Daniel Silva - The Messenger

“DO YOU take me for a fool, Julian?”

“It’s the real thing, Andrew. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“Do you have a photograph?”

“I wasn’t allowed.”

“Who’s the owner?”

“The owner wishes to remain anonymous.”

“Yes, of course, but who the hell is it, Julian?”

“I cannot divulge the name of the owner. Period. End of discussion. She’s entrusted me as her representative in this matter, and that’s as far as it goes.”

“She? So the owner is a woman?”

“The painting has been in the same family for three generations. Currently, it is in the hands of a woman.”

“What sort of family, Julian? Give me a tickle.”

“A French family, Andrew. And that’s all you’re getting from me.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to work, Julian. You have to give me something I can hang my hat on. I can’t go to Zizi empty-handed. Zizi gets annoyed when that happens. If you want Zizi in the game, you’ll have to play by Zizi’s rules.”

“I won’t be bullied, Andrew. I came to you as a favor. Frankly I don’t give a shit about Zizi’s rules. Frankly, I don’t need Zizi at all. If I put the word on the street that I’m sitting on an undiscovered van Gogh, every major collector and museum in the world will be beating down my door and throwing money at me. Do please try to keep that in mind.”

“Forgive me, Julie. It’s been a long week. Let’s start over, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s.”

“May I pose a few harmless questions?”

“Depends on how harmless.”

“Let’s start with an easy one. Where’s the painting now? France or England?”

“It’s here in London.”

“In your gallery?”

“Not yet.”

“What sort of painting are we talking about? Landscape? Still life? Portrait?”

“Portrait.”

“Self?”

“No.”

“Male or female.”

“Female.”

“Dreamy. Early or late?”

“Very late.”

“Saint-Rémy? Auvers?”

“The latter, Andrew. It was painted during the final days of his life in Auvers.”

“You’re not sitting on an undiscovered portrait of Marguerite Gachet, are you, Julian?”

“Maybe we should have a glance at the menu.”

“Fuck the menu, Julian. Answer the question: Are you sitting on an undiscovered portrait of Marguerite?”

“I’ve gone as far as I can in terms of the content, Andrew. And that’s final. If you want to know what it is, you’ll have to take a look at it for yourself.”

“You’re offering me a look?”

“I’m offering your man a look, not you.”

“Easier said than done. Running the world keeps my man busy.”

“I’m prepared to offer you and Zizi exclusivity for seventy-two hours. After that, I’ll have to open it up to other collectors.”

“Bad form, Julian. My man doesn’t like ultimatums.”

“It’s not an ultimatum. It’s just business. He understands that.”

“What kind of price tag are we talking about?”

“Eighty-five million.”

“Eighty-five million? Then you do indeed need Zizi. You see, money’s a bit tight at the moment, isn’t it? Can’t remember the last time someone’s laid down eighty-five million for something. Can you, Julie?”

“This painting is worth every penny.”

“If it’s what you say it is, and if it’s in perfect condition, I’ll get you your eighty-five million in very short order. You see, my man has been looking for something splashy like this for a very long time. But then you knew that, didn’t you, Julie? That’s why you brought it to me first. You knew we could get the deal done in an afternoon. No auctions. No press. No nagging questions about your quiet little French woman who wants to remain anonymous. I’m the goose that lays the golden egg as far as you’re concerned, and you’re going to have to give the goose his due.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Andrew?”

“You know precisely what I’m talking about.”

“Maybe I’m a bit slow today. Mind spelling it out?”

“I’m talking about money, Julian. I’m talking about a very small slice of a very large pie.”

“You want a cut? A piece of the action, as the Americans like to say.”

“Let’s leave the Americans out of this, shall we? My man’s not terribly fond of the Americans at the moment.”

“What sort of slice are we talking about, Andrew?”

“Let’s say, just for argument’s sake, that your commission on the sale is ten percent. That means you’ll clear eight and a half million dollars for an afternoon’s work. I’m asking for ten percent of your ten percent. Actually, I’m not asking, I’m demanding it. And you’ll pay it, because that’s the way the game is played.”

“To the best of my faded recollection, you are Zizi al-Bakari’s exclusive art consultant. Zizi pays you an outrageous salary. You practically live on Zizi’s expense account. And you spend most of your free time relaxing at Zizi’s properties. He does this so that the advice you bring him remains untainted by other dealings on your part. But you’ve been playing both sides of the street, haven’t you, Andrew? How long has it been going on? How much have you been skimming? How much of Zizi’s money have you got salted away?”

“It’s not Zizi’s money. It’s my money. And what Zizi doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“And if he finds out? He’ll drop you in the Empty Quarter and let the vultures pick over your bones.”

“Precisely, love. Which is why you’re never going to mention a word of this to Zizi. I’m offering you seven and a half million dollars for an afternoon’s work. Not bad, Julie. Take the deal. Let’s get rich together, shall we?”

“All right, Andrew. You’ll get your ten percent. But I want Zizi al-Bakari in my gallery in all his glory in seventy-two hours or the deal’s off.”

GABRIEL STOPPED THE RECORDING, reset it, and played the final bit again.

“But you’ve been playing both sides of the street, haven’t you, Andrew? How long has it been going on? How much have you been skimming? How much of Zizi’s money have you got salted away?”

“It’s not Zizi’s money. It’s my money. And what Zizi doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“And if he finds out? He’ll drop you in the Empty Quarter and let the vultures pick over your bones.”

“Precisely, love. Which is why you’re never going to mention a word of this to Zizi.”

Gabriel closed the file and removed the disk from the computer.

“Mr. Malone has been a very bad boy,” said Yaakov.

“Yes, he has,” said Gabriel, but then Gabriel had known that for some time.

“Don’t you think that someone should tell Zizi about it?” asked Dina. “It’s only right.”

“Yes,” said Gabriel, slipping the disk into his pocket. “Someone should. But not yet.”

IT WAS among the longest seventy-two hours any of them had ever endured. There were false starts and false promises, commitments made and broken within the span of an afternoon. Malone played the role of the intimidator one minute and the supplicant the next. “Zizi’s in a bit of a bind,” he said late Saturday. “Zizi’s in the middle of a major deal. Zizi’s doing Delhi today and Singapore tomorrow. He can’t possibly make time for London until midweek.” Isherwood held firm. Zizi’s exclusive window closed Monday at 5:00 P.M., he said. After that Zizi would find himself in scrum fighting it out with all comers.