14 |

Outside Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

 

Sheikh Khalid bin Al Jabar lounged in a ridiculously comfortable chair, the overstuffed cushions enveloping him, something normally not enjoyed in the desert climate, though this room was climate controlled, both temperature and humidity strictly monitored lest the priceless artwork contained within be damaged in any way.

He might be a collector of stolen art, but he was also an aficionado.

He could never let anything happen to his prized possessions.

Part of an underground community of ultra-rich individuals with questionable scruples, he purchased pieces on a regular basis, and rid himself of items he had become bored with.

Like the Delamain Grande Champagne Extra Cognac he had been enjoying at $600 a bottle, and was now tired of.

Too much of a good thing…

He stared at Caravaggio’s “Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence,” stolen in 1969 from Palermo. He was bored of it, too.

Sometimes having billions at one’s disposal was tiresome. Once one had everything, there was little chance of experiencing the excitement of something new.

And that was where his art collection came into the picture. Something new was always on the market, something exciting, unseen for perhaps decades, even centuries, something he alone would get to enjoy until once again bored.

He’d have his people begin making inquiries immediately.

There was a knock at the door, two quick raps followed by a third, a combination uniquely favored by his trusted man.

“Enter.”

Nadeem entered, a phone in his hand. “Sir, I have Mr. Tankov on the line for you.”

Khalid smiled, the timing fortuitous, and he glanced up at the heavens, giving silent thanks for the answer to his prayer. He took the phone and dismissed Nadeem with the flick of his wrist. “Mr. Tankov, your timing couldn’t be better. I’m in a buying mood today.”

He could almost hear the smile over the phone. “I’m happy to hear that, sir. I’m on my way to pick up something I know you’ll be interested in, but it’s expensive.”

Khalid liked what he was hearing. Expensive to him meant out of this world to the proletariat. That meant it had to be exceptional. “How expensive?”

“One hundred million Euros. Firm.”

The smile spreading across Khalid’s face, such a rare occurrence these days, threatened to become painful. “Then it must be an exciting acquisition.”

“It is. Something thought lost for over seventy years.”

Khalid’s heart slammed as he leaned forward. “Yes?”

“The missing Amber Room.”

Khalid felt faint, the room spinning as he fell back in his chair, almost losing grip of the phone. The Amber Room would be the ultimate possession, something that would make him the envy of everyone, something it would take a long time for him to tire of.

And something he absolutely must possess.

“Are there any other bidders?”

“I came to you first, since you’re my best client.”

“I bet you say that to all your best clients.”

Tankov chuckled. “I do, but I called you first. Do we have a deal?”

“Absolutely. Contact me when you have it, and I’ll wire fifty million to your account, the other fifty when it’s in my possession.”

“Always a pleasure, sir.”

Khalid ended the call, leaning back in his chair, his smile still broad. He raised his cognac to the room and took a drink, now tasting so much more interesting than only moments before.

Life is good.