“Giorgio got three bullets in the head.”
General Ferrari shrugged. “C’est la vie.”
“When will the Carabinieri make their findings public?”
“We are prepared to leave the two murders unsolved for the time being.”
“It is essential that Penelope Radcliff receive credit for discovering the Leonardo.”
“That would require us to tell the truth.”
“Or a version of the truth,” suggested Gabriel. “One that reveals the Art Squad’s role in recovering a lost painting by Leonardo da Vinci.”
“And where, exactly, did we find it?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something, Cesare.”
He gave the matter a moment of thought. “There’s one serious problem, you know.”
“The copy of the painting I sold to Alexander Prokhorov?”
“Yes.”
“I have a solution.”
“Not an Italian solution, I hope.”
“Danish, actually.”
“In that case,” said the general, “problem solved.”
***
For nearly a month, Gabriel didn’t hear from her. Then she rang one day, out of the blue, from the satellite phone on René Monjean’s motor yacht. Luca Rossetti met the boat the following afternoon in the Italian resort of Ventimiglia, and by that evening both the painting and Ingrid were back in the Allon family apartment in San Polo. Somehow she had managed to spend only half of Martin’s million dollars. The rest was zipped into a nylon duffel, which she returned to Gabriel—thus proving there was honor among thieves, after all.
“Any problems?” he asked.
“Candy from a baby, Mr. Allon.”
“How did you pull it off?”
“It was an inside job.”
“They always are.”
“So they say.”
“Was it one of the security guards?” asked Gabriel.
“The girlfriend, actually.”
“Not the lovely Yuliana?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How much did you pay her?”
Ingrid smiled. “Nothing at all.”
