Louvre Museum, Paris, 10:46 P.M.
Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum’s Grand Gallery. He lunged for the nearest painting he could see, a Carravagio. Grabbing the gilded frame, the seventy-six-year-old man heaved the masterpiece toward himself until it tore from the wall and Saunière collapsed backward in a heap beneath the canvas.
As he had anticipated, a thundering iron gate fell nearby, barricading the entrance to the suite. The parquet floor shook. Far off, an alarm began to ring.
The curator lay a moment, gasping for breath, taking stock. I am still alive. He crawled out from under the canvas and…
As "jump into the middle of the action" openings go, it's not entirely bad, though I would lose the "renowned", and "heaved.. toward himself" read kind of wrong (heaving doesn't seem to be the sort of action you can do towards yourself; I'd have gone with "hauling").
I've read plenty worse, and if this had been posted for critique, then I'd have probably said "I'd read on".
It's the rest of the story that he couldn't deliver.