Amish Undercover Read Online Free Page B

When visitors come here to see you, they’ll be told that you’re in solitary and aren’t allowed visitors until further notice.”
    Marvin swiveled in his chair. “You’re a hundred percent I’ve got a pardon if I do this?”
    “One hundred percent and you will leave with me right now if you agree.”
    The edges of Marvin’s mouth turned upwards, and he nodded slowly. “I’ll do it.”
    Bailey stood up. “Don’t tell anyone what’s happening. The guards will accompany you straight out to sign for your personal belongings and then we’re out of here.”
    Marvin jumped to his feet. “I’ll need some things.”
    “Let’s just get you out of here and we can arrange all that in the car. I’ll drive you straight to the safe-house.”
    One prison guard led Marvin away, and one waited in the room to accompany Bailey out.
    “Ready to go?” The raspy deep voice of the prison guard reverberated through Bailey’s head.
    Bailey held up his hand and spoke to the prison guard who was behind him. “Give me a moment.” Bailey looked around the room. The walls, that were obviously once brick, were now covered in thick pale yellow paint; the large tiles on the floors were gray and dismal. The room was filled with gray, cold metal tables and chairs, four chairs to every table, and in the corner of the room stood a vending machine of snacks.
    The only light in the room came from narrow horizontal windows just where the walls met the ceiling. As bleak as it was, everything seemed familiar. Something told him he’d been there years ago, maybe as a boy. Could he have visited someone in this very room and if so, who?
    The deep voice once again disturbed Bailey’s thoughts. “It’s nearly visiting hours and I have to escort people in. I’m sorry, sir, I have to take you back out now.”
    An hour later, Bailey was driving Marvin Forsythe, the best painting forger in the country, to a safe-house in Lancaster County. Bailey had approached Wil, on behalf of the FBI, to use his house as a temporary safe-house and Wil had kindly agreed.
    “Now I’m doing you this favor, can you get me some decent clothes?” He was out of the prison supplied orange jumpsuit and into the clothes amongst his personal belongings. “I was arrested in these a year ago.” Marvin sniffed each armpit. “Pew, they could have laundered ‘em for me.”
    Bailey pulled up at a Wal-Mart store on the way. “Get two pairs of pants and five shirts, whatever else you need and make it quick.”
    Marvin walked into the store with Bailey close behind him. As Marvin gathered up clothing in his arms, he said, “Now you can tell me what I’ll be painting.”
    After a quick look to see if anyone was in earshot, Bailey said, “I need you to paint Manet’s Chez Tortoni.”
    Marvin rubbed his chin hard and squinted his eyes. “Wasn’t that one of the paintings that was stolen in the big 1990 art heist?”
    Bailey nodded. “That’s the one.”
    “That’s a hard ask. I’ve never seen it myself. That’s the man in a top hat and the half pitcher of beer?”
    “Something like that. He’s got a black top hat and a glass of something next to him. I know it’s painted in oils.” Due to his job Bailey had become familiar with many old Master painters and painting techniques.
    “I hope you’ve got a good variety of photos and info on it.”
    Bailey nodded. “As many as I could get my hands on, and the people who’ll be viewing it would never have seen it before either, so don’t worry.” But Bailey could not tell Marvin everything; he could not tell him anything about Richard Starks, neither could he tell him what he planned to do with the painting when it was completed.
    “I usually paint from something that I’m looking straight at or at least that I’ve seen before. I need to get the brushstrokes right, the nuances of light, the depths of color.”
    Bailey looked around about them once more. It was not a good idea to talk in the store in case they