Max Collins - Before the Dawn

“And this history lesson is because?...”

“The Brood may evolve into something much bigger than a street gang... particularly with covert support from Manticore.”

“So what is this... Haselhoff guy up to, in our great city?”

“It’s Kafelnikov...”

“Whatever.”

“... and he’s selling art and Americana to foreigners. Any precious remnant of our past that he can get his hands on, really, he’ll sell to whoever offers the most.”

Seth arched an eyebrow. “And we care, because?...”

“Because he’s selling off priceless works of American art.”

Seth was not following this. “The point being...”

Logan knew he could never make Seth understand how he felt, and why this battle was important.

No Americana would eventually mean... no America. He’d watched other countries sell the heritage that was their symbolic soul, during financial hardships since the Pulse. People needed that cultural bedrock to build their societies on, and when that bedrock was peddled to other nations, it took away a country’s sense of permanence, a people’s sense of home. Citizens began to feel like renters in their own land.

“I can’t explain this easily,” Logan said. “You were Manticore’s prisoner for how long?”

“Ten years. What’s that got to do with it?”

“Even though you hated it, even though you eventually ran from it, Manticore was your home. When you escaped, didn’t part of you miss it?”

“You are high!” Seth’s eyes blazed. “No, hell, no!”

Logan put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You mean to say you didn’t... you don’t... miss your siblings? The sense of belonging that comes from being with a group you know you can trust to take care of you? That sense of wholeness? You didn’t miss any of that?”

Seth looked at him for a moment, then the young man’s eyes fell away and he found something on the floor to study.

Logan said, “That’s what I’m talking about, with these people selling off American art. It destroys, one piece at a time, who we are... how we feel about the American family... making it easier to divide us. We’re all abused children, now, Seth — and this kind of abuse to our... national spirit... well, it’s one thing we don’t need.”

“Run for fuckin’ office, why don’t you? Look, this art scam — it’s the first hustle the Brood’s working on our turf?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Logan, why didn’t you say so. We got to stop the bastards.”

Feeling a little embarrassed, and a bit like a pompous ass, Logan couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “Kafelnikov isn’t moving the stuff out of LA — somehow he’s moving it out of the country through Seattle.”

“And you want to know how he’s doing that?”

“Yes — who’s working with him, and where the deals go down — maybe we can... rescue some Americana.”

“Groovy,” Seth said, still unimpressed by the cultural flag-waving. “Any clues at all?”

Logan leaned in, used a mouse to open a window on one of the many glowing monitor screens. A picture popped up of a blond, trimly bearded man in his late twenties, next to a painting called Death on the Ridge Road.

Pointing, Logan said, “That’s Jared Sterling.”

“Looks like an upstanding citizen.”

“As upstanding as they come... major art collector, philanthropist, and billionaire computer magnate.”

“Sterling... Sterling — the Internet guy?”

“The Internet guy.”

Seth leaned in, taking a closer look at the Grant Wood painting. “Looks like he’s into, what’s-it, Americana, too.”

“Oh yes.” Using the mouse, Logan brought up pictures of various American art pieces. “These paintings — American Gothic... Whistler’s Mother... Jackson Pollock’s Key, works by Thomas Hart Benton, Winslow Homer, and several other major American painters — have come into Sterling’s hands... legally... and then disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Perhaps that’s overstating. He acquires these pieces — sometimes with great fanfare — seems to have them for a while, loans them for a museum showing or two... and then they vanish into his ‘collection.’ As art pieces the public can appreciate, they drop out of sight, and are never seen again.”

“If he owns them, I guess he’s got the right.”

“Well... I don’t want to venture into ethical waters with you again, Seth. But you should know also that Jared Sterling is considered to be one of the most ruthless and, yes, unethical businessmen to emerge in the post-Pulse world.”

“Even if he’s selling this stuff overseas, Logan, it’s no crime — he owns the shit, right?”

“Yes he owns the ‘shit’ — but it is a crime.” After the Cooperstown and Statue of Liberty debacles, there had been a backlash, and a number of bills had been passed to protect what remained of America’s heritage. “The American Art Protection Act, of twenty-fifteen, makes it very illegal for any paintings on the protected list to be sold outside of our shores.”

Seth frowned. “There’s a list of paintings like, what? Endangered species?”

“More like historic landmarks, important buildings that can’t be torn down to make room for another detention center. Jared Sterling owns dozens of paintings on the Smithsonian American Masterpieces list.”

“So Sterling can own these paintings, but he can’t sell them?”

“Not overseas — the paintings would be confiscated, and he’d be a felon. In addition, I suspect he’s moving stolen art, and some of the ‘legal’ transactions include such odds and ends as the original owner of Sterling’s latest acquisition washing up dead on a beach.”

Mention of a murder seemed to have finally caught Seth’s attention. “Where would we come in?”

“Well, he’s obviously making these transactions discreetly... and he may be using the same conduit to move his artwork as Kafelnikov. In fact, Sterling may be that conduit... that may be what brought the Russian to Seattle.”

“So Sterling’s scam will lead us to the LA guy’s scam.”

“My instinct is it’s the same scam.” He handed Seth a slip of paper with an address on it, and some security info Logan had hacked. “Your next stop...”

Seth glanced at the paper, memorized in an instant, and tossed it on the nearby computer station. “You’re the boss,” Seth said, with only the faintest sarcasm.

Logan walked him to the door. “And do me a favor, Seth?”

Seth smirked. “Why not?”

“Please don’t kill this one right away.”

“Which one you talkin’ about — Sterling, or this Russian guy?”

“Either. Neither.”

Seth shrugged. “Fine — but take this Russian, for example. Look at all those gang kids he massacred. Guy is an evil dude — and he’s tied to damn Manticore! Wouldn’t the world be better off without him?”

“Just gather the information, Seth.”

Seth was shaking his head, truly not getting it. “If this Kasselrock is the problem...”

“Kafelnikov.”

“... then killing his evil ass ought to end the problem... his part in it, anyway.”

Logan grasped the X5’s arm. “Seth, if you kill him, we’ll never know what happened to the paintings he’s already smuggled... assuming, of course, that he’s the right guy to begin with.”

“If these paintings are gone, they’re gone. What’s the difference?”

Logan wasn’t sure whether Seth was... teasing him, or really was this bloodthirsty; probably the former, but that he could even be considering the latter was very disturbing...

“Seth, we need to know if Kafelnikov is tied to Manticore... and if so, how, and why. That’s our best lead, at the moment.”