The Painting

Jack Luthor finally sat down peacefully, having been reassured that his precious cargo, wrapped in Kraft paper, had been carefully stowed away into the most secure carriage of the train; the 'security' consisted of only three policemen. It had cost him an additional fee of ten dollars, which he had readily paid with a small tip, and had now settled in the Platskartny, the equivalent of economy class on the Russian trains.

The precious cargo which Jack, an art dealer based in London, had valued above his own comfort, was a painting by the famous Willem de Kooning in 1955, and was called the 'Interchange' owing to the fact that after Kooning had abandoned painting human portraits and adopted abstract arts, this was his first masterpiece. To the common man, it might seem that a sleepy man had approached and attacked a canvas, armed with a paintbrush, for it was nothing but random strokes of colour with zigzag lines; however, to the artist's eyes, it is a priceless and unique piece of art. This was why Jack was going to sell it to the Russian millionaire, Ivan Skivinson, for 300 million dollars.

When one delivers an expensive and rare item like this, one might suggest some security, as word gets around fairly well and at the moment, the bullet train was passing through a dark and eerie tunnel, stretching for 2.8 miles, cut out through a mountain; however, the Russian businessman had insisted on minimal security, as 300 million dollars was already a big setback for itself.

Luthor awoke with start. He had just dreamt of the painting and being restless, proceeded to check out the luggage compartment. Little did he know that a white Jeep had been waiting for the train outside the tunnel and inside it were five burly men in white coats to camouflage in the snowy landscape, and that Jeep had been following the train for the last ten minutes.; there was an unwelcome visitor in the luggage compartment. Jack reached it just in time to see, through the tiny glass of the metal gate, a bulky man with a stout frame and a familiar scarred face, clutching a Kraft paper wrapped cuboid object, jump from the train into a Jeep, which took a sharp turn in the wide tunnel and was gone in the opposite direction, leaving three dead policemen in its wake; mortified, Jack stumbled and fumbled for his phone to report the robbery to the Russian tycoon.

'Yes, yes. I will see that the police do their best to catch the culprits. Did you have the painting insured? Yes? Thank you for informing me. I will personally pass on any developments to you. Have a nice day.' Skivinson dialled another number on his iPhone and spoke in a low voice: 'Car accident; Art gallery owner involved'. With that he slid his iPhone into the pocket of his snow-white coat and patted the brown package in his laps, an evil grin on his face: he had just earned 300 million dollars.