Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered
through the vaulted archway of the museum's Grand Galerry.
He lunged for the nearest painting he could see, a Caravaggio. Grabbing the gilded frame, the seventy-six-year-old man heaved the masterpiece
toward himself until it tore from the wall and Saunière
collapsed backward in a heap benealth the canvas.
As he had anticipated, a thundering iron gate fell
nearby,barricading the entrance to the suite.The
parquet floor shook.Far off, an alarm began to ring.
The curator lay a moment,gasping for breath,
taking stock.I am stiil alive. He crawled out from
under the canvas and scanned the cavernous space for
somewhere to hide.
A voice spoke, chillingly close. 'Do not move.'
On his hands and knees, the curator froze,turning
his head slowly
Only fifteen feet away, outside the sealed gate, the mountainous silhouette of his attacker stared through
the iron bars. He was broad and tall, with ghost-pale
skin and thinning white hair. His irises were pink with
dark red pupils. The albino drew a pistol from his coat
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