to Eve's ear.

"Wanna know what I did this morning?" She whispered in her honeyed, Latino drawl.

"What?"

"I had myself a fucking huge orgasm with my favourite vibrator thinking about this shoot. It's been soooo loooong since I did anything really fucked up! I was thinking that we could really get nasty, make these shots so freaking horny that he can't use them for anything except wanking, and we get to keep the stuff after! Whaddya say?"

Eve swallowed. She'd heard about this girl, had heard all the stories about the stuff she was supposedly into, and the temper tantrums when she didn't get her own way. She paused briefly, smiled, then nodded. A grin broke out on Sabrina's face and a devilish glint came into her eyes. She leaned in again and whispered.

"Here, I got a little something for you..." one arm snaked around Eve's waist, puling her in close, while one heavily manicured fingernail traced a line over Eve's taut, flat belly, between her breasts and finally right up to her lips. Looking deep into Sabrina's eyes and trying desperately not to feel like a virgin by comparison, Eve took the finger into her mouth and sucked on it deep, as though giving the best BJ of her life.