Текст книги "The Final Cut"

Автор книги: Catherine Coulter

Соавторы: J. T. Ellison
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

48

Mike took Nicholas to her office, a small blue-paneled cubicle down the hall and around the corner from the SAC’s conference room.

He thought of his own office back at New Scotland Yard, the spacious room, the large window. Mike could reach her arms out and touch either side of hers.

“Cozy.”

She nodded. “Yeah, yeah. It’s humble, but it’s mine. Have a seat. I’ll get logged in and create a secure thumb drive for you so you can access our classified network. You’ll find everything you’ll need there. Our computer systems are divided: green is for general stuff and is unsecured. We can access the Internet, email, Facebook even. Red is classified and secured. Its only access is internal, to our secure FBI Scion network. We won’t want anyone watching what you’re doing, so I’m going to set you up on the red side. No monkeying around, okay?”

He was amused. “Me? Never.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t kid a kidder,” she said, and handed him the thumb drive to work from.

Nicholas was impressed. He had enough computer power before him to find out everything about Victoria Browning, particularly if she did indeed have records from the University of Edinburgh.

He’d logged in to the system when Mike’s phone rang. She glanced at it. “It’s Zachery’s office.” She picked up the phone.

It was Zachery himself, not his secretary. “Whatever magic Savich used, it worked. I’ve got the audio from the actual theft and Browning’s attack on Paulie and Louisa. Get in here, you need to hear this.”

“On our way.” She hung up and stood. “Savich came through. Let’s go.” They hurried down the hallway and were in Zachery’s office a minute later.

Zachery welcomed them with a big smile. “Not only did Savich get the audio in the exhibit room cleaned up enough so you can tell Browning said ark all right, but in French, as in L’Arc de Triomphe—meeting is in Paris tomorrow at noon. Gray also just found out the Teterboro feed was down for about ten minutes. Their air traffic control tower confirmed a private jet left during that time. Browning paid two guards to shut the cameras down while she entered the grounds and boarded the plane. We’ve arrested the two men, and one decided to talk. He said her plane filed a flight plan to Vancouver—a lie, of course. A Gulfstream could easily make it to Paris with the same amount of fuel.

“Your plane is wheels up in an hour. I’ll square it with the French authorities, and you’ll be met at the airport. Get her, guys, and bring the diamond back.”

Mike was so jazzed she nearly hugged Nicholas, who was grinning and rubbing his hands together. Once back at Mike’s desk, Nicholas said, “Good thing I never checked into the Yale Club; I already have my bag. Do we need to swing by your place?”

She gave him a long-suffering look. “Nope, I have everything right here.” She opened a lower drawer and pulled out a nylon bag. She added her laptop and a Glock .40.

“Let’s move.” She hoisted the bag. He didn’t dare offer to carry her bag, but instead gestured for her to lead the way. She wasn’t dragging any longer, she was energized, shoulders back, moving out in her long-legged stride, those biker boots of hers covering a lot of ground fast. She looked strong and fit, and she smelled good, too—jasmine, maybe, close to the scent his mother wore. He’d been too knackered yesterday to fully appreciate the complete FBI package.

The elevator shot them down to the garage, where Mike’s replacement black Crown Vic was waiting. They tossed their bags in the back and jumped in.

The snow was melted, but the sky was gray and dreary. Mike made a series of turns and took the Lincoln Tunnel to Jersey.

“Where are we flying from?” Nicholas asked, strapping himself in.

“Teterboro as well. I’d like to knock some heads together before we take off.”

After navigating tight traffic for a couple of blocks, Mike looked over at Nicholas. “You’re quiet.”

“Running it all through my head. From my brief research on the Fox, she works alone. She’s known for getting herself in place months in advance for big jobs. In this case, the planning had to take a year at least. Amazing that she could hold to her role for so very long.

“She doesn’t make mistakes, and so far from what I’ve read, she doesn’t kill people. If she had something to do with Elaine’s death, I don’t think it was part of any plan. But who knows? I’ve been wrong before.”

Mike was through the tunnel now. “You’re stewing. What else?”

“We could be flying right into a trap. The Arc de Triomphe in Paris at noon. It seems too easy.”

She gave him a cocky grin. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to parade in there all alone. You heard Zachery. He’s getting us backup as we speak. I’m not worried about Victoria.” She waggled her eyebrows. “What I worry about is the terrifying curse.”

“Yeah, laugh all you want, but you’d be smart not to diss it.”

Mike said, “Come on, Nicholas, isn’t archaeology full of curses and warnings to deter tomb raiders and the lot?”

Nicholas ran his hands through his hair and rotated his shoulder. He wished he had more of her muscle-relaxant cream. At least her big sectional sofa had been comfortable. He said, “True, but if you look at the history of the Koh-i-Noor through the ages, you’d be hard-pressed to discount the warning entirely. We Brits aren’t a superstitious lot, but no one wants to test it out, for all that. The history of this stone is a bloody one. How much do you know about Colonial Imperialism?”

