“And thousands of other confidential documents as well. But it was all Ingrid’s doing.”
“She’s incorrigible,” chirped Irene.
“A hopeless reprobate,” agreed Gabriel, and handed the child a pot to dry.
Her mother was not amused. “And what were you doing while Ingrid was hacking a Swiss bank?”
“I was painting, if you must know.”
“Anything good?”
“A couple of seascapes that are now in the possession of the Brøndums Hotel in Skagen.”
Chiara seemed not to hear his answer. “The photographs are extremely high resolution. If you look carefully, you can see the work of the conservator.”
“Yes,” said Gabriel dryly.
“You disapprove of the job he did?”
“I hate to admit it, but he gave a rather good accounting of himself.”
“Did you happen to take a look at the back of the panel?” Chiara turned the computer screen in Gabriel’s direction. “He’s adhered a supporting panel to the original.”
“As I predicted he would. Thus making it next to impossible to prove that the painting was the one stolen from the Vatican.”
“The provenance is a joke,” observed Chiara.
“But the attribution to Leonardo by the Kunsthaus is worth at least a hundred million dollars. Julian is certain it’s an autograph Leonardo as well, which means others will follow. It’s only a matter of time before they find a buyer.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
Gabriel smiled. “I’m going to help them.”
29
Hotel Danieli
The children insisted that Ingrid walk them to school the following morning. She held their hands tightly, fearful she might lose them in the labyrinthine streets, and breathed a small sigh of relief when they reached their destination safely. She grew disoriented herself during the short walk back to the San Tomà vaporetto stop. Gabriel waited on the platform, a manila envelope beneath one arm.
“I demand to know where you’re taking me,” she said.
“The Hotel Danieli.”
“Why?”
“To have breakfast with the commander of the Art Squad.”
“This might come as a surprise, Mr. Allon, but I do my best to avoid police officers.”
“You have nothing to fear. Besides, it’s time the two of you became better acquainted.”
They boarded a Number 1 and rode down the gentle sweep of the Grand Canal to San Zaccaria. A good-looking man in a dark suit met them outside the Danieli. Gabriel made the introductions.
“Capitano Luca Rossetti, meet Ingrid Johansen.”
Ingrid reluctantly grasped the outstretched hand. Then Rossetti spoke a few words in Italian to Gabriel, and they all three enteredthe hotel. General Cesare Ferrari, the legendary commander of the Art Squad, was seated upstairs in the terrace restaurant. Unlike the young captain, he was dressed in a blue uniform with gold trim.
His smile was brief. “If it isn’t the sticky-fingered Signorina Johansen. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
