“Your involvement in this case isn’t over, Allon. In fact, it’s just beginning.”
They walked to a small bar overlooking the marina. It was empty except for two young men who were grousing about the sad state of the economy. It was a common sight in Italy these days. There were no jobs, no prospects, no future—only the beautiful reminders of the past that the general and his team at the Art Squad were sworn to protect. He ordered a coffee and a sandwich and led Gabriel to a table outside in the cold sunlight.
“Frankly,” he said when they were alone again, “I don’t know how you can even think about walking away from the case now. It would be like leaving a painting unfinished.”
“My unfinished painting is in Venice,” replied Gabriel, “along with my pregnant wife.”
“Your Veronese is safe. And so is your wife.”
Gabriel looked at an overflowing rubbish bin at the edge of the marina and shook his head. The ancient Romans had invented central heating, but somewhere along the line their descendants had forgotten how to take out the trash.
“It could take months to find that painting,” he said.
“We don’t have months. I’d say we have a few weeks at most.”
“Then I suppose you and your men better get moving.”
The general shook his head slowly. “We’re good at tapping phones and making deals with mafioso scum. But we don’t do undercover operations well, especially outside Italy. I need someone to toss some bait into the waters of the stolen art market and to see if we can tempt Mr. Big into making another acquisition. He’s out there somewhere. You just have to find something to interest him.”
“One doesn’t find multimillion-dollar masterpieces. One steals them.”
“In spectacular fashion,” added the general. “Which means it shouldn’t be something from a home or a private gallery.”
“Do you realize what you’re saying?”
“Yes, I do.” The general gave a conspiratorial smile. “Most undercover operations involve sending a fake buyer into the field. But yours will be different. You’ll be posing as a thief with a hot piece of canvas to sell. The painting has to be real.”
“Why don’t you let me borrow something lovely from the Galleria Borghese?”
“The museum will never go for it. Besides,” the general added, “the painting can’t come from Italy. Otherwise, the person who has the Caravaggio might suspect my involvement.”
“You’ll never be able to prosecute anyone after something like this.”
“Prosecution is definitely second on my list of priorities. I want that Caravaggio back.”
The general lapsed into silence. Gabriel had to admit he was intrigued by the idea. “There’s no way I can front the operation,” he said after a moment. “My face is too well known.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to find a good actor to play the role. And if I were you, I’d hire some muscle, too. The underworld can be a dangerous place.”
“You don’t say.”
The general made no reply.
“Muscle doesn’t come cheap,” Gabriel said. “And neither do competent thieves.”
“Can you borrow some from your service?”
“Muscle or thieves?”
“Both.”
“Not a chance.”
“How much money do you need?”
Gabriel made a show of thought. “Two million, bare minimum.”
“I might have a million in the coffee can under my desk.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Actually,” said the general, smiling, “the money’s in an attaché case in the trunk of my car. I also have a copy of the Caravaggio case file. It will give you something to read while you’re waiting for Mr. Big to put his oar into the water.”
“What if he doesn’t bite?”
“I suppose you’ll have to steal something else.” The general shrugged. “That’s the wonderful thing about stealing masterpieces. It’s really not all that difficult.”
The money, as promised, was in the trunk of the general’s official sedan—a million euros in very used
They walked to a small bar overlooking the marina. It was empty except for two young men who were grousing about the sad state of the economy. It was a common sight in Italy these days. There were no jobs, no prospects, no future—only the beautiful reminders of the past that the general and his team at the Art Squad were sworn to protect. He ordered a coffee and a sandwich and led Gabriel to a table outside in the cold sunlight.
“Frankly,” he said when they were alone again, “I don’t know how you can even think about walking away from the case now. It would be like leaving a painting unfinished.”
“My unfinished painting is in Venice,” replied Gabriel, “along with my pregnant wife.”
“Your Veronese is safe. And so is your wife.”
Gabriel looked at an overflowing rubbish bin at the edge of the marina and shook his head. The ancient Romans had invented central heating, but somewhere along the line their descendants had forgotten how to take out the trash.
“It could take months to find that painting,” he said.
“We don’t have months. I’d say we have a few weeks at most.”
“Then I suppose you and your men better get moving.”
The general shook his head slowly. “We’re good at tapping phones and making deals with mafioso scum. But we don’t do undercover operations well, especially outside Italy. I need someone to toss some bait into the waters of the stolen art market and to see if we can tempt Mr. Big into making another acquisition. He’s out there somewhere. You just have to find something to interest him.”
“One doesn’t find multimillion-dollar masterpieces. One steals them.”
“In spectacular fashion,” added the general. “Which means it shouldn’t be something from a home or a private gallery.”
“Do you realize what you’re saying?”
“Yes, I do.” The general gave a conspiratorial smile. “Most undercover operations involve sending a fake buyer into the field. But yours will be different. You’ll be posing as a thief with a hot piece of canvas to sell. The painting has to be real.”
“Why don’t you let me borrow something lovely from the Galleria Borghese?”
“The museum will never go for it. Besides,” the general added, “the painting can’t come from Italy. Otherwise, the person who has the Caravaggio might suspect my involvement.”
“You’ll never be able to prosecute anyone after something like this.”
“Prosecution is definitely second on my list of priorities. I want that Caravaggio back.”
The general lapsed into silence. Gabriel had to admit he was intrigued by the idea. “There’s no way I can front the operation,” he said after a moment. “My face is too well known.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to find a good actor to play the role. And if I were you, I’d hire some muscle, too. The underworld can be a dangerous place.”
“You don’t say.”
The general made no reply.
“Muscle doesn’t come cheap,” Gabriel said. “And neither do competent thieves.”
“Can you borrow some from your service?”
“Muscle or thieves?”
“Both.”
“Not a chance.”
“How much money do you need?”
Gabriel made a show of thought. “Two million, bare minimum.”
“I might have a million in the coffee can under my desk.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Actually,” said the general, smiling, “the money’s in an attaché case in the trunk of my car. I also have a copy of the Caravaggio case file. It will give you something to read while you’re waiting for Mr. Big to put his oar into the water.”
“What if he doesn’t bite?”
“I suppose you’ll have to steal something else.” The general shrugged. “That’s the wonderful thing about stealing masterpieces. It’s really not all that difficult.”
The money, as promised, was in the trunk of the general’s official sedan—a million euros in very used
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