“Good morning, Mr. Abishek, you are early today?” the museum curator welcomed a man in an expensive tuxedo.
“I couldn’t sleep, the painting of Beatrice haunted me,” Abishek said, following the curator.
“Yes, sir, that painting has that eccentric enchantment to it,” he said, taking him inside a secret vault.
“Why do the rich get to enjoy everything? Even art is exclusive to them, “ asked Abishek.
“Sir, imagine you standing in Lourve trying to see Monolisa; I am sure you will glance at her elegant face just for a few seconds, “ the curator bolted the huge valut behind him. “It will get chilly, sir,” the curator smacked on a keyboard. “This facility is top secret,” the curator said, looking at Abishek earnestly, trying to guess his thoughts.
“I know, I just want to see her for a minute,” reassured Abishek.
The curator left him alone.
The room was elegant, and the frescoes of the modern tall building were painted as though Michael Angelo would have done. Abishek looked at the elegant art of Beatrice, and the longing gaze of Dante precisely for 5 minutes. His Rolex watch was beginning to freeze. Suddenly the room started to wobble, and the curator shouted.
“Sir, the Richter readings are plummeting—an earthquake somewhere nearby. This facility will not be able to stand it if a tsunami is to be triggered,” said the curator. “You have to leave now, otherwise, the launch pad would be under ocean waves.”
Abishek only smiled. “You can leave; if I am to die, let me die watching the beautiful face of Beatrice.”
“You are mad, sir,” the curator left.
The warning bell started to ring. Abishek took a deep breath and looked at his Rolex once again. He looked at Beatrice’s face keenly, and he got to work. With softisticated moves and experienced hands, he removed the painting. He took the painting and rushed to the lift. The warning bells echoed in the distance as the lift gradually moved up the ocean. The view, as usual, was spectacular. The serene ocean life did not seem serene anymore. The plan he hatched meant sacrificing some sea horses, turtles, and lots of fish. He silently whispered a sorry to them.
“You will all be washed in a faraway place. Some of you will lose your family as well. “
As he said these words, he came to the deck. His private jet was hovering. A drone let out a magnetic container. Abishek kept the painting in the container and gave it a thumbs up. The drone flew away, and another rope was thrown down the private jet. He clung to it and noticed the waves rising in the distance. The wind’s sheer force swung him wildly.
“Perfect,” he smiled as the waves crashed into the secret facility. But he was safely seated in his comfy private seat, keenly observing his tablet.
The seismic wave blinked on his screen, and after a minute, he fell asleep.
The next day, he woke up and struggled to find his glasses.
“Hello Abi, Good morning. You have an email?” Flashed on his glass screen.
The destruction that he caused was minimal. Not much had happened. He was happy about it. The blue, clean sky welcomed him as he streched himself on the swimming pool. He thought about his latest heist, and he was proud of it. The recurring dreams have not stopped, though. The face of Beatrice kept following him throughout the day.
It has been years since he saw her. The smell of her cologne was still strong in his memory. Just a glimpse of her eyes would be enough. He knew what he had to do. Abishek got dressed and went to the John F Kennedy airport. It has been years since he went back to India. The nostalgia returned. For years, he was afraid to go back. It has been precisely 20 years. She should be old now. Even though he vowed never to see her again, he knew her whereabouts. Being a criminal mastermind required constant vigilance on his part.
The new India was nothing different than most of the European cities now. The same tech, roads, and infrastructure. Everything seemed to be the same. He got a self driving car for rent and went to the architecture college in Delhi. It has not changed since leaving the place. He had left the place in a hurry. Abishek went to his old department, and the eerie silence bothered him. He had a plan in mind, but he didn’t know if the plan would work or not. The clerk outside the department noticed him coming and rushed towards him.
“How may I help you?” He asked.
“I want to meet Ms. Thangum,” Abishek said.
His stomach lurched, and he betrayed his fear.
“And you, and what is the reason you want to visit her?” He inquired without interest.
“Tell her I am Anil Rajesh; she will know.”
The clerk was not impressed with the name, and that was clear. After a few minutes, he invited Abishek into the cabin. The room was vacant, and there was no one there.
“Where is Madam?” He asked, looking puzzled.
“She will be right back.”
He waited for a long time in the dingy classroom. He imagined the same face he had seen would emerge, but that did not happen. The world’s great mafia leader was waiting for a college professor.
After an hour, the clerk came back and said, “She is asking you to come tomorrow. She will not be able to see you now.”
After all these years, the pain has returned. Abishek stood up, and waited for a minute.
“Hey, I have a small present in the car for madam. Could you give her. I will give you a good tip as well.”
The clerk immediately followed him.
He had a small trunk with a sophisticated password screen.
“The password is 9152,” said Abishek, and he left.
The old lady, who had loved this painting as a young person, was shocked to find a robbed painting on her department canvas. She asked plenty of questions about the person who had given her. Just when she figured out, a video call rang frantically. She swiped and saw the same old man she left years ago.
“You told me you wanted this painting when we met in the museum. I couldn’t buy it, though. I robbed a maniacal art dealer. So I won’t be alive much longer. I just wanted to see your eyes once again looking at Beatrice,” he said, giving a shallow smiled. His eyes were brimming with tears. “Goodbye…”
The line went blank.
The next day headlines read, “A private jet to the Caribbean blew up in the middle of the sky…”
Copyrighted @ Ronald Hadrian