“I know the British loved their colonies, and some of us weren’t so keen on that idea, which caused a big tea shortage for a while.” She flashed him a smile that he couldn’t help returning. The biker librarian was pretty when she lighted up. She was smart, too, and quick, as witnessed by her skills in the garage last night.

He continued. “All the tribes and countries who possessed the diamond have fallen, and that’s why we Brits heed the warnings. We have no intention of following suit.”

Mike gave him a curious look. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“My great-grandfather, the sixth Baron de Vesci, was one of the last viceroys to India. The Koh-i-Noor was a favorite topic of his.”

She gave him a brooding look. “Am I supposed to be calling you Sir Nicholas?”

He laughed. “I have no honorary, Mike. My grandfather is the baron, and my father his heir. I’m simply DCI Nicholas Drummond. I have no real part in the family business.”

“But your father works for the Home Office, right? He wasn’t part of the family business, either. What is the family business?”

“Have you ever heard of Delphi Cosmetics?”

She glanced over at him. “You’re kidding.”

“My grandfather is eighty-six, and he still deals with the managing director every single day. He’s even let my mother in the door, despite her being a provincial American.”

“They make great lip gloss.”

He laughed.

“So no cosmetics for you. Did your granddad and your father approve of your becoming a spy?”

He smiled. “I guess Granddad thought it sounded swashbuckling, but my father knew the truth—Foreign Office operatives work in a dirty, nasty business, little trust from anyone, covert jobs that don’t always go as planned, that many times end in tragedy and—” He stopped talking. After a moment, he added, “Now I do what you do, which is far more rewarding.”

He could see she had more questions, but he didn’t want to answer. He was tired, had already talked too much.

49

Over the Atlantic Ocean

Friday morning

Once the FBI Gulfstream was hurtling east at four hundred fifty knots, Mike tucked herself into the big leather seat with a couple of pillows and blankets and fell asleep immediately. First some work, Nicholas thought, then he’d join her.

He hacked into the University of Edinburgh system and immediately found Browning’s records and another photo. Her limpid brown eyes smiled at him from underneath a brown fringe, all innocence and excitement. It was the face of a student ready to break the shackles of small-town Scotland and experience life in the big city. It was not the face of an international jewel thief. Again, he was struck at how very talented she was at presenting herself as someone she wasn’t, someone who didn’t exist.

He started digging. Ten minutes later, when he was at the point of admitting defeat, he saw a red flag. The electronic file had been created two years prior. While it was possible the university was simply bringing old records into the electronic age, Nicholas knew that wasn’t the situation here; he’d worked another case with a terror suspect who’d attended the University of Edinburgh, and all their alumni files had been online for at least four years.

Break one for the good guys.

He thought back to the conversation with Browning in the elevator of the Met, about art crimes. She’d claimed to work with the Museum Security Network and the Association for Research into Crimes Against Art.

It turned out that the Museum Security Network had an excellent firewall, but it wasn’t enough. A few clicks and he was into their records. Sure enough, Dr. Victoria Browning was on the rolls. He dug deeper, looking for the initial date of the file. There. Also two years prior.

The ARCA website also listed her as a member in good standing. As of two years ago.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat, thinking. Knowing what he’d continue to find. While she had an excellent identity on the surface—passport, license, all the identification would match—this particular Victoria Browning hadn’t existed before two years ago. And he was probably one of a small number of people who could discover this information. He was willing to concede that Savich was another. With the skills Browning had displayed, he was beginning to think she was on par with them. Possible, but she was turning into Wonder Woman. It was more likely she had someone else, someone close to her, a master hacker. Something else to explore, but not now.

He looked at the timeline he’d drawn up. The plan to steal the diamond had been in play for at least twenty-four months, if not longer. But according to Elaine, the Jewel of the Lion exhibit was only a year in the making.

He called a friend, Miles Herrington, who worked in the office of the queen’s private secretary at Buckingham Palace. Miles also had the dubious honor of being Hamish Penderley’s stepson. Nicholas trusted him to be discreet, both on the request, and also about not telling his father Nicholas had been in touch.

Miles answered immediately. “Drummond, you dog. Tell me you’ve found the Koh-i-Noor.”

“Not yet, Miles. I’m working on it.”

“Tell me you’re going to get it back before the government falls or declares war on America. Better yet, I should find the Lord Chamberlain and put you on with him. He’s already been crowing about his plans to boil you in oil when he gets his hands on you.”

“Good to speak to you as well, Miles.”

“You’re embroiled in the scandal of the century, mate, and from what I’ve heard, it was of your own doing. Don’t expect rose blossoms when you get back.”

