House of Spies (Gabriel Allon #17)(64)

“I heard rumors, just like everyone else.”

“But unlike everyone else, you were in a unique position to know whether they were true or not. After all, you were the nominal owner of an art gallery that served as one of his most effective money-laundering fronts.”

She smiled. “How naive of you.”

“Why?”

“Because Jean-Luc is very good at keeping secrets.” Then she added, “Almost as good as you and your friends.”

“We are professionals.”

“So is Jean-Luc,” she said darkly.

“Have you ever asked him?”

“Whether he’s a drug dealer?”

“Yes.”

“Just once. He laughed. And then he told me never to ask him about his business again.”

“Did you?”

“Never.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d heard other rumors,” she said. “Rumors about what happened to people who crossed him.”

“And yet you stayed,” he pointed out.

“I stayed,” she retorted, “because I was afraid to leave.”

“Afraid to leave, or afraid you would lose your gallery?”

“Both,” she admitted.

A flicker of a smile appeared on his lips and then vanished. “I admire your honesty, Olivia.”

“If nothing else?”

“Like Nicolas Carnot, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments. Especially when there’s valuable intelligence at stake.”

“What sort of intelligence?”

“The organization of Jean-Luc’s business, for example. You must have managed to collect a fair amount of information about how the company is structured. It’s rather opaque, to say the least. Looking at it from the outside, we’ve managed to identify some of the players. There’s a chief for each division—the restaurants, the hotels, the retail end of things—but try as we might, we haven’t been able to identify the chief of JLM’s illicit narcotics unit.”

“You’re joking.”

“Only a little. Is he one man or two? Is it Jean-Luc himself?”

She said nothing.

“Time, Olivia. We haven’t much time. We need to know how Jean-Luc manages his drug business. How he gives his orders. How he insulates himself so the police can’t touch him. It doesn’t happen by osmosis or telekinesis. Somewhere there’s a trusted figure who handles his interests. Someone who can move in and out of his orbit without attracting suspicion. Someone he communicates with only in person, in a quiet voice, in a room where no phones are present. Surely you know who this man is, Olivia. Perhaps you’re acquainted. Perhaps you’re a friend of his.”

“Not a friend,” she said after a moment. “But I do know who he is. And I know what would happen to me if I were to tell you his name. He would kill me. And not even Jean-Luc would be able to stop him.”

“No one’s going to harm you, Olivia.”

She regarded him skeptically. He feigned moderate offense.

“Think about the extraordinary lengths we went to in order to bring you here today. Haven’t we demonstrated our professionalism? Haven’t we proven ourselves worthy of your trust?”

“And when you’re gone? Who will protect me then?”

“You won’t need protection,” he responded, “because you’ll be gone, too.”

“Where will I be?”

“That’s up to you and your countryman to decide,” he said with an inclination of his head toward the chief of British intelligence. “Oh, I suppose I could offer you a nice flat overlooking the sea in Tel Aviv, but I suspect you’d be more comfortable in England.”

“What will I do for money?”

“Run an art gallery, of course.”

“Which one?”

“Galerie Olivia Watson.” He smiled. “Despite the fact that your professional inventory was purchased with drug money, we’re prepared to let you keep it. With two exceptions,” he added.

“Which ones?”

“The Guston and the Basquiat. Monsieur Antonov would like to write you a check for fifty million for both, which should allay any concerns Jean-Luc might have about how you spent this afternoon. And don’t worry,” he added. “Unlike Monsieur Antonov, the money is quite real.”

“How generous of you,” she said. “But you still haven’t told me what this is about.”

“It’s about Paris,” he answered. “And London. And Antwerp. And Amsterdam. And Stuttgart. And Washington. And it’s about a hundred other attacks you’ve never heard about.”

“Jean-Luc is no angel, but he’s not a terrorist, either.”

“True. But we believe he’s in business with one, which means he’s helping to finance his attacks. But I’m afraid that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. The less you know, the better. That’s the way it works in our trade. And all you need to know is that you’re being given the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s a chance to start over. Think of it as a blank canvas upon which you can paint any picture you want. And all it will cost you is a name.” He smiled and asked, “Do we have a deal, Ms. Wilson?”