Page 64 of The Picasso Heist
I take out my cell and show him a few pictures of the guys who are following him. They traded in the white van for a black Escalade.
“He sort of looks like that comedian,” says Bergamo, pointing at one of them. “The one who had the TV show.”
“Ray Romano,” I say. “Yeah, I thought the same thing. Only this guy’s been to the gym a little more.”
“I’ll ask it again,” he says. “Do you think they’re with Nikolov?”
“It’s possible. But like I said, if Anton Nikolov truly suspected something, I think we’d know by now.”
“You mean we’d be dead.”
“Yeah. But maybe he’s a little paranoid, so he’s being overcareful, making sure of things,” I say. “I know I’m paranoid, right?”
“And you were smart to be,” he says.
“Good. I’m glad you think that.” I wait a beat, taking another sip. “So you won’t have a problem with what I’m about to suggest.”
Bergamo already knows where I’m heading with this. It’s as if he was just waiting for me to pivot.
“No chance,” he says. “We’re not calling this off. No way!”
“We don’t have to call it off. We simply need to cool it for a bit.”
“A distinction without a difference. Those vases—myvases—are on the water heading here as we speak. If we’re not there to get them when they land, I’ll never get them. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I hesitate. My silence speaks volumes. I can see it on his face, the satisfaction of being right. “You’re not wrong,” I say.
“We need to alter the plan, not throw it out.”
“In other words, we need to make sure you’re not being followed when it matters most.”
“Exactly,” says Bergamo. “Any ideas?”
This is me pretending to think about it for a moment. When you hang around a guy like Bergamo long enough, you learn exactly what makes him tick. Greed. There was no way he was ever going to agree tocool it for a bit.The phrase isn’t in his vocabulary.
“Well, there is one thing we could try,” I say.
CHAPTER56
A WEEK OFplanning for a three-minute window.
That’s how I explain it to Bergamo. I tell him I need to run the plan by Shen Wan first.
“Why?” asks Bergamo.
“Because it’s Shen’s window.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll see,” I say. “Or maybe you won’t. It will all depend on getting Shen’s blessing.”
I call Bergamo the following day. We got it, I tell him. Shen’s on board.
A week of planning for a three-minute window.
One week later, at two thirty in the morning, I pick up Bergamo at a twenty-four-hour gas station a few blocks away from the Brooklyn Bridge entrance on Chambers Street. I’m driving a rental car with switched plates.
To make sure he wasn’t followed, Bergamo took a taxi to a nearbyGreek diner, immediately exited through the kitchen, and got picked up by his driver, Nico, who then serpentined around the city for half an hour, running a couple of red lights along the way, before dropping him off at the gas station to meet me.
