"Thirty dinars," they both said in bright smiles.

"Does the case come with it?"

"Yes-No," they answered at the same time before immediately jumping back into their argument.

I flipped through the wrinkled wad of bills before fishing another twenty out of my pocket. "Enough?" I asked, holding it out.

"No," he said just as she snatched the bill out of my hand in a motion almost too quick to see. They rejoined the fray as I closed the case on top of a guitar and walked off. Sufficiently disguised, I made my way back out to the street, fighting the inflow of merchants at the entrance, each one carrying a bundle on his back like so many foraging ants.

I slipped between the elephants and pushed open the glass door at the front of the gallery. My heart rate quickened as I walked past the guard station in the middle of the foyer. The uniformed Arab at the desk kept his head in a book as I passed.

The main room of the Gallery was even smaller than I thought it would be. I started at the left wall so that I would take in everything before reaching the Vermeer. I eyed each piece in a thoughtful pose, thinking only of the red dot on the blueprint I'd seen on Samas' kitchen table. I ambled around the room from station to station, stopping to inspect the bathroom and take measure of the trash can. Two large rats scurried from underneath it when I lifted the lid to inspect the inside. The nearby patrons, mostly Europeans, were not as happy to see them as I was.