The Burning Gates Read Online Free

to propose.’ Kasabian took a moment to make himself comfortable, resting his head against the back of the chair.
    ‘Perhaps if you told me what you had in mind.’
    ‘Of course. I apologise if I seem evasive. It’s a strange business. Recently I was approached by a wealthy client from America, through an art dealer in New York.’ Kasabian chuckled. ‘As you can imagine, there are not many occasions when a foreign buyer has reason to call on us. I was surprised and yes, somewhat flattered.’
    ‘How long ago was this?’
    ‘Just over a week.’
    ‘And you’d never had contact with this man before.’
    ‘Never.’
    ‘Did he say how he came across your name?’
    Kasabian looked a little nonplussed. ‘Well, I assume it was through the dealer, Mr Norton Granger. Since he mentioned him by name.’
    ‘You’ve had dealings with this Norton Granger before?’
    ‘No. I know him by reputation only. One of the finest houses in America.’
    ‘And you were flattered that your reputation had arrived in New York.’
    ‘In a way, yes.’ Kasabian smiled and folded his hands together. He looked uncertain whether to continue.
    ‘Please go on.’
    ‘Very well. This is where it becomes interesting. The buyer claimed to be looking for a number of very rare pieces of modernist work that have been missing for almost a century. You understand, Mr Makana, that the art world is full of such mysteries. Paintings appear and disappear with unfailing regularity. So I was not unduly shocked, although the idea that such a masterpiece might have found its way here, that it could be in Cairo, right under my very nose, so to speak, did surprise me.’
    Kasabian spoke with authority. Little happened in the art world here that did not somehow come to his attention. Nothing of great value would be in circulation without him getting a sniff of it. Makana had made his own enquiries prior to coming here this evening, enough to know not only that Kasabian was respected but that he was a shrewd and wily customer. Beneath the smooth, easygoing manner was a hard-nosed businessman and tough negotiator. He also had political protection. Friends in high places, like Qasim no doubt. You had only to glance at the guest list to know that.
    ‘Might I ask the identity of this buyer?’
    ‘For the moment I’m afraid that must remain my little secret. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but his approach to me was conditional on maintaining his anonymity. This is understandable under the circumstances. One expects it.’ Kasabian gave a philosophical shrug. ‘A stranger in our country, and particularly in the business we are in . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished. ‘One has to be cautious.’
    ‘And is he here in this country at present?’
    ‘Yes, he came here to find me, to find this work.’ Kasabian nodded gravely.
    ‘Is that usual, for someone to come all this way for a painting?’
    ‘Yes, but if he is right then we are not talking about one painting but about a collection. A very special collection.’ Kasabian gave Makana a stern look.
    ‘What brought your American client to Cairo?’
    ‘According to him, rumours began to surface in New York a few months ago that someone was trying to sell a painting, The Tower of Blue Horses by Franz Marc, a German Expressionist.’ Kasabian chuckled, which lent him the air of a jovial uncle. ‘Cairo is hardly the place one imagines finding such a priceless work.’
    ‘But nevertheless he flew straight here. It must be a valuable painting.’
    ‘ The Tower of Blue Horses went missing during the Second World War. Nobody has seen it since. Today it would be worth a fortune.’ Kasabian resettled himself at his desk, setting the heavy glass carefully on a place mat.
    ‘Forgive my ignorance, but it strikes me as a little odd that such a painting could wind up here.’
    ‘I understand your scepticism.’ Kasabian allowed himself a smile. ‘The art world is nothing if not full of surprises.’ He