Page 77 of An Inside Job

“He still wouldn’t suspect me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Just then the waiter stepped from the doorway of the restaurant, bottle in hand. He displayed the label to Gabriel, then reached into the pocket of his apron. “Forgive me, Signore,” he said with a frown, and went in search of the missing corkscrew, leaving the bottle behind on the table. Ingrid raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t even think about it,” warned Gabriel.

“You’re afraid he might notice?”

“I’m certain he would. Especially if the bottle of wine was worth a half billion dollars.”

The waiter reappeared with a new corkscrew. Gabriel forwent the usual approval process and instructed him to pour two glasses. When he was gone, Ingrid added a second corkscrew to herhandbag. Then she directed her gaze toward the exterior of SBL’s headquarters.

“And what if we were trying to steal a painting hidden in a vault beneath that building? How would we pull it off without the bank managers knowing?”

“You’re the professional. You tell me.”

“I would steal the painting the same way they stole it.”

“An inside job?”

“Of course.”

“And where are we supposed to find this helpful insider?”

“At SBL PrivatBank, Mr. Allon. Where else? It would have to be someone quite senior. Someone who has access to the vault at any time, day or night.”

“It would be easier to tunnel into that vault than to find someone who would be willing to help us. But that’s not the only problem with your plan.”

“What’s the other?”

“The ZIG insurance policy. I refuse to allow Camorra Incorporated to profit from their crime.”

“In that case,” said Ingrid, “we have to steal the painting while it’s out of the vault.”

She turned her head to watch a Mercedes-Maybach sedan drawing up at the side entrance of the bank. A fit-looking specimen emerged from the passenger seat and opened the rear door. Franco Tedeschi, head of SBL’s asset management division, climbed out of the car and went swiftly inside.

“Is it my imagination,” asked Ingrid, “or are the windows of that lovely Mercedes limousine bulletproof?”

“They are,” replied Gabriel. “And the armor could stop a rocket-propelled grenade.”

“Why does a mere asset manager need a car like that?”

“Lugano is a dangerous town.”

“I never realized.” Ingrid slipped on a pair of sunglasses and smiled. “But then looks can be deceiving.”

***

Of their father’s beautiful young friend from Denmark, Irene and Raphael knew little but suspected much. They knew, for example, that she had worked with their father on two of his secret projects—the ones they were never to discuss with their friends from school—and that she was good with computers. They also knew that she could perform card and magic tricks, that she was unusually strong for someone so small in stature, and that she was lethal with a pool cue in her hands. This they had witnessed firsthand one afternoon at an Irish pub in Cannaregio, where she won a thousand euros shooting billiards against four Englishmen from Manchester.

She shared Irene’s passion about the dangers of climate change and Raphael’s facility with numbers. After dinner that evening she helped the boy untangle a complex advanced geometry concept while Gabriel and his daughter saw to the dishes. Chiara was perched atop a stool at the kitchen island, scrutinizing the photographs of the Leonardo panel attached to the $500 million policy issued by the Zurich Insurance Group.

“Do you know how many crimes you’ve already committed, darling?”

“None, actually.”

“Did you or did you not steal a copy of an insurance policy from SBL PrivatBank of Lugano?”