False Impression

“Because he’s irreplaceable,” Fenston explained, “unlike Petrescu. But whatever you do, don’t kill the girl until she’s led you to the painting.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” said Fenston.

“And my payment for kidnapping a man who has already lost an ear?” inquired Krantz.

“One million dollars. Half in advance, the other half on the day you deliver him to me, unharmed.”

“And the girl?”

“The same tariff, but only after I have attended her funeral for the second time.” Fenston tapped the screen in front of him and the driver pulled up to the curb. “By the way,” said Fenston, “I’ve already instructed Leapman to deposit the cash in the usual place.”

Krantz nodded, opened the door, stepped out of the car, and disappeared into the crowd.

9/15

26

“GOOD-BYE, SAM,” SAID Jack, as his cell phone began to play the first few bars of “Danny Boy.” He let it go on ringing until he was back out on East Fifty-fourth Street because he didn’t want Sam to overhear the conversation. He pressed the green button as he continued walking toward Fifth Avenue. “What have you got for me, Joe?”

“Petrescu landed at Gatwick,” said Joe. “She rented a car and drove straight to Wentworth Hall.”

“How long was she there?”

“Thirty minutes, no more. When she came out, she dropped into a local pub to make a phone call before traveling on to Heathrow, where she met up with Ruth Parish at the offices of Art Locations.” Jack didn’t interrupt. “Around four, a Sotheby’s van turns up, picks up a red box—”

“Size?”

“About three foot by two.”

“No prizes for guessing what’s inside,” said Jack. “So where did the van go?”

“They delivered the painting to their West End office.”

“And Petrescu?”

“She goes along for the ride. When the van turned up in Bond Street, two porters unloaded the picture and she followed them in.”

“How long before she came back out?”

“Twenty minutes, and this time she was on her own, except she was carrying the red box. She hailed a taxi, put the painting in the back, and disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” said Jack, his voice rising. “What do you mean, disappeared?”

“We don’t have too many spare agents at the moment,” said Joe. “Most of our guys are working round the clock trying to identify terrorist groups that might have been involved in Tuesday’s attacks.

“Understood,” said Jack, calming down.

“But we picked her up again a few hours later.”

“Where?” asked Jack.

“Gatwick airport. Mind you,” said Joe, “an attractive blonde carrying a red box does have a tendency to stand out in a crowd.”

“Agent Roberts would have missed her,” said Jack, as he hailed a cab.

“Agent Roberts?” queried Joe.