“For all I know, there might be others.”
“He’s not going to kill me, is he?”
“Ricard? I can’t imagine.”
“Because the last time you and I got involved in looted art—”
The bell sounded before Anna could finish her thought. Rising, she went into the entrance hall and admitted a pair of room service waiters. They arranged the food on the table without commentary and hurriedly withdrew.
Anna sat down and laid a napkin across her lap. “Perhaps I’ve been going about this the wrong way.”
“Going about what?” asked Gabriel as he removed the cork from the second bottle of white burgundy.
“Convincing you to leave that gorgeous wife of yours and marry me.”
“Anna, please.”
“Will you at least hear my proposal?”
“No.”
“I’m prepared to be generous.”
“I’m sure you are. But I’m not interested in your money. I’m desperately in love with Chiara.”
“What about the reckless affair she’s having with this Giacomo fellow?”
“Gennaro,” said Gabriel. “And it isn’t real.”
“Of course it isn’t. After all, why would she be involved with a coffee boy when she’s married to you?” Anna lowered her eyes toward her plate. “In case you were wondering, the answer is yes. I’ll help you find that Picasso.”
“What’s your schedule like?”
“I’m in Oslo next week and Prague the week after.”
“And then?”
“I’ll have to check with my assistant.”
“Please do,” said Gabriel. “And then get rid of her.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to give you a new one.”
“What’s she like?”
“Pure trouble.”
“Sounds like my kind of girl,” said Anna. “All I need now are the paintings.”
“I’ll take care of those, too.”
“How?”
Gabriel, with a movement of his hand, indicated that he was going to paint them himself.
“A Modigliani, a Van Gogh, a Renoir, a Cézanne, and a Monet?”
He shrugged.
“And the sixth?”
“I’ll leave that to you.”
“Is Toulouse-Lautrec part of your repertoire?”
“No sheet music required.”
“Perfect,” said Anna. “Toulouse-Lautrec it is.”
17
Mykonos
The all-electric BMW i4 sedan slid into a parking space outside Café Apollo on the island of Mykonos at two o’clock the following afternoon. The woman who emerged from behind the wheel wore a leather jacket against the blustery February weather and a pair of stretch jeans that flattered her slender hips and thighs. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of toffee and streaked with blond. Her eyes, concealed behind a pair of fashionable Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses, were pale blue.
She entered the café and sat down at a table against the window. It looked eastward toward the sun-bleached terminal of Mykonos International Airport. A friend was arriving on a flight from Athens. He had given her little notice of his travel plans—and no explanation as to why they included a midwinter visit to a popular Greek island. She was confident it was not a social call. Her friend, the former director-general of Israel’s secret intelligence service, was a very busy man.
