Norman Corea’s house was surprisingly easy to find. In fact it was located on the edge of a community college campus and had served as a school landmark for countless years. Students sometimes ventured up the hill towards the back of the campus and into the collection of trees that hid the old cottage from view. The structure itself was nearly buried under a mass of gnarled branches and dry overgrowth. Students were forbidden from breaking into the house and so it remained a popular historic site for local urban explorers or a place where people often took pictures.

Grant drove the fancy black Audi sedan borrowed from his Uncle Lain into one of many parking lots on the school campus. There a familiar face was waiting for him. A young man slightly taller than him was standing in the middle of the lot. He had broad shoulders and a lean but fit build. He had stiff and short light brown hair. His most striking feature though was his eyes. One look was all Grant needed to know he was dealing with a hard man. Rourke had not changed a bit.

“It’s good to see you,” said Grant, stepping out of the car and embracing Rourke’s well-built body.

“Nice shirt,” said Rourke, breaking away. “A souvenir from New York?”

Grant nodded and looked down at his grey and red plaid shirt. “Handsome huh?

Rourke flashed him the tiniest of smiles. “And who is this?”

Estelle exited the Audi. She wore a pair of slim fit jeans and a grey t-shirt.

“Rourke, this is Estelle Burnette. She’s my partner on this hunt for the painting I told you about over the phone.”

“Good to have you,” said Rourke, shaking Estelle’s hand.

“Grant tells me you can really handle yourself in a scrap,” said Estelle, smiling. “It’s an honor to meet another member of the crew that found the Taiping treasure.”

“I only brought the muscle,” said Rourke. “Grant here was the brains.”

“We have competition,” said Grant. “Armed competition. We could use a little more muscle.”

Rourke turned to observe the school campus, which was rather vast for a community college. “I would never expect a 3 million dollar painting to be hidden here.”

“Which is likely why no one has ever found it,” said Grant. “Let’s go.”

Following a disposable map of the school campus, Grant led his team up the hill behind the school theatre and into the woods above. There the house was hidden behind a mass of branches and such. It looked like it was on the brink of collapse. The entire structure leaned to the side like a lopsided gingerbread house.

Grant drew out a utility hatchet that he brought. “We’re going to need to hack through all that growth before we can access the house. I can barely make out a window under all of that.

Rourke took out a small shovel and handed another to Estelle. “Here you help too.”

After an hour of aggressively destroying the overgrowth, at last the door was made accessible. Rourke set down his shovel and moved into kicking it down.

“Wait!” Grant said, holding a hand up.

“What is it now?” said Rourke.

“This is a piece of history,” said Grant. “You can’t just kick down a hundred year old door!”

Rourke sighed and fumbled at the knob which broke off along with a chunk of wood. The door swung inwards with a loud creaking noise and Rourke stepped in.

Everything in the house was covered in dirt, dust, or leaves. The furniture looked dry and frail, ready to collapse at the slightest application of force. There were no objects to note of beyond the typical household items.

“No painting,” said Estelle, studying their surroundings.

Rourke checked inside the fireplace and then behind a dusty wooden cupboard. “Only insect carcasses.”

Grant walked over the kitchen area and kicked aside from branches and leaves. Installed into the floor was a trapdoor.

“Could lead to a cellar,” said Grant, wasting time in using the rusty handle to lift the trapdoor. The entrance in the floor was narrow and led only to darkness. Grant shined his flashlight down the shaft and saw to his surprise that it led down a considerable descent. There were metal ladder handles installed into the walls of the shaft.

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“I’ll go first,” said Grant.

After a few minutes or going down the shaft one at a time the trio found themselves in a low ceiling space. Several shelves that nearly touched the ceiling lined the walls and a few empty glass jars sat on the floor, some of them smashed. An empty barrel was tucked into the far left corner.

“Not much to see here either,” said Grant. “Pretty stuffy down here too.”

Rourke peeked behind the cupboard at the end of the room and then looked back at Grant. “There is a doorway here.”

Without warning, Rourke heaved the cupboard aside, which landed with a crash onto the rough stone floor.

“Hey a heads up would be nice,” said Estelle. “What if some flying glass hit us?”

A doorway which led down what looked to be a long tunnel lay before them. Grant grinned from ear to ear.

“I think I’ll be very happy at the end of this tunnel,” said Grant. “Shall we?”

The trio continued onwards, their surroundings illuminated only by the flashlights in their hands.

