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“Are you going to tell me that Grace found the notes on the weaponized smallpox and now she could make up a batch from memory?”
Mrs. Vanders looks practically pleased. “Very good, Kiran,” she says. “Though she couldn’t, in fact, create it herself. The notes are ciphered and contain formulas and instructions she couldn’t understand. But it’s possible she could tell key parts to someone, and maybe that person could figure out how to make sense of it.”
“And somehow, people know she got into the notes,” Kiran says, “and now they want the information in Grace’s head.”
“Yes. She might not understand the information she’s memorized, but she’s plenty smart enough to sense when her parents are worried and lying to her, which makes her angry, so she snoops and disobeys as a kind of leverage. When her parents forbade her to talk about it, she wouldn’t stop screaming about it, even when there were ominous-looking strangers in her house. And by this point, the research director was infected and Victoria and Giuseppe were terrified. They began withholding the details of their discovery from everyone, even the CIA people who began showing up at their front door. They destroyed their digital notes, with Ivy’s help. They burned their paper notes and destroyed the living strain. They told the CIA they had no intention of sharing the details of the discovery with anyone, ever, because it was no longer possible to know whom to trust.”
“And now they’re blacklisted by the CIA?” says Kiran. “Considered non-compliant? Rogue assets?”
Mrs. Vanders is pleased again. Jane is kind of starting to hate her. Where is the pleasure in all of this awfulness? “Essentially,” says Mrs. Vanders, “yes. The CIA is furious. They’ve decided to force Victoria and Giuseppe to hand over their research, and treat them as threats if they don’t comply. And in the meantime, other states have also taken an interest.”
“In Victoria and Giuseppe, and in Grace,” Kiran says.
“At this point,” says Mrs. Vanders, “it’s impossible to know how many people or states they need to be hidden from. Only that they need to be hidden, and that Grace, being a child, is in particular danger.”
“I think the lesson here is that when someone offers you a job creating new and exciting strains of smallpox, say no,” says Kiran.
“Very funny,” says Mrs. Vanders.
“Was I joking?” says Kiran. “Why’d they try to rob a bank?”
“So we could plant the Mafia story,” says Mrs. Vanders. “If you take someone with an Italian name, have them break the law, then make them disappear, then add the words Sicilian Mafia, everyone loves to talk about it, but no one digs very deep into where they went or why. It’s not fair to Italians, but it’s effective.”
“That’s ridiculous. The police must dig deeper than that.”
“We have a couple friends in the police,” says Mrs. Vanders, “and a couple friends in the press. Most importantly, we have a couple friends in the Sicilian Mafia.”
“That’s so nice,” Kiran says. “How I wish Ravi could hear all this. He’d get such a warm, fuzzy feeling about his Vanny.”
“Ravi couldn’t handle this,” Mrs. Vanders says, “as I think you know.”
“He really has no idea?” says Kiran. “Nor does Octavian? Truly nothing?”
“Not Octavian, not Ravi, not your mother,” says Mrs. Vanders. “You’re the only Thrash who’s ever had the slightest inkling, Kiran. This is all yours.”
“That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“Have you ever had anything that’s all yours, Kiran?”
Kiran considers Mrs. Vanders. Then she flicks her eyes nastily to Patrick. He makes his mouth hard and insolent.
“Good thing I caught Patrick in the act,” Kiran says.
“That forced our hand,” says Mrs. Vanders, “but we monitor the dumbwaiter with cameras. We know if the path is clear. I wouldn’t have let it happen if I hadn’t been willing to risk the consequences. Have you worked out why?”
Another of those silences sits in the space between Kiran and Mrs. Vanders. Finally, Kiran crosses her arms. “What else do you do?”
“A lot of things,” says Mrs. Vanders crisply. “This house is a neutral meeting place, during galas usually, for opposing sides. We give representation referrals to agents and operatives under prosecution. Also, Mr. Vanders is a psychologist. The man you saw in the dumbwaiter had just completed a session.”
“Spy therapy?” says Kiran incredulously.
