“The timing of certain moves by one Franco Tedeschi, chief of SBL’s asset management division, beginning with his purchase of a small portrait of a woman, artist unknown, from Galerie Van de Velde in Amsterdam for the sum of five thousand euros. Signore Tedeschi then contacted his man at Zurich Insurance Group and requested a policy on his new acquisition. The man from ZIG insisted on seeing the painting for himself and brought along an expert from the Kunsthaus museum. The expert had a look at the painting in SBL’s vault. And guess what he had to say?”
“That my Leonardo is a Leonardo.”
Martin nodded. “ZIG issued a half-billion-dollar policy. And just two days later, SBL PrivatBank of Lugano magically forgave the four-hundred-million-dollar loan it had given to the Mayfair Group for the building on New Bond Street.”
“The painting was used as collateral after the fact?”
“It certainly looks that way. If nothing else, we can now say with some degree of certainty that your Leonardo is in that bank vault. And it must remain there until it is sold.”
“Says who?”
“The Zurich Insurance Group spelled out the provision in granular detail in the policy.”
“I don’t suppose there are photographs.”
“Yes, of course. Front and back.” Martin handed over Ingrid’s laptop. “See for yourself.”
There were eight images in all. The high resolution suggested they had been taken by a professional art photographer. “So the only scenario that would require ZIG to pay out the policy is a theft from the bank vault?”
“That’s correct.”
“And if the painting was stolen, say, while it was in transit?”
“Mafia Limitato would be left holding the bag.” Martin sighed. “Good heavens, Gabriel. Do I have to explaineverything?”
28
Piazza della Riforma
Ahandsome promenade, shaded by plane trees and lined with small marinas, stretched along the gentle curve of the blue bay. Luxury motorcars moved at a stately pace along the lakefront boulevard, but much of the town’s ancient center was closed to traffic, including the Via Nassa, a cobbled arcade lined with exclusive retailers. Ingrid slowed to a stop outside a Bulgari boutique and scrutinized the costly gold-and-diamond trinkets displayed in the window.
“Nothing?” asked Gabriel.
“Not yet, I’m afraid.” She paused again outside the Hermès boutique, then wandered across the street to Cartier. “But I’m definitely getting warmer.”
They continued along the Via Nassa to the Piazza della Riforma. In the northwest corner of the square was the Lugano office of Credit Suisse. UBS, Switzerland’s largest financial services company, was on the eastern flank. In the building next door was the global headquarters of SBL PrivatBank SA.
“It looks so respectable,” said Ingrid.
“So do you,” replied Gabriel. “But looks can be deceiving.”
There was a restaurant a few paces from the bank’s main entrance. Gabriel and Ingrid requested a table in the square and were seated atonce. Their waiter spoke the Swiss dialect of Italian. Ingrid plucked the corkscrew from the pocket of his apron as he was taking their order.
“If only it were that easy to steal your Leonardo,” she said, and slid the corkscrew into her handbag.
“What happens when he delivers our bottle of pinot grigio and discovers his corkscrew is missing?”
“He will assume he misplaced it.”
“And why is that?”
“Because never in a million years would he think that I was skilled or brazen enough to steal it. That is the secret of my success, Mr. Allon.”
“Your charm and demure looks?”
“And the best pair of hands in the business,” she added.
“But what if the corkscrew was worth a half billion dollars? And what if our waiter was a member of the Campanian criminal organization known as the Camorra?”
