The Eighth Guardian

CHAPTER 14

The three of us slink toward the service entrance while looking over our shoulders to make sure the cop doesn’t come back. The real cop, I mean. We stop in front and look up at the camera.

“Hopefully one of them isn’t keeping a lookout right now,” Violet says.

“Hopefully.” I pull the last item out of my bag. “If both of them aren’t in the basement, they’re certainly going to hear this.” I hold up my crowbar and examine the hollow metal, green service door again. I take a breath. This won’t be easy. A hollow metal door requires a lot of force, and I may be strong, but I’m not a six-foot-eight, 350-pound linebacker.

“I think this is going to take all of us,” I say. “I’ll work on the crowbar, and the two of you kick like hell. Got it? We have to do this as quickly as we can.”

Yellow nods. “I can kick,” she says. She lifts her right knee and takes a practice thrust kick.

I nod back. That had some force to it. We might be all right. I jimmy the crowbar into the lock and take a breath. “On three,” I say. “One . . . two . . . three!”

I yank at the crowbar with all the strength I can muster; at the same time Yellow kicks right below the doorknob, at the weakest part of the door. She spins away, and Violet swoops in with another thrust kick that lands on the same spot. That does it. The side splinters, and the door swings open. Yellow squeaks in delight and jumps up and down.

“Shh!” I say. “We have to be careful.” I turn to look at Yellow and Violet. “Look, I know you don’t like me, and truth be told, I don’t like either of you; but we have to put that aside and be a team in there. Otherwise all three of us could wind up dead.” As soon as the words escape my lips, the full truth of them becomes evident. This is real. Not a drill. And we could die. Very easily. Fear creeps into my skin and overtakes me. Suddenly I don’t want to go in. I want to call the cops and be done with it.

Yellow puts her hand in the middle. “A team.” I look at her and put my hand on top, then Violet does the same. This comforts me a little. We can do this—we have to.

“Watch out for the alarms,” I say. “They’re everywhere. Trip one, and the thieves will know they’re not alone. And then they’ll come looking for us. So please tell me you both know how to bend around laser alarms.”

Violet nods, but Yellow shakes her head. “I’ll figure it out,” she says.

I guess that will have to do.

Yellow enters first, and I go in after her. Violet brings up the rear. I raise my hand for them to wait for a second, then duck into the security office and synchronize my watch with the security system so I’ll know my cheat sheet will be right. It’s 1:40 exactly. We have eight minutes until the thieves head up the main staircase to the second floor. I stash my bag by the entrance. Then we tiptoe quietly through the maze of doorways that leads to the main staircase. We’re standing in front of the courtyard, which is dark and spooky, and I’m not liking this one bit.

And then I stop because I can’t see a thing. At least, not a thing I’m looking for. There are no green lasers crisscrossing the floors and walls, showing us where the alarms are.

“I thought you said there were lasers,” Yellow whispers to me.

I wave her off. I thought there were. My eyes scan the courtyard and stairs, and then I spot something. A small white cube hanging in the corner. An electric eye. Dammit. I should have anticipated that the museum would have a much more primitive security system in 1990. Dammit. I can’t keep making mistakes like this.

I point to the cube. “Electric eye.”

“Violet.” I’m whispering so softly I’m practically just mouthing the words, but Yellow and Violet hear me and turn their heads. “We just have to look out for them.”

I look at Violet and nod my head in the direction of the Blue Room, and she nods back. There’s another electric eye in the corner by the Macknight Room, and I hold my breath as Violet flattens herself against the wall. I don’t know whether the eye is hooked up to any sort of audible alarm, and I really don’t want to find out the hard way.

Violet rounds the corner, and the museum stays silent. But still, I don’t exhale. Not yet. This is like a game of limbo. Life or death limbo.

I look down at my watch. 1:42. Six minutes to go.

There aren’t any eyes on the stairs, but when Yellow and I get to the top, we find three of them. Yellow points to each, and I see her calculating how to avoid them. I’m thinking the same. A modern, high-tech security system would be so much easier. At least I could see what I need to watch out for. Electric eyes work by sending an invisible, infrared light beam that detects when a person is around because the beam is broken. But I can’t see the damned beam!

Think!

And then I get an idea. The eyes are trained to detect people walking through the museum.

I turn to Yellow and point at the floor. “Crawl.”

