and a magician is just an actor playing the part of a magician. my compliments.
mademoiselle.
i didn't mean to startle you.
apologies, but the deck was dark, and i had to approach. it's been such a time since i've encountered the brothers bloom.
antiques. i wonder, my dear, if you know the true nature of the men you travel with?
book-learned. you know languages but not accents, my dear. i am belgian. maxmillion melville, at your service.
i'm a curator, presently for the national museum in prague. and yourself?
good for you. boys? what do you do?
baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee.
pardon, but you do not ascend to the grand heights of the brothers bloom only to toss it all and sell terra cotta to blue haired weekend antiquers.
but mademoiselle appears.  confused. perhaps she is unawares?
unaware that the brothers bloom are in fact the two most highly respected art smugglers in the western world?
well, if that is that, then that is indeed that. as you say.
maxmillion melville, esquire.
best of luck with the antiquing, boys. au revoir, chinois.
a gentleman from argentina. he's quite sick, cancer in his bones, and desperate for sentimental reasons to own this piece while he may.
who the hell is that?! who is it?!
who the hell are you, what do you want, who the hell!!!!??
here, off the basilica, are offices of administration, and beneath those, an otherwise inaccessible section of catacombs. and the book.
the book is already stolen. the stealing is in the bureaucracy, in the filing, red tape. as far as the museum is concerned, the book does not exist. i am the curator, i walk in, pinch the copy girl's baboosh, put the book in a briefcase and walk out. tomorrow, say, at two.
today is not a good day.
ah, the argentine? senor luise belguta rioso. i get his file.
from a private collection on the island of ikaria. that one.
i don't know.
that's a story. you have a minute?
mademoiselle.
au revoir.
you're a little early.
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