“The Pope don’t like prying,” his cousin said, getting behind the wheel of the Escalade.
“It’s not just about the Pope anymore.” Dmitry buckled his seatbelt, and then scratched Bunin behind the ears. “If my father learns about the paintings, I’m a dead man. I have to find out if the Pope has Kandinsky’s masterpiece or my lousy copy. Whatever he has, we need to get it back before he sells it, or worse.”
“What do you mean, Cousin?” Vanya asked, lighting a cigarette.
“I mean, if the Pope tries to move those paintings in an art house or on the black market, my father will find out and then he’ll find me.” Dmitry rolled down the window to get some fresh air. “Whatever the Pope does, Kandinsky’s Fragment, real or fake, is going to get attention. You can’t hide an anvil in a sack.” He was tryi
