Moscow Rules

of women for women. Most men don’t understand her.”
     
     
    “I couldn’t agree more. And I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
     
     
    “What’s that?”
     
     
    "Ivan loathes her.”
     
     
    In the hayloft of the barn, the four men standing before the video monitors moved for the first time in three minutes.
     
     
    "Looks like Uncle John just saved our asses,” said Graham Seymour.
     
     
    "His father would be very proud.”
     
     
    “Ivan’s not the world’s most patient man. I suspect you’ll have five minutes with Elena at most.”
     
     
    “I’d kill for five minutes.”
     
     
    “Let’s hope there’s no killing today, Gabriel. Ivan’s the one with all the guns.”
     
     
    The two women climbed the central staircase together and paused on the landing to admire a Madonna and Child.
     
     
    "Is that actually a Veronese?” Elena asked.
     
     
    “Depends on whom you ask. My uncle’s ancestors did the Grand Tour of Italy in the nineteenth century and came home with a boat-load of paintings. Some were quite lovely. Some of them were just copies made by lesser artists. I’ve always thought this one was among the best.”
     
     
    “It’s beautiful.”
     
     
    “The Cassatt is still in the nursery. My uncle thought you would enjoy seeing it in its original setting.”
     
     
    Sarah took Elena carefully by the arm and led her down the hall. The key was resting on the woodwork above the door. Standing on tiptoe, Sarah removed it, then raised a finger to her lips in a gesture of mock conspiracy.
     
     
    “Don’t tell anyone where we keep the key.”
     
     
    Elena smiled. "It will be our little secret.”
     
     
    Ivan’s starting to get restless.” “I can see that, Graham.”
     
     
    "She’s burned three minutes already.”
     
     
    "Yes, I can see that, too.”
     
     
    “She should have done it on the staircase.”
     
     
    “She knows what she’s doing.”
     
     
    “I hope to God you’re right.”
     
     
    So do I , thought Gabriel.
     
     
    Elena entered the room first. Sarah closed the door halfway, then walked over to the window and pushed open the curtains. The golden light fell upon two matching beds, two matching dressers, two matching hand-painted toy chests, and Two Children on a Beach by Gabriel Allon. Elena covered her mouth with her hands and gasped.
     
     
    “It’s glorious,” she said. “I must have it.”
     
     
    Sarah allowed a silence to fall between them. She lowered herself onto the end of the bed nearest the window and, with her eyes cast downward toward the floor, absently ran her hand over the Winnie the Pooh spread. Seeing her reaction, Elena said, “My God, I’m so sorry. You must think I’m terribly spoiled.”
     
     
    “Not at all, Mrs. Kharkov.” Sarah made a show of looking around the nursery. “I spent every summer in this room when I was a little girl. That painting was the first thing I saw in the morning and the last thing I saw at night before my mother switched off the lights. The house just won’t feel the same without it.”
     
     
    “I can’t take it from you, then.”
     
     
    “You must,” Sarah said. “My uncle has to sell it. Trust me, Mrs. Kharkov, if you don’t buy it, someone else will. I want it to go to someone who loves it as much as I do. Someone like you, ” she added.
     
     
    Elena turned her gaze from Sarah and looked at the painting once more. “I’d like to have a closer look at it before I make a final decision. Would you help me take it down from the wall, please?”
     
     
    “Of course.”
     
     
    Sarah rose to her feet and, passing before the window, glanced downward toward the meadow. Boothby and Ivan were still there, Boothby with his arm extended toward some landmark in the distance, Ivan with his patience clearly at an ebb. She walked over to the painting and, with Elena’s help, lifted it from its hooks and laid it flat upon the second bed. Elena then drew a magnifying glass and a small Maglite flashlight from her handbag. First she used the magnifying glass to examine the signature in the bottom left corner of the painting. Then she switched on the Maglite and played the beam over the surface. Her examination lasted three minutes. When it had ended, she switched off the Maglite and slipped it back into her handbag.
     
     
    “This painting is an obvious forgery,” she said.
     
     
    She regarded Sarah’s face carefully for a moment as if she realized Sarah was a