Chapter 159 Two Fuses?

Chapter 159 Two Fuses?

Nora stood next to the painting. Didn't say a word.

Oliver walked over.

He stood beside her, looked down at the ink wash painting. Hands clasped behind his back, relaxed.

His eyes stopped on the personal seal for two seconds.

His jaw shifted slightly, like he was holding something back.

He didn't speak.

The old man in the corner stood up.

He walked to the display stand, bent down close to the painting, and looked at it for a full fifteen seconds. His nose nearly touching the rice paper.

Then he straightened up, took off his glasses, and slowly wiped them with his lens cloth.

He turned to Calla.

"Miss Flynn, you just said this was a beginner's brushwork?"

Calla kept her smile.

"Professor Wallace, I was just making an offhand comment——"

"The personal seal. Do you recognize it?"

Calla's smile froze for a moment.

"This——"

"'Lotus Rain.'"

The old man put his glasses back on. His voice was quiet, but the main hall went silent.

"This seal was carved by Mr. Glenn Cole himself in his later years. In his entire life, Mr. Cole carved only seven leisure seals. He kept three for himself, gave two to old friends, and the remaining two——he gave only to his sole formal disciple."

The hall went completely silent.

Calla's fingers rested on the side of her wine glass and didn't move.

The art consultant nearby added quietly:

"Mr. Glenn Cole's formal disciple never revealed their identity. But it's been talked about in certain circles for years——at the Geneva autumn auction three years ago, an ink wash painting sold for twenty-three million dollars. It bore this very seal."

Silence.

Calla's face went a shade paler.

She glanced instinctively at her own painting, which had been praised just moments ago——a Mediterranean port at dusk, bold colors, solid technique, the center of attention twenty minutes ago.

She glanced again at the two-foot-square ink wash painting mounted on plain rice paper before Nora.

Her mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Nora stood next to the painting. Hadn't said a single word the whole time.

Oliver reached over and picked up the ink wash painting, then looked at Nora.

"I'll take this one."

His tone was about the same as signing a memorandum of cooperation.

But not one of the forty people in the room thought he was talking about the painting.

Calla carried her wine glass back to Julian's side.

Julian patted the back of his daughter's hand. Said nothing. But the way he looked at Nora——

His gaze didn't linger long.

Nora caught it.

There was scrutiny in it.

Wariness.

And something deeper——a guarded alertness, pressed down tight.

——

The viewing ended at nine-thirty.

Nora walked out the front doors of the gallery. Cold wind rushed into her collar, pressing the velvet skirt against her calves.

Wyatt was waiting at the bottom of the steps. The car was already running.

She looked back before getting in——Julian and Calla had left through a different exit. Calla slammed the car door when she got in. Loud.

Nora pulled open her door and got in.

Her phone buzzed.

Storm.

She unlocked the screen.

[Signal sniffer second capture. Not Ryder this time. It's Ian. Three minutes ago he sent a directional shortwave transmission outbound. Receiving end located at——Eastside District 7.]

Nora stared at the message.

Eastside District 7.

Before leaving today, she'd had Storm notify each member of the close guard unit individually: "After the viewing I'll be going to Eastside District 7 alone to pick something up."

All six of them heard the same fake address.

Ian took the bait.

Nora locked her screen and leaned back against the seat.

Street lights slid past the window one by one.

She closed her eyes and ran through Ian's face——forty-one years old, slight limp when he walked, always had cold hands, covered his phone with his palm before handing it over.

Eight years.

She opened her eyes and typed back to Storm.

[Don't touch him. I'll talk to him myself tomorrow.]

After sending it, she scrolled through her contacts, found Oliver's conversation, hesitated two seconds, and typed:

[Returning the dress. Don't lose the painting.]

Thirty seconds later, Oliver replied with four words.

[Keeping the dress.]

Nora stared at the screen for two seconds.

Turned the phone face-down on her thigh.

When the car turned into a narrow alley, the phone lit up again.

Not Oliver. Not Storm.

Todd.

Encrypted channel.

One line.

[That painting belonged to Atlas. Julian shouldn't have it——unless Atlas met with him before he died.]

Nora didn't tell the driver to take the Qiaoxi elevated road back to the safe house.

"Take a detour through Eastside District 7."

The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror, didn't ask, turned the wheel, and merged onto the outer ring road.

The intercepted data Storm had sent was still on her screen.

Ian's shortwave signal, directional transmission, receiving end pinpointed to Eastside District 7.

Nora let out a short laugh. Brief, with a little breath behind it. Not a pretty sound.

Before leaving today, she'd had Storm brief each of the six close guard members one by one: "After the viewing I'll be going to Eastside District 7 alone to pick something up."

Every one of them heard the same fake address.

Six people. Ian took the hook.

She turned off the screen and pressed her fingers to her temple.

But Ryder's signal from before——that three-second fluctuation at midnight——still had no explanation.

Two moles?

One theirs, one from her own side?

Or both theirs?

Nora turned both possibilities over in her head and didn't rush to a conclusion.

She looked down at a section of velvet on her skirt that had been creased by the car door. The fabric really was good quality——once it wrinkled, one smooth pass of the hand and it lay flat again.

She wondered how long Oliver had spent picking out the dress.

Probably about as long as it took him to tell a picture frame was twelve grams too light. Not very long at all.

By the time the car reached Eastside District 7, the street lights had thinned out. The area was leftover land from an old industrial park conversion——most of the factory buildings empty, the lanes narrow, the road surface uneven.

The warehouse was at the end of an alley.

Before getting out, Nora scanned the area. Nobody around. Windows dark. The air smelled of rust and wet concrete.

She walked to the front entrance.

The padlock was intact. The dust on the lock face was even, undisturbed.

Clean.

Nora went around to the back.

The back door was a corrugated iron sliding door, with a dust seal strip along the gap. When she'd had Storm come to set things up two days ago, she'd pressed her thumbprint into the strip herself.

The strip was still there.

But she crouched down and checked the edge——the adhesive pattern was wrong.

She had originally peeled the strip from left to right when applying it, leaving a slight curl at the tear end, with stretch marks running low on the left and high on the right. The marks on this one ran the opposite way.

Someone had peeled it off. Then stuck it back.

The work wasn't sloppy——same type of strip, same color, same width.

They just hadn't noticed which direction it had been applied.

Nora stood up, pulled a folding blade from the back of her waistband, ran it along the edge of the strip, and pushed the door open.

The inside of the warehouse was bare. No cargo. A thin layer of dust on the concrete floor.

Three cameras and audio capture devices were hidden at different corners. Indicator lights all off——standby mode, no exposure risk.

She walked behind the nearest camera unit and removed the memory card.

Took it back to the car.

Storm had left a laptop in the trunk as a backup. Nora opened the memory card and fast-forwarded through the first forty-plus hours of nothing.