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THURSDAY

Antwerp

Of all the unbelievably bad timing-!

Jones gripped the phone hard, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice. "This is very disappointing - but perhaps there's still room for negotiation? Perhaps I could see it? Speak with the vendor?"

"I'm so very sorry, sir, but only this morning another customer came to see the painting and he agreed to buy it. It's being delivered to him as we speak. I regret to disappoint you, sir, but the painting is no longer available."

Jones swore under his breath as he hung up the phone. What now? If the bloody picture's on its way to the new owner there's no chance of getting a look at it.

Bonham looked at him expectantly. "What's up? Problem?"

"We're a day too late. Bloody picture's been sold, and naturally they won't disclose who to. If we can believe what he told me, it's being sent off to the new owner right now, this minute."

"Shit. There goes our best opportunity to find out who's offering it for sale. Well, that's that, then. Have to come up with an alternative plan to find out who these people are."

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Bonham turned down the suggestion that they should go for a drink, so Jones was alone when he wandered into the elegant cocktail bar across the street from the hotel. The bar was decorated in high Art Nouveau style, with an overabundance of flowing shapes, mirrors and crystal. Jones ordered a gin rickey, and sat at the bar, surveying the crowd. He felt he'd let Lord Gloria down. If they'd been just a day earlier...

He looked up at the sound of a greeting.

"Karl. Karl Stoller!" He hadn't seen Karl for years. When they were both much younger, they'd had a lazy, comfortable affair that had lasted through a summer, and ended when Karl took a job in a different part of the country. Jones remembered their liaison fondly. "Karl, sit down. It's good to see you."

Karl joined him at the bar. "JJ, you're a sight for sore eyes. How long has it been? How are you? Is life treating you well?"

"Not as well as it's treated you. How many books have you published now?"

Karl Stoller wrote biographies of the gossip-and-scandal variety, and his latest effort - an exposé of an unpopular politician's corruption - had sold more than a million copies. His writing had made him a rich man.

"The last book was number seven. My publisher's got me releasing one every two years these days. It's hard work, but, hey, someone's got to do it." Smiling, Karl signalled to the barman. "Let me buy you a drink, JJ."

Karl looked as though he'd already had several drinks himself. His manner was slightly over-exaggerated, and his smile just a little too bright.

He asked what Jones had been doing since they'd last met, and got the usual sanitised version of events that Jones offered in situations like this: working for a private estate owned by a member of the nobility - managing his lordship's properties and assisting with his art collection - it's a living, you meet some interesting people.

"You always did like art, didn't you? I remember how you used to hang around with the art school crowd. Those were the days, hey?" Karl smiled nostalgically. "I've developed an interest in collecting art myself, these last few years. It can be a good investment, you know. To tell you the truth, that's what's brought me to Antwerp."

"You're here to buy something?"

"Actually..." Karl drawled teasingly, "I've been rather a naughty boy."

Jones smiled. "I can believe that. You always were. What have you been up to?"

"We-e-e-ll... I've bought myself a present." Karl grinned gleefully, like a little boy indulging in forbidden fruit.

"What, something expensive? Is your accountant going to take you to task for overspending the budget?"

Karl smirked. "It did cost rather a lot, but my accountant's used to that. He keeps telling me that as long as I invest in paintings that will appreciate, he doesn't care. No, JJ - thing is, I've bought something that perhaps as a law abiding citizen I shouldn't have."

Jones blinked at him. "What? Stolen goods?"

"Yeah." Karl grinned. "Wanna see it?"

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Karl pushed open the door to his suite and stood aside to let his old friend through. The painting was propped up on an easel in the sitting room.

"Christ alive," breathed Jones, "Landscape with an Obelisk. Govaert Flinck. Unbelievable." He moved in for a closer inspection.

Karl beamed. "Drink?" he offered, holding up a crystal tumbler.

"Yeah, thanks," Jones said distractedly. "Gin again, if you've got it."

"I've got the lot," Karl burbled happily. "Ice?"

Jones grunted, his attention firmly on the painting.

Karl smiled at his friend's absorption. "Impressive, hey?"

It was an impressive piece of work. These things often were. The brushwork was good, but... Jones sighed. He really didn't have the heart to tell Karl just yet that his expensive new acquisition was a forgery.

Handing Jones his drink, Karl flopped into an armchair and swallowed a large mouthful of bourbon. "And there's more to this story, JJ. You'll never guess what else happened when I went to buy this. I'm about to embark on writing the most controversial biography of the decade. Eroica."

"Who?" Jones forced his features into an expression of polite puzzlement.

Leaning forward confidentially, Karl said, "It was totally unexpected, but leads do come unexpectedly sometimes. The dealer let slip that this painting was stolen by the master thief who calls himself Eroica. Have you heard of him?"

Jones feigned cluelessness.

"Eroica's an international art thief. Nobody knows who he really is. He's wanted in every continent on the face of the earth, and they can't catch him. I'm negotiating to meet him through the art dealer. If he agrees to let me write his story-"

"Why would a thief do that?" Jones interrupted. "Why would he reveal his identity to you, or let you write about him? Surely that's the last thing a criminal would do?"

"Vanity, my dear JJ, vanity. Eroica's an arrogant bastard, by all accounts; taunts the authorities, rubs their noses in their own incompetence. He'll agree, all right."

"So how would it work? Would he get paid?"

