The Final Cut by Catherine Coulter
“We believe she created this identity specifically for this job. In other words, she’s legit up to a point. The best lies are based in truth, and according to everyone who worked with her at the Met, she was an expert on the crown jewels, and had contacts in the archaeology world that couldn’t be faked, which means she might have indeed gained her doctorate from the University of Edinburgh. We will verify once we upload the university’s records.
“However, to our everlasting despair, they’re having a snowstorm over in Scotland, and there’s no one at the school to transmit the records. It will be a day at a minimum before we can access that information.”
Ben said, “Sometimes I hate that we have to play by the rules and can’t hack into the university records.”
Nicholas smiled, threaded his pen through his fingers.
Sherlock said, “When did Browning cross paths with Elaine York?”
Ben said, “Last year. Elaine worked with Victoria long-distance on the exhibit until she moved to New York four months ago.”
“Were they friendly?”
Ben nodded. “They worked closely together and seemed to be friends. I know they occasionally went out after work for drinks and dinner.”
Sherlock said, “Is there anything new on Inspector York’s murder?”
Mike said, “A tenant thought he heard a struggle around lunchtime this past Monday. We have Vladimir Kochen entering the apartment building at eleven forty-five a.m. with Elaine. She comes stumbling out half an hour later, disoriented and bleeding.
We have a security video from a bodega across the street. We’re comparing all the people entering and exiting her building, and running them against her facial-recognition profile. It’s entirely possible Browning was disguised and we missed her.”
“Or it’s someone we haven’t considered yet,” Zachery said.
Nicholas said, “What you told Mike and me last night at the hospital, Paulie, about one of the words you heard Victoria say—ark—it’s bothering me. What if it wasn’t ark she said, but something rhyming, like park, for instance. Meet me at noon at the park, which makes more sense than Meet me at noon at the ark.”
Paulie said, “Could be, Nicholas. I was pretty out of it.”
Mike said, “Dillon, you don’t think it’s possible to reconstruct the audio during Browning’s attack on Paulie and Louisa?”
“I just thought of something else to try. I’m going to see if I can work some magic,” and Savich rose and left the conference room.
Zachery nodded to Gray, and he flipped to a new slide. “These are the canisters and explosive material retrieved from the Met and analyzed last night. The C-4 chemical signature matches a bombing in Tripoli last May. The canisters are standard-grade tear gas, and there was a smaller canister of a chemical we haven’t identified yet; it’s what made everyone feel sick. The attack was definitely meant to disable but not kill.”
Zachery said, “Any trace on how the C-4 got into the country?”
“No, sir. It’s possible it was made here and shipped over there, too.”
Zachery rolled his eyes. “Like we need that hitting the news.” He asked Ben, “Do any of your Russian Mob friends use explosives?”
Ben shook his head. “Not like this. I suggest we farm the test results out to counterterrorism, let them have a go.”
“Done. I don’t want to be in wait-and-see mode, people. What can we do right now to move this case forward?”
Mike said, “Andrei Anatoly, sir. Though he says Kochen wasn’t a part of his team anymore, it was one of his soldiers murdered in Elaine’s apartment. Maybe Anatoly planned to steal the Koh-i-Noor but simply wasn’t the first in line. We need to talk to him again.”
“Ben, you’re on that. Mike, you’re to stay focused on Browning.”
“But Browning and Anatoly could have ties we haven’t found yet,” Mike said. “Ties that could involve Inspector York.”
“Sure they could,” Zachery said, “but let Ben keep on him. You and Drummond figure out what Browning’s real name is and where she was living. She’ll have a trail. Go find it.”
Mike nodded.
“Gray, continue your sweep of private airports. She’s somewhere. Let’s see if she left the U.S. Okay, people, we have a priceless diamond to track down and the media hard on our heels. We need answers, and quickly.”
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.
&nbs
“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
“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.