The Final Cut

by Catherine Coulter

  Nicholas said, “Okay. But what exactly does he want the Koh-i-Noor for?”

  “I don’t have the foggiest idea. Sorry, something flashed in my mind, but—I really don’t know. Maybe he really is an obsessed collector or maybe he really does feel deeply that the Koh-i-Noor should come home to him and to India because it’s part of his heritage.”

  “Keep your brain flashes going.” Nicholas checked his watch, stood up, and pulled on his jacket. “It’s time for us to go see what Mr. Lanighan is up to.”

  88

  Nicholas had his hand on the door to leave the suite when his mobile began blaring “London Calling.”

  Mike’s eyebrow rose. “The Clash?”

  He shrugged. “This will be Nigel.”

  “Who is Nigel?”

  “My butler.” Ignoring her incredulous look, he answered the call. “What’s up?”

  “Sir, you received a package today, from America.”

  “Yes? Who’s it from?”

  “Inspector York, sir.”

  Adrenaline shot through him. “Open it, Nigel.”

  He heard a ripping in the background, then, “There’s only a thumb drive. Shall I pull it up on your computer?”

  “Yes, hurry, Nigel. Open it and email me the contents immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. Please let me know if there is anything else I may do for you.”

  Nicholas ended the call, reloaded his email over and over until the new mail registered. It was a .wmv video file. He hit play, and Elaine’s face appeared on the screen. He stared at a woman he’d respected, admired, and trusted for three years—and more, he thought, so much more.

  “It’s Elaine York,” Mike said from behind him, and couldn’t help but compare the woman on the screen to the body she’d stood over three days before. The gray bloated face—no, she wouldn’t remember her like that. She’d remember her like this—studious face, beautiful dark hair, serious eyes.

  “Yes, let’s see what this is about,” Nicholas said, and hit play.

  Nicholas, let me answer your first question. Why am I sending you this video instead of an email or calling? The answer is, I can’t take the chance of your email or mine being seen, or hacked, or your call overheard. The truth is, I need your advice. I’m afraid I’ve gotten in over my head.

  Let me start at the beginning. There’s a woman who works here at the Met, Victoria Browning, and we’ve become really good friends. One night, two weeks ago, we were at a club, drinking entirely too many Manhattans, and she told me about the legacy surrounding the Koh-i-Noor diamond. Not the curse everyone’s heard of, no, the explanation for the curse. Get this—she told me there are three diamonds that are supposed to be married together, and when this happens, if the person holding the united stone is sick—not just of a cancer or a bad heart—he’ll be healed forever. Yes, forever.

  At first I thought Victoria had downed too many drinks, but then I thought of my mother, her brain destroyed by Alzheimer’s, and I’ll admit it, I started to pay attention. A huge diamond that could make you immortal? I thought of the romance of it, the mystery, and, well, the possibility there really could be magic at work here, a sort of magic I’ve dreamed of all my life. Just imagine—three pieces of one huge stone, Nicholas, put together, and they’d heal.

  Victoria then told me the Koh-i-Noor is one of the three pieces, someone in Europe has the second, and she believed a man here in New York has the third. She didn’t tell me his name.

  The next day, I realized I was still hooked. I had no real hope of getting the stones together, but verifying that a man right here in New York City had one of the three—I realized I had to know. And I said why don’t we go see this man and verify if he does indeed have the second stone. Hey, maybe we could work a deal. Then maybe we get our hands on the stone in Europe, and maybe we could borrow the Koh-i-Noor.

  Victoria said we might be able to get two of the stones, but the Koh-i-Noor, no way the Royal Family would ever loan it out for a mad experiment like this. But I was enthralled; I wanted to try, to be the one to bring the magic to my mother. You doubtless think I’ve lost my mind. You’re probably right. Still, Victoria stared at me like she was looking deep into my soul. She was clearly intrigued by the idea, and I knew I had to convince her to go see this man. She finally agreed. And I laughed and said it’s our own quest, Victoria, ours alone.