“Must have taken a while to carve out all this,” said Estelle.

Grant felt himself step on what felt like a resistance band and froze, his eyes snapping downwards. To his horror his right foot had stepped on a tripwire that ran from one end of the tunnel wall to the other.

“What’s the matter?” said Rourke, bumping into Grant and startling him. The foot went down and Grant let out a yell. “Get down!”

As Estelle forced Rourke down by the shoulders, Grant could hear a faint yet distinct click in the wall before a shotgun blast went off over his head, taking a chunk of dirt off the opposite wall and raining dust over Grant who had let himself fall forward.

“Watch for traps,” said Grant, quickly shining his light all over the floor.

“We got careless,” said Estelle with a cough.

Grant spotted small shapes on the floor just ahead of them and carefully took a few steps forward. At a glance they appeared to be shiny little bits of rock, however upon holding on up to his face, he realized that they were man made.

“Caltrops,” said Grant. “Watch where you step up ahead.”

Books on historic wars described caltrops as effective area denial weapons. The spikes of the caltrop were arranged in a way that one always pointed upwards no matter how the caltrop landed. Using a small shovel borrowed from Rourke, Grant swept the caltrops to the side as he crouch walked forward.

After a minute of moving forward as he swept for caltrops, Grant spotted a bear trap.

“I’m going to trigger a bear trap with the shovel,” Grant warned, turning around.

Rourke nodded to him and Grant brought the blade of the shovel down on the pressure plate of the bear trap. The thick heavy duty jaws of the trap instantly closed on the shovel blade with the sound of metal scraping together, effectively disarming it.

As Grant tossed the bear trap aside he shined his light further up ahead. There at the end of the tunnel was a closed rectangular crate. Around fifteen feet of clear ground lay between Grant and the crate which made him feel uneasy. He did see any traps installed into the ceiling or walls.

“Rourke hand me some rope if you got any,” said Grant.

Rourke fished in his backpack and handed Grant a short but durable looking red cord. Grant tied it around the handle of the shovel he was holding and, holding onto the end of the cord, tossed the shovel out ahead. The tool landed with a clang but nothing happened.

“Good thinking,” said Estelle from behind.

Grant pulled the shovel back slowly, making sure to let it drag across the dirt floor. He grabbed it once it was within reach and threw it out again.

As soon as the shovel landed, the floor exploded. Grant fell back with a yelp as dirt and soil was propelled into his face. Fortunately for them all the blast from what had clearly been a landmine did not have a wide kill radius. A small shouldering crater came into view as the dust settled. As for the shovel, it had been ruined, its handle blown into pieces.

“Ok ok,” said Grant, collecting himself and standing up. He grabbed Estelle’s shovel and repeated the same process he used to clear out the mine until he was satisfied that there were no more hidden explosives buried in the ground.

“Careful now,” said Estelle as Grant approached the crate and removed the top.

Inside the container lay the image of that immortalized the beauty of the woman of Franklin’s dreams. Grant’s hand trembled as he marveled at the Grace of the Fountain, which was perfectly preserved. Though the genuine artifact was just about identical to the replication he had seen in Franklin’s home, the original seemed to have a certain spirit to it. It instilled a feeling that even photographs of the original did not even come close to doing justice for.

Grant remembered his third grade teacher who told the class that one could flip through a thousand high quality photographs of the Grand Canyon on the internet or even in a well-made album book, yet still be swept away upon seeing it in person for the first time. As Grant’s hungry eyes took in every inch of the painting that was shown under his flashlight, he understood what his teacher had meant.

“Rourke helped me carry it to the surface,” said Grant. “It will be a tight fit and a pain in the ass but we’ll manage.”

Rourke drew up beside him and examined the painting. “Beautiful craftsmanship. But not something worth dying for.”

“It’s really here,” said Estelle, staring down into the crate with eyes wide. “But I wonder what happened to its last owner.”

As Grant pulled the crate back a little Estelle gave a frightened yelp and jumped back.

“What now!?” Grant said, looking at her in alarm.

Estelle pointed to the space that was behind the crate. The tucked up against the wall was a small skeleton clothed in rags and curled up in a fetal position. In his final moments, Norman Corea had chosen to die alongside the painting that was the subject of obsession for each of its owners. Grant liked to think that Norman had, in his mind, entombed himself beside the love of his life.

“Rest in peace Norman,” said Grant softly. “And forgive me. I’m afraid our employer needs this now more than you do.”