“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