I have no idea if this will work, but it’s worth a shot. Yellow looks at the floor and nods. It’s time for us to part ways. The Dutch Room is to the right, and the Short Gallery is to the left and around the corner. Yellow and I make eye contact. She’s terrified, and I am, too. I’m not even going to try to hide it. But we both drop to the floor and scoot away from each other on our stomachs.

I low-crawl like they teach in the military—like they taught me at Peel—until my shoulders scream in pain, but I know it’s only a minute or two tops. And I ignore them because the hall stays silent. I get to the Dutch Room and stand. Watch check.

1:47.

My stomach lurches. I only have a minute before the thieves come upstairs.

I scan the location of the electric eyes in the room. If I stick to the perimeter, I should be safe. So I hop up and find myself staring at The Concert. It’s not hanging on the wall. It’s attached to a small board and placed on a table alongside the window. There’s a chair in front of it, as if you’re supposed to sit and stare at it. It’s so pretty in person; it almost gives me chills.

I’m wasting time! I’m here to save the damned thing, not gawk at it. I throw myself against the wall and scoot along it toward the back of the room.

The second hand on my watch clicks to 1:48.

I’m too exposed. There’s nothing to hide behind. I’m wearing black and my hair is dark, but the security lights are bright enough that anyone would see me in a heartbeat. I have to get out of here. Now. It’s quiet. Too quiet. A total absence of sound.

Except not.

Footsteps.

Quiet. Barely audible.

Footsteps on the stairs.

I have to move! I scoot around the other door, which leads into an elevator lobby. I could probably stay here, but I keep going into the Tapestry Room. There’s an eye in the corner, and I don’t know if it will catch me, so I throw myself down and crawl into the Tapestry Room just as I hear footsteps in the Dutch Room.

They’re here.

I tuck myself into the southwest corner of the dim, cavernous room, behind a table that a sign tells me is from the mid-eighteenth century. I pull out my cheat sheet again. My hands tremble so much I can barely read it. There are two men not even twenty feet from me. Very bad men here to do very bad things. And then I jump as there’s a rip and a crack in the next room. I breathe and tell myself it’s the thieves taking a painting down from the wall. I look at the paper in my hands.

1:51. One of the thieves leaves and trips an alarm in the stairway. That thief then goes through the Early Italian Room, through the Raphael Room, and into the Short Gallery.

Where Yellow is waiting.

1:53. That thief comes back into the Dutch Room and trips the alarm.

1:56. One or both thieves come into the Tapestry Room and trip the alarm.

My Tapestry Room.

I’m breathing so hard I swear they have to hear me. 1:56, I tell myself. I’m okay until 1:56. And at 1:51 I’ll know for sure whether there are audible alarms or not.

I look down at my watch to check the time, but I don’t have to. An alarm blares on the other side of the floor, and I jump so high I drop my cheat sheet. I curl into a ball on the floor. My breathing is short and shallow, and my hands are shaking in full vibrations as I pick up the note card. The thief’s in the stairway. Oh God, he’s heading for Yellow.

A few seconds later another alarm blares. Its ringing isn’t the loudest alarm I’ve ever heard—not even close—but still it pierces my eardrums and makes me jump even higher. He’s in the Raphael Room. Please, Yellow. Please take care of him now, while the alarm is still going off, so no one can hear the scuffle.

The alarm in the hallway goes silent, but the one in the Raphael Room is still going. It shuts off a few seconds later, and then there’s total silence. I stop. I try not to even breathe. I listen. For anything. Any sort of sound to let me know who won. But there’s only silence.

I guess that means either Yellow got him or she hid from him. If he’d found her, there would be shouting and chaos. I look at my watch. 1:52. Back to the cheat sheet. In another minute I’ll know for sure whether Yellow got him. If an alarm sounds in the Dutch Room, he’s still free. If not, we only have one to go.

I watch every second tick by on my watch. It’s 1:53 now, but I’m not breathing until it’s 1:54. Ten seconds go by. Oh God, please. Please let Yellow have knocked the other one out with the chloroform. Another ten seconds. If she didn’t, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Twenty seconds. I can’t take out both of them at once. Thirty seconds. And I don’t think Yellow can get here fast enough.

1:54.

The museum is silent. She did it! Yellow did it! Now it’s my turn.

I crouch lower and slide myself out from behind the table so I’ll be able to strike. The other thief is going to enter at 1:56, and I’m going to jump on him, choke him into unconsciousness, and get out. I hope.

