Once the FBI Gulfstream was hurtling east at four hundred fifty knots, Mike tucked herself into the big leather seat with a couple of pillows and blankets and fell asleep immediately. First some work, Nicholas thought, then he’d join her.
He hacked into the University of Edinburgh system and immediately found Browning’s records and another photo. Her limpid brown eyes smiled at him from underneath a brown fringe, all innocence and excitement. It was the face of a student ready to break the shackles of small-town Scotland and experience life in the big city. It was not the face of an international jewel thief. Again, he was struck at how very talented she was at presenting herself as someone she wasn’t, someone who didn’t exist.
He started digging. Ten minutes later, when he was at the point of admitting defeat, he saw a red flag. The electronic file had been created two years prior. While it was possible the university was simply bringing old records into the electronic age, Nicholas knew that wasn’t the situation here; he’d worked another case with a terror suspect who’d attended the University of Edinburgh, and all their alumni files had been online for at least four years.
Break one for the good guys.
He thought back to the conversation with Browning in the elevator of the Met, about art crimes. She’d claimed to work with the Museum Security Network and the Association for Research into Crimes Against Art.
It turned out that the Museum Security Network had an excellent firewall, but it wasn’t enough. A few clicks and he was into their records. Sure enough, Dr. Victoria Browning was on the rolls. He dug deeper, looking for the initial date of the file. There. Also two years prior.
The ARCA website also listed her as a member in good standing. As of two years ago.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat, thinking. Knowing what he’d continue to find. While she had an excellent identity on the surface—passport, license, all the identification would match—this particular Victoria Browning hadn’t existed before two years ago. And he was probably one of a small number of people who could discover this information. He was willing to concede that Savich was another. With the skills Browning had displayed, he was beginning to think she was on par with them. Possible, but she was turning into Wonder Woman. It was more likely she had someone else, someone close to her, a master hacker. Something else to explore, but not now.
He looked at the timeline he’d drawn up. The plan to steal the diamond had been in play for at least twenty-four months, if not longer. But according to Elaine, the Jewel of the Lion exhibit was only a year in the making.
He called a friend, Miles Herrington, who worked in the office of the queen’s private secretary at Buckingham Palace. Miles also had the dubious honor of being Hamish Penderley’s stepson. Nicholas trusted him to be discreet, both on the request, and also about not telling his father Nicholas had been in touch.
Miles answered immediately. “Drummond, you dog. Tell me you’ve found the Koh-i-Noor.”
“Not yet, Miles. I’m working on it.”
“Tell me you’re going to get it back before the government falls or declares war on America. Better yet, I should find the Lord Chamberlain and put you on with him. He’s already been crowing about his plans to boil you in oil when he gets his hands on you.”
“Good to speak to you as well, Miles.”
“You’re embroiled in the scandal of the century, mate, and from what I’ve heard, it was of your own doing. Don’t expect rose blossoms when you get back.”
“I’m aware,” Nicholas said. So Penderley was talking about his insubordination. Not good.
“Miles, I’m flying to Paris right now to stake out a meeting the thief arranged. Have you ever heard of the Fox?”
“You mean, Teddy the Fast Fox, the kids’ cartoon character on the telly?”
“Wrong fox, but never mind. When did you strike the deal with the Yanks to send the jewels to New York?”