  She didn’t tell me the man’s name until we reached the thirty-fourth floor of a huge Midtown building—Andrei Anatoly. I had no idea then that he was a Russian mobster, probably evil to the core. He let us in, and Victoria came right out with it and asked him if he had a special diamond in his possession.

  Anatoly stared at her, then at me, like he was memorizing our faces, which, as it turns out, he was, and then he threw back his head and laughed and laughed. He told us he didn’t know what we were talking about, and ordered us to leave.

  The next day, I was notified that two hundred thousand dollars had been wired into my account with a note that said, “Leave it alone.” I asked Victoria if she’d put the money in my account, but she said she didn’t know anything about it. She said it could be Anatoly wanting us to back off. Why would a mobster do that? I asked her, but she only shook her head. I offered to split the money with her, but she insisted I look at it like a windfall, and use it for my mother. I could tell she didn’t want to pursue this any further, either.

  I think now it was Victoria who gave me the money. Why? Because she felt guilty about telling me about the diamond, and she was worried about what Anatoly might do.

  I kept the money, Nicholas. Another stupidity. But when I thought of my mom and how she needed it so desperately—I needed to keep it to help her.

  Even though I backed off, the next day I saw two thugs following me. I knew then Anatoly hadn’t sent the money, and I knew I was in trouble.

  I met a Russian man, Vlad Kochen, in the cafeteria in the Met. He told me he saw men following me, and that he could take care of it. I felt ridiculous going to Bo with this, especially because of the money, and besides, what on earth could I say to him? So I paid Kochen to watch my back. He said to trust him, he would take care of it. Sure enough, the next day the young thugs were gone, but there was another man watching me. He was older, thin, white-haired. And there was something about him that scared me more than the young thugs. I asked Vlad about the man, but he didn’t know who he was.

  To be safe, I asked Vlad to get me a pistol.

  That’s all, Nicholas. What will happen now? I don’t know, but I’m going to send the money to my mother. I don’t care who sent it to me, Mom needs it.

  As for Victoria, she is avoiding me. I think she’s very sorry she ever said anything to me about the three diamonds. Maybe she’s afraid, too.

  I have to say life is never what you expect. All my life I wanted some magic, something that was of the unknown, the inexplicable. I laugh thinking about being careful about what you wish for—I miss you, Nicholas. I hope you are well and happy and that you haven’t strangled Penderley, or the other way around.

  And the screen went blank.

  89

  Nicholas had to stop himself from throwing the laptop across the room. Why hadn’t she come to him sooner, called him, anything? She might not be dead.

  He said, “I wondered why Lanighan wanted the Koh-i-Noor specifically. I mean, what would he do with it? Now we know. You were pretty close to the mark, Mike. He’s sick, and he wants the stones because he thinks he can put them together and heal himself. We need to call Ben and Zachery. I think it’s pretty clear now what was stolen from Anatoly’s safe yesterday.

  “The white-haired man—the Ghost—he stole the third diamond out of the safe after he murdered Anatoly and his sons.”

  Mike said, “Sounds right. Ben called while the video was playing. Let’s call him back.” She dialed Ben, who answered immediately.

  “Finally, I’ve been waiting for you to get back to me. The NGI facial-recognition database found a mat
ch with Interpol crime scene footage from two decades ago, an attempt on François Mitterand’s life. We’ve identified a man named William Mulvaney, aka the Ghost, early sixties, six-foot-one, thin frame, white hair. We were right about all of it. He not only killed Elaine and Kochen and attacked you guys, he also killed Anatoly and his sons, but we still don’t know what he stole from the safe.”

  Mike said, “I know what was in the safe.” And then she told him about Elaine’s tape, what she’d done, finishing with, “Supposedly, the three stones together can heal sickness. We think Saleem Lanighan believes it, and he’s the money behind the theft and the attacks.” She paused, then said, “Ben, Elaine had nothing to do with the Koh-i-Noor theft, nothing at all. She was innocent in all of this.”

