False Impression

“She’s escaped,” said Fenston, the moment Leapman closed the door.

“So The New York Times report was accurate,” said Leapman, hoping he didn’t appear anxious.

“Yes, but what they don’t know is that she’s on her way to Moscow.”

“Is she planning to return to New York?”

“Not for the moment,” said Fenston. “She can’t risk it while security remains on such high alert.”

“That makes sense,” agreed Leapman, trying not to sound relieved.

“Meanwhile, I’ve given her another assignment,” said Fenston.

“Who is it to be this time?” asked Leapman.

Leapman listened in disbelief as Fenston revealed who he had selected as Krantz’s next victim, and why it would be impossible for her to cut off their left ear.

“And has the impostor been dispatched back to Wentworth Hall?” asked Fenston, as Leapman stared up at the blown-up photograph of the chairman shaking hands with George W. Bush following his recent visit to Ground Zero, which had been returned to its place of honor on the wall behind Fenston’s desk.

“Yes. Art Locations picked the canvas up this afternoon,” replied Leapman, “and will be returning the fake to Wentworth Hall sometime tomorrow. I also had a word with our lawyer in London. The sequestration order is being heard before a judge in chambers on Wednesday, so if she doesn’t return the original by then, the Wentworth estate automatically becomes yours, and then we can start selling off the rest of the collection until the debt is cleared. Mind you, it could take years.”

“If Krantz does her job properly tomorrow night, the debt will never be cleared,” said Fenston, “which is why I called you in. I want you to put the rest of the Wentworth collection up for auction at the earliest possible opportunity. Divide the pictures equally between Christie’s, Sotheby’s, Phillips, and Bonhams, and make sure you sell them all at the same time.”

“But that would flood the market and be certain to bring the prices down.”

“That’s exactly what I want to do,” said Fenston. “If I remember correctly, Petrescu valued the rest of the collection at around thirty-five million, but I’ll be happy to raise somewhere between fifteen and twenty.”

“But that would still leave you ten million short.”

“How sad,” said Fenston, smiling. “In which case I will be left with no choice but to put Wentworth Hall on the market and dispose of everything, right down to the last suit of armor.” Fenston paused. “So be sure you place the estate in the hands of the three most fashionable agents in London. Tell them they can print expensive color brochures, advertise in all the glossy magazines, and even take out the odd half-page in one or two national newspapers, which will be bound to cause further editorial comment. By the time I finish with Lady Arabella, she’ll not only be penniless but, knowing the British press, humiliated.”

“And Petrescu?”

“It’s just her bad luck that she happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Fenston, unable to hide a smirk.

“So Krantz will be able to kill two birds with one stone,” said Leapman.

“Which is why I want you to concentrate on bankrupting the Wentworth estate, so that Lady Arabella suffers an even slower death.”

“I’ll get on to it right away,” said Leapman, as he turned to leave. “Good luck with your speech, Chairman,” he added as he reached the door.

“My speech?” said Fenston.

Leapman turned

back to face the chairman. “I thought you were addressing the annual bankers’ dinner at the Sherry Netherland tonight.”

“Christ, you’re right. Where the hell did Tina put my speech?”

Leapman smiled, but not until he had closed the door behind him. He returned to his room, sat down at his desk, and considered what Fenston had just told him. Once the FBI learned the full details of where Krantz would be tomorrow night, and who her next intended victim was, he felt confident that the district attorney’s office would agree to reduce his sentence by even more. And if he was able to deliver the vital piece of evidence that linked Fenston to Krantz, they might even recommend a suspended sentence.

Leapman removed a tiny camera, supplied by the FBI, from an inside pocket. He began to calculate how many documents he would be able to photograph while Fenston was delivering his speech at the annual bankers’ dinner.

48

AT 7:16 P.M., LEAPMAN switched the light off in his office and stepped into the corridor. He closed his door but didn’t lock it. He walked toward the bank of elevators, aware that the only office light still shining was coming from under the chairman’s door. He stepped into an empty elevator and was quickly whisked to the ground floor. He walked slowly across to reception and signed out at 7:19 P.M. A woman standing behind him stepped forward to sign herself out as Leapman took a pace backward, his eyes never leaving the two guards behind the desk. One was supervising the steady flow of people exiting the building, while the other was dealing with a delivery that required a signature. Leapman kept retreating until he reached the empty elevator. He backed in and stood to one side so that the guards could no longer see him. He pressed button 31. Less than a minute later, he stepped out into another silent corridor.

He walked to the far end, opened the fire exit door, and climbed the steps to the thirty-second floor. He pushed the door slowly open, not wanting to make the slightest sound. He then tiptoed down the thickly carpeted corridor until he was back outside his own office. He checked to confirm that the only light came from under the chairman’s door. He then opened his own door, stepped inside, and locked it. He sat down in the chair behind his desk and placed the camera in his pocket, but did not turn on the light.