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51
Villa dei Fiori
Rossetti drove Magdalena back to Florence to collect her belongings from the Four Seasons and settle the enormous bill. By noon they had returned to Villa dei Fiori, and Magdalena, in sunglasses and a stunning white two-piece swimsuit, was stretched upon a chaise longue by the pool, a glass of chilled Orvieto wine in her hand. General Ferrari observed her disapprovingly from the shade of the trellised garden.
“Is there anything the staff of the Hotel Carabinieri can do to make her stay more comfortable?” he asked Gabriel.
“What would you have me do? Confine her to her room until we leave for New York?”
“Surely this place has a dungeon. After all, it was built in the eleventh century.”
“I believe Count Gasparri converted it into his wine cellar.”
Ferrari sighed but said nothing.
“Has the Art Squad never cut a deal with a thief or a fence to get to the next step of the ladder?”
“We do it all the time. And more often than not, the thief or the fence tells us only part of the story.” The general paused. “Just likethat beautiful creature lying comfortably next to the swimming pool. She’s smarter than you realize. And quite dangerous.”
“I’m a former intelligence officer, Cesare. I know how to handle an asset.”
“She’s not an asset, my friend. She is a criminal and a confidence artist who has millions of dollars stashed around the world and access to private airplanes.”
“At least she doesn’t have tattoos,” remarked Gabriel.
“Her one and only redeeming quality. But I assure you, she is not to be trusted.”
“I have enough leverage to keep her in line, including her videotaped confession.”
“Ah, yes. A tragic tale about a once promising artist who was lured into a life of crime by the evil and manipulative Phillip Somerset. You realize, I hope, that perhaps half of it is true.”
“Which half?”
“I haven’t a clue. But I find it difficult to believe that she doesn’t know the name of the forger.”
“It’s entirely plausible that Phillip kept it from her.”
“Perhaps. But it is also entirely plausible that she was the one who took Phillip to that loft in Hell’s Kitchen, and that the forger is now lying in the Umbrian sun with a drink in her hand.”
“She doesn’t have the training to paint Old Masters.”
“So she says. But if I were you, I would revisit the matter.”
“I’ll boil her in suntan oil after lunch.”
“Why don’t you let me take her back to Rome instead? She can tell her tragic tale to the FBI legal attaché at the embassy. A prize like Magdalena would do wonders for my standing in Washington. Besides, it’s an American problem now. Let the Americans handle it.”
“And do you know what the FBI legal attaché will do?” asked Gabriel. “He’ll call his superior at FBI headquarters. And his superior will call the assistant director, who will call the director, who willwalk across Pennsylvania Avenue to the Justice Department. DOJ will assign the case to the US attorney for the Southern District of New York, and the US attorney will spend months gathering evidence before arresting Phillip and shutting down his company.”
“The wheels of justice turn slowly.”
“Which is why I’m going to deal with Phillip myself. By the time I’m finished, Masterpiece Art Ventures will be a smoldering ruin. The Feds will have no choice but to immediately make arrests and seize assets.”
“A fait accompli?”
Gabriel smiled. “It definitely sounds better in French.”
General Ferrari and the rest of the Carabinieri team departed Villa dei Fiori at two that afternoon. A unit from the Amelia station kept watch over the gate, but otherwise Gabriel and Magdalena were alone. She slept through the afternoon and insisted on preparing a proper Spanish dinner of tapas and a potato omelet. They ate outside on the villa’s terrace, in the cool evening air. Magdalena’s personal mobile phone lay between them, flaring with incoming message traffic and silenced phone calls, mainly from her circle of friends in Madrid.
