Read Chasing Mona Lisa for Free Online Page A

the famous painting moved more often than a green pea in a shell game. Currently, she was resting in a chateau outside the medieval town of Annecy, not far from Geneva.
    Colette smiled and gathered the papers in the file and straightened the bottom edges. Keeping up with the wry smile of a Florentine merchant’s wife and her constant moves caused Colette to rub her temples. But based on the events of the last few days, soon she—and all of France—could breathe a collective sigh of relief.
    Colette looked up from her file. “It will be nice to get La Joconde home where she belongs,” she said to Anne.
    The phone jangled, which Colette picked up.
    “We have a problem,” a voice announced.
    She immediately recognized the voice of Monsieur Rambouillet, her superior, a few offices away.
    Rambouillet cleared his throat. “There’s a German major in my—”
    The phone line went dead. Seconds later a commotion of guttural German shouts and heavy boots filled the hallway.
    “What’s happening?” Anne asked, the color draining from her face.
    “I’m not sure.” Colette set the black handset back in its cradle and stepped out into the hallway. Monsieur Rambouillet scrambled her way. A German officer and a soldier holding a bayoneted rifle followed with heavy steps.
    Rambouillet, pale and clammy, mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “I can’t understand a word this crazy German is saying!” he cried. “You have to help me.”
    Colette stepped in front of her superior. She squared her shoulders and gathered her courage. “There seems to be a misunderstanding, Herr Oberst. How can I help?” she asked in crisp German that bespoke authority.
    “I’m here to move a few paintings.”
    Colette regarded the intruder. His uniform was all starch and shiny brass. Slight of build with a face pockmarked from scarred acne, the Prussian exuded arrogance. His pinpoint eyes made her skin crawl.
    “Sir, this is the Louvre, and we work under the German Ministry of Culture. May I see your requisition documents, please?”
    “Will this suffice?” The major unbuttoned his leather holster and pointed a pistol at Colette and then Rambouillet, who instinctively held up his hands at chest height.
    Colette’s heart skipped a beat, then she steadied her nerves and took a long moment to study the German major, whose exertion had prompted two lines of perspiration to roll down his craggy face. To Colette, he reeked of desperation, which was the picture of a proud and boastful enemy teetering on defeat.
    “But Herr Oberst, how will I explain this to the Cultural Minister?”
    Without moving his gaze from Colette, the major aimed his Luger in Rambouillet’s direction and fired a single round. Rambouillet winced as powder stung his bald head. Behind him, wood splintered and scattered to the floor. Shock hung in the air with the acrid aroma of spent gunpowder filling the hallway.
    Colette maintained her composure. “Herr Major, surely you’re aware that I’ll need to answer to the Ministry for any pieces of art released without the proper paperwork.”
    This time the major slowly lowered his outstretched arm and pointed the pistol directly between Rambouillet’s eyes. “I’m sure the Ministry has more pressing matters to tend to at the moment . . .”
    Colette stiffened. “Very well,” she said in a steady voice that surprised even her. “What do you have in mind?”
    “A few souvenirs of my time in Paris. I’d like to see what you have in the Sully Wing,” he replied, while returning the sidearm to his holster.
    Colette’s gaze narrowed. “Yes, let me see what I can arrange. You can follow me.” She turned to Rambouillet and switched back to French. “You may go back to your office. I’ll handle this.”
    She had never seen a more grateful look in her life. Anne, who’d watched the encounter from the doorway, slipped away and joined Rambouillet down the hall.
    Colette had trained for moments like this and knew