Bonn

It was already nearly eight pm, and the offices on the fifth floor of NATO Headquarters were dark, except for one.

"Von dem Eberbach." Klaus answered the phone in brisk tones, without looking up from the file he was working on.

The voice at the other end was hushed and hurried - someone who didn't want to be overheard. "Major, it's Gerd Scherer. I've just got word that Interpol have reported an arrest in the stolen painting affair. Eroica's been arrested in Antwerp. I thought you'd like to know."

Klaus sat staring into space, not quite taking in the rest of what Scherer said. Eroica arrested? After evading the authorities for all these years? He'd never really thought it would be possible. It had to be a mistake.

Scherer rang off. With clumsy fingers, Klaus dialled Dorian's number at North Downs. The phone rang three times, and was answered by a familiar voice he could not put a name to: one of Dorian's pack of thieves.

"It's Major von dem Eberbach, in Bonn. I want to speak to Lord Gloria."

"I'm sorry, sir, but Lord Gloria is not at home. May I take a message?"

"No. Let me speak to someone with some sense. Is Bonham there?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid Mr Bonham is not available either."

Fuck it. Klaus hung up without another word, and dialled again - Dorian's mobile this time. There was every chance it would be answered by an Interpol officer, and that the call would be traced - but he was willing to take the risk.

The phone rang through to the message bank.

Klaus reached for a cigarette. If Dorian had been arrested, he would be powerless to help him. Eroica had been wanted by Interpol for more than thirty years. Once they had him, they wouldn't let him go.

There was nothing he could do here. Pulling on his jacket, he headed for home, his thoughts in turmoil.

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Klaus drove into the underground garage beneath his apartment. His mind was so preoccupied he barely recalled anything of the journey home, but as he turned the Benz toward its parking space his attention snapped back to full alertness. There was a car in the spare parking space next to his own. A red Lamborghini.

What the - ?

Klaus took the stairs two at a time. He unlocked his apartment with his key in his left hand, and his gun in his right. If this was a trap-

The door swung open.

"Klaus, darling, you work too hard. Can't you let yourself out of the office any earlier than this?"

Dorian was lounging in Klaus's favourite armchair, a portrait of decadence in silk and leather. Klaus had never been so happy to see him in all his life.

"I'd heard that you'd been arrested."

"I believe Interpol did make an arrest, but it wasn't me, darling. I wonder if they've worked it out yet. If there's any justice in this world, their counterfeit Eroica should keep them occupied for some time. Who knows, they may even be fooled into thinking they've got the real thing."

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Later that night

Flushed from lovemaking, sweat cooling on their skin, Dorian and Klaus lay tangled together in a mound of rumpled sheets.

Dorian stretched and yawned luxuriously before spooning up against his lover. "Klaus, now that Fournier has made an arrest, do you think he'll stop pressing you for information about Eroica?"

"Depends. If he thinks the idiot he arrested is Eroica, he'll be happy. But that can't last. He'll eventually realise he's not Eroica, and you'll be back on the wanted list."

"Well, at the very least, when he finds out that they haven't got the right man they'll recognise that Eroica wasn't responsible for passing off a wave of second-rate forgeries. Eroica is a master thief. Cheap deception is beneath my dignity."

Dorian's wounded professional pride amused Klaus. Once, it would have provoked an angry rant, but Klaus's attitude to Dorian's thieving had mellowed with time.

"Dorian. Tell me the truth. Did you rob the Gardner museum?"

"No, I didn't."

"Do you know who did? Does anybody?"

Dorian remembered his phone conversation with Sandy Selkirk. ‘I happen to know that Eroica didn't perform this particular theft,' he'd said. The old rascal. I'll bet he knows who it was. 

"I don't know who did it, Klaus. Somebody must know, but I don't."

Klaus had a feeling his lover knew more than he was saying, but he had also learned it was no use trying to prise information out of him. Besides, if Eroica hadn't robbed the museum, did it matter who had?

He sat up briefly, untangling the bedclothes and straightening the pillows out, then lay down again, pulling Dorian into a loose embrace.

"Dorian, do you ever think of giving this up? You don't need the money."

"Darling, what would I do with myself? Collect stamps? Take up croquet? This is what I am, Klaus: I am Eroica."

"You're a middle aged man, that's what you are. You've had a thirty-year lucky streak that's kept you one step ahead of the law. Someday, your luck might run out."

Dorian pouted. "Klaus, you're a pessimist. It's skill and know-how that have kept me out of the clutches of the police, not just blind luck. Anyway, do I see you accepting a well-deserved promotion and moving into a desk job?"

Klaus glared. "Ja, I know, I know," he grumbled. "As you say, it's what I am."

Dorian pushed Klaus onto his back and straddled his hips. "And not so much of the ‘middle aged', please - I'm still as agile as I ever was."

"That's a very big claim."

He can never resist a challenge, Klaus thought happily as Dorian set about proving just how agile he was.

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