The Fallen Angel

Rome.”
    “Does the friend have a name?”
    “The friend is like me,” Gabriel said. “He prefers calm waters.”
    “Does he find things, too?”
    “In a manner of speaking.”
    Girard returned the business card and, with a movement of his eyes, asked to see the contents of Herr Drexler’s attaché case.
    “Perhaps you have some place a bit more private,” suggested Gabriel, glancing briefly toward the gallery’s large window overlooking the crowded square.
    “Is there a problem?”
    “Not at all,” answered Gabriel in his most reassuring tone. “It’s just that St. Moritz isn’t what it used to be.”
    Girard studied Gabriel before rising to his feet and walking over to a cipher-protected door. On the other side was a climate-controlled storage room filled with inventory that had yet to find its way onto the gallery’s main exhibition floor, and probably never would. Gabriel led himself on a brief tour before popping the combination locks of the attaché case. Then he unveiled the fragment of the hydria with a magician’s flourish and laid it carefully on an examination table so Girard could see the image clearly.
    “I don’t deal in fragments,” he said.
    “Neither do I.”
    Gabriel handed him the stack of photographs. The last showed the hydria pieced loosely together.
    “It’s missing a few small surface fragments here and there,” Gabriel said, “but it’s nothing that can’t be repaired by a good restorer. I have a man who can do the work if you’re interested.”
    “I prefer to use my own restorer,” Girard responded.
    “I assumed that would be the case.”
    Girard pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and examined the fragment of pottery with a professional-grade magnifier. “It looks to me like the work of the Amykos Painter. Probably about 420 BC .”
    “I concur.”
    “Where did you find it?”
    “Here and there,” answered Gabriel. “Most of the pieces came from old family collections in Germany and here in Switzerland. It took me five years to track them all down.”
    “Really?”
    Girard returned the fragment and without another word walked over to a computer. After a few keystrokes, a single sheet of paper came shooting out of the color printer. It was an alert, issued by the Swiss Association of Dealers in Art and Antiques. The subject was a red-figure Attic hydria by the Amykos Painter that had been stolen two weeks earlier from a private home in the South of France. Girard placed the alert on the table next to the photos and looked to Herr Drexler for an explanation.
    “As you know,” Gabriel said, reciting words that had been written for him by Eli Lavon, “the Amykos Painter was a prolific artist who created numerous stock figures that appear many times throughout his body of work. My hydria is simply a copy of the vessel that was stolen in France.”
    “So it’s coincidental?”
    “Entirely.”
    Girard emitted a dry, humorous laugh. “I’m afraid your friend in Rome has led you astray, because this gallery does not trade in stolen or looted antiquities. It is a violation of our association’s code of ethics, not to mention Swiss law.”
    “Actually, Swiss law allows you to acquire a piece if you believe in good faith that it’s not stolen. And I am giving you my assurance, Herr Girard, that this hydria is the result of five years’ work on my part.”
    “Forgive me if I’m not willing to accept the word of a man who has no address and no telephone number.”
    It was an impressive performance but flawed by the fact that David Girard’s eyes were now fixed on the fragment of pottery. Gabriel had spent enough time around art dealers to see that his target was already calculating an offer. All he needed, thought Gabriel, was a small crack of the whip.
    “In fairness, Herr Girard,” Gabriel said, “I should tell you that other parties are interested in acquiring the hydria. But I came to St. Moritz because I was told you had the ability to move merchandise like this with a single phone call.”
    “I’m afraid you overestimate my abilities.”
    Gabriel smiled as if to say he was having none of it. “Your list of Middle Eastern clients is legendary in the trade, Herr Girard. Surely, you have the means to produce a provenance that will satisfy one of them. By my estimate, the reassembled and restored hydria is worth four hundred thousand Swiss francs. I’d be willing to accept one hundred thousand for the fragments, leaving you a profit of three