“Monsieur Lanighan? Monsieur Lanighan, sir?”
He came awake immediately, jerked upright, nearly hitting Colette, his secretary. She was naked at his side.
“Monsieur Lanighan, the private line. You have a call.” She handed him an encrypted mobile phone, one he’d never used before, because only she had that number.
At last, at long last.
“Merci, Colette. You may return to your quarters for the rest of the night. That is all.”
She slid from his bed and disappeared without a word, closing the bedroom door behind her. He took a deep breath and answered.
“Oui?”
“Bonjour, Saleem. I trust the impending dawn finds the Lion snug in his den? Perhaps with a mate for warmth? I hear Paris is cold tonight.”
His heart leapt to his throat. “Kitsune. Do you have my diamond?”
“Where are your manners, Saleem? We’ve not spoken in nearly two years, and you have no proper greeting for me?”
He touched the scar on his throat. “I will greet you properly if you tell me you have my diamond.”
Her voice was light, indifferent. “I am offended, Lion. Your father was much more polite. Yes, I have your precious diamond. Meet me at midnight, l’Arc de Triomphe. Repeat, l’Arc de Triomphe. As soon as I confirm the money has been wired into my account, I will give you your prize.”
The coded delivery point meant she had encountered problems, making her delivery dangerous. “What has happened?”
“Nothing at all. Everything went smoothly. Any time now the world media will report the theft of the Koh-i-Noor diamond, right from under the FBI’s nose. Still, I don’t wish to take any chances. There is a wild card in the deck now, and he is good, very good.”
“Who is this wild card?”
“His name is Nicholas Drummond, a chief detective inspector with New Scotland Yard.”
“So what? He’s only a policeman.”
“More than that, Lion. He used to be in the Foreign Office. He was, I have heard, a very successful operative.”
Saleem calculated how long it would take him to arrive. He had plenty of time. The Koh-i-Noor was nearly his, nearly in his hands.
“I will be there. I’m paying you fifty million dollars to be smarter than any ex-spy. Do not let me down.”
“I will not,” she said, and ended the call.
Saleem sat for a moment in the cooling covers, then walked naked to the huge bay window in his bedroom and looked out over his city. The Paris dawn greeted him. He placed a hand on the chilly glass and imagined what would happen once the diamond came home, to him, its true heir. He would succeed where his father and the long line of Lanighan men before him had failed. He would be the one to merge the pieces together. The power of the stone would yield to him, and him alone, and then his world would be changed forever. He smiled, his teeth flashing in the darkness.
31
The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Late Thursday evening
The media was swarming the Met, going ballistic in their coverage of the incredible events unfolding, so Bo had set up a temporary task force in the basement of the museum, away from the prying eyes of both the media and the Met’s board of directors, who were upstairs with the insurance adjusters, steaming mad and tap dancing hard.
Nicholas listened to Mike speak to Agent Gray Wharton, one of the FBI’s top computer experts.
“Gray, assemble a team. Here’s what we need: a trace on Nicholas’s phone, ASAP, the last incoming call, not older than ten minutes. Get out a BOLO for Dr. Victoria Browning, Scottish national, Ph.D. from the University of Edinburgh. We’ll need to get her work visa on file with INS, also her passport, and a photo out to every airport, train station, bus station, car rental. Send a team to her apartment.