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“If I thought you were, I would have arrived here with a contingent of Guardia Civil to take you into custody.”
“I’ve been expecting them.” She took up her phone and opened the web browser. “Have you read the news from Germany lately? Herr Hassler is now cooperating with federal prosecutors. It’s only a matter of time before they request my extradition.”
“I prevented a major terrorist attack on the Cologne Cathedral not long ago. If it becomes necessary, I can call in the chit.”
“What about the Belgians?”
“Brussels and Antwerp are the organized crime capitals of Europe. I doubt the Belgian police will seek your extradition over a few fake paintings.”
“Surely the FBI knows about me.”
“And me as well,” replied Gabriel. “For the moment, at least, they’re inclined to keep our names out of it.” He looked up at the unframed painting leaning against the wall. “Yours?”
Magdalena nodded. “It’s the one I painted after Phillip and Leonard Silk tried to kill you in Paris. Self-portrait of a front woman.”
“It’s not half bad.”
“My new canvases are much better. I’d love to show them to you,but I’m afraid my studio is filled with half-finished forgeries at the moment.”
There were no forgeries, of course—only wildly original works executed by an artist of immense talent and technical skill. Gabriel drifted from canvas to canvas, spellbound.
“What do you think?” asked Magdalena.
“I think Phillip Somerset’s greatest crime was depriving the world of your work.” Gabriel placed a hand thoughtfully to his chin. “The question is, what should we do with them?”
“We?”
“I would be honored to serve as your front man. I insist, however, on receiving no share of the profits.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Allon. But how do you intend to bring the works to market?”
“With a show at a premier gallery, in a major art world hub. The kind of show that will turn you into a billion-dollar global brand. Anyone who’s anyone will be there. And by the end of the night, everyone will know your name.”
“For all the right reasons, I hope,” said Magdalena. “But where will this show take place?”
“Galerie Olivia Watson in London.”
Her face brightened. “Would you really do that for me?”
“On one condition.”
“The forger’s name?”
He nodded.
“It was me, Mr. Allon. I executed all those undetectable Old Master paintings between shifts at El Pote Español and Katz’s Delicatessen.” She threw her arms around his neck. “How can I possibly repay you?”
“By allowing me to buy one of your paintings.”
“Only if you promise never to sell it for a profit.”
“Deal,” said Gabriel.
