Page 95 of Savage Justice

“Sheikh Mustafa Saeed Al-Quraheen,” Frankie replies.

“A rich Saudi?”

“Must be. He has links to the Saudi royal family but he’s primarily a businessman. Oil mainly, according to Wikipedia. He’s fabulously wealthy, and a well-known art collector. He’s reputed to be not too particular about provenance.”

Borys’s favourite type of buyer. I try to place the name but can’t. “I’ve not come across him, but if he’s into dodgy art, the chances are Borys knows him. He has a lot of contacts, he used to brag about it.”

“Makes sense,” Ethan agrees. “He’d probably try to shift the goods by offering the picture discreetly to those he knows might be interested. And who won’t be sniffy about the paperwork. From what you’ve said, he’s done this a lot.”

“That’s right. So, what happens now?”

Ethan scratches his chin. “Frankie, can you impersonate this Sheikh Mustafa? Better still, his agent, whoever is brokering this sale for him?”

“I could, yes. In theory.”

“I need you to set up a viewing. Tell Borys the sheikh wants to be sure he actually has the painting.”

I shake my head. “That won’t work. He’ll be sure already, especially if he’s had dealings with Borys before. Borys has a reputation, he always delivers the goods.”

Ethan is undaunted. “That’s okay. The sheikh won’t have a clue what’s happening. Frankie, don’t let the Saudis know you’re in there. Just set up the viewing, for as soon as possible. Today, or tomorrow at the latest.”

“What if Borys doesn’t agree?” Nico points out.

“I think he will,” I tell them. “That painting is hot. He wants it off his hands as soon as possible. The longer he hangs on to it, the more chance some enterprising art detective will track it down.”

“Art detective?” Nico lifts an eyebrow.

“Yes. There are plenty of them around, specialists who make it their business to trace missing artworks.”

“Maybe we should have hired one of those,” he replies.

Ethan grins. “That could be Plan B, if this doesn’t work. Who would you recommend?”

I don’t have to think very hard. “Edouard Montrou is generally considered to be the best in the business. I think the Nuremberg gallery hired him to look for Death of Atalanta. But there will be other freelancers on it as well. They’re offering a reward of a million euros.”

“Maybe we’ll be in a position to help them out, for a share in the reward money. First things first, though. Frankie, let me know as soon as you’ve agreed the arrangements for the viewing.”

“Just on it now, boss. Ah, he’s replying.”

We wait. No one speaks.

Frankie’s mouth curls in a smile. “Eleven p.m. Tonight. In Prague.”

“He didn’t move it far, apparently. Prague is only a couple of hundred kilometres from Nuremberg where Death of Atalanta was stolen.” Nico consults the map on his phone. “He must have squirrelled it over the border into the Czech Republic and stashed it there.”

“That would make sense,” I have to agree. “Eleven o’clock is tight. Will they make it in time?”

“By private jet? Sure. Then all they have to do is make the switch and get out of there.”

“There’ll be guards. Security.”

He simply meets my gaze and smiles.

“It’s done. We’re on our way back.”

Nico’s phone is on speaker when he takes Ethan’s call. It’s only just after eleven-thirty.

“Any problems?” Nico asks.

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