Authors: Pamela Hegarty
“
You must believe,” Jared croaked, his voice weak. “Or you will never beat him. We have the advantage. Contreras thinks he has the real gems, but he does not. I made two sets of synthetic reproductions. I mounted the reproduction diamond and sapphire into the crown jewels. I gave the second set of synthetics to Contreras.” His hand reached upwards. “Contreras has the fakes,” he said. “We still have the real stones. Agent Fox, Braydon, it’s up to you to make sure that order is restored.”
“
Edward’s sapphire, on display right now in the Tower of London, is a fake,” Braydon said, making sure he understood Jared’s meaning, doubt heavy in his intonation.
“
A perfect reproduction,” said Jared, a perverse pride cutting through the pain in his voice, “as well as the Kohinoor.”
Braydon turned back to the scatter of ice. He saw it, tossed in amongst the jumble of cubes, a round, multi-faceted diamond more brilliant and purer than arctic ice. He had seen it before, in person and in photos, the most famous diamond on the Queen’s crown. “What could Contreras have possibly offered you that would convince you to steal the Kohinoor and Edward’s Sapphire?”
“
He plans to poison the water and take over the G-20. I believed he could do it,” he said. “I still do.” Jared’s eyes closed.
Braydon shook his shoulder until Jared gasped in a breath. “When, Jared. How is he going to poison the water?” Even though his specialty was jewel theft gangs, he knew very well that the FBI was on the alert for just such an attack. Easy to do. Hard to defend. Could kill millions.
“
It’s too late for that,” he said. “You must find the antidote. You will need the seven stones to restore the Breastplate. Only that will reveal the place where the antidote grows.”
Braydon didn’t know what to believe. He had to get the information now, sort it out later. The only thing that would give him the upper hand would be to hold the cards that Contreras wanted. By the pallid pate of death crawling across Jared’s cheeks, he had little time. “The Kohinoor and Edward’s Sapphire are two of the seven stones Contreras wants?” Jared nodded feebly. “Where do I find the others?”
A tear trickled down his cheek. “I was their guardian and I traded it for the words of a false prophet. He was going to restore the Breastplate, to communicate with God. All I wanted was to talk to my Alba, just one last time. She, too, was a guardian. She earned her place in heaven.”
A hard knock sounded on the door. A man’s voice yelled, “FBI.” Braydon had phoned for paramedics. He hadn’t called for agency backup.
Jared shot out his hand and grasped Braydon’s wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong, like a man who feared being dragged off to hell. “Gather the diamond and sapphire, quickly. As I told you, Contreras has people at the highest levels. You must not let Contreras have the stones.”
A heavy boot kicked at the door. “Open up,” the man’s voice called. Braydon was sure of it this time, the husky, cigar tainted voice, the Slovak Brooklyn accent . It was Rambitskov, AKA Rambo, the man Jared had warned him about, the man in charge of G-20 security. He hated the guy.
Jared passed out. Braydon had to act, not analyze. He swept up the diamond and sapphire. He grabbed a linen napkin, wrapped the gems inside it. He let it drop into his jacket pocket. He stepped over Jared and opened the door.
Rambitskov stepped forward, Glock in hand. He took in the scene with one glance and a scowl. “Damn it, Fox,” he said. He did not holster his weapon. “That’s the Lux et Veritas sword.”
“
And that’s the man who made it,” he said. Compassion was as foreign to Rambitskov as air to a fish. “I’ve called the paramedics, in case you’re interested.” His first thought was that Contreras had caught on to Jared’s bait and switch and sent Rambitskov back here for the real gems, but he had come too fast. Rambitskov’s arrival on the scene must have been part of Contreras’s original plan. Braydon was the wild card here. He could see Rambitskov thinking fast.
“
All you had to do was babysit this guy, get this sword to the dinner tonight,” Rambitskov said. “I’m up to my eyeballs in protesters downtown.”
“
Anonymous tip that you got a cleanup in Room 1066 pull you away?”