“I’m aware,” Nicholas said. So Penderley was talking about his insubordination. Not good.

“Miles, I’m flying to Paris right now to stake out a meeting the thief arranged. Have you ever heard of the Fox?”

“You mean, Teddy the Fast Fox, the kids’ cartoon character on the telly?”

“Wrong fox, but never mind. When did you strike the deal with the Yanks to send the jewels to New York?”

“Let me think, we were deep into the plans for the queen’s jubilee, and the Met approached us for a single event in the U.S. I believe it was more than two years ago. I’d have to check the exact date.”

“Please do. I need to know everyone who was in on those discussions, and who would have firsthand knowledge the Koh-i-Noor was under consideration to go to America.”

“Whatever for?”

“There was a leak, someone who knew the negotiations were under way and talked about it.”

Miles sounded horrified. “You don’t believe someone on my staff is responsible?”

“It must be someone in those initial talks, yes. Whether it was purposeful or not remains to be seen. In any case, word got round to one of the most successful jewel thieves in the world that we were sending the crown jewels to the States. You can do the math from there.”

“Bugger me. All right, I’ll start putting together a list.”

“Thank you. And Miles? Hurry.”

They hung up. Things should come together quickly now. He hoped. He looked over at Mike, dead to the world. Within two minutes he was asleep himself.

• • •

Mike woke with a start. She’d been dreaming, chasing Timmy, ready to smack him because he’d stolen her tennis racquet and she couldn’t catch him. She hoped it wasn’t a portent. She sat up and stretched. Nicholas heard her stir, opened his eyes and gave her a big smile. “Have I some interesting news for you.”

“Oh, yeah? You had a vision?”

“Not quite,” and he told her about Victoria Browning being two years old. He didn’t mention hacking into the records of the University of Edinburgh, but of course she knew. He recognized it in her eyes the moment she decided to give him a pass. She got up, got them some bottled water and some sandwiches.

The ham sandwich tasted good—that or he was starving. Same with Mike, since she was on her second sandwich, this one egg salad. He said, “Like I said, Browning’s identity was created two years ago, at the very beginning of discussions to bring the Koh-i-Noor to America, long before Elaine was chosen to mind the exhibit. Whoever orchestrated this has a contact high up in Her Majesty’s service.”

“It’s hard to keep secrets, Nicholas. Especially of this magnitude.”

“True. The Fox must have been engaged to steal the diamond when it looked like we would cut a deal with the Met. She created the Browning identity, came to America, and was hired on at the Met. It’s her specialty, assimilating into the fabric of the piece she’s tasked with stealing. She’s done it before.”

“So who is she? Wonder Woman?”

He had to grin. “Funny, that’s what I was thinking as well. I keep circling around both who she is and who hired her. Paris, London, New York. A plot at least two years in the making. Too many threads, too much time has passed. We must figure this out,” and he stood and walked the short length of the plane, stretching his legs, his back, rotating his shoulder. Better, definitely better.

He pulled another bottle of water from the small fridge in the galley. “I’ve been thinking. Elaine’s laptop must have had details of the museum’s security protocols. The blueprint for the theft, so to speak.”

“So? Browning worked at the museum. She already had access. So why would she need Elaine’s computer?”

“She wouldn’t.”

“Yet it was stolen from Elaine’s apartment. Someone thought it was important. But who?”

Nicholas said, “I’m thinking Andrei Anatoly. He wanted the diamond, Elaine wouldn’t help, so he killed her.”

“But Elaine was concerned for her safety. She hired a bodyguard. I suppose it’s possible she didn’t know he was part of Anatoly’s mob, but Elaine wasn’t a stupid or careless woman. I think she knew exactly who she was getting when she hired Kochen. Don’t forget, Nicholas, she didn’t say anything to your uncle Bo about any threat or danger.”

Talk about a tautological argument. Mike said, “Which brings us back to the fact that Elaine was involved in the theft.”

He drank the rest of the water and sat back down. “It’s time for a little help.”

He got out his mobile and rang the only other person who might be able to assist them.

“Savich? It’s Drummond. I was hoping you could set MAX on a task for me.”

50

Over the Atlantic Ocean

Friday, noon

Savich said, “I heard you’re on your way to Paris. Let me tell you what I’m doing before you tell me what you need.

“I’ve discovered from Interpol files that the Fox has struck at least ten times over the past ten years, and those are only the jobs they can document. They’re sure she goes back further. We need to find out who she really is, and who’s been paying her. If I can find the money trail using the stolen items as a baseline—” Savich paused. Nicholas heard him typing in the background.

Nice to be on the same wavelength with someone, Nicholas thought. This was exactly what he’d wanted Savich to do. The typing stopped.

