Page 21 of Tainted Reasoning

Chapter Nine

William

“Ican’t believe I’m returning a painting to an art gallery. This just feels so strange.” Nicholas flicks a switch on a technical gadget he’s holding, and all the alarms in the National Gallery in London are switched off. His little piece of wizardry was given to him by Matthew Carter and Ryan North, both MI5 alumni. I’m still amazed my brother was able to get them on side with his plan, but it seems righting wrongs is close to their hearts. We’re both dressed head to toe in black with night vision goggles over our eyes. I’m liking the darkness – it’s a big improvement on the flashing lights I saw, traveling into London. How anyone can sleep in this city when it’s lit up like a Christmas tree almost twenty-four hours a day is beyond me.

“I think it just proves Victoria has you by the balls.” I chuckle at my brother, which earns me a thump on the back. “Hey watch it! Precious cargo in hand. You don’t want me to drop this fifty-million-dollar picture, now, do you?”

“Don’t remind me of the value,” Nicholas growls between gritted teeth. “If I didn’t love my wife so much, I’d be selling this picture on the black market and using the money to wipe out all our enemies. Instead, I’m giving back one of my favorite paintings.”

I hold in my hands an original work of art called ‘Poppies’ by Van Gogh. Nicholas stole it from the Mohamed Mahmoud Kahlil Museum in Cairo eight years ago. It’s small, little more than twenty-five inches by twenty-one inches, but it’s hung in Oakfield’s main hall since the night Nicholas brought it home. My father was proud of him that night. The irony isn’t lost on me. He’s proud of me when I almost kill a woman, and of Nicholas when he steals a famous painting. Why couldn’t he have been like other fathers and been proud of us for cutting our first tooth or saying our first words? No, it could only be when we committed some despicable crime.

“At least she didn’t make me take it back to Cairo. British museums are so much easier to get in and out of.” Nicholas takes the painting from me and places it underneath Van Gogh’s self-portrait.

“Why didn’t she want it back in Cairo?” I question.

“As much as she hates the painting because of the reminder of what it represents, I think she secretly wants to be able to come and see it when she can.” Nicholas strips off the protective film from the painting. He’s wearing special gloves, which won’t leave any traces of a fingerprint.

“Makes sense. You think Cairo will allow it to stay here?”

“Not up to me. That’s for them to fight out amongst themselves. I think the UK might have a bit more sway when it comes to these things, so I’m hoping so.” Nicholas steps back and looks at the picture in its temporary home. “Time ’til the guard comes around?” he asks me, and I look at my watch, which I’d synchronized with the guard’s timings earlier. “Five minutes and twenty-six seconds.”

“Good. Plenty of time. Flick the switch on your glasses and check for fingerprints or DNA.”

I do as he asks, and using a special filter, I can see the picture is clean.

“All good.”

“Ok, let’s get out of here. I’ve got a wife waiting to reward me for being a good husband.”

“Didn’t need to know that, Brother.”

Nicholas laughs, and we leave the museum the same way we entered, via the roof. Nicholas flicks another switch on his superhero gadget, and the alarms are reset.

“The guard is going to get a big shock in about three minutes and ten seconds,” I chuckle. The tension of completing the feat disappears as we make our way back to the Lexus waiting for us with my brother’s driver. Throwing all the equipment in the trunk, we get in the car and remove our black clothing to reveal full dress suits below. The driver pulls away, and we are finally home free. Nicholas straightens his tie and takes out a decanter of brandy from a compartment in the car.

“Drink?” he offers.

“A small one.” I tug at the neck tie, hating the fact he chose this as a disguise. We were both at a function in nearby Kensington, tonight. I hated every minute of being the sociable Earl, but it was a necessary ruse as an essential part of our plan to return the picture. Providing us with an alibi should we be questioned. Nicholas made sure we were ‘seen’ even when we weren’t there. I didn’t ask because I’m reluctant to know the full extent of his abilities for subterfuge. My father trained him well.

I settle back in the car for the return journey to Oakfield Hall on the outskirts of the city. Shutting my eyes, I bring the amber nectar to my lips and allow it to burn down my throat with its velvety comfort.

I turn to face Nicholas who’s checking his mobile with a look of worry on his face. I know instantly it’s not because of our breaking and entering escapade. It’s the look he gets when he’s worried about his wife. “Is Victoria alright?”

“She’s still feeling a little sick. Tamara prepared her a ginger tea earlier, which seemed to settle her stomach a bit.”

“It must be hard seeing her feel so ill and knowing you not only caused it, but there’s little you can do to help her until she’s over the three-month mark.”

“The consequences of not covering our dicks,” my brother laments. “It’s not us who suffer.”

“I don’t know. I think you’re suffering as well. Well, you will when she gives birth. Victoria is strong, and she’s going to give you hell.” I can’t help but laugh at my brother’s impending doom. Victoria will curse him out like a sailor during labor, and if he doesn’t end up with a broken hand, I’ll be surprised. He’s going to suffer, and then he gets to be a father and change stinky diapers. I can’t help sniggering.

“I wouldn’t laugh at me too much, little brother.”

“Yeah, not going to happen to me.” I sit back smugly and bring the brandy to my lips.

“So, the screaming I heard coming from Tamara’s room had nothing to do with you?”

“What?” I spit my brandy out over the chair in front of me. “You heard? Does Victoria know? Is she going to kill me?”

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