Jeffrey Archer - False Impression

“I know a certain gentleman who’ll appreciate that,” she said.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” said Anton, smiling. “Danuta Sekalska is this year’s star pupil, and she’s been offered a place at the Slade in London to continue her studies, if only we can raise enough money to cover her expenses.” He looked at his watch. “Do you have time for a drink?”

“I certainly do,” replied Anna, “because I confess there’s a favor I need to ask of you—” she paused “—in fact, two favors.”

Anton once again took her by the hand and led her back down the corridor toward the staff refectory. When they entered the senior common room, Anna was greeted by the sound of good-humored chatter as tutors swapped anecdotes while they sat around in groups enjoying nothing stronger than a coffee. They didn’t seem to notice that the furniture, the cups, the saucers, and probably even the cookies would have been rejected by any self-respecting hobo visiting a Salvation Army hostel in the Bronx.

Anton poured two cups of coffee. “Black, if I remember. Not quite Starbucks,” he mocked, “but we’re getting there slowly.” Heads turned as Anton guided his former pupil to a place by the fire. He took a seat opposite her. “Now, what can I do for you, Anna,” he asked, “because I am unquestionably in your debt.”

“It’s my mother,” she said quietly. “I need your help. I can’t get her to spend a cent on herself. She could do with a new carpet, sofa, a TV, and even a telephone, not to mention a splash of fresh paint on that front door.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Anton repeated. “Where do you imagine you get your stubborn streak from? I even suggested she move in with us. It’s not palatial, but it’s a damn sight better than that dump she’s living in now.” Anton took a long draft of his coffee. “But I promise I’ll try again—” he paused “—even harder.”

“Thank you,” said Anna, who remained silent while Anton rolled a cigarette. “And I see I failed to convince you to give up smoking.”

“I don’t have the bright lights of New York to distract me,” he said with a laugh. He lit his hand-rolled cigarette before adding, “And what’s the second favor?”

“You’ll need to think long and hard about it,” she said in an even tone.

Anton put down his coffee, inhaled deeply, and listened carefully as Anna explained in detail how he could help her.

“Have you discussed the idea with your mother?”

“No,” Anna admitted. “I think it’s best she doesn’t find out why I really came to Bucharest.”

“How much time have I got?”

“Three, perhaps four days. Depends how successful I am while I’m away,” she added without explanation.

“And if I’m caught?” he asked, once again dragging deeply on his cigarette.

“You’d probably go back to jail,” admitted Anna.

“And you?”

“The canvas would be shipped to New York and used as evidence against me. If you need any more money for—”

“No, I’m still holding over eight thousand dollars of your mother’s money, so—”

“Eight thousand?”

“A dollar goes a long way in Romania.”

“Can I bribe you?”

“Bribe me?”

“If you’ll take on the assignment, I’ll pay for your pupil, Danuta Sekalska, to go to the Slade.”

Anton thought for a moment. “And you’ll be back in three days,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette.

“Four at the most,” said Anna.

“Then let’s hope I’m as good as you think I am.”

“It’s Vincent.”

“Where are you?”

“Visiting my mother.”

“Then don’t hang about.”

“Why?”

“The stalker knows where you are.”

“Then I’m afraid he’ll miss me again.”

“I’m not even convinced the stalker’s a man.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I saw Fenston talking to a woman in the back of his car while I was attending your funeral.”

“That doesn’t prove—”

“I agree, but it worries me that I’ve never seen her before.”

“She could be one of Fenston’s girlfriends.”

“That woman was nobody’s girlfriend.”

“Describe her.”

“Five foot, slim, dark-haired.”

“There will be a lot of people like that where I’m going.”

“And are you taking the painting with you?”

“No, I’ve left it where no one can give it a second look.”

The phone went dead.

Leapman pressed the off button. “Where no one can give it a second look,” he repeated.

“Can , not will?” said Fenston. “It must still be in the box.”

“Agreed, but where’s she off to next?”

“To a country where the people are five foot, slim, and dark-haired.”

“Japan,” said Leapman.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Fenston.

“It’s all in her report. She’s going to try and sell your painting to the one person who won’t be able to resist it.”

“Nakamura,” said Fenston.

Jack had checked in at what was ambitiously described on a flashing neon sign as the Bucharesti International. He spent most of the night either turning the radiator up because it was so cold or turning it off because it was so noisy. He rose just after 6:00 A.M. and skipped breakfast, fearing it might be as unreliable as the radiator.

He hadn’t spotted the woman again since he stepped onto the plane, so either he’d made a mistake or she was a professional. But he was no longer in any doubt that Anna was working independently, which meant Fenston would soon be dispatching someone to retrieve the Van Gogh. But what did Petrescu have in mind, and didn’t she realize what danger she was putting herself in? Jack had already decided the most likely place he’d catch up with Anna would be when she visited her mother. This time he’d be waiting for her. He wondered if the woman he’d seen when he stood in line for the plane had the same idea, and, if so, was she Fenston’s retriever or did she work for someone else?

The hotel porter offered him a tourist map, which colorfully detailed the finer parts of the city center but not the outskirts, so he walked across to the kiosk and purchased a guidebook entitled Everything You Need to Know About Bucharest . There wasn’t a single paragraph devoted to the Berceni district where Anna’s mother lived, although they were considerate enough to include Piazza Resitei on the larger foldout map at the back. With the aid of a matchstick placed against the scale at the bottom left-hand corner of the page, Jack worked out that Anna’s birthplace must be about six miles north of the hotel.

He decided he would walk the first three miles, not least because he needed the exercise, but also it would give him a better chance to discover if he was the target of an SDR.

Jack left the International at 7:30 A.M. and set off at a brisk pace.

Anna also had a restless night, finding it hard to sleep while the red box was under her bed. She was beginning to have doubts about Anton taking on such an unnecessary risk to assist her in her plan, even if it was only for a few days. They’d agreed to meet at the academy at eight o’clock, an hour no self-respecting student would admit existed.

When she stepped out of the hotel, the first thing she saw was Sergei in his old Mercedes parked by the entrance. She wondered how long he’d been waiting for her. Sergei jumped out of the car.

“Good morning, madam,” he said, as he loaded the red box back into the trunk.

“Good morning, Sergei,” Anna replied. “I would like to go back to the academy, where I’ll be leaving the crate.” Sergei nodded, and opened the back door for her.