Suddenly an alarm rings on the other side of the floor.

I slap my palms to the wall behind me. What the hell is that?

It’s 1:55. I look down at my cheat sheet again. There are no alarms at 1:55. This is new. Who is that? Is it Yellow? The other thief?

There are footsteps in the elevator lobby. What do I do? Do I still try to take out this guy? What if the other thief is free? What if he tripped the alarm and is on his way back here? What if Yellow is dead? What if I’m next?

I don’t have time to think. The alarm rings in the Tapestry Room as the thief enters. It’s the bigger guy, the one with the dark hair and the mustache. He looks around the room, then turns to go.

And then he sees me, and I switch into autopilot.

He jumps back. I jump forward and throw myself at him. I deliver an elbow strike right to the jaw, and he stumbles backward. I rear back to kick; but in a quick second he’s on me, staring at me with wide, murderous eyes. He grabs hold of my arm and twists, but I spin away. This guy has no formal training, but he’s still way bigger than me.

And he’s got a gun.

I launch myself at him, grab the gun, and twist. I feel his fingers break, so I jerk the gun to free it, and it’s in my hand. I raise it and slam it into the side of his head, then I throw it across the room and jump on his back. I hook my elbow around his neck, grab my other arm, and yank like hell. The thief chokes and swings, trying to get me off him, but I wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze.

He slams his back into the wall, trying to break free of me, but I can see he’s getting weaker. He’s swaying from side to side. He’s almost gone. I squeeze my hands into his throat a little harder, and he crumples to the floor face-first just as the alarm goes off.

I keep choking for a few seconds before I roll off and check him for good measure. He’s out but still breathing. I don’t even bother with the chloroform. I reach into my pocket and cuff him, then loop the bungee cord tight and tie his hands and feet together. My hands tremble so much it takes me three tries. But I get it.

I’m dizzy as I stand up to look around. The room is otherwise empty. I need to figure out who tripped that other alarm. I drop to the floor and crawl into the elevator lobby again, then tip my head into the Dutch Room. No one. I flatten my back against the wall and work the perimeter.

All of the stolen paintings are hanging in their frames except for the Vermeer, which is lying on the floor beside the table. Just as I thought. Go for the most valuable first. I bend down to look at it for just a second when a hand grabs my shoulder.

I whip up, grab the arm, and slam Yellow to the ground.

“It’s me,” Yellow groans, her mouth smashed between my hand and the floor.

“Oh God!” I say. “Sorry!” I lift my hand.

“I got the first guy. He’s out in the Raphael Room.” She hops up as if nothing happened. “Did you get the other one?”

“Yep, he’s in the Tapestry Room.”

Yellow gasps and grabs my hand, then jumps up and down. “We did it!”

“We have to get Violet and get out of here!”

Yellow nods and ducks to the floor, but I pull her up. “Screw that. Let’s just go.”

We race through the hallway, and the alarms ring immediately. But we don’t stop. We tear down the steps to the first floor.

“Violet!” Yellow screams. “Let’s go!” She runs into an alarm just in front of the main staircase, and it goes off. “Violet!”

“She can’t hear us over this,” I shout.

Yellow takes off down the West Cloister and rounds the corner into the North. I follow after her. Another alarm goes off, but we don’t slow. Yellow jumps into the Blue Room and triggers another alarm.

The Blue Room is empty.

“Where’s Violet?” Yellow shouts. I shrug my shoulders. Not good. Not good at all. We have to get out of here now. With this many alarms going off, you might be able to hear them from the outside.

We run out of the Blue Room and round into the East Cloister. It’s empty, and another alarm rings. Where is she?

“We have to go!” I shout.

“We can’t leave her!” Yellow shouts back. She runs into the Spanish Cloister next door, and another alarm goes off.

“Yellow, we have to get out of here!” My heart is pounding. Sweat is pouring down my face and stinging my eyes. “We’re going to get caught!”

Yellow looks down the hall and screams in frustration. “You’re right! Let’s go! Hopefully she got scared and bolted.”

We run down the North Cloister and then the West. We pass the main staircase, and the alarm that had fallen silent screams at us once more. We’re close. Just the maze of doors leading to the service entrance.

And then Violet steps out into our path.

Yellow and I grind to a halt.

“Where the hell were you?” Yellow shouts over the alarm.