“Stop saying ‘spy,’” says Mrs. Vanders. “Surely you can see that there might be a need. Our clients have very high-pressure jobs.”
“Since when does Mr. Vanders speak Arabic?”
“He speaks Arabic, Farsi, German, French, Spanish, Italian, Mandarin, and Korean,” says Mrs. Vanders.
“I don’t believe you,” says Kiran.
“Why shouldn’t he?” says Mrs. Vanders with an affronted air. “He’s a very popular therapist.”
Kiran begins to giggle.
“I’m rather offended that you find that funny,” says Mrs. Vanders.
Now Kiran is shrieking with laughter. Tears are streaming down her face. “I don’t,” she says. “I can totally see it. He’s always talking psychobabble and looking at me like he’s diagnosed me with something. It’s just—” She pauses for another gale of laughter. “It’s funny!” she cries. “I’m dying here! Mr. Vanders is a secret spy therapist! Oh, lordy, maybe I’m having a shock reaction.” Taking a deep breath, Kiran wipes her face. “So,” she says, “are you going to explain why Ivy has been packing up the house Rembrandt and the famous missing Brancusi?”
Mrs. Vanders sighs. “You’re not going to like this part.”
“And the rest has been so delightful.”
“It’s about leverage, power, and payment for services rendered,” says Mrs. Vanders.
Kiran’s eyebrows rise to her hairline. Jane knows this part. She doesn’t need to listen. Over at Ivy’s end of the table, Patrick is now engaged in the alarming activity of helping Ivy strap a gun holster over her black dress. Then he helps her into a long black coat. Where is Ivy going?
“You steal the family art!” Kiran says. “Over and over again! Oh, if Ravi only knew!”
“We borrow the family art,” says Mrs. Vanders, but she’s doesn’t sound as if she expects anyone to believe her.
“You’ve lied about your degrees!” Kiran says. “About the cleaning you do and the restoration! I know you told Ravi you needed that Rembrandt so you could clean it. He told me so!”
“I haven’t lied!” Mrs. Vanders says. “I do care about the art, deeply! I do clean it, I do study it. I have never failed to recover a piece! I take its well-being and its authenticity very seriously and I’m committed to cultural restitution!”
“Oh, spare me,” says Kiran. “If you care so much, why did you break the Brancusi in half?”
“Grace did that,” says Patrick proudly.
“Yes,” says Mrs. Vanders. “That child has fought us at every turn. We’ve been moving the family piecemeal, you see, and with the help of different parties. First Victoria, then Giuseppe, then Leo the other night with his doctor. Grace, being a natural snoop, figured out that we needed the Brancusi in order to pay for her transportation. And she’s smart as a whip, and she’s eight, and all she wants in the world is to go home. So she slipped past Cook one night—Cook has been our child-minder, in addition to arranging all four exchanges. The poor dear is exhausted. Grace stole the sculpture, then hid it. Then, when we reacted with a calm, systematic search rather than the panic she was looking for, she popped the fish off the base, buried the fish in the backyard, waited until poor Cook nodded off again, and stuck the base back in the receiving hall. Which certainly accomplished her purpose. I felt like the top of my head was coming off when Ravi showed me that empty base. I dread to think what she would’ve done next if Ravi weren?
??t such a drama queen.”
“Oh, she would’ve taken a mallet to it,” says Patrick, “and thrown it into the fountain.”
“I’m not so sure,” says Mrs. Vanders, studying him keenly. “I think she has a well-honed sense of where the line is, and, ultimately, she wants to be with her family. She’s just registering her protest.”
“What about the Vermeer?” Jane asks.
“Yes, what are you doing with the priceless family Vermeer?” Kiran says.
“The Vermeer has actually been stolen,” says Mrs. Vanders.
Kiran lets out a short laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish it with all my heart,” says Mrs. Vanders, “but no, someone in this house has stolen that dear picture and replaced it with an excellent forgery.”
“Wow,” says Kiran, still laughing. “And Ravi’s filled the house with FBI agents, Interpol, and police, on the very night you’re trying to get Grace, Christopher, a Rembrandt, and a Brancusi away.”