“
I don’t got to answer to you,” he growled. “You know what the press is going to do with this? You let some mealy-mouthed peace protester waltz in here and stab Britain’s crown jeweler with his own sword for Chrissakes.”
“
No evidence points to a protester as the perp,” Braydon pointed out, despite the fact Rambitskov was still holding the gun. No doubt the man had that evidence neatly tucked away, waiting to be planted, a letter, maybe, clumsily crafted from a collage of newsprint, a good visual for page one.
“
Those diplomats. All they need is a reason like this to slap each other around,” Rambitskov pressed. “And stick it to the U.S. of A.” He was scrutinizing Braydon, assessing whether he should kill him, or win him over. “I am a patriot,” he said. “Are you?”
“
I’m for life, liberty and the pursuit of justice,” he answered. The ding of the elevator sounded from down the hall. The paramedic’s radio chatter and clunk of equipment preceded them to the room’s open door. Fox’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the screen. It was a text from Torrino.
Christa Devlin in extreme danger. She got emerald. Prophet wants it. Marrakesh Restaurant, 47 and Tenth. Going down now.
He jammed the phone into his pocket. “Duty calls,” he said, taking a step back.
“
You can’t walk away from this,” Rambitskov said. “This is a crime scene. You’re a key witness. You leave here, that makes you a suspect.”
Two paramedics arrived at the door. They hesitated, stunned by the scene and the palpable tension between Braydon and Rambitskov. Braydon turned to the medics. “The victim is Jared Sadler. He is the guardian of Britain’s Crown Jewels,” he said. “Save him.” He turned and walked down the hall.
Rambitskov shoved his way past the paramedics. If they hadn’t been there, Braydon had no doubt that he would have been shot in the back. “You leave here and your career is over,” Rambitskov shouted. “You hear me, Fox? You’re dead!”
CHAPTER
42
Christa’s hand reached for Ahmed’s, not Daniel’s, and clasped it. The carved wooden door of the Marrakesh Restaurant closed with a thud. Dread fell upon the room like the gloom of night. The four men approached from the shadows. Although he was the shortest, Baltasar Contreras was clearly the alpha male of the pack. God help her, how was she going to get out of this one and save Lucia?
Like in the desert with his pseudo-safari get-up, or at the playground in his suburban luxe cashmere overcoat, Contreras was dressed for the occasion, in a custom cashmere suit seamed with a superior attitude. His gray gloves gave off the air of affectation paired with his Truman Capote ascot. His stature and bearing made him a Caesar among the Brutuses of the two thugs from the playground who flanked him. The fourth guy had the crescent scar on his cheek. He was the one who had that neck hold on Joseph in the Arizona desert and attacked Percival’s home this morning, the one who shot her. He had a bandage on his left hand, bracing his pinky. It did not put him at a disadvantage.
The two thugs bulldozed a path towards the swinging kitchen doors, knocking aside wooden chairs and upending two round brass tray table tops, which clashed to the floor. Ahmed stood abruptly. He rushed towards the thugs with fists clenched, screaming an Arabic oath. One snapped a pistol from his shoulder holster. He aimed it at Ahmed’s forehead. She reached for him, terrified into silence. Ahmed stopped short. The second thug kicked open the kitchen door with excessive force. A startled shout, in Arabic, was followed by a demand, in English, “Into the storeroom! Now!”
Crescent scar and Contreras drew closer. Despite his injured hand, he kept a tight grip on the handle of a briefcase. It was sleek and aluminum, a Halliburton, the type that drug dealers and gun runners use, the briefcase that contains the launch codes for a nuclear strike and follows the President of the United States. Contreras scraped a chair along the wooden floor, pulling it from beneath the low, round, brass tray table. He unbuttoned his suit jacket with his gray, gloved fingers and sat heavily opposite Christa.
Contreras shifted his chair to an angle where he could keep the dining room and her in his sights. He assessed Ahmed like a cobra gauging his attack. “So considerate of you to bring the Tear of the Moon to New York, Mister Battar,” he hissed. “I assume that my man in Morocco and the pirate, Mishad, had a difference of opinion. No honor among thieves and all that. I do hope that your wife and daughter are enjoying their unexpected visit here, although I dare say that 1134 Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn is hardly the city’s finest feature.”
