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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
p; 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?”
