Page 48 of Portrait of an Unknown Woman

“What about the summer we spent with Ivan and Elena Kharkov in Saint-Tropez? Or the day I shot that Russian assassin in Zurich?” Sarah checked the time on her phone. “It’s nearly three. Let’s go, shall we? I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

They set out along Riverside Avenue and arrived at Equus Analytics as a black BMW 7 Series sedan was pulling into the parking lot. The man who emerged from the driver’s seat had coal-black hair and blue eyes, and appeared much younger than his fifty-four years.

He extended a hand toward Sarah. “Miss Bancroft, I presume?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Gallagher. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. And on a Saturday, at that.”

“Not at all. Truth be told, I was planning to do a few hours’ work before dinner.” His accent, though faded, betrayed a Dublin childhood. He looked at Gabriel. “And you are?”

“Johannes Klemp,” answered Gabriel, dredging up a name from his tangled past. “I work with Sarah at Isherwood Fine Arts.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look a great deal like that Israeliwho was shot on Inauguration Day? If I’m not mistaken, his name is Gabriel Allon.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Gallagher gave him a knowing smile before turning to Sarah. “That leaves the painting.”

She nodded toward Gabriel’s overnight bag.

“Ah,” said Gallagher. “The plot thickens.”