Forbidden City by James Ponti

Author:James Ponti
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2022-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

23. The Tretyakov

“REMEMBER ME?” PARIS SAID IN a low voice, a mischievous grin on his face.

He was looking at the Pearl of Russia, the Fabergé egg that two months earlier had been nestled in his jacket as he scaled the wall of Sir Reg’s London mansion. Now it was on display at Moscow’s Tretyakov Gallery as part of an exhibit titled Treasures of the Imperial Collection.

He leaned forward to get a closer look and received an instant rebuke from a nearby woman.

“Otstupit,” she said firmly.

Paris turned to Mother and whispered, “Did she just call me stupid?”

“Otstupit,” he said. “It means ‘back away.’ She’s the guard.”

Paris raised an eyebrow because she didn’t look like a guard. She was in her midsixties and barely five feet tall. She had gray hair, sensible shoes, and wore a sweater over a long-sleeved shirt, even though it was the middle of summer.

“Really?” he asked.

“It’s tradition in Russian art museums,” Mother answered. “Rather than imposing guards in uniforms they have…”

“What? Grannies in cardigans?”

“Pretty much,” Mother said with a smirk. “But don’t be fooled. She’s probably ex-KGB. If you get too close to the art, she’ll go from babushka to ninja in no time flat.”

“How do I say ‘sorry’ in Russian?”

“Izvinite,” Mother answered.

Paris gave the woman an apologetic smile and said, “Izvinite.”

The Tretyakov occupied several buildings, including one with a redbrick facade that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. In addition to housing the world’s largest collection of Russian art, it had been the site of the 2012 World Chess Championship between Viswanathan Anand and Boris Gelfand. This intersection of fine art and elite chess had proved irresistible to Reginald Banks. He not only loaned the museum his Fabergé egg, but he also provided the funding for the entire exhibition. In return, the Tretyakov agreed to host the Around the World Chess Invitational.

The tournament was set to begin the following morning, and the competitors were on hand with their families for the opening ceremony, an event more relaxed and social than the grandness of its name implied. Sir Reg was running a little late, so everyone mingled and ate finger foods as they admired the art, and a string quartet played Russian classical music.

Paris noticed Mother scanning the room and asked, “Still no sign of them?”

“No,” he said, a concerned look on his face. Park Jin-sun and Dae-jung hadn’t been at the photo op earlier, and now they were no-shows again. “I’m beginning to worry they didn’t make the trip. Maybe the North Korean government changed their minds.”

Just then, there was a murmur among the crowd as Sir Reg entered the room. He looked sharp in a tailor-made electric-blue suit and was greeted with a spontaneous round of applause. Jin-sun and Dae-jung were with him, and it appeared as though they were in the middle of a conversation as they walked.

“So that’s where they’ve been,” Mother said. “Reg is already making his play.”

They were closely followed by four men in dark suits.

“Those the guards you were talking about?” Paris asked.

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