Page 92 of An Inside Job

“Yes, of course.”

“And what about the Old Masters?” he wondered.

“I’m quite fond of Vermeer.Girl with a Pearl Earringis one of my favorites.”

Van de Velde tapped the case lightly with the tip of his forefinger. “This painting is quite similar. But it’s much better. And much more valuable as well.”

“What have you got in there? TheMona Lisa?”

“Not quite, but close.”

“What does that mean?”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Impossible.”

“Would you care to have a look? This is your one and only chance. Because shortly after two o’clock this afternoon, it will disappear forever.”

It was Franco Tedeschi, from the opposite side of the cabin, who answered on Ingrid’s behalf. “No, Peter. She does not wish to see the painting.”

“Actually,” said Ingrid, “I’d love nothing more.”

Van de Velde popped the latches and opened the case.

***

The text message landed on Gabriel’s phone at 12:52 p.m. It was vaguely worded but clear in its meaning. He showed the message to Jacques Ménard, who consulted an open notebook computer.

“They’re on final approach. They should be on the ground in less than five minutes.” Ménard closed the laptop. “Wait here.”

“Where else would I go, Jacques? Duty-free?”

The French art sleuth frowned on his way out the door. Alone, Gabriel pictured the encounter that would soon take place on the tarmac of Cote d’Azur Airport. A check of the passports, an inspection of the cargo, a request for further information. Nothing serious, messieurs. It won’t take but a moment.

37

Côte d’Azur Airport

Two uniformed French border policemen were waiting on the tarmac when the Dassault rolled to a stop near Signature Flight Support, the airport’s fixed-base operator. They were accompanied by a tall man in a dark business suit who might have been mistaken for a French movie idol. Ingrid knew the handsome man to be Jacques Ménard, director of the Police Nationale’s art crime unit. She opened the forward door, and the three men filed up the airstair and into the cabin. The radios of the border policemen crackled with crosstalk. Jacques Ménard, with nothing more than a glance, instructed the officers to lower the volume.

One of the border policemen carried a clipboard, the other a handheld passport scanner. They started at the back of the cabin with the four security men and worked their way forward, concluding with Ingrid and the two members of the cockpit crew. Jacques Ménard observed the proceedings with only mild interest.

The check complete, the two border policemen inquired as to the length of the arriving party’s stay in France. The pilot replied that he had reserved a 4:00 p.m. departure slot. He and his two colleagues, he added, planned to spend the down time relaxing in a crew room at Signature Flight Support.

“And the purpose of the visit?” asked one of the officers.

“Business,” replied Franco Tedeschi tersely.

Jacques Ménard spoke for the first time. “What sort of business, messieurs?”

“My colleague and I are showing a painting to a potential buyer.”

Ménard looked at the transport case, which was still lying on the table. “What sort of painting, please?”

“A portrait of a woman,” replied Peter van de Velde.

“Date?” asked Ménard.