Page 69 of Marked By Moonlight

Roux scanned a sheet of paper covered with notes. “According to Gordon’s intel, Madame Petrova has her principles, but they’re scrambled as hell. Her father was a Red Army officer who entered Berlin in 1945 with one of the Soviet looting divisions assigned to ‘safeguard’ cultural treasures.” He made air quotes. “That explains how the painting came into her possession.”

I took mental notes, as if I might someday pen a footnote for an art history book.

Roux continued his briefing. “Our intel shows that Anastasia has always been a committed Marxist. She married an economist who was a communist visionary like her and equally immersed in Soviet cultural circles.”

Bene raised an eyebrow. “Communist visionaries who end up in Kensington?”

Henrik nodded. “Paris and London are full of Marxists with gilded tastes. Once they experience the good life, they never go back.”

Roux backed that up with the next part of his report. “Anastasia’s husband rose through the ranks of post-Soviet finance, put his principles aside, and got rich during the Yeltsin era. He died eight years ago, leaving everything to her.” He squinted at the report. “The summary here says,a woman whobelieves in art for the people but despises most of the people she’s met.”

I sighed quietly. Yes, that certainly fit.

“She said she refused to let the painting go to a museum, a capitalist, or an egoist,” I recalled.

Bene snorted. “Who does that leave?”

“I don’t know, but she really does love that painting,” I said. “I can’t see her selling it to someone who won’t value it the way she does.”

“What way is that?” Roux asked.

I made a face. “Selfishly. Exclusively. Passionately.”

Bene sighed. “That won’t make it easy to find a buyer.”

“She’ll sell,” Marius grunted. “When we visited, she was in a hurry to move the painting.”

Roux tapped a stack of files. “These are the candidates Gordon provided. We need to look through their files and come up with a short list to present to the client at ten.” He checked his watch. “We’ll each read a few, report to each other in ninety minutes, and then make our decision.”

Bene leafed through the pile. “Seven files. Five of us.”

“Those of us who can read above sixth-grade level can fight over doing two each.” Roux pointed to Henrik, himself, and me.

Marius growled, but Bene just shrugged. “Less work for us,amigo.” He grabbed the files and peeked into the first. “Sergei Levitsky. Deals in Russian oil and gas. Looks like a shady character.” He handed it to Henrik. “Perfect for you.”

Henrik showed his teeth but took the file.

Bene glanced into the next file, then waved it around. “Bogdan Karachanov. Bulgarian arms dealer. Going once, going twice…” He thrust it into Marius’s hands. “Sold.”

Marius jutted his jaw and glared at Bene, then the file.

“Wow. Sheikh somebody-or-other.” Bene lit up at the next one. “I’ll take that one.”

I groaned. “Where did Gordon come up with these?”

Roux shrugged. “He said he put out quiet feelers among contacts he trusts to be discreet.”

I put my face in my hands. What did that say about the people my godfather associated with?

Bene looked through the next few files. “Here’s a Swiss foundation for the arts…”

I practically snatched it out of his hands. Maybe there was hope after all.

A knock sounded at the door. Roux, Marius, and Henrik jumped and spread out in defensive positions around the door. Bene yawned.

“Room service,” someone announced.

Roux opened the door a crack, then pulled in a trolley. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”