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Joe scanned the area. It was quiet. “There’s activity in the house on the left. Ed, you see anything from up there?”
Ed turned and waved at the neighbouring house. “It’s a maid.”
“You see anything else?”
“Are there any cameras on neighbouring houses, ones pointing at our house?” Elle asked.
“No,” Ed said. “They’re all focusing on their own properties.”
“Will the maid be a problem?” Joe said.
“If she is, I’ll handle it,” Ed said.
“And how will you do that?” Patricia’s tone was icy.
“Why, I’ll use my considerable charm.”
“Can we please, for once, focus on the job?” Callum snapped over everyone else. “No more talk unless it’s to do with the operation. Keep your petty crap for your free time.”
“Yes, sir,” Elle said. It was unclear if she meant it sarcastically.
“The maid’s gone,” Ed said.
“The gates will open on my mark,” Elle said.
“Out of the van,” Joe told the women, and they scrambled out.
Joe and Ryan took up positions on either side of them, blocking them from view as they kept an eye on the quiet street.
“Three, two, one,” Elle said, and then there was a clanking as the electronic gates opened.
“You sure this guy doesn’t have any staff?” Joe asked as they rushed towards the front door and the gates clanked shut behind them.
“Doesn’t trust them,” Elle said. “They only come in when he’s home.”
“Street is clear and quiet,” Ed said.
Ryan had his tools out and was busy picking the lock on the door. Joe kept his eyes peeled for trouble, all the while aware that Julia was back to avoiding eye contact again. It was a huge step backwards. One he couldn’t afford to think about during an op. He needed to focus on keeping them safe and getting them out of there.
“We’re in,” Ryan said. The door opened and they piled into the house, closing it behind them.
The building was even uglier on the inside than the outside. The walls were whitewashed cement or exposed brick. The furniture was minimal, to the point of there being rooms with only the odd, uncomfortable chair. The rest of the space was dominated by Thomas Hayes’ art collection.
Ryan whistled as Patricia’s mouth hung open. Julia’s eyes were so wide that she looked like a meerkat. They were inside a private museum. There were huge contemporary paintings on the walls, and sculptures dotted everywhere. His taste ran from ancient artefacts to contemporary art.
“That’s a Paula Rego,” Julia said with awe. She looked at her gran. “I don’t think he could afford that. I think it was probably intended to hang in the British Embassy.”
Patricia pointed at the far wall. “That tapestry went missing from a Colombian museum two years ago. I wrote a paper on it when I was a grad student. It’s worth a fortune. A unique piece of South American history.”
“And Thomas Hayes has it.” Julia pointed at some of the pieces in turn. “Antony Gormley, Jenny Saville, Rachel Whiteread, David Hockney. He’s filled the house with work by famous British artists. This collection is worth millions, and I’d say most of it has been appropriated through his job or attained on the black market.”
“By appropriated, you mean he stole it from the British Council?” Ryan said. “I don’t know anything about art—you might as well be listing made-up names for all I know. But I recognise money when I see it in action.”
There was a horrible pause. Joe and Ryan were suddenly very focused on the wires running from the artwork.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ryan flattened his face to the wall and peered behind the painting next to him.
“Fuck.” Joe’s eyes shot to the corners of the room.
