I glanced again toward the hall then placed the painting face down on the floor, exposing the frame fasteners. Flashlight and hammer in hand, I started prying at the first nail. The low groaning squeak barely carried above the collective footfalls of the scurrying rodents. On the second nail, the flashlight caught and highlighted a faded handwritten message scrawled onto the back of the canvas. The third and fourth nails came out easily and the painting itself popped out after several silent strains with my thumbs against the corners of the canvas. And still, after all that, the unknowing guards did nothing.

I took the razor knife and laid a long incision just outside the crude metal staples holding the fabric to its skeleton. The thin blade clicked with each aged strand it cleaved in two. The brittle canvas immediately frayed at its fresh edges and the yellow unpainted border of the liberated painting crackled as I rolled it in my hands.

I left my tools on the floor, tucked the pistol into my pants and was halfway back to the shaft of light when I heard the now familiar sound of the heavy guard's footsteps. I dropped to the floor and froze instinctively. His elongated shadow slowly grew on the floor until he stood fully silhouetted at the end of the hallway. The flashlight in his hand darted wildly about the room, cutting at the dark in a narrow beam. I could smell him and wondered if he could smell me. My eyes followed the dancing light, willing it away from the empty frame at the foot of the weighted wire. The floor was cool against my chest and seemed to absorb the tremor running through my body. If I could just calm myself, I knew I could concentrate hard enough to make the light stop moving. Unfortunately, it stopped before I was ready and came to rest on the hammer lying on the floor twenty-five feet away from me. I slipped a hand under me in search of the pistol as he took two cautious steps forward, his light finding the empty frame and bare wall. I turned my eyes toward the darkness on the far side in search of the door just as he shouted above the television noise to his partner. The high pitched shrill of an alarm split the air a second later. Powerful strobe lights pulsed from the ceiling in a rapid staccato, exposing me. In the corner of my eye, I saw the guard retreat around the corner in a series of six interrupted white flashes. The rear door was visible in the intermittent play of light and dark. I jumped to my feet, gripped the rolled painting and bolted for the exit. The silver painted door frame reappeared closer with each successive flash until I was through it and back into the comfort of night.