Ian Hamilton - The wild beast of Wuhan

“Oh, I’ll call if it’s necessary,” Hughes said. “And actually, you might hear from our friend in London as well. I passed your number on to him. He said he was having a bit of an issue with one of his employees and might need to enlist your aid.”

“Frederick Locke?”

“He didn’t give me a name.”

It has to be Locke, Ava thought. What is he up to now?

“Does your friend want me to call him?” she asked.

“No, he says he’ll call you if he needs you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Ah, the Harrington van just pulled up in front of the house. I’m going to go and look after the boys,” Hughes said. “Safe journey.”

Ava packed her carry-on, placing the files in the bottom of the bag, the Steinum sweaters on top, and everything else jammed in between.

It was a half-hour cab ride to LaGuardia, and she was checked in and through security in fifteen minutes. Ava sat at the departures gate and watched CNN on an overhead television. She thought about turning on her laptop, but she was already in shutdown mode. She had just leaned her head back and closed her eyes when her cellphone rang. She was reaching for the phone to turn it off when she noticed the U.K. area code.

“Ave Lee,” she said.

“Ms. Lee, this is Sam Rice calling.”

His voice was a deep growl, made all the more distinctive by an accent she couldn’t quite place. “Mr. Rice, how are you?”

“I’ve been bloody better.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Your cohort, Frederick Locke, is the problem.”

“What exactly is he doing?”

“He’s acting like an old lady over those paintings you unearthed. You know he came to me about them shortly after you met?”

“Yes, Frederick told me. I was surprised, actually. I thought he and I had an understanding that nothing would be said or done until I had a chance to work things out on my end.”

“Well, the fool couldn’t contain himself,” Rice barked. “He came to me, and now he’s been dithering about whether or not you’re going to plunge the firm into some kind of crisis.”

“You know that’s not going to happen.”

“I know, but Locke doesn’t.”

“I’ll call him.”

“No, it’s gone past a phone call. He came to me in the first place because he doesn’t want sole responsibility for making a decision that has so many far-reaching implications.”

“Does he know about your involvement with the Modigliani?”

“Of course he does, and that’s one of the problems, though not in the way you might think.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Locke believes I was taken in by the painting, that I made an error in professional judgement — nothing more than that. He’s concerned that if the painting is revealed as a forgery, then my reputation will take a serious hit, and of course the firm’s along with it.”

“So he wants to bury the fact of the forgeries?”

“He and I have had some long and tedious discussions about the ethics of this situation, about the pros and cons of going public. The bloody fool thought we should let the owners know about the forgeries. He thought we could keep it contained among the parties involved. I got rid of that fantasy in no time. I told him it would explode and that none of us had any idea of the direction it would take, how it would end. I even told him we would have to prepare to have every transaction this firm has made over the past ten years or so examined and re-examined. And God knows how many other mistakes would be found. And even if none were found, God knows how many clients would lose trust in us.”

“So what does Locke want to do?” she asked.

“He has now agreed that for the good of the firm, my reputation, and the peace of mind of our clients, the best course of action is to ignore the fact that the forgeries exist. I call it our strategy of blissful ignorance.”

“And Locke thinks I’m the only person who can upset that,” she said.

“Precisely, which is why I need you to come to London as soon as possible.”

“And what am I going to do in London?”

“Internally, we have kept this strictly between Frederick and myself. I want to keep it that way. So you’ll meet with just the two of us and you’ll give both of us complete assurance that you have no interest in pursuing this matter further.”

“That sounds a little loose, don’t you think? Will Locke be satisfied with my word?” she asked.

“He’s most keen to have you actually meet me and for me to be the one to persuade you to stand down. He’s handing you off, of course — transferring any and all responsibility for the decision to trust you to me.”

“Still, what’s my promise worth?”

“Well, you could offer to give up your files.”

And give up all my leverage? she thought. “No, not until all the financial matters are settled.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Draw up a written agreement, some kind of non-disclosure contract that binds all parties to secrecy.”

“That’s a bit of smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?”

“Look, make reference to the paintings in it. Say something like, while the parties have questions about their authenticity, they have agreed on balance that the paintings could be genuine and that they have agreed not to pursue the matter any further. You and I can sign it. Leave him out of it. That should cover his ass, calm him down.”

“Okay, I can see where you’re going with this. I’ll work on something, and I won’t tell him. I’ll spring it on both of you in the meeting and I’ll make more of it than it actually is.”

“And I’ll spin it back,” Ava said. “I actually made some promises to Edwin Hughes and the Sorensens that I’d keep them out of this if they co-operated. I’ll make it clear that I’m just as anxious to keep this quiet as you are.”

“Well, Ms. Lee, it appears we have a plan.”

“But I don’t have a flight,” Ava said. “Let me work on getting to London. I’ll be there either late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Either way, I can be at your offices by eleven. Does that work?”

“That sounds fine. And Ms. Lee, thanks for doing this. I know it’s a bit extreme bringing you all the way back here just to help settle Locke, but we can’t afford to have any flies in our ointment.”

“Careful is good,” Ava said. “And that raises some questions in my mind about the Picasso and the Gauguin. How are you going to handle them? Surely Locke is going to be atwitter for a while.”

“No one here knows about them yet, and I’m going to keep it that way. They’ll be sold through my private client list, a list that I guard with my life. My CFO will personally handle the accounting. At year-end the sale and the commissions will show up on the books as a surprise burst of profit. I’ve done it before and no one will be shocked by it.”

“Frederick Locke?”

“Not a whisper to him.”

Ava thought she’d change her schedule and fly directly to London, but Gail dissuaded her from that idea. “There isn’t a single direct route from LaGuardia right now,” she said. The best she could do was a one-stopper through Detroit or Philadelphia. “You might as well come back to Toronto and catch one of the overnight Air Canada flights,” she said.

Ava’s flight to Toronto landed on time, and she phoned Maria from the limo. Her job at the Colombian consulate, as an assistant trade commissioner, came with reasonably flexible hours. She got Maria’s office voicemail, hung up, and dialled her cellphone, only to get voicemail again. She left a message, saying her plans had changed and that she was off to London at eight o’clock that evening. She’d email when she knew when she was coming home.