The ambassador's study was, in Major Eberbach's own opinion, entirely too large. It was easily half again as big as a bedroom, and contained endless distractions � not the atmosphere most conducive to work. A desk, of average size, was tucked into a corner to one side of the door, winged by a pair of bookshelves (they were, at least, full and neat), and underscored by the hard lacquer-color of the floorboards. This sensible portion of the room had been quickly exhausted as Klaus' eyes were drawn instead to the full wall of windows looking out over the gardens, leading into a small balcony, composed, as the front door had been, of iron and ivy. The pathways and flower beds below were during the daylight doubtless a marvelous sight; even in the moonlight of eleven o'clock, Klaus could tell that they stretched beyond the line of age-old trees that rimmed the inner terrace.
But this natural work of beauty, for which the officer could hold at least a little respect, was almost entirely obscured by what lay between the desk and the glass. Three statues, seemingly randomly placed, of languishing, abstract figures; two tapestries woven in bright � well, bright, detailing what might have been the final moments of yellow-painted towns attacked by some deadly purple chemical dropped by green mockingbirds; a painting, if one could call it that, with mazes of straight blue and red lines punctuated at intervals by splotches of varying sizes. It had taken him a full twenty minutes to decide that, conceivably, this last could possibly have been a blueprint of some sort.
But the idea that Eroica would even consider wasting his time here was laughable. Even Klaus would concede that the thief had more taste than the ambassador had ever heard of.
In approximately the third hour that the Major had thus stood before the balcony's glass door, contemplating the shortcomings and other irritations involved in this particular mission as he systematically counted and classified all the discernible plants within the gardens, he heard the study's main door creak open. Making a note of his place on the grounds below, he lifted his head, but did not turn. "Yes?"
Judging by the voice, it was A. "There's suspicious movement, sir � on the west edge. It matches your description �"
"Leave it. We want to intercept him. Let them pass; I'll signal you when you're to follow."
A probably nodded, before he left. Klaus didn't move to watch him, but only listened to the door slowly sliding closed again, and resumed counting when he heard the latch. That would be the NATO team, making their way up to the target. It was his job to make sure they were not interrupted, which had been simple enough; also, to explain to the ambassador after the painting was 'stolen' precisely why he and his team had been unable to guard against the infamous thief. That would be less pleasant. Even falsified humiliation was difficult to swallow.
One hundred and ten separate flower varieties. They were making their move almost an hour ahead of schedule, but the early activity was welcome. When he heard the telltale clicks on the wall, following the likely path of the agent heading the mission up the outside of the house and around to the left window, Klaus gratefully turned his attention from the local flora to the dismounting of the painting in question. It was securely fastened with three separate seals, but soon enough he was pulling it gently from the wall � and he heard the window slide open.
Once more he neglected to look away from the task at hand. "You're early."
A supremely displeased voice, higher than expected and with an unmistakable accent, returned, quietly: "I did not receive an invitation."
Klaus was just able to set the painting safely on the floor before whirling to face the veritable intruder, a scowl masking his surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Eroica threw his hair back over his shoulder and favored the Major with an indignant glare. "I was under the impression that I was supposed to be here. Do forgive me if I'm interrupting anything."
Klaus crossed his arms and frowned, an expression achieved with a slight crimp between the eyebrows. "How did you �"
"How dare you? I'm sure you're quite aware I'm available for hire, but to use me this way � it's theft of services! I'm not even getting paid! You're using my name without bothering to consult me; never mind that my reputation could irreparably tarnished by coming into contact with this � this �" The blond came to a slow stop, frozen in front of the twin wall-hangings, jaw hanging slightly open. "Good God," he whispered, horrorstricken. "It looks like ... Disney's Geurnica."
"Just get out!"
Eroica dragged his eyes away from the catastrophe of color and texture, crossed his arms in front of his chest (clad in solid black, tonight, but tightly so, and therefore as despicably gaudy as ever), and fastened another withering gaze on the would-be thief. With a bit of a haughty sniff he straightened his back, and looked quite unprepared to move at all. "I am not leaving, my good man, until you show me what it is I'm supposed to be taking with me. I trust it's not this � disaster?"
Klaus grit his teeth, and only stared, intensely displeased.
When it became apparent that a stalemate was in order, he stooped down to continue preparing the painting to be moved. "It's classified," he explained curtly and helpfully.
"All the same, I'll have a look at whatever burden you were ready to place on my character."
"No. Leave." The Major was drawing over the sizable canvas a black sheet of cloth, and fastening the stuff at the edges. "I have work to do."
"Oh, but I'll take it from here, darling."
Klaus felt another wave of dread pass over his spine at the Earl's suddenly-improved mood � and jumped backed with a snarled curse when he realized it had actually just been the man's warm, slender fingers. The painting was thus transferred to Eroica's deft and waiting hands. The blond smiled, offering his profuse thanks to Darling Klaus, and stepped into a better-lit spot to evaluate the precise gravity of the situation
And saw, out of the corner of his eye, Major Eberbach rushing inexplicably by, braced shoulder leading him through the exact spot in which Eroica had so recently been standing, missing his intended target by a good foot. The blond turned his face, surprised, just in time to watch (from an advantageous position, so far as the spectator was concerned) his absolutely favorite German crash through the glass door to the balcony, and wince as the same dear officer's head made a dreadful noise on the iron railing.
Dorian only let out a sigh, hefting the safely-covered piece of art (or what he hoped was art) under his arm. He motioned in the one backup he'd thought to bring along, and watched as the man carefully hefted the Major off the sheet of shattered glass.
"Do be careful, when you put him in the car?" he requested, smiling pleasantly at his companion. "I'll be along shortly."
Because, he mused, as he looked out on the mess that reflected the almost oddly-luminous moon and the masterfully maintained garden beyond, I always get what I want.
And with a few quick steps he was cheerfully following his burdened friend, canvas under arm and the promise of genuine entertainment held firmly in mind.