The Mastermind

The closer he looks, the less he sees.

A series of impossible robberies has haunted Europe for years. Detective Theo Moreau is convinced they are the work of a single brilliant thief known only as Le Fantôme. But no one believes him, and his obsession with Le Fantôme has stained his reputation and jeopardized his career.

Then Theo gets the break he has been waiting for: Le Fantôme is planning another heist, and Theo knows the target and the date. It may be his best last chance to vindicate his name. But as Theo closes in, his determination may be clouding his judgement. What is he missing, and will he see it in time?

The Mastermind explores the thin boundaries between truth and fiction, justice and obsession, trust and betrayal.

The story is told in five daily installments, delivered by email.

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The Mastermind - Teaser

9:13 a.m.

Theo leaned forward in his chair and squinted at the TV screens. Everything blurred together. Hot, stale air pressed in on him. All he could think of was the collar plastered to his throat, and the rash itching behind his knee.

He stood up and pulled in a deep breath, curling his neck to avoid the van’s ceiling.  Slowly, he let the air escape his lips, and felt his heartbeat settle. Then he retrained his gaze on the digital feeds. Five angles of a near-empty art gallery stared back at him, delivered by eyeglasses worn by the plainclothes officers inside.

“What will you say to him, if you catch him?” asked Olivier. The local police lieutenant lounged in his chair near the van’s rear door, arms dangling behind his head. A sour odor wafted from his armpits.

“What?”

“You know, have you worked out a clever line?”

Theo shot him a glance. “No.”

That was a lie. Of course he’d worked out a line.

Theo could suddenly see his old basement office: white walls, white lights, the faint smell of formaldehyde. One evening while poring over unsolved case files, he noticed a pattern.  He remembered trying to explain it to his buddies, how they had nodded so politely and given him those thin smiles.  And when his boss shrugged and told him to get back to his caseload.

He had come so far to be here, at the precipice of victory and vindication. Le Fantôme felt so close Theo could almost reach out and cuff him.

“Any time now,” Olivier commented.

“Yes,” Theo agreed. He massaged his neck and felt his stomach flutter.  

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

“There it is,” Olivier chuckled. “I don’t understand art.”

Theo’s eyes locked on the image.

Olivier continued, “Remind me, why not arrest him already?”

Theo sighed. “The most we could get him on is conspiracy to commit. If we wait until he goes for it, we can get him for a lot more jail time.”  

“Big risk,” Olivier mused.  

Theo knew he was right. But now was not the time to play it safe, not when he was so close. Instinctively, he pulled the burner phone from his back pocket.

 “So that’s how you two communicate,” Olivier observed.

“Yes.”

“How’d you set that up?”  

“Just a good team, good police work.”

Theo didn’t want to tell Olivier that for eight years he’d been chasing this man, only for some junior detective to show up and waltz her way onto Le Fantôme’s crew. He told himself she was lucky. After all, he was the one who had discovered Le Fantôme, assembled the team, tracked him around the world. She had only carried them across the last mile. He certainly wasn’t going to get into that now.

Olivier got the message. He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms.

They waited in silence. The traffic outside hummed by softly. Occasionally, a gust rattled the van. Seconds turned into minutes on the white analog clock. Like a hawk, Theo hovered over the screen with the painting.

Suddenly, a shrill whine split the air. The men leapt from their chairs. Panicked voices crackled through the audio connection. The video juddered as the officers inside panned the galleries.

Theo grabbed the microphone. “Where’s the painting!”  

“Right here!” answered an officer.    

“Then why’s the alarm ringing?”

“No idea. Just a second.”

The plainclothes officers raced through the hallways. Theo watched paintings and patrons pass in a blur. Thirty seconds. A minute. Still the alarm rang out like a wild yell.

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

“Wait!” Olivier gasped.

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

“Le Black Orlov!” crackled the plainclothes officer.

Olivier leaned in. “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 down the steps and pooled on the sidewalk like confused sheep. Theo pushed through, waving his badge. With his other hand, he pulled out the burner and texted: Where are you?!?

He plowed through the doorway. Someone in uniform escorted him through the halls. He glanced at his phone again. Nothing. By the time he reached the jewelry gallery, he was nauseous.

Deepwood Fiction House
Created by Adrian Vale