Violet holds up a VHS tape. “Grabbing the security tape. Let’s go!”

The three of us run out the doorway and onto Palace Road. I grab my bag just before the door closes, and we don’t slow down until we’re a block away at a pay phone. Yellow fishes a quarter out of her pocket and dials 9-1-1.

“Yes,” she gasps into the receiver. “I think there’s something going on at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. I hear a bunch of alarms going off, and it looks like the service entrance door has been busted.”

And then she slams down the receiver, and the three of us run like hell. We duck into the Fens so that the trees will hide us. Three people dressed all in black running down the road at two in the morning are bound to attract some attention. We reach Boylston Street and make a right, then finally slow down when we hit the Berklee College of Music. Good enough. Students are still roaming around, and most of them look like we do. It’s safe.

My heart is racing as we try to hail a cab.

“Oh my God,” Violet whispers.

“Oh my God,” I agree.

“That was the fire mission to end all fire missions,” Yellow says.

“Who tripped the alarm at 1:55?” I ask.

“Me,” Yellow says. “It was an accident. I backed into the Early Italian Room.”

I nod my head as the cab pulls up in front of us, and I hold the door open for Yellow and Violet. None of us says a single word the entire ride back. I’m so shot full of adrenaline that I’m dizzy. Headlights of oncoming cars blur into balls of dancing light, so I close my eyes and try not to think about what just happened. It’s still too new, too real.

Zeta is waiting for us when we get back to Annum Hall. “So?”

“Success,” I say. “Nothing was stolen from the museum.”

Zeta smiles and leads us into Annum Hall. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. Yellow and Violet, go upstairs to bed. Iris, wait here.”

Neither Yellow nor Violet turns to look at me as they head up the stairs, and I’m a little hurt. I don’t know why. What was I expecting, that we’d all get matching BFF tattoos after this?

I turn to Zeta. “Yes?”

“Excellent job.” He’s smiling. Actually, genuinely smiling. “I’m very proud of you. I know I’ve been hard on you, but it’s because I see leadership in you. I’m going to be making my full recommendation to the DOD tomorrow that you be promoted to full and permanent Annum Guard member. I know Alpha is doing the same.” He holds out his hand. “Welcome to the Guard, ma’am.”

I shake his hand and don’t try to hide the smile that spreads across my face. “Thank you.”

A full and permanent member of Annum Guard. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but I like this. I actually like this. I feel pride beaming from my chest. This feels right. So right.

I let go of Zeta’s hand and head toward the stairs.

“Hang on,” Zeta says. “You’re skipping the best part.”

I turn my head back to look at him. “Which is?”

He points to the library. “Don’t you want to see what history has to say about you?”

My mouth drops open. I didn’t even think about that. I run into the library, open a search engine, and type in ISABELLA STEWART GARDNER MUSEUM BURGLARY.

I click on the first link, which takes me to an encyclopedia entry on the attempted burglary of the museum. My heart skips a beat when I read the word attempted. In the wee morning hours of March 18, 1990, two thieves dressed as uniformed police officers knocked on the service entrance door to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and were let through the door by one of the security guards. A second guard came downstairs, and the thieves overpowered the men and locked them in the basement. At just after 2 a.m., the Boston Police Department received an anonymous phone call from a female a block away from the museum that tipped them off to a possible burglary occurring inside the museum. When police arrived on the scene, they found two men handcuffed and unconscious in the museum. The Concert, a painting by Johannes Vermeer valued at over $200 million, was found lying on the floor of the museum’s Dutch Room, but no other artwork had been taken. Police believe a third person was involved in the heist, despite the fact that the security guards testified that they only let two men through the door. The police reached their conclusion after discovering that the service door had been pried open, probably by use of a crowbar. In addition, numerous alarms were tripped in close succession minutes before the phone call to police. A popular theory holds that a third person who was well known to the thieves betrayed them the night of the heist. Both men apprehended adamantly denied this theory, and police were unable to follow any additional leads. Perhaps the most puzzling piece of evidence left behind is a note that appears to be a detailed timeline of how the thieves planned the burglary. The note details when certain alarms should be tripped and when the thieves should appear in each room. The police have not been able to make sense of the note, and both men charged with the crime deny having written the note or having seen it before.

I gasp and jump up, then plunge my hands into my pockets. And that’s when it hits me. I don’t have my cheat sheet. I must have dropped it in the scuffle.