Free The Rembrandt Affair by Daniel Silva

Old Port. It was approaching midday. The fishing boats had returned from their morning runs and atop the steel tables lining the port's eastern flank were arrayed all manner of hideous-looking sea creatures, soon to be turned into bouillabaisse by the city's chefs. Normally, Durand would have stopped to survey the contents of each with an appreciation only a Frenchman could manage, but today he headed straight for the table of a gray-haired man dressed in a tattered wool sweater and a rubber apron. By all appearances, he was a fisherman who scrounged a respectable living from a sea now empty of fish. But Pascal Rameau was anything but respectable. And he didn't seem surprised to see Maurice Durand.
    "How was the catch, Pascal?"
    "Merde," Rameau muttered. "It seems like we get a little less every day. Soon..." He pulled his lips downward into a Gallic expression of disgust. "There'll be nothing left but garbage."
    "It's the Italians' fault," said Durand.
    "Everything is the Italians' fault," Rameau said. "How's your back?"
    Durand frowned. "As ever, Pascal."
    Rameau made an empathetic face. "Mine, too. I'm not sure how much longer I can work the boat."
    "You're the richest man in Marseilles. Why do you still go to sea every morning?"
    "I'm one of the richest. And I go out for the same reason you go to your shop." Rameau smiled and looked at Durand's attache case. "You brought the money?"
    Durand nodded.
    "It's not wise to carry large amounts of cash in Marseilles. Haven't you heard, Maurice? This town is full of thieves."
    "Very good thieves," Durand agreed. "At least, they used to be."
    "A business like ours can be unpredictable."
    "Weren't you the one who always told me that blood is bad for business, Pascal?"
    "That's true. But sometimes it's unavoidable."
    "Where is he?"
    Rameau tilted his head to the right. Durand walked along the Quai de Rive Neuve toward the mouth of the harbor. About halfway down the marina was a motor yacht called Mistral. Seated on the aft deck, feet propped on the gunwale, eyes concealed by dark glasses, was a man with shoulder-length dark hair pulled into a stubby ponytail. His name was Rene Monjean, among the most gifted of Durand's thieves and usually the most dependable.
    "What happened in England, Rene?"
    "There were complications."
    "What kind of complications?"
    Monjean removed the sunglasses and stared at Durand with a pair of bloodred eyes.
    "Where's my painting?"
    "Where's my money?"
    Durand held up the attache case. Monjean put on the glasses and got to his feet.

13
    MARSEILLES
    Y ou really should see a doctor, Rene. Acetone can cause permanent damage to the cornea."
    "And when the doctor asks how the acetone got in my eyes?"
    "Your doctor wouldn't dare ask."
    Monjean opened the door of the small fridge in the galley and took out two bottles of Kronenbourg.
    "It's a bit early for me, Rene."
    Monjean put one bottle back and shrugged-- Northerners . Durand sat down at the small table.
    "Was there really no other way to deal with the situation?"
    "I suppose I could have let him escape so he could telephone the police. But that didn't seem like such a good idea." He paused, then added, "For either one of us."
    "Couldn't you have just disabled him a little?"
    "I'm surprised I actually managed to hit him. I really couldn't see much at all when I pulled the trigger." Monjean pried the top from the bottle of beer. "You've never--"
    "Shot someone?" Durand shook his head. "I've never even carried a gun."
    "The world has changed, Maurice." Monjean looked at the attache case. "You have something in there for me?"
    Durand popped open the locks and removed several bundles of hundred-euro notes.
    "Your turn, Rene."
    Monjean opened an overhead locker and removed a cardboard tube, roughly five inches in diameter and three feet in length. He pried off the aluminum top and shook the tube several times until three inches of canvas was protruding from the end.
    "Be careful, Rene. You'll damage it."
    "I'm