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“Then I suppose you’ll have to force the issue.”
“How?”
“By turning over my findings to one of your European partners.”
“Which one?”
“Since we’re looking for a Spanish woman who might or might not reside in a remote village in the Pyrenees, I would think the Guardia Civil might be the most logical choice.”
“I don’t trust them.”
“I’m sure they feel the same about you.”
“They do.”
“How about the British?”
“Scotland Yard dismantled its Art and Antiquities Squad a few years ago. They treat art theft and fraud like any other property or financial crime.”
“Then I suppose that leaves the Italians.”
“They’re the best in the business,” conceded Ménard. “But what’s the Italian connection?”
“At the moment, there isn’t one. But I’m sure General Ferrari and I will think of something.”
“He speaks very highly of you, the general.”
“As well he should. I helped him crack an antiquities-smuggling ring a few years ago. I also helped him find a missing altarpiece.”
“Not the Caravaggio?”
Gabriel nodded.
“The white whale,” whispered Ménard. “How did you find it?’
“I hired a gang of French art thieves to stealSunflowersfrom the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. Then I painted a copy of it in a safe flat overlooking the Pont Marie and sold it for twenty-five million euros to a Syrian named Sam in a warehouse outside Paris.” Gabriel lowered his voice. “All without your knowledge.”
Jacques Ménard’s face turned the color of the tablecloth. “You’re not going to steal any paintings this time, are you?”
“Non. But I might forge a few.”
“How many?”
Gabriel smiled. “Four, I think.”
