“Me?” Beckwith’s cheeks had pinkened. “What do I have to do with any of this?”

“Obviously something because you’re here,” Rina said.

Smiling, Decker wagged a finger at her. “I have no idea what’s in the codebook other than meaningless foreign words that transliterated into cliché Latin phrases. But . . . I suspect it was all about art negotiations between the U.S. and Russia. For the last six years, Mr. Beckwith has been trying to curate the foremost traveling exhibit of art by Leonardo Da Vinci. Because Da Vincis are so few and far between and so rare and priceless, they never travel. What’s the payoff for you, Mr. Beckwith, if you succeed in this coup? You not only get a pat on the back, you probably get a percentage of the exhibit ticket price, which, if you could pull it off, could amount to a fortune. But there was a chink along the way. No one is lending the United States valuable art, especially Russia, because the Russian government is involved in a messy lawsuit with Chabad where the U.S. judge has already sided with the Jewish organization. So you, Mr. Beckwith, were stuck, unless you had something remarkable to give Russia in return for the loan of a Da Vinci. How am I doing so far, Mr. Beckwith?”

Silence. Then Beckwith said, “For the record, we refer to the paintings as Leonardos.”

“I stand corrected.”

Kosovsky said, “And what does that haff to do with me, I wonder?”

“You, Mr. Kosovsky, were negotiating with the Hermitage to get one of their two Da Vin—excuse me—Leonardos. What are the titles, Tyler?”

McAdams had them in his notes. “Madonna Litta and Madonna Benois.”

“Thank you,” Decker said. “But you knew, Mr. Kosovsky, that the Hermitage would never, ever release such masterpieces unless the government got a truly one-of-a-kind in return.”

“Which would be?”

“I’ll get to that,” Decker said. “The point is you had negotiating powers, but Latham was getting in the way. So someone told Viktor Gerrard to solve the problem. I can’t swear to it but I suspect that someone in this room knew that Latham and Gerrard were in cahoots. What I suspect is that Gerrard was scared enough of you, Mr. Kosovsky, to solve any problem you might have. Angeline was a by-product because she had gotten too close to John Latham and no one knew exactly how much Latham told her.”

“Your theories are very interesting, I must admit,” Kosovsky said. “But alas . . .” He threw up his hands. “They are just theories.”

“You’re right,” Decker said. “But given enough time, I know I could substantiate them. Not that it would matter to you, Mr. Kosovsky, but it might matter to those of us here who reside in America.”