"Of course. He'll demand a hefty fee, all sorts of guarantees - but it'll be worth every penny. The book will be a best-seller, no two ways about it."

Jones couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. When did Karl become so gullible? The man had built a career on breaking through the facades other people built around their lives - so what had happened to that ‘healthy scepticism' he used to talk about? Could he honestly believe that a thief wanted by police around the world would be so easily persuaded to break his cover? Just who was the arrogant bastard here?

"Karl, think about this very seriously, will you? You might regret getting mixed up in this."

"JJ, this is what I do for a living. I'm not afraid of people who live outside the law. He's an art thief, not a psychotic serial killer."

"Look, Karl, this whole thing - the painting, the interview - someone's playing you for a fool."

Annoyance flashed across Karl's face. "I appreciate your concern, JJ, but it's really not your business."

"Maybe not, but that inbuilt bullshit detector you used to be so proud of seems to have stopped working. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your painting is a fake. You've been taken in - you've blown your money."

Karl gaped at him. "What are you talking about? This painting was part of the Isabella Stewart Gardner heist-"

"No, Karl, this painting is a forgery."

Karl bolted to his feet, sloshing bourbon on the floor. "What do you mean? How can it be a forgery? It can't be!" He stared at the painting, horrified.

"Karl- it's a forgery. It's part of a scam. It's not the only Gardner collection painting on the market right now, and they're all bloody fakes. And furthermore, if there's someone offering to talk to you for a hefty fee, claiming to be Eroica, the man you speak to will be a fake, too. Not that it would get that far. Most likely they'll demand payment up-front and then disappear without a trace. You'll just be chucking good money after bad. Fuck it, Karl, cut your losses and leave well enough alone."

"I can't believe it. How could this happen? How could I not see it?"

"Karl, shut up and sit down. No, don't drink any more. I'll make you some coffee. Where do you keep the coffee pot?"

While Jones busied himself making a pot of coffee, Karl sat staring at the forged painting that had cost him a large amount of money and an even larger amount of his self-respect.

"Come on, Karl, don't blame yourself. People get taken in by fraud like this every day. It's not the end of the world."

"But I don't get taken in like this every day. I'm the cynical investigative biographer, remember? I ask the hard questions, get the tough answers." He accepted the steaming mug of coffee Jones held out to him. "I can't fucking believe that this happened."

Jones sat down in the chair opposite. The transformation he saw in Karl was startling. The self-confident, self-satisfied swagger had disappeared completely. The man looked shocked, puzzled. Jones felt some sympathy for him - after all, he'd been fond of him once - but he also recognised that this was his second chance to find out who was behind the scam, so he tried to steer the conversation back to Karl's negotiations with the art dealer.

"Look, Karl - you said you were negotiating to meet this Eroica. What's been arranged?"

"Nothing yet. The dealer was going to phone me back tonight. But when you said the picture was a fake... You're probably right, JJ; it's probably going to be another scam."

"Maybe. Now, listen to me. If he calls, I want you to agree to any meeting he wants to set up."

A confused frown clouded Karl's face. "JJ, what's going on? Are you with the police? You are! You're investigating this, aren't you?"

Jones didn't bother to contradict him. "I'm interested in finding out who's behind this, and you can help me. When they call-"

Karl's mobile phone rang shrilly. He answered.

"Karl Stoller here." He looked across at Jones as he listened. "Yes... Yes... Yes, of course, without question... Yes... Eleven am tomorrow?" Karl reached for a pen and paper lying on the coffee table, and scrawled down an address. "Yes, thank you. I will."

The call ended.

"They want to meet me tomorrow morning at eleven. I'm to bring cash. Five hundred thousand euros."

Jones nodded, and held out his hand for the address. "Don't go. I'll send someone else to meet them." He stood up. "It's been good to see you again, Karl. I'm sorry this happened to you. But cut your losses - let it go."

They shook hands. Jones let himself out.

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Back at their own hotel suite, Jones filled Bonham in on what had happened.

"So the famous investigative biographer let himself be taken in, did he?" Bonham sniffed in disgust. "Twice."

"You don't sound very sympathetic, Bonham."

"I'm not. Got no time for muck-rakers. Wavin' other people's dirty linen out in the open." Bonham caught sight of Jones's expression and sighed. "Sorry, Jonesy; you used to have a thing goin' with him once, didn't you?"

"Long time ago now. Doesn't matter. To tell the truth, I'm a bit shocked that he could be so easily taken in. He used to be pretty sharp. It's almost as if he's become so self-convinced he can't imagine anyone would try to put one over him."

"Mmm. Started to believe what it says about him on the back cover of his own books. Anyway - we need to let Lord Gloria know about this development." Bonham reached for the phone.

Dorian received the news with fierce delight.

"A meeting with Eroica? I should say whoever we're dealing with is even more unprofessional than I'd thought. Flooding the market with forgeries is one thing; at least they can expect fools who've been duped to keep their mouths shut. Offering to sell interviews to an author takes things to another level. Bonham, where's this meeting supposed to take place?"

Bonham read out the address, adding, "It's a café just off the Grote Markt, in the old part of the city - classy place; quiet."

"Right," Dorian said, "then let's send someone along to keep the appointment, shall we? What was the name of that insufferable churl from Interpol the Major was complaining about? Fournier, was it? Bonham love, make an anonymous call to Interpol and let Inspector Fournier know that if he wants to arrest Eroica, he'd better turn up at this café at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."

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