“And for nearly every other occasion as well,” added Gabriel.
“He who lives on hope,” said Don Orsati, undeterred, “dies on shit. And he who answers the door to the police lives to regret it. Especially if that person is in my line of work.”
“I’m quite certain that’s not an actual Corsican proverb.”
“Its sentiments are sacred and correct, all the same.”
“But he who sleeps,” said Gabriel, quoting a proverb of his own, “cannot catch fish. And he who seeks, finds.”
“And what exactly are you hoping to find at the law firm of Harris Weber & Company in Monaco?”
“Several million pages of incriminating documents.”
“Which will lead to the recovery of the missing Picasso?”
Gabriel nodded. “It will also lead to the prosecution of the firm’s founding partners, not to mention a great number of extremely wealthy people who have used unethical or in some cases illegal methods to conceal hundreds of billions of dollars’ worth of their wealth in offshore tax havens.”
“This might come as a shock to you, Gabriel, but I believe that what a man does with his money is his business, not his government’s. That said, I will agree to look after Lambert until the threats to his life have been eliminated. I will, however, expect to be reimbursed for his room and board, not to mention the extra manpower costs for his security.”
“He has several million dollars at a bank in the British Virgin Islands.”
“A good start.” Orsati smiled. “The question is, where shall we put him?”
“For the time being, he can stay with me at Christopher’s place.”
“While you plan this heist of yours?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Does Christopher know what you’re up to?”
“He doesn’t have a clue.”
“It might be wise to include him.”
“Christopher is no longer an employee of the Orsati Olive Oil Company. He is an officer of His Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.”
“And?”
“One of the founding partners of Harris Weber is British, and the firm is incorporated in the British Virgin Islands, which is a British overseas territory.”
“Is that a problem?”
“As a general rule, Western intelligence services are forbidden to spy on their own people.”
“But you’re not spying on the firm. You’re simply going to steal its files.”
“It’s rather the same thing.”
“I don’t care how good your pretty friend is,” said Orsati. “You can’t send her into that office alone. You need at least one more person, preferably a professional.”
“Anyone come to mind?”
“What about the man who gave you a ride to Corsica?”
“Can you arrange it?”
“Consider it done.” Orsati lifted his gaze toward the darkening sky. “When storms roll in, dogs make beds.”
“What about goats?” asked Gabriel.
“Is there a problem?”
“He had a go at my car this morning. Someone has to pay for the damage, and it isn’t going to be me.”
Don Orsati sighed. “Coins are round and come and go.”
“So do goats,” said Gabriel darkly.
“Not one hair on its head. Otherwise, there will be a feud.”
“That’s not a proverb, either, Don Orsati.”
36
Haute-Corse
The operational planning commenced a few minutes after eight the following morning when René Monjean, after yet another overnight crossing from the mainland, guided Mistral into the tiny marina in the resort town of Porto. Gabriel was there to meet him. They put the vessel in order, then climbed into the car and headed eastward into the mountains.