  Ben was silent for a moment, then said simply, “Good. That’s good. But if Elaine wasn’t involved, why did Mulvaney feel he had to kill her?”

  Nicholas said, “Because she found out about the third stone, and he couldn’t take the chance of her telling someone. Or, very possibly, because Anatoly told him to.”

  Ben sighed. “So needless, all of it. You also need to know, we’ve verified that Mulvaney flew into Paris last night.”

  Nicholas said slowly, “It’s all coming together. Thanks, Ben.”

  A brief pause. “You guys be careful. Savich has hooked up the surveillance on Lanighan whenever you’re ready to start watching him.”

  Nicholas said, “We’re going over there at nine.” Mike hung up, and Nicholas said, “All right. Let me make one more call.”

  He dialed Miles Herrington’s number but got no answer. No help for it. He called his boss, Hamish Penderley, at home, braced for the deluge. After two days of ignoring the man’s emails and calls, he had a bit of explaining to do.

  Penderley surprised him, though. He answered the phone with a gruff “About time you surfaced.” But the berating he expected didn’t come.

  “Sorry, sir. I’ve been rather busy.”

  “Yes, I suppose you have. We heard about the explosion in Geneva. Cut it a bit fine there, didn’t you?”

  Nicholas was relieved; apparently, word of the other two attempts on their lives hadn’t gotten back to him. He said, “Yes, sir. Even have a few stitches in my back as a result. Have you heard anything from Miles? He was supposed to be following the leak from the palace on the plans for the Koh-i-Noor exhibit.”

  “My son doesn’t check in as regularly as he should.”

  “Ah, well, then. If you should speak to him, tell him I’m waiting.”

  “Is this what you called me about, Drummond? First you defy my orders and run off to America, now you want me to be the messenger boy from my son to you? You have some gall.”

  “No gall, sir. I’m working closely with the FBI; they’ve been most cooperative. We’ve identified Elaine’s killer, an assassin named Mulvaney, also known as the Ghost, and we believe we understand his motive for killing her. She was innocent in all this; it was a terrible mistake.”

  Penderley said, “I knew Elaine couldn’t be involved. The Ghost, you say? I’ve heard of him. He’s a legend. He was just a kid we were told. It was rumored he was behind a series of bombings in Northern Ireland while I was in the academy. We had to work the scenes; they pulled the trainees onto the ground to support the regular coppers. I’ll never forget it. From what I know, he disappeared from the stage several years ago. It was widely assumed he was dead.”

  “Apparently, he’s not dead. What else can you tell me about him?”

  “There’s a dossier of information in our database, but it’s sketchy at best. He’s a dangerous man, Drummond, maybe more dangerous than you. Keep me informed. And Drummond, watch your back.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  He hung up. It looked like he’d have a job to return to when all was said and done, though Penderley would find a way to punish him—probably with training exercises at Hendon for six weeks—but he wouldn’t be cast out.

  Mike was watching him. He gave her a mad grin.

  “It’s nearly nine p.m. Let’s go see what Lanighan is up to.”

  90

  Paris

  Avenue Foch, Saleem Lanighan’s home

  Saturday night

  At five minutes after nine, they heard a car start up and drive around from the garage. The door to the building opened and Lanighan came out. He looked angry. They watched him get into the waiting car and slam the door. The wheels on the Mercedes squealed as the car whipped away from the curve. What had him so pissed off?

  Nicholas gave them a moment to put some distance between them, then pulled out after him.

  “Keep an eye on them, Mike, they’re going fast.”

  They were circling around the Arc de Triomphe now.

  She said, “There they are, turning to the right. Let me count, fifth turn off the roundabout, onto the Champs-Élysées.”

  Nicholas downshifted instead of braking as the car flew out onto the street behind the Mercedes. He could see it up ahead, nearly a quarter of a mile down the street. He floored the gas pedal, and the Peugeot leapt forward.

