The Rembrandt Affair

said, “Be careful. The paper is quite fragile.”
    Lavon lifted the covering and carefully removed three pages of brittle onionskin paper. Then he slipped on a pair of half-moon glasses, fingers trembling slightly, and read the names.
    Katz, Stern, Hirsch, Greenberg, Kaplan, Cohen, Klein, Abramowitz, Stein, Rosenbaum, Herzfeld …
    Herzfeld …
    He stared at the name a moment longer, then lifted his eyes slowly to Hannah Weinberg.
    “Where did you get this?”
    “I’m afraid I’m not in a position to say.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I promised the person complete confidentiality.”
    “I’m afraid that’s not a promise you should have made.”
    She noticed the change in Lavon’s tone. “You obviously seem to know something about this document.”
    “I do. And I also know that many people have died because of it. Whoever gave you this is in very serious danger, Madame Weinberg. And so are you.”
    “I’m used to that.” She regarded him silently. “Were you telling me the truth when you said a friend from Yad Vashem asked you to come here?”
    Lavon hesitated. “No, Madame Weinberg, I wasn’t.”
    “Who sent you?”
    “A mutual friend.” Lavon held up the list. “And he needs to know the name of the person who gave you this.”
    “Maurice Durand.”
    “And what does Monsieur Durand do for a living?”
    “He owns a small shop that sells antique scientific instruments. He says he found the documents while doing some repair work on a telescope.”
    “Did he?” Lavon asked skeptically. “How well do you know him?”
    “I’ve done a great deal of business with him over the years.” She nodded toward a circular wooden table arrayed with several dozen antique lorgnettes. “They’re something of a passion of mine.”
    “Where’s his shop?”
    “In the eighth.”
    “I need to see him right away.”
    Hannah Weinberg rose. “I’ll take you.”

55
    RUE DE MIROMESNIL, PARIS
    T he Weinberg Center was located just around the corner on rue des Rosiers. Hannah and Lavon stopped there long enough to make several copies of the list and lock them away. Then, with the original tucked safely inside Lavon’s leather satchel, they rode the Métro to the rue de Miromesnil and made the two-minute walk to Antiquités Scientifiques. The sign in the door read OUVERT . Lavon spent a moment admiring the window display before trying the latch. It was locked. Hannah rang the bell, and they were admitted without delay.
    The man waiting to receive them was equal to Lavon in height and weight, though in every other respect was his precise opposite. Where Lavon was shoddily attired in several layers of crumpled clothing, Maurice Durand wore an elegant blue suit and a wide necktie the color of Beaujolais nouveau. And where Lavon’s hair was wispy and unkempt, Durand’s monkish tonsure was cropped short and combed close to the scalp. He kissed Hannah Weinberg formally on both cheeks and offered Lavon a surprisingly strong hand. As Lavon accepted it, he had the uncomfortable feeling he was being eyed by a professional. And unless Lavon was mistaken, Maurice Durand felt exactly the same way.
    “You have a beautiful shop, Monsieur Durand.”
    “Thank you,” the Frenchman replied. “I consider it my shelter against the storm.”
    “What storm is that, monsieur?”
    “Modernity,” Durand replied instantly.
    Lavon gave an empathetic smile. “I’m afraid I feel the same way.”
    “Really? And what is your field, monsieur?”
    “Archaeology.”
    “How fascinating,” Durand said. “When I was young, I was very interested in archaeology. In fact, I considered studying it.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “Dirt.”
    Lavon raised an eyebrow.
    “I’m afraid I don’t like to get my hands dirty,” Durand explained.
    “That would be a liability.”
    “A rather large one, I think,” Durand said. “And what is your area of expertise, monsieur?”
    “Biblical archaeology. I do most of my work in Israel.”
    Durand’s eyes widened. “The Holy Land?”
    Lavon hesitated, then nodded.
    “I’ve always wanted to see it for myself. Where are you working now?”
    “The Galilee.”
    Durand seemed genuinely moved.
    “You are a believer, Monsieur Durand?”
    “Devout.” He looked at Lavon carefully. “And you, monsieur?”
    “At times,” said Lavon.
    Durand looked at Hannah Weinberg. “That shipment of lorgnettes has finally arrived. I set aside the best pieces for you. Would you like to see them