“
Bastard,” Ahmed growled.
“
Actually, they call me the Prophet,” Contreras said.
The thug near Ahmed coiled his arm. He pistol-whipped Ahmed, striking his right temple with a sickening smack. Ahmed crumpled to the floor. Christa sprang towards him. Daniel grabbed her arm and held her back.
The pistol-whipping brute dragged Ahmed unceremoniously through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Ahmed’s slip-on leather loafer was pulled off his heel and abandoned. Christa clasped her fingers into fists. Both thugs came out of the kitchen, neither having broken a sweat. “An apt moniker, don’t you agree, Mister Dubler?” A conspiratorial tone laced his voice.
“
Among others,” said Daniel. He sounded more irritated than afraid. He placed a protective arm around her. “You hurt her and it’s over.” She should give him more credit. She would have pegged him as an easy surrender. She should have believed her father when he insisted that the crucible tests the true mettle of a person, usually just before they were dropped into a dicey situation.
Contreras cracked his thin lips into the same disturbing grin that he had showed Christa at the playground as she drank his elixir. “You don’t trust me,” he said. “It all comes down to that, doesn’t it? What, and whom, you believe.” Christa remained still as Contreras swiveled to target her in his sights. “You’re a clairvoyant, Professor Devlin. I’d bet you didn’t see this coming.” He snickered, then laughed with delight at having the upper hand. “So tell me, which of your trusted friends, the loyal Arab or this mild-mannered high school teacher turned hero, betrayed you and brought me here?”
“
Divide and conquer. Is that the best you can come up with, Contreras,” she said. With Daniel by her side, she might have a chance against this guy.
Contreras frowned. He extended his gloved open palm towards her, opening it to the faint scent of roses. He still wore that ring, the gold band with a pear cut diamond, over his glove. She’d seen it someplace else and not just at the playground. Her stomach roiled. It was in the NewWorld Pharmaceuticals website photo of Gabriella and Lucia at the company picnic. That disembodied gloved hand, with that ring, was clutching Lucia’s shoulder, the rest of him outside the frame of the picture. “Give me the Tear of the Moon Emerald,” he prompted.
“
I don’t have it,” she said. Daniel’s lip twitched at her lie. Under the table, she pressed her thigh against his. He had to go with her on this, all the way. Ahmed needed a doctor. And she needed to get a step ahead of Contreras if she hoped to get away from him. ”Ahmed was afraid to bring the Emerald here, obviously with good reason. You knocked him out before he had a chance to tell us where it is.”
He shook his head, disappointed in her. “I could have had him killed,” he said, “but I need you to believe, Christa Devlin. I’ve seen my destiny. I’ve told you yours. I know you are the one chosen to help me restore the Breastplate.”
Restore the Breastplate, maybe, but certainly not for him. “You don’t need me,” she said. “You need to do the impossible, steal the Kohinoor diamond and Edward’s sapphire, and that’s just for starters.” The Emerald burned in the velvet pouch around her neck. But so did whatever was in that Halliburton. He saw her eyeing it. He licked his lips like a kid who will burst unless he reveals his secret.
He smiled. “You must be thinking,
He can’t possibly hope to acquire them. Why, the Kohinoor diamond and Edward’s Sapphire are in the British Crown Jewels, the most heavily guarded gems in the world.
”
“
It would take a mastermind,” she said, egging him on.
“
Torrino,” Contreras said, gesturing to crescent scar, waving him forward, “the Halliburton.” Torrino removed his fingers from the butt of the pistol in his shoulder holster and approached with the metal briefcase. He unlatched and opened it. He lowered it so that those at the table could see its interior. “Blessed are those who believe without seeing,” Contreras said, in a mocking tone. His breath reeked of lust. “The Kohinoor Diamond and Edward’s Sapphire,” he added in a tone so hushed that she nearly asked him to repeat it.