Page 58 of The Picasso Heist

THE SECOND ONE does the same thing as his partner, dimming his headlamp and stepping forward with his gun outstretched. He takes a few steps to his right to cut off any angles and ensure no one’s making a run for it.

I don’t even have to look at Bergamo to know that the thought of running isn’t remotely close to entering his mind.

He might be in shock. He might be scared for his life.

But between the Picasso and the vases, there’s more than two hundred million dollars’ worth of art here, and there’s no way in hell he’s abandoning it.

Not unless he absolutely has to. And not without at least trying to talk his way out of this.

“How much do you want?” Bergamo asks them.

The two smile behind their ski masks but only one answers. It’s the one who spoke first, and it’s clear he intends to have the last word.

“What do we want? Not much,” he says. He points to the pallet. “Only what we can carry.”

“You guys don’t strike me as the art-collecting type,” says Bergamo.

“We’ll try not to be offended by that.”

“What I mean,” says Bergamo, “is that those things—the painting, what’s in the trunks—they aren’t easy to offload.”

“Oh, crap. So you’re saying we can’t put them on eBay?”

Treating these guys like a couple of idiots isn’t exactly the smartest strategy, and for the very first time since I’ve known Enzio Bergamo, he isn’t sure what to say or do next.

Shen Wan calmly seizes on the silence. “I trust you know who you’re stealing from,” he says.

“I know who we’re not stealing from. You’re just the middleman. A very wealthy one, maybe, but still just the middleman.”

“So you do know who I am,” says Shen. “Which means you must also have some idea of who my partners are.”

“Yes. They’re even more wealthy than you, Mr. Shen. They’ll be just fine.”

Shen chuckles. “Is that what you really think? That what you’re doing here will be only about money to them?”

The distance between Shen and their guns shortens. He’s pissed both of them off. “Are you threatening us?”

“No,” says Shen. “I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“Is that so?”

“You don’t have to do this. The two of you can turn around and go back to wherever it is you came from, no questions asked.”

“That’s your idea of a favor?”

“No,” says Shen. “Letting you live is the favor.”

“You have a strange idea of leverage, old man.”

“It’s not leverage,” says Shen. “Do you really think this is the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me?”

“Keep it up. Might just be your last.”

I take a step forward, palms raised. “Let’s all calm down a bit, shall we?”

“No one’s talking to you, bitch. In fact, no more talking at all.” He takes another step forward, point-blank range. “All of you, get down on your knees.”

In the movies when people get told that, things don’t usually end well.

“It’s yours, all yours,” says Bergamo, realizing the stakes have suddenly changed. “Just take them. Take everything. There’s no need to—”

“Shut the fuck up.” The first man cocks the gun’s hammer. “I’m only going to say this one more time. Down on your knees.”

I look at Bergamo, pleading with my eyes: Just do what he says.

Shen drops to one knee, then two. I follow suit.

Finally Bergamo does the same. We say nothing more as the second guy comes forward and closes the case holding the Picasso.

He carries it to the edge of the water and comes back for the two vases in the trunks.

After climbing down to Shen’s boat, he speaks for the first time.

“Keys are on board,” he says to the other man.

“In that case, we’re good to go,” says his partner. His arm is slowly bobbing through the air left to right, stopping and starting. He aims at each of us in turn, like eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

“You’ll never get away with it,” says Shen softly.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Shen, please,” I say. “Don’t.”

I know Shen hears me, but he’s not listening. He clears his throat. “I said, you’ll never get away with it.”

The gun’s no longer moving. The arm is straight, locked, aimed at Shen’s chest.

“Maybe we will. Maybe we won’t. But here’s what I know for damn sure, old man. You won’t be around to find out.”

The echo of the shot drowns out my scream as Shen falls forward and hits the ground with a horrific thud.

“Jesus!” Bergamo cries.

“What was that? You’ve got something to say too?”

Bergamo stares at the barrel of the gun now pointed at him. His whole body is shaking. “No,” he says. “Please. No.”

“Yeah. I didn’t think so.” He nods at his partner, who’s been watching from the top of the ladder.

The boat’s loaded up. Time to go. He walks past us, stepping over Shen’s lifeless body, and stops next to the now-empty pallet.

“I’m going to count to ten,” he says. “If I can still see you, I’ll shoot you. ”