Dante took a step back. For the first time, he looked afraid.
They walked out of the palazzo at 10:47 AM. Novak carried the case. Lina carried nothing. The rain had stopped. The Fiat started on the first try. The handoff was in a warehouse in Turin, three days later. Viktor had arranged for a courier—a Swiss national named Keller who specialized in moving things that did not officially exist—to take the painting across the border. But when Viktor arrived at the warehouse, Keller was not alone.
Novak presented his forged ID to the day manager, a nervous woman named Signora Ricci who had known the real Fontana for a decade. She squinted at his face. Novak smiled, the silicone mask stretching perfectly.