The Mastermind: Part One

9:13 a.m.

Theo hadn’t slept much last night, but he was too nervous to notice. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes glued to the TV screens mounted inside the delivery van. The screens relayed video from inside Musée des Arts du Rivage - a statue, a painting, a roving view of a near-empty hallway – all fed from video-enabled eyeglasses worn by the plainclothes officers inside. The air inside the van was warm and stale.

Keeping Theo company was Olivier, the local police lieutenant. “What will you say to him, if you catch him?” Olivier asked, leaning back in his chair.

“When I catch him,” Theo corrected. “I haven’t thought about it.”

That was a lie. Theo had thought of this day for years. He thought of it when as a young detective pouring over crime reports, he noticed a pattern everyone else had missed. He thought of it when his buddies told him he was crazy, that no one person could orchestrate such a series of robberies. He thought of it when his boss told him to give it up and get back to his queue, or else.

Now he was here, at the precipice of victory and vindication. Le Fantôme (that’s what Theo called him) felt so close Theo could almost reach out and cuff him.

“Any moment,” Olivier commented.

“Yes,” Theo agreed. He massaged his neck and felt the adrenaline tingle inside his stomach.

One of the camera feeds settled on a baroque painting hanging on a far wall – a cloth-wrapped baby nestled between apples and oranges.

“There it is,” Olivier said with a chuckle. “I don’t understand art.”

“Everyone is in position,” Theo narrated coldly, ignoring the lieutenant’s comment. He stood up and leaned over the screens.

“Remind me, why not arrest him already?” Olivier asked. “You know his schedule, where he sleeps. Just go get him!”

“We have to catch him in the act,” Theo responded. “This has to be airtight.”

“Big risk,” Olivier commented.

Theo knew he was right. But the bosses were out of patience. Now was not the time to play it safe, not when he was so close. And for the first time, he had an advantage, an ace in the hole. Someone on the inside.

Instinctively, he pulled the burner phone from his back pocket.

“That’s how you two communicate?” Olivier asked.

“Yes,” Theo nodded.

“Sweet deal!” Olivier exclaimed. “How’d you set that up?”

For years, Theo had been three steps behind. The Bordeaux vault job, the Citadel heist - Le Fantôme was untraceable. He assembled a new team each time, and even when the police could piece together the identities of his accomplices, the accomplices knew nothing useful. Le Fantôme never shared his name and hardly ever showed his face. He pulled strings from the shadows. It was why Theo struggled to convince his superiors that Le Fantôme existed.

Then out of nowhere, a lucky break gifted Theo every detective’s dream. One of his juniors connived her way onto Le Fantôme’s new crew. Suddenly, Theo knew his target, the day, and the moment.

It was a long story, and right now was certainly not the time.

“Just a good team, good police work,” Theo responded flatly.

Olivier got the message. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

They waited in silence. Outside, the traffic hummed by softly. Occasionally, the van’s aluminum shell crackled. Seconds turned into minutes on the white analog clock. Like a hawk, Theo hovered over the painting on his screen.

Suddenly, a shrill, high-pitched clanging. The alarm! Theo and Olivier jumped from their chairs. Panicked voices crackled through the audio connection. The video blurred as the plainclothes officers panned the galleries.

“What’s going on!” Theo called into his microphone. “Where’s the painting!”

“The painting’s here,” responded an officer.

“Well, find the alarm!” Theo urged.

The plainclothes officers raced through the hallways. Theo watched through jerky video. Paintings, statues, and patrons passed in a blur. Thirty seconds. A minute. Still the alarm rang out like a wild yell.

“I’m going in,” Theo announced. He grabbed his gun and reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” Olivier gasped.

Theo turned back. One video feed had settled on the jewelry gallery. In the center was a smashed glass case. It was empty.

“Le Black Orlov!” exclaimed the plainclothes officer.

Olivier leaned in closer. “That’s 120 carats,” he whispered. “I thought they were going for the painting.”

“Me too,” Theo said. He clenched his jaw and rumbled out of the door.

He sprinted towards the museum entrance. Patrons streamed from the door and pooled on the sidewalk like confused sheep. Theo pushed through them, waving his badge. With his other hand, he pulled out the burner and texted: Where are you?!?

He plowed through the museum door. Someone in uniform escorted him through the halls. He kept checking his phone. Why wasn’t she responding? By the time he reached the jewelry gallery, his stomach was in knots.

Continue The Story

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Deepwood Fiction House
Created by Adrian Vale