“Forget it.” Mickey grinned excitedly. “This is cab fare compared with what we’ve come for!”

He knew where to go. The Cézanne was in the dining room. That was to the right. Barney took out a hammer and a file from his black case to pry the canvases out of their heavy antique frames.

The dining room had flocked red wallpaper and a long polished table with giant candelabra. It looked as though it could seat half the free world.

Mickey’s heart was pounding. Look for the Cézanne, he was saying to himself – apples and pears. On the right-hand wall.

But instead of the $5 million thrill he was expecting to feel, his insides turned to ice. Cold, right at the center of his chest.

The wall was empty. There was no still life. No Cézanne.

The painting wasn’t there!

Mickey felt a sharp stab through his heart. For a second, the three of them stood there, staring at the empty space. Then he took off, running to the other side of the house.

The library.

The Picasso was over the fireplace on the wall. Mickey’s blood was rushing and hot. Everything had been mapped out. He ran into the book-lined room.

Another chill. No, this was more like a freezer blast.

No Picasso! This wall space was empty, too! Suddenly he felt like vomiting. “What the fuck -?”

Mickey ran like a madman back to the front of the house. He bounded up the large staircase to the second floor. This was their last chance. The bedroom. There was supposed to be a Jackson Pollock on the bedroom wall. They weren’t going to lose this. He’d worked too hard. This was their ticket out. He had no idea what the hell was going on.

Mickey got there first, Bobby and Barney right behind him. They stopped and stared at the wall, the same nauseated look on all their faces.

“Sonuvabitch!” Mickey shouted. He smashed his fist through a framed print on the wall, leaving his knuckles bloody.