Page 73 of Hostile Extraction

She nodded and led the way down the dimly lit stairwell.

When they got to the door on the lower level, she again had to key the door.

Asia could only imagine that with this much security, there had to be money or valuables kept down here. Probably a shit-ton of it.

They went through the door and into a dimly lit office with dark wood bookcases and a desk. A painting hung behind, and Asia recognized it immediately. She took painting in high school, and her teacher took them on a field trip to an art museum for a lecture about famous masterpieces. The woman had gone on about the famous works of art that had been stolen and never recovered. She’d shown a series of slides, and Asia remembered this one among them.

She tugged on Dusty’s sleeve and pointed to it. “That painting is called ‘The Concert’ by Johannes Vermeer. It’s the most valuable missing artwork in the world, with an estimated worth of two-hundred-million dollars. The original was stolen and never recovered. Do you think that’s it?”

Dusty twisted to look. “Probably. I would imagine an underground room like this belonging to a man with as much money as Amorosi is about the only place it could be displayed. He could never sell it. Maybe he collects them.”

“Take a picture,” Asia said, turning to Stan.

He pulled his phone up and clicked several shots. Then took in the rest of the room. “Think there’s a safe down here?”

Marta pointed to the chair in the corner. “It’s in the floor under that rug. There are alarms. I wouldn’t risk it.”

“We’re not here to rob the place, Stan.”

“Can you imagine how much money this asshole has?”

“Yeah, but that’s for our friends to worry about. I’m not risking our lives for gold.”

“I’m just kidding. I can bust a simple lock, but I’m no safe cracker, unless we use the C-4.” Stan waggled his brows.

“Forget it.”

There were footsteps overhead, and they all looked up.

“Show us,” Dusty snapped at Marta, and she moved to a bookcase and slid a book partway out. When she did, another section of the bookcase slid open. Dusty grabbed her arm. “You’re coming with us,”

She pulled back, struggling. “What? No. I can’t. My family.”

“We’ll free you when this is over and we’re all safely away. Got my word. But I’m not leaving you here to run and tell Nico’s men. Forget it.”

Stan took the girls through the opening and into a round concrete tunnel that didn’t look like much more than a large sewer pipe. He turned on the flashlight app on his phone. “Geez, these places give me the creeps. Reminds me of those damn tunnels on the Paki border, remember, Dusty?”

Dusty tugged on Marta. She was becoming feistier. “Come on,” he hissed. He shoved her ahead of him and shouted to Stan in a low voice. “I’m gonna set the C-4. Make sure we’re not followed.”

Stan stopped and nodded, waiting.

“You go on,” Dusty hissed. “I’ll follow.”

“You sure, buddy?”

“Get the women to safety. Move.”

Stan grabbed Asia’s arm and tugged, but she resisted, looking back at Dusty. She didn’t want to separate. This felt wrong. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Dusty squatted, pulling something gray and about the size of an ice cream bar from his pack and putting it on the top of the tunnel entrance with a wire coming out. He quickly unwrapped a length of more wire.

The sounds were louder and coming closer.

Suddenly, Marta dashed past Dusty and into the office. He scrambled after her.

“Shit, get back here.”

From down the length of the tunnel, Asia saw the office door fling open and Rocco and two men run in, guns drawn.

---