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Matthew began to see dark spots on the page and realized that he had not taken a breath in many moments. Inhaling deeply, he then exhaled an embarrassed laugh. Get a grip on yourself, buddy.
“There you are.”
He looked up to see his older colleague Carol Voss standing before the table, and slapped shut the volume of Mayer-Goff as if he’d been caught by his mother reading Penthouse.
“Here I am, indeed.”
“Not answering your e-mails,” she scolded gently, her green eyes behind large glasses looking him over carefully. Carol was a mentor of sorts, his only close friend at the museum, and there was little he could keep from her.
“It’s not just yours I’m ignoring, if that makes you feel better.”
“This about the Kessler icon?” she waved at the books on the table.
“Yes.”
“Checking provenance?”
“More or less. It’s sketchy.”
“Are we serious about this?” she asked skeptically.
“Are you pretending that I would know that better than you, Ms. Finger-on-the-Director’s-pulse?”
She laughed. “I haven’t a clue. Nevins seems excited.”
“Yeah, but he’s up at the Cloisters every day. I don’t even know if he’s spoken to Fearless Leader.”
“Speak to him yourself.”
“We don’t have that kind of relationship.”
“You seem worried,” she said, out of nowhere. “Are there ownership issues?”
“Maybe,” he conceded, in a barely audible tone.
“Have we filed with the Art Loss Register?”
“Not yet. We need to be a little more certain we want it, right? Besides, if there’s a theft involved, it isn’t going to show up there. It would be older.”
The phrase “wartime loot” hung in the air between them, unspoken. Carol clearly thought of saying more, and Matthew found himself wishing she would, wishing for someone upon whom to unburden himself. She squeezed his shoulder instead.
“Good luck, kiddo. Tell me if you want help. And Matthew, I know this is a fantastic piece and all, but it’s just one piece. It’s not your whole life.”
Calling Be
The name on the door was for a travel agency, and indeed the posters of Turkey and Egypt on the walls and the efficient young women with their headsets seemed to confer legitimacy. But that was only the first floor. The second, reached by a long stairway, consisted of narrow corridors and closed doors, and the barely dressed, boldly casual women smoking in the small lounge completed the picture. They all smiled at Andreas and pointed to the office in back.
Be
“Did you really expect me to be shocked by this place?”
“I was hoping so; you Athenians are all prudes. But I forget you are a man of the world.”
“This is your new business?”
The big man sucked on a cigarette as if his life depended upon it, blew smoke just to the left of Andreas’ face. He seldom smiled, even when he was kidding around.
“Always the same business. Travel, marketing, whores, it’s all about information. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this years ago. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of things these girls find out.”
Andreas, a co
“Are they safe?”
“A doctor checks them every month. You want to try one?”
“That is not what I’m asking.”
“I don’t give them sensitive stuff. Mostly names. Send them around to the hotels whose databases we can’t hack. But they always come back with stories. You know, blackmail is not my thing, but if it were I could make a fortune.”
“You’re too casual for that kind of work; you would get yourself killed.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Can we speak freely? Is the Israeli ambassador in the next room?”
“We get very little traffic in here,” Be
“No?”
“No, we’re an escort service. These aren’t even the prime girls.”
“Not so loud.”
“The prime girls wait at home for the phone to ring. We screen it, make sure it’s safe, get the credit card number, send them out.”
“All in the name of information.”
“That’s my business.”
“Excellent. I’m looking for someone.”
Be
“Aren’t you retired?”
“For years.”
“But never completely, right?”
“I kept my hand in for a while. Until the idiots brought Papandreou back. That was the end.”
“Papandreou, Mitsotakis, not much to choose from there. This new one seems like a decent fellow. Now our Israeli politicians-”
“We’re not discussing politicians, Be
“Why would I refuse you?”
“Because there is nothing in it for you. Except my gratitude.”
“And gratitude is such a small thing these days? I think I can judge best what is in my own interests.”
Andreas pursed his lips and nodded. He’d hit the correct spot, but he must not push it.
“Years ago you helped me with something.”
“God defend us, are you chasing Nazis again?”
“The same one.”
“He’s dead.”
“No, he’s here.”
Be
“Yes.”
This was risky. He had only Fotis’ word about Müller, which he would never normally trust uncorroborated. Yet his instinct told him it must be so, had been telling him since before he left Greece. If he was wrong, it was a cruel trick. Be
“But you don’t know exactly where he is.”
“That’s what I need you to tell me.”
“Then how do you know he’s here?”
“I have been informed.”
“A dependable source, I hope.”
“I’ll pay you. So you’re not wasting your time.”
“Been hoarding your drachmas? Well, when a Greek agrees to pay, he must be pretty certain. But then it’s not a favor.”
“We can dispense with favors. Or you can refuse me, but don’t toy with an old man.”
Be