Page 70 of An Inside Job

“I made a great deal,” said Martin. “And so has every other banker or financier in this country who handles hot Italian money. Do you know how much the three main Italian criminal organizations earn each year?”

“More than Deutsche Bank and McDonald’s combined.”

“Correct. That amount of money can’t be hidden beneath a mattress. It has to go somewhere. And the truth is, it’severywhere.”

“What’s the current state of your relationship?”

“With the Camorra? Nonexistent.”

“Who ended it?”

“They did.”

“Were they unhappy with you?”

“If that were the case, I would be dead. They simply decided to take their business elsewhere.”

“SBL PrivatBank of Lugano?”

Martin nodded. “But they’re not ordinary clients. The Camorra was the source of the investment capital that saved SBL from collapse. The current chairman is nothing but a figurehead. The bank’s board of directors reside in Naples.”

“Surely they must have someone on the senior management team.”

“His name is Franco Tedeschi. He’s the head of SBL’s asset management division. But the assets he manages belong to the Camorra.”

Gabriel awakened his phone and found a photograph of Tedeschi on the bank’s website. Late fifties, angular features, thinning hair—the man Julian had seen on the Dassault Falcon.

“That’s Franco, all right,” said Martin. “The CFO of Camorra Incorporated. But why the sudden interest in a dirty bank from Lugano?”

“The dirty bank has something of great value that belongs to a friend of mine.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“The supreme pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church.”

“Is there anyone youdon’tknow?”

“I don’t know anyone from the Camorra.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” said Martin. “And the object of great value?”

“A lost portrait by Leonardo da Vinci.”

Martin, an astute collector himself, raised an eyebrow. “You have my full attention. Please continue.”

Gabriel delivered an abbreviated but accurate account of the case thus far. Martin sat spellbound throughout, a forefinger pressed thoughtfully to his lips.

“Those two murders reek of the Camorra,” he said. “They’re very good at what they do, and that includes killing those who threaten their business interests. Which is why I would advise you to end your investigation as quickly as possible and forget about that painting. Otherwise the next dead body that turns up in the Venetian Lagoon is likely to be yours.”

“I can look after myself, Martin.”

He placed a hand on Gabriel’s arm. “Listen carefully, my friend. The Camorra can kill anyone, anywhere, at any time. And that includes the likes of you.”

“I find your sudden concern about my safety touching. But I have no intention of leaving that painting in the hands of your former clients from Naples.”

“I thought that would be your answer. Therefore, you leave me no choice but to help you recover it.”

“What sort of assistance are you offering?”