Padlo fished in his pocket for a pack of Sobieski cigarettes. He pulled one out. Then frowned. “Oh, in America, is okay?”
Middleton laughed. “Outside in a park? That’s still legal.”
Padlo lit up, sheltering the match from the mist. Inhaled deeply. “Where do you think the stolen art is, Harry?”
“Faust and Chambers probably have a half-dozen safe houses throughout the world. We’ll find them.”
“And what do you think you will find there?”
“If the Chopin is any clue, it’ll be breathtaking. I can’t even imagine.”
Middleton glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. Still, this was Northwest D.C., a yuppie oasis in the city that often sleeps. “Will you join me for a drink? I know a bar that’s got some good Polish vodka.”
The inspector smiled, sadly. “I think not. I’m tired. My job is done here. I leave tomorrow. And I must get up early to say farewell to someone. Maybe you know where this is?”
He showed Middleton a piece of paper with the address of a cemetery in Alexandria, Virginia.
“Sure, I can give you directions. But tell you what…How about if we go together? I’ll drive.”
“You would not mind?”
“Jozef, my friend, it would be an honor.”