“I remember that,” Malone said. “That’s when they found the Amber Room.”
Sam nodded. “Along with a ton of other lost treasures when they raided the participants’ homes. Ashby was implicated, but nothing was ever proven. Amando Cabral worked for one of the members. Acquisitors, they called them. The ones who did the actual collecting.” He paused. “Or stealing, depending on how you look at it.”
Malone seemed to comprehend. “So Ashby got himself into trouble in Mexico City with collecting?”
Thorvaldsen nodded. “The case was building, and Elena Ramirez Rico was on the right path. She’d eventually tie Cabral and Ashby together, so Ashby decided she had to be eliminated.”
“There’s more,” Sam said.
Malone faced him.
“Ashby is also involved with another covert group that’s working a more widespread conspiracy.”
“Is that the agent talking, or the webmaster?” Malone asked.
He shook off the skepticism. “It’s real. They intend to wreak havoc with the world’s financial systems.”
“That seems to be happening without their efforts.”
“I realize that you think I’m nuts, but economics can be a powerful weapon. It could be argued that it is the ultimate weapon of mass destruction.”
“How do you know about this secret group?”
“There are some of us who’ve been watching. I have an acquaintance in Paris who found this one. They’re just getting started. They’ve tinkered here and there with currency markets. Small stuff. Things few would even notice, unless paying close attention.”
“Which you and your friends have apparently been doing. You probably told your superiors, and they didn’t believe you. I assume the problem is a lack of proof.”
He nodded. “They’re out there. I know it, and Ashby is a part of them.”
“Cotton,” Thorvaldsen said, “I met Sam about a year ago. I came across his website and his unconventional theories, especially his opinions relative to Ashby. There’s a lot he says that makes sense.” The older man smiled at Sam. “He’s bright and ambitious. Perhaps you might recognize those qualities?”
Malone grinned. “Okay. I was young once, too. But apparently Ashby knows you’re after him. And he knows about Sam.”
Thorvaldsen shook his head. “I don’t know about that. The men tonight came from Cabral. I specifically provoked him. I wasn’t sure if Sam would be a target. I was hoping Cabral’s anger would focus on me, but I told Sam to find you if he needed help.”
Jesper dragged one of the bagged bodies from the room.
“They came by boat,” Thorvaldsen said. “It’ll be found tomorrow adrift in the ?resund, a long way from here.”
“And what are you going to do now?” Malone asked.
Thorvaldsen sucked a succession of quick breaths. Sam wondered if his friend was okay.
“Ashby likes to acquire art and treasure that is either unknown, unclaimed, or stolen,” Thorvaldsen finally said. “No lawyers, legal battles, or press to worry about. I’ve studied the Retrievers of Lost Antiquities. They were around for a long time. Pretty clever, actually. To steal what’s already stolen. Ashby’s Acquisitor was a man named Guildhall, who still works for him. Cabral was hired by Ashby, after the Retrievers were exposed, for some specialized tasks. Cabral went after some of the items that weren’t recovered when the Retrievers were caught, things Ashby knew existed. The list of what was recovered when the Retrievers were finally discovered is staggering. But Ashby may have moved on to other things, trading treasure hunting for something on a grander scale.” Thorvaldsen faced Sam. “Your information makes sense. All of your analysis on Ashby, so far, has proven accurate.”
“But you don’t see any new financial conspiracy,” Malone said.
The Dane shrugged. “Ashby has lots of friends, but that’s to be expected. After all, he heads one of England’s largest banks. To be honest, I’ve confined my investigation only to his association with Cabral—”
“Why not just kill him and be done with it? Why all these games?” Malone asked.
The answer to both questions struck Sam immediately. “Because you do believe me. You think there is a conspiracy.”
Thorvaldsen’s countenance beamed with a mild delight, the first sign of joviality Sam had seen on his friend’s face in a while.
“I never said I didn’t.”
“What do you know, Henrik?” Malone asked. “You never move in the dark. Tell me what you’re holding back.”
“Sam, when Jesper returns, could you help him with that final bag. It’s a long way to the boat. Though he’d never say it, my old friend is getting up in age. Not as spry as he once was.”
Sam didn’t like being dismissed, but saw that Thorvaldsen wanted to talk to Malone alone. He realized his place—he was an outsider, not in any position to argue. Not a whole lot different from when he was a kid, or from the Secret Service, where he was the low man on the pole as well. He’d done what Thorvaldsen wanted and made contact with Malone. But he’d also helped thwart attackers in Malone’s bookshop. He’d proven he was capable. He thought about protesting, but decided to keep quiet. Over the past year he’d said plenty to his supervisors in Washington, surely enough to get him fired. He desperately wanted to be a part of whatever Thorvaldsen was planning.
Enough to swallow his pride and do as he was told.
So when Jesper returned, he bent down and said, “Let me help you.”
As he grabbed feet sheathed in thick plastic, carrying a corpse for the first time in his life, Malone looked at him. “This financial group you keep talking about. You know a lot about them?”
“My friend in France knows more.”
“You at least know its name?”
He nodded. “The Paris Club.”
Malone 5 - The Paris Vendetta
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