Nicholas said, “There must be some data on who she worked for in the past, simply through the news accounts of the thefts, especially if any items have been recovered. She hasn’t exactly been subtle.”

Savich said, “I’ll correlate the dates of the known thefts and where they happened, and then we should be able to get a partial geographical profile. If we can track her current movements off the profile, we can also follow money transfers from financial institutions in those areas and match them up. If we’re successful, we can extrapolate her recent money transfers and track her current employer.”

“That’s exactly what we need.”

Savich said, “Email me everything you find, as you find it, and I’ll add it to the profile. The relationships we uncover should be enough to send you in the right direction.”

“One more thing. Since you’re already into the Interpol files, cross-reference the list with people of Indian, Pakistani, or Iranian descent. Maybe this theft has a bigger canvas. Whoever hired the Fox has major quid, not to mention patience. There’s something there, I can feel it.”

“Always trust a hunch,” Savich said. “I’ll be back as soon as MAX spits out some results.”

“Thanks, Savich. Give my best to Sherlock.”

He hung up and sent the email, then turned to Mike, who was also on her mobile. She held up a finger and kept talking and nodding as she took notes.

A moment later, she hung up. “The fingerprints done during Browning’s background check for employment at the Met were faked. They match the prints for the Browning identity.”

Nicholas said, “And they discovered the fingerprints were entered in your AFIS database two years ago, right? Why are you grinning?”

“No one can spend day in and day out working in an office without leaving something of themselves behind. Louisa said Browning had wiped her office thoroughly, but she noticed some tooth marks on the pencils. She tested them, and shazzaam—DNA. Browning chewed on her pencils, and forgot to throw them away. They’re putting it into the system now.”

“Well done, Louisa. But if there’s no DNA on file, there won’t be anything to match it to. Unless we catch her.”

“Until we catch her,” Mike said, “and you’re right, but don’t forget what we can get from DNA. We can determine eye color and racial makeup, and at the very least we’ll be able to reverse the mitochondria and search for family members as well. Louisa tells me she’ll have the results within twenty-four hours.”

“Excellent. Anything else?”

He watched her unbraid her hair, smooth it free with her fingers, and begin to rebraid it, her movements sure and fast, weaving in three separate hanks of hair. “Gray said the additional bodega video feed showed a strange man entering Elaine’s building the morning of her murder. They canvassed the entire apartment building, spoke to everyone who lives there, and no one can identify him.”

“A him. Not Victoria Browning disguised?”

She shook her head. “It couldn’t be Victoria, he was too tall. And too thin. So we could have our killer on video. Remember, Gray has an ex-girlfriend at the NSA? She came through with the trace on the cell phone. Browning threw it in the Hudson River on her way to the airport, but it turns out they found another call, made from a cell phone with a sequential serial number from the one who called your phone during the attack at the Met. Gray figures they were disposable cell phones bought at the same time, a two-for-one package. The call from the second phone was scrambled, but it originated over the Atlantic, heading east.”

“Browning?”

“The timing’s right. They ran the number she called, but there was no answer. She called it twice in one hour.”

He sat back in his chair, rubbing his fingers along his chin, staring straight ahead, toward the cockpit. He was rotating his shoulder, trying to regain full motion. He needed to shave, not that it mattered, Mike thought, it enhanced the Don’t mess with me or I’ll twist off your head look down pat.

Nicholas jumped up from his seat. “Of course. The two calls she made, all that expert computer work—she does have a partner.”

She hated to rain on his parade, but they had to consider everything. “She could have been calling the buyer to let him know the diamond was on its way.”

“Why wouldn’t the buyer answer? Especially if he’d been waiting two years for this call.”

“Why wouldn’t a partner answer?”

He threw himself down in the seat again. “I don’t know. But a job of this magnitude, I know she has someone to work the back end. It’s very rare to have a thief, or an assassin, do a job without someone to facilitate—vet the jobs, handle the money, those types of things. It makes sense she would have someone behind the scenes, and of course she would guard their identity with her life.”

“But you said nothing in her background speaks of a partner. The Fox is known for going it alone.”

“Yeah, but I was wrong.”

Mike said, “Then we need to find out who the partner is and where he or she is. We can’t afford to be surprised again.”

He reached across the aisle and slapped her on the knee. “You know, I may have to steal Agent Wharton from you. He seems to earn his keep.”

“I won’t give him up without a fight. He’s one of the best in the FBI.”

Her cell phone rang again.

“It’s Zachery.” She put the call on the speaker. He sounded excited.

“Mike, divert the plane. The Fox didn’t go to Paris. Agent Wharton and the NSA got lucky. Using satellite footage of European airports within the plane’s fuel range, they’ve tracked the false tail number to a private airstrip in Megève, France. The French authorities have her pilot in custody. She’s headed for Geneva, Switzerland.”