“Hold on a moment.” Nicholas tapped at the keyboard, and a program he’d written several years earlier, a simple and elegant mobile encryption, kicked in. He gave it a second to overwrite the public wireless system he was using.
“Uncle Bo, I forgot to tell you. I’m midway over the Atlantic on my way to you.”
Uncle Bo merely smiled at him. “Your mom called me, told me what happened, that you were on your way. No surprise. I knew you wouldn’t be content to wait in London. Now, how secure are you?”
“I’m as secure as I can be without hurting the plane’s radio integrity. I have the row to myself and no one’s behind me; not many people are traveling after the Christmas and New Year’s rush.”
“Understandable. Now, I’m not at the Met, Nick, I’m here in Chelsea with FBI agents Savich and Sherlock. They came to New York for two things, the gala tonight and to speak to a very convivial Russian art-loving mobster about a painting they think he stole. Savich, come front and center and meet my nephew.”
Nicholas knew the man’s face, had seen it in articles, in newspapers, on the Internet. It was a hard face, unsmiling at the moment. Who would imagine this big, muscular man was a computer genius? He had a swarthy complexion and cheekbones to cut ice, and nearly black eyes that could nail you to the spot. His dark hair looked damp, as though he hadn’t been long out of the shower. Nicholas decided Savich could face down both Nicholas’s grandfather and the Devil, and maybe win. No, not his grandfather, the old curmudgeon. He said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Agent Savich. It’s a pleasure.”
Savich nodded at a man who could be his younger brother, and wasn’t that a kick? “And you’re Bo’s nephew. It’s good to meet you finally. This is my wife, Agent Lacey Sherlock.”
Nicholas looked into the face of a young woman with beautiful red curly hair, no, not really red, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place the color. Titian, maybe? White skin, summer blue eyes. It was like the Devil had captured his perfect opposite.
“A pleasure, Nicholas. Call me Sherlock, and let me tell you, Bo talks about you nonstop. He even claims you could be as good as Dillon in the next decade or so.”
Nicholas laughed. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” And then he waited for Bo to tell him what was going on.
Bo leaned forward and said quietly, “We’re trying to keep this hush-hush for the moment. Both Savich and Sherlock are in on this, so you don’t have to hold anything back.” Bo took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, Nick, the Koh-i-Noor diamond’s been stolen from the Jewel of the Lion exhibit.”
7
New York, New York
201 East 36th Street
Inspector Elaine York’s apartment
Thursday, 2:00 a.m.
Inspector Elaine York’s apartment in Murray Hill was nineteen stories of sturdy, well-maintained red brick in the middle of a good solid neighborhood for young professionals.
But not good enough.
Agent Paulie Jernigan of the crime scene unit was waiting for Mike when she arrived, standing in front of the building with the slightly bored, seen-it-all, Let’s get to work, I’m hungry for dinner look all techs had nailed, probably taught in tech school.
“You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Glad they have an elevator. Vic’s apartment is on the fifth floor; it would be a pain to drag all my equipment up five flights of stairs this late at night.”
Mike put a hand on her hip. “Hey, I could carry one of those little toothpick brushes you have stashed in your kit. Surely that would lighten your load.”
He laughed, and she followed him into the building. It was quiet, eerily so at this hour, and Mike had to resist the urge to whisper.
The elevator doors closed behind them with a metallic whoosh.
“You adjusting to the new SAC, Mike?”
“Yeah. I like him. Zachery’s a straight shooter. I miss Bo Horsley, of course. How could I not? But I’ve worked with Zachery before, in Omaha. He’s good people. He and my dad got along well.”