Heist Society

The floors in the Renaissance room always glowed a little brighter, and the frames hung a little straighter, and the painting at the center of it—Leonardo da Vinci’s Angel Returning to Heaven—always attracted more awestruck visitors than any other thing inside the Henley’s walls. But on that morning, it felt very much as if the museum’s crown jewel had somehow lost its shine.

Today, the Renaissance room stood empty as long lines moved down the marble halls, all heading for the exact same place.

“This is it.”

Kat didn’t have to read the sign on the entrance to know they’d reached the right collection. All she had to do was see the crowds and hear the whisper on the air: Visily Romani.

Tourists and scholars alike stood shoulder to shoulder, heel to toe, gawking, waiting to see the place where a card had mysteriously appeared in the middle of the night in one of the most secure buildings in all of London.

Kat and Hale didn’t talk while they waited to enter the packed room. They didn’t comment on the angles of the cameras or the positions of the guards. They were tourists too, in a way. Curious. Eager to know the truth about the very strange thing that had happened, but needing to know for entirely different reasons.

“He was here,” Kat said when she finally made it inside. Most people looked for only a few seconds, then moved on. But Kat lingered. She and Hale were like the center of a wheel, barely moving while the rest of the crowd circled past.

“Yeah, except he didn’t take anything,” Hale said.

“He was there.” Kat felt her hand raise. She saw her finger point. Five paintings hung along the gallery’s far wall. Two days before, Visily Romani had left his card tucked inside the frame of the center painting.

A business card, the rumors said. White cardstock and black letters spelling out a name that, until then, had only been whispered in the darkest corners of the darkest rooms.

A calling card, left by a ghost, saying simply, Visily Romani was here.

Kat thought about that card, and something in her heart— or maybe just her blood—told her that of all the people who filled the Henley that day, the world’s greatest thief was speaking directly to her.

“Why break in and not take anything?” Hale asked, but Kat shook her head.

She asked a better question: “Why break in and leave something?”

Kat stepped closer to the painting at the center of it all. Flowers on a Cool Spring Day, it was called. It was a lovely little still life. The artist had been reasonably well-known. But there was nothing remarkable about it besides the fact that this was the place where Visily Romani had chosen to leave his card.

Kat stayed back, staring at the other five paintings in the room, trying to guess what Romani had been thinking.

She closed her eyes and remembered the stories she’d heard her whole life—legends of the greatest thief who never lived:

A man walked into the Kremlin and walked out with a Fabergé egg under his top hat.

A corrupt German art dealer sold a fake Rembrandt to an Englishman, not aware that stolen Nazi plans were hidden inside.

Now five paintings were missing.

Kat stared at the gallery wall.

Five paintings remained.

She made a slow rotation, scrutinizing each of the paintings, studying their dimensions. She felt her heart start to race.

“What if that card wasn’t all he left?”

“What?” Hale asked, turning to look at her, but Kat was already walking forward, examining the ornate frames around the priceless works.

“Miss,” one of the docents said as Kat leaned forward. “Miss, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step back.” The man eased between Kat and the painting, but not before the idea had already taken root in Hale’s mind.

“No,” Hale started, and then he looked from the paintings and back to Kat again. “Why would someone break into the Henley to leave five priceless paintings. . . .” He looked at the walls. Counted. “Behind five different paintings?” He didn’t even try to hide the awe in his voice.

Because he’s done things like this before, Kat wanted to say. Because using the name Romani means you always have a plan—a reason. Because Psuedonima jobs aren’t ordinary jobs. Because Visily Romani isn’t an ordinary thief.

“But why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know, Hale.”

“But why would—”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

She suddenly felt the need to be free of the crowds and the noise and the history that hung on every wall, taunting her.

“Somebody’s playing games!” Kat said angrily as she left the exhibit hall and started down the Henley’s grand promenade. She walked faster, Hale beside her, trying to keep up. “Somebody’s having fun! And he doesn’t care that other people are going to get hurt because of it.”

People were starting to stare, so Hale placed his arm around her shoulder and tried to stop her—to calm her.

“I know,” he whispered. “But maybe it’s a good thing.”

“Maybe it’s what? Taccone’s after my dad, Hale. Taccone—”

“Maybe it means we’ve found them. And if they can be found . . .”

It seemed to Katarina Bishop as if all the moments in her family’s very long, very dubious past had been preparing her to say, “They can be stolen.”

Chapter 16

As Kat watched the city roll by from the back of a long black car, she was acutely aware of the fact that she had three— maybe four—options.