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It was a good question. Cal had played that well.
“I own several rail yards in Czechia, Mr. Smith, and it seems someone, someone who my son tells me bears an uncanny resemblance to you, broke into one of those yards last night. I want to know why.”
Cal lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. “What if I’m in the market for someone discreet to move certain items of value for me?”
Mazal sat back, his interest piqued. “What kind of items? What level of value?”
I wouldn’t have expected it to be true, but Cal was actually playing this role perfectly. He kept surprising me.
Cal mirrored Mazal’s posture, sitting back in his chair. “Art. Priceless.”
Mazal laughed. “Ha. Art is not where the money is, Mr. Smith. I used to be an art thief myself.” His eyes narrowed. “But I know you already knew that, yes? Since it is ReubenMachas who made the donation to get your name on the list for this event.” Mazal stroked his fingers down his graying goatee. “I left the art game years ago and have since found much more lucrative avenues for doing business. Since neither you, Mr. Hunter, nor your mate, Mr. Grayson, is here in an official capacity, I assume I will not be receiving additional unwanted visitors intent on invading my personal business.”
He’d made us. There was no use sticking to the cover now. “If you know who we are, you know why we’re here, and it has nothing to do with your current business.”
“You are looking forThe Evolution of Man.”
I nodded. “We are.”
“You will not find it here. If I had it, which I do not and have not, I would never have let it stay in Prague. That would only have invited thieves to our door, and as I have said, I have no further interest in art other than as a patron.” He waved at the white building with the terra-cotta-tiled roof behind us.
“But you’ve heard the rumors that it is in play?”
Mazal scoffed. “Surely you know there are always rumors, but I will admit there is more substance to these than there has been in the recent past. I will tell you this, only because Reuben was once an ally to me, if he is looking for the painting, his most promising lead is in Amsterdam. Stefan Dasselaar is as ruthless as I am, maybe even more so, and he never left the game even after his brother, Hendrik, died. He holds elite galas where he invites the criminally wealthy from around the world to bid on pieces he has acquired. Some even legally. If the painting is in play, it will land on his doorstep one way or another.”
“Reuben already gave us his name. If you didn’t have the painting, we were heading to Amsterdam.”
Mazal nodded. “Reuben is very smart, even if you two are not.” Next to me, Cal bristled. “I advise you to use more caution. Unlike me, Dasselaar will not pause for friendly conversationbefore putting a bullet between your eyes. He was never a gentleman thief, always working for the highest bidder, and the friends he keeps are a veritable who’s who of the criminal underworld. He is dangerous. You would do well to remember that.”
“And you’re sure you aren’t running stolen art for him?” Cal’s question cut right to the heart of why we were there, no more games.
“Despite what you might think given the shipment you ran across last night, I am not interested in criminal pursuits.” He shrugged a shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a sardonic smile. “Well, no more than how my current business is presently classified. I am interested in giving everyone a fair shot at defending their homes and their freedoms, and I find myself in the unique position to do so without having to extort refugees or rebels. I know something of your family, Mr. Hunter. Were they not similarly engaged?”
Cal nodded. “You could loosely make that comparison.”
“Then you understand it is not about the guns but what they represent. I cannot say I never got my hands dirty playing in the same sandbox with Dasselaar, but the art world no longer serves me, so I no longer serve it, if you take my meaning.”
We both nodded.
Mazal stood. “I have nothing more to say on this topic. I’m giving you six hours to get out of Prague. If I find you are still here after that time, I will take it as an act of ill will, and I will send members of my team to rectify the problem. Are we clear?”
I took Mazal’s offered hand and shook it. “Crystal. I know you have your own defenses and security, but Reuben wanted me to offer you a place to stay if someone who is looking for more than information comes to Prague.”
Mazal refocused on me after shaking Cal’s hand. “I appreciate his concern, but I am well protected here.”
“Understood.”
We’d taken a step away, when Cal looked over his shoulder and addressed Mazal. “Thank you for the information.” He turned his attention to Mazal’s injured son. “Sorry about your shoulder.”
He got a middle-fingered salute in return, and we left with Mazal’s laughter echoing behind us.
When we’d cleared the front of the museum and had handed the valet our ticket, I grabbed Cal’s hand. “Let’s get the hell out of Prague.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
QUIN
