“Sir.” Nicholas stood at attention in front of his boss, who, no dummy, had angled himself so the rising sun poured over his shoulder right into Nicholas’s eyes.
“Drummond.” His name came out in an exasperated warning, the tone he so often used when addressing Nicholas. “You were not authorized to shoot Inspector Esposito.”
“No, sir.” He avoided continuing his statement. If a “But sir” came out of his mouth, it would only send Penderley into hyperspace.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
No, there’s a whole lot I have to say, but I didn’t wake up stupid this morning; I took this training exercise seriously, and I didn’t want to see the hostage dead, so I found the answer and brought down the nutter.
Penderley wanted him to protest, Nicholas saw it in his eyes, and he was tempted to say something to make the old bugger huff and puff, but he didn’t.
“Yes, sir.”
Penderley drew himself up straighter, if that were possible, and pronounced from on high, “Then you are disqualified.”
“But sir—”
Well, he’d done it now. The blow was coming.
Penderley’s body shifted, blocking the sun from Nicholas’s eyes. He blinked the older man into focus.
“I’ve told you a hundred times, Drummond. There are rules in this world. And when I delineate rules of engagement, you are expected to follow them. You will return to Hendon tomorrow morning, with your team, and try it again. And this time, you will do it my way. Do you understand?”
Back and forth. Every day it was the same with them, back and forth, Penderley pushing, Nicholas pulling, never seeing eye to eye unless the threat was real and Nicholas was needed to break the rules.
“I believe the object of the exercise was to neutralize the threat.”
He heard a hiss behind him and turned to see Esposito glaring at him, leaning against the edge of the dais, still rubbing his sore foot.
Nicholas ignored Esposito and returned his eyes to his boss. “I neutralized the threat, and the hostage is safe. This is the outcome we all wanted.”
Penderley’s face turned red. Nicholas braced himself for the hammer, but it didn’t fall. Instead Penderley sighed, shook his head. “You try my patience, lad. Tomorrow morning. Five o’clock sharp.” He smiled, a wolf with lots of sharp teeth, and added, his voice very precise, “Don’t be late or you’ll do it again the next day.” Penderley’s phone rang. “You’re excused.”
Nicholas stalked off, frustrated, wanting to kick something, but he headed straight for his car. One sore foot—surely that didn’t qualify as a bad outcome. What was the point of an exercise that didn’t accomplish the goal? In a real situation, his actions would get him more than a pat on the back.
Up at four o’clock tomorrow morning again. Thank you, sir.
He’d just put his hand on the gearshift when Penderley came rushing toward the car, waving his hands wildly to get Nicholas’s attention.
Nicholas stepped out of the BMW. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Penderley was out of breath, or choked up, Nicholas couldn’t be certain which. He soon realized it was both.
“Nicholas,” Penderley said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Terrible news. It’s Inspector Elaine York. She’s been murdered.”
3
New York, New York
1000 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan
The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Wednesday morning
The security was amazing, which didn’t matter a bit, since she knew every single bell and whistle in place to protect the star of the Jewel of the Lion exhibit—the famous and infamous Koh-i-Noor diamond—currently nesting in the center of the queen mother’s crown. As for all the boots on the ground, she knew their schedules, knew where they’d be each moment for the next hour.