The Warhol Incident Read Online Free PDF Page B

just pulled up, and two men got out of the vehicle, heading straight for Marset’s house. We continued to watch as the men rang the doorbell, and Marset opened the door, allowing them to enter his home. It was almost four a.m. when the men left. The silver briefcase they had been carrying was no longer in hand; instead, they were carrying a large cardboard tube. Jean-Pierre told the other team to stick with the SUV since I was a liability, given my lack of weaponry and my tourist status in the country. The SUV pulled away, followed slowly by the sedan.
    “Where do you think they’re going?” I posed the question as he pulled out the radio and called the third team, who was still waiting at the gallery, to give them instructions on how to assist Clare and Van Buren.
    “Could be anywhere. We’ll try to keep a tail on them between the two cars.” He was contemplating something when there was movement at Marset’s. The art restorer exited through the back door, a large duffel bag in hand, and went quickly down the alley. He stopped at the opening and looked around cautiously, eyeing our van suspiciously.
    “We have a runner.”
    Marset made us and ran back down the alley and leapt the fence, making our ability to follow in the van nonexistent. I opened my door, preparing to give chase. Jean-Pierre was a few seconds ahead of me, and we ran down the alley after our suspect. Jean-Pierre leapt the fence in one fluid motion; unfortunately, I had to jump and climb to get myself up and over. If only I had longer legs, I thought wistfully as I continued to run full-out down the avenue.
    Marset w as still in sight but had a decent lead. The avenue split, and Jean-Pierre signaled that I go right in the hopes of heading off the suspect. Turning the corner, we entered a parking garage from two different angles. I ran up the ramps while keeping a watchful eye on the stairs. Jean-Pierre was gaining on him. On the fourth level, Marset exited the stairwell and ran into a cluster of parked cars, disappearing into the darkness.
    “S hit,” I muttered. Jean-Pierre emerged and looked at me. Unfortunately, neither of us knew where Marset was. The radio in Jean-Pierre’s jacket squawked, and a woman said something in French about losing the vehicle, making us oh for two tonight.
    C arefully walking through the rows of cars in search of Marset, tires screeched from the floor above. The SUV flew down the ramp, heading straight toward us. Throwing myself flat against one of the structural pillars, I reached instinctively for my gun.
    “Dammit. ” I was in a foreign country with no firearm. Things could have been better. The SUV stopped, and Marset ran from his hiding spot toward the back door. Jean-Pierre lunged, knocking the duffel bag away. It skittered across the pavement, sliding to a stop next to another of the pillars. The two men struggled on the ground. Jean-Pierre was unable to get a good grip on Marset, who continuously wormed out of the hold as he tried to reach the discarded duffel. I maintained a close eye on the SUV, quickly running through my options for detaining its occupants.
    The two men sitting in the SUV seemed entirely untroubled by this unfortunate series of events. One barked orders to Marset in bored-sounding French, and the other exited the SUV, brandishing a pistol. He looked at me and fired. I dove to the next support pillar and ducked behind it. Why was I stupid enough to think chasing after some smugglers was a good idea? The struggle continued behind me, and I peered around the pillar, knowing I was going to be of little help. Jean-Pierre managed to kick the duffel bag farther away from the man and was now taking cover behind the parked cars as the gunman fired at him. If I could just reach the bag and distract them, Jean-Pierre could get clear. Playing decoy had to be my least favorite idea, but it was the only one I had. Staying low, I ran from my hiding spot to the bag and shoved it hard enough to slide