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“I know, but I just had an idea. Would the Zeppelins try to get in here if they thought the paintings were fake?”
“They’re not,” Benny retorted.
“No, but what if theythinkthey are.”
“Why would they?”
“You’ll tell them,” she exclaimed. “Use Ivan’s bug. Have a conversation in the meeting room with someone. Talk about how Marco has just found out many of his most expensive paintings are copies and he’s furious.”
“I don’t think so. The timing is too coincidental. They’ll know it’s bullshit.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but even if they do, they could think twice about charging in if they suspect you’re ready for them.”
Benny paused for a minute, then fervently nodded his head.
“Damn, Steph, you’re right. Fucking brilliant,” he muttered as Brent’s image appeared on the monitor and Benny buzzed him in.
“You need me?” Brent asked, striding into the room.
“Where’s Stu?”
“He’s continuing the window checks. We were almost done.”
“You two need to pick up Joe and the boss. They’re stranded with a flat tire and probably in danger. You need to get there fast.”
“Shit,” Brent muttered under his breath.
“I’ve found a route via back roads that will cut the trip in half, but I don’t know what kind of condition they’re in, especially with this weather, so take the Harleys. Here are the coordinates to plug into the navigator. I also want you to take this,” Benny continued, handing him a tracker. “If anything happens and you’re separated from your bike I’ll know where you are.”
“This night just keeps getting better and better,” Brent muttered, touching his earbud. “Hey, Stu, we’re heading out on the bikes. Meet me in the motor court. I’ll explain when I see you.”
“Any questions?” Benny asked.
“Um, excuse me,” Steph piped up. “I’m heading upstairs.”
“Grab some food and water from the kitchen,” Benny called after her as she headed for the door. “I’ll let you know when things are under control and you can come out, and Steph, thanks.”
“Glad I could help. Please be careful—both of you,” she added, glancing at Brent. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
As she hurried from the room, Benny shook his head.
“Can I ask who she is?” Brent asked.
“Antonio Grassi’s daughter.”
“No shit!”
“She’s just like her old man.”
“How, exactly?”
“Smart enough to outwit a Sicilian when death is on the line.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll explain later, assuming we have a later,” Benny replied with a grunt. “Go get our boss, and watch yourself. Assume you’re riding into an ambush.”
* * *
