Neil Olson - The Icon

“Please don’t. Before you parade more riches across my greedy vision, let me make a confession. The information I have for this man is very thin. Just a name and a voice-mail number. Mostly, he contacts me. I’m not even sure if the name is real.”

Ana tried not to reveal her disappointment.

“Well, then. There can be no breach of trust in your giving me that information. If he doesn’t want to speak to me, he simply won’t call back. Either way, I’ll remain grateful to you.”

Rosenthal relaxed. Then went around the desk and took a card from the center drawer.

“I’m glad you see things that way. I happen to agree. Mr. del Carros has taken his own precautions, so I needn’t worry too much about protecting him. And perhaps he will be pleased to hear from you. You have a pen?”

She took down the information on a small pad she kept in her purse, but there was a sudden disquiet in her mind. Del Carros. Where did she know the name from? Had her grandfather mentioned him?

“Thank you for this. I have to ask one more thing, at the risk of being rude.”

“Let us not stand on ceremony, Ana. We’re friends now.”

“That was a hell of a lot of money your Mr. del Carros was willing to spend. The icon is rare, but there isn’t anyone who would assess it at anything near a million and a half dollars.”

“I did not inquire into the gentleman’s motives. I did inform him that the offer was well above market value, but he pressed me to proceed. Religious art can have a strange effect on people. There are those who would not part with it for any price, those who would pay any price to have it. I believe he would have gone higher still.”

“But look, you’ve got a name and a phone number. How do you know this guy is on the level? How do you know he won’t vanish and embarrass you when it’s time to pay up?”

Rosenthal leaned back and smiled once more.

“I can assure you that Mr. del Carros is absolutely trustworthy. I give you my personal guarantee that he will meet his obligations. You see, he and I have done business before.”

“Coffee? Water? We’ll have brandy afterward, to celebrate.”

“Take the cloth off, let’s see it.”

“Patience, my friend. We still have business to discuss.”

The thick, steel-haired Russian smiled pleasantly, but the old man calling himself del Carros was not in a patient mood. Were he dealing with gentlemen, he would make a greater effort at civility, but these thugs with artistic pretensions disgusted him. Still, they had what he wanted, and he must not seem overeager. They must be made to believe that he would walk away if the conditions were not acceptable.

“Business has already been discussed, Mr. Karov. That’s the only reason I am sitting here.”

“Circumstances have changed since we talked. There have been complications. Surely you heard that one of my men was shot.”

“I understood him to be one of Dragoumis’ men, and one of your own people shot him.”

“Dragoumis has no men. Cooks and managers. I supply him with his bodyguards. Unfortunately, this one returned before my boys were out of the house, and there was an accident.”

“Bad planning, I would say.”

Karov shrugged.

“Things happen. Anyway, it’s an extra expense.”

In truth, del Carros had expected something like this. There was an additional hundred thousand above the agreed price in the case on his lap. Cash. The idiot had demanded cash, as if he had learned thievery from the cinema. As if he were still rooting around in the shattered landscape of Mother Russia, stealing cars and kidnapping bureaucrats. Here was his big payday, and the greedy pig would try to wring every penny he could from the exchange, maybe even call off the deal and make del Carros come crawling back. That must be avoided, but it didn’t mean he intended to surrender easily.

“The expense is due to your own mistake.”

“The price is too low,” Karov insisted, losing his smile. No sparring, no shift in reasoning. Advance one argument until it failed, then move to another. Open, simple, crude. The Russian style.

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“Because I didn’t know that you had offered three times as much to the Kessler woman.”

Del Carros sighed and looked to his slouched blond companion. Jan Van Meer was silent. In contrast to Karov’s two fidgety associates, del Carros’ supposed artistic consultant-slender, bespectacled, utterly innocuous-seemed painfully at ease, bored even. The old collector appreciated Jan’s performance but wondered now if a more obvious show of strength wouldn’t have been a wiser decision.

“A million five,” Karov continued. “That was the price. I am sorry to learn that your opinion of its worth has fallen so far since then.”

This is what came of dealing with men like Rosenthal.

“That would have been a legal purchase, Mr. Karov. Without complications. Now, I too may be beset with the sort of expenses you have incurred. There are those who will pursue this work relentlessly. I will have to take precautionary measures, possibly expensive.”

Van Meer had already informed him that removing Dragoumis would cost 250,000 euros. A bargain, he assured del Carros, because they were friends.

“We discussed this problem before, you will remember,” said Karov. “You will be happy to know that I have already taken measures myself.”

Indeed, this was nearly the last thing del Carros wanted to hear.

“When?”

Karov consulted the huge silver Rolex on his beefy wrist.

“Now, more or less.”

“While he is still in Greece?”

“Much better in Greece,” the Russian insisted. “He has a hundred enemies there. It will seem the most natural thing in the world.” Which was true, but if they bungled it, and Dragoumis went underground…Nothing to be done about it now. The main thing was the icon.

“So,” Karov picked up again, “you can simply add whatever sum you had set aside for that business onto the price previously discussed. I ask you, is this not reasonable? After the trouble I have taken on your behalf?”

“It would be rash to assume success before hearing from your people in Greece. He has survived several such attempts in the past. Indeed, I think the whole undertaking was rash. You were to leave that part to me.”

“You were unclear on whether you intended to act or not.”

“I was being considerate.” You ass. “The less you knew, the better.”

“I am not such a subtle man,” Karov sneered. “I like to be certain of important matters. The Greek is old, but he is still a viper. He knows by now that I crossed him. He will hurt me if he can. I did not hesitate to protect myself, and I offer no apology.”

“Very well.” Del Carros cleared his dry throat, sorry now that he had refused the water offered him, but he did not trust Russian hospitality. “Let us conclude this.”

“Excellent. I despise drawn-out negotiations. So, in light of the losses I have suffered, and the efforts taken for our mutual protection, the price is now one million dollars.”

Which meant he would take less.

“Jan, what do you think?”

Van Meer sat up abruptly, like a student caught daydreaming.

“I don’t pretend to understand this action you are discussing,” he mumbled in his vague Dutch accent, playing the willfully ignorant art expert to perfection, “but it’s quite clear, Mr. Karov, that you have undertaken it for your own purposes, and against my client’s wishes. There can be no reason to expect an increase in the price on these grounds. Half a million U.S. dollars was the figure agreed upon, and I must say it is generous.”

The Russian looked as if he would snap the little Dutchman in half.