Moscow Rules

tires crunching over the gravel drive and an engine note that was unfamiliar to him. He walked over to the window and peered down as a tall woman with pale blond hair emerged with a single bag slung over her shoulder. She came upstairs to the studio and stood at his shoulder while he worked.
     
     
    “Would you like to tell me why you’re forging a Cassatt?” asked Sarah Bancroft.
     
     
    “The owner won’t sell me the original.”
     
     
    “What happens when it’s finished?”
     
     
    “You’re going to sell it to Elena Kharkov.”
     
     
    “Ask a silly question.” She leaned forward and scrutinized the canvas. “Watch your brushwork on the hands, Gabriel. It’s a bit too impasto.”
     
     
    “My brushwork, as usual, is flawless.”
     
     
    “How foolish of me to suggest otherwise.” She smothered an elaborate yawn. “I’m running on fumes.”
     
     
    “You can sleep here tonight, but tomorrow, you’re moving up to the main house. Uncle John is expecting you.”
     
     
    “What’s he like?”
     
     
    “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
     
     
    “If you need any more advice, don’t hesitate to wake me.”
     
     
    “I think I can manage on my own.”
     
     
    “You sure about that?”
     
     
    “I’m sure.”
     
     
    Sarah kissed his cheek and slipped silently through the doorway. Gabriel pressed the PLAY button on a small portable stereo and stood motionless while the first notes of La Bohème filled the room. Then he tapped his brush against the palette and painted alone until midnight.
     
     
    Sir John Boothby was introduced to his American niece, an attractive young woman now using the name Sarah Crawford, over breakfast the following morning. Gabriel swiftly sketched the missing chapters of their long and cordial relationship. Though Sarah’s mother, now deceased, had been foolish enough to marry a Wall Street banker, she had made certain her daughter maintained strong connections to England, which is why Sarah had spent summers at Havermore, and why she still made an annual pilgrimage to the estate now that she was in her thirties. As a young girl, she had stayed in the nursery and formed a deep bond with Two Children on a Beach . Therefore, it would be natural for Sarah to show Elena Kharkov the painting rather than her uncle, who had never really cared for it. The Cassatt would be viewed “in situ,” meaning that Sarah would be required to escort Elena to the upstairs to see it, thus leaving her ample time for a quiet but unmistakable approach. Uncle John’s task would be to assist in the separation of Elena from her bodyguards. Gabriel estimated they would have ten minutes. Any more than that, he reckoned, and the bodyguards would start getting jumpy. And jumpy Russian bodyguards were the last thing they needed.
     
     
    With Sarah’s arrival, the pace of the preparations increased dramatically. M&M Audio and Video rolled into Havermore, disguised as local electricians, and installed cameras and microphones around the house and the grounds. They also created a makeshift command post in the hayloft of the barn, where the feeds could be monitored and recorded. Sarah spent her mornings “reacquainting” herself with a home she knew well and cherished deeply. She spent many pleasant hours with her uncle, familiarizing herself with the vast old manor house, and led herself on long walks around the estate with Punch and Judy, Boothby’s poorly behaved Pembroke Welsh corgis, trotting at her heels. Old George Merrywood invariably stopped her for a chat. His local Gloucestershire accent was so broad that even Sarah, who had spent much time in England, could barely understand a word he said. Mrs. Devlin pronounced her “simply the most delightful American I’ve ever met.” She knew nothing of Sarah’s alleged blood relationship to her employer—indeed, she had been told by Sir John that Sarah was the daughter of an American friend and had recently gone through a nasty divorce. Poor lamb, thought Mrs. Devlin one afternoon as she watched Sarah emerge from the dappled light of the North Wood with the dogs at her heels. What idiot would ever let a girl like that slip through his fingers?
     
     
    In the evenings, Sarah would wander out to the gamekeeper’s cottage to discuss the real purpose of her stay at Havermore, which was the recruitment of Elena Kharkov. Gabriel would lecture her while he stood before his easel. At first, he spoke about the craft in