  Mike said, “He’s headed east. Gagny is his biggest holding, and the only one east of the city. That must be where he’s going.”

  “I’ll lay back a bit. Is he using his mobile?”

  She checked the computer in her lap. “I’ve tapped into the wire Savich has on his phone. No outgoing calls.”

  “I’m sure that will change.”

  Ten minutes into the drive, the tracker on Lanighan’s mobile lit up.

  “Got one. Outgoing, from Lanighan.” Mike turned up the volume on her laptop. Lanighan’s voice was scratchy.

  Is everything prepared?

  It is.

  Is the bitch there yet with the stone?

  Not yet. She’ll come. She wants her money too much to betray you. It’s all she ever cared about. Relax. How long until you arrive?

  Thirty minutes, no longer.

  I’ll be waiting.

  The mobile went dead.

  Mike’s cell phone rang almost immediately.

  “Hey, Dillon. You guys get that?”

  “We did. The call was made to the same phone signal we have on record here. Lanighan was talking to the Ghost, William Mulvaney.”

  Mike said, “So who’s he working with? Lanighan or the Fox?”

  Nicholas said, “Well, we’re going to find out soon enough. Savich, is Menard set up to meet us at Gagny warehouse?”

  “Yes. He has a team with him.”

  Nicholas said, “Be sure to tell them to stay well back until we signal for them. We’re going to go in first and see what’s happening. We don’t need this blowing up in our faces and turning into a bloodbath.”

  “Be careful,” Savich said, and hung up.

  “He’s not going to be alone, Nicholas. We need Menard and his men.”

  He didn’t argue with her. “I have no issue with having Menard’s men backing us up. But the last thing I want is a massive show of force before we know what’s happening inside that warehouse.”

  Nicholas lagged back, and Mike couldn’t see the Mercedes anymore. He shut off the lights, let the moon guide him. “When Mulvaney talked about the Fox, he sounded bitter, maybe angry. I wonder what that’s all about.”

  Five minutes later, they could see the road dead-end at a large gate, topped with a camera.

  Mike said, “Stop here. We don’t want to announce ourselves yet.” She pointed to the camera. Nicholas pulled the car to the side of the road. It was quiet, and very dark. The warehouses were deep into the grounds behind the gate. There was no movement here.

  “No help for it,” Nicholas said, “we’ll have to go over the fence. Can your arm stand it? Or should I cut through?”

  Mike shook her head. “Nicholas, we need to wait for Menard’s men.”

  Nicholas shot her a grin. “No, we don’t. Are you with me or not?”

  She thought about the three assassins Lanighan sent to kill them, thought ab
out taking a nice swing at the Fox, bloodying her lip—it took exactly two seconds before she said, “Let’s go.”

  “Let’s start out with a bit of reconnaissance.”

  He reached up and turned off the interior light and opened his door carefully. He loaded his bag on his shoulder. She could see his face; he was having fun, the idiot.

  She felt strong; she felt right. She checked her Glock and followed him out of the car. It was a war she wanted to fight, a war she intended to win.

  91

  Gagny Neuf-trois, Paris

  Lanighan’s warehouse

  Saturday night

  Kitsune went over the fence at the back of the warehouse and climbed to the roof of the next building in the compound.

  She could see the gate to the grounds, the parking lot, and half of the building proper.

  She knew Mulvaney was inside, knew Lanighan had hurt him. He was probably in pain, wondering where she was, if she had a plan to save him. All she knew for sure was that she was going to destroy Saleem Lanighan tonight.

  Lanighan’s Mercedes came into the warehouse parking lot at ten minutes to ten. She trained her monocle on the car, watched Lanighan get out and hurry inside the warehouse. He shouted something to his driver, but she couldn’t make out his words. She could tell, however, he was mad. At her? Good. Mad meant off balance, and that would make her job easier.

  The warehouse had windows high up on the second floor and she could get only an idea of where people were from the shadowy movements behind the lights.