The Nearest Exit by Olen Steinhauer Read Free Book Online Page A

I told her all about your mother, how she died, and why you kept your childhood, and me, a secret.”
    “Did she understand?”
    “Really, Misha. You don’t give people enough credit. Least of all your wife.” He rubbed his son’s back. “She knows you’re not able to get in touch now. But when you’re able, I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to call on her.”
    It was the best news he’d gotten in months. For almost a minute, Adriana Stanescu ceased to exist, and he could breathe. Still hungover, yes, but his feet were stable. He cleared his throat and again wiped his face. “Thanks, Yevgeny.”
    “Don’t mention it. Let’s go fix your little problem.”

5

    They left five minutes apart, taking separate routes to an apartment near Hausvogteiplatz and its flower-petal fountain. The renovated two-bedroom on the third floor was registered to a Lukas Steiner, marked on the mailboxes Milo passed on his way up. When he asked, Primakov was elusive. “Steiner’s a friend, even if he doesn’t know it. Luckily, he’s on holiday in Egypt. And no,” he added when he saw what was in Milo’s hand, “you can’t smoke in here.”
    It took them two hours and a pot of coffee to hammer out a suitable plan. More than once, his father would stop and say, “Look, I know you don’t like it, but killing her might be the only option.”
    “It’s not an option.”
    Primakov seemed to understand, though his understanding failed him now and then, and he restated his opinion with different words. Finally, Milo struck the dining room table in a childish fit of anger. “Enough! Don’t you get it?”
    “But really, Misha—”
    “You think I could ever go home again if I did that?”
    This obviously hadn’t occurred to him, and he let it go.
    The old man occasionally asked casual questions about his life, though since a Tourist’s life is the same as his work, he was in effect requesting intel on his son’s jobs. Milo was too exhausted to bother lying. Besides, the man had saved his life last year, and the sooner hehanded over information the sooner he’d be free of that debt. “A robbery. Should be wrapped up in a few days.”
    “Robbery? What is it, diamonds? Some politician’s boudoir?”
    “Art museum.”
    As he stirred his coffee, Primakov seemed to enjoy the images those two words provoked, and then he didn’t. He soured visibly and placed the spoon on the counter. “Zürich?”
    “Yes.”
    Primakov sipped his coffee. “This is the problem with the world, you know.”
    “Is it?”
    “No one thinks about the bigger picture anymore, just his own gain. Robbing an art museum is like robbing a library; there’s no integrity to it. Great art hangs in museums for the betterment of society, for the man on the street.”
    “For the proletariat?”
    “Wipe that smile off your face. It’s the social contract you’ve broken. Not that you care, and not that they care in the Avenue of the Americas. Whose idea was it?”
    Milo had seldom seen him so angry. “Mine. I needed to collect money. This was the easiest and quickest way I could think of.”
    “Easiest and quickest?” Primakov let out a rare but bitter laugh. “You’ve got a Degas, a Monet, a van Gogh, and a Cézanne—the biggest art heist in Swiss history. How do you expect to sell those off? You think no one’s going to notice?”
    “Let me worry about that.”
    “Oh yes,” said the old man. “I’ll let you worry about it, because to you those paintings are just a pile of money.” He shook his head. “If I’d raised you, you’d know better.”
    “If you’d raised me, Yevgeny, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
    They returned to the plan. Its initial steps had never been in question—Primakov agreed that Milo’s scheme to lure Adriana into the courtyard between her school and her father’s taxi was suitable enough. The question was what would follow, and how quickly Primakov could arrange things on his side.
    Very quickly, it