The Final Cut

by Catherine Coulter

  She counted off until she saw him again on the second floor. Thirty seconds. There was probably a single stairwell and hallway. She’d loaded the blueprints for the space, and knew the building was divided into two areas—an open bottom floor, where large paintings and sculptures were kept, the space large enough for a decent-size truck to drive in and out. She knew the setup was sophisticated and fully automated, knew hundreds of paintings were kept on racks electronically programmed to slide out from the wall for easy access and storage.

  The second floor had a very large office where the manager of the warehouse worked and where occasional buyers came to see art Lanighan was selling. She was convinced this was where they were holding Mulvaney.

  She saw the guards patrolling the grounds were only casually alert. They weren’t expecting the show—namely, her—until later, which was the reason she was hitting them now.

  With her left hand, she screwed the suppressor into the threaded barrel of the H&K MP23. She hated guns, always had, after the long ago incident, as she often thought of it, with her parents, but she wasn’t about to go in without one. The H&K fit her hand nicely, the suppressor giving it only a few ounces of additional weight. She tucked it into the custom-made leather holster, felt for the two tear-gas canisters she had placed in the pockets of her black cargo pants. Four knives were in place, two strapped to her outer thighs, two to her stomach in a cross-handed pull.

  She did square breathing, in for four counts, hold for four, out for four, hold for four; when she felt the familiar clean emptiness, she started down off the rooftop.

  She went silent as a cat through the night, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the moon guiding her steps, sure and quick. Five hundred feet to the warehouse. Three hundred. Two. She swallowed and slowed, listening for the guards in case they circled around the back of the warehouse.

  Nothing. She was clear.

  She drew her gun, walked forward, watching for the metal staircase she needed to climb to the second-floor window.

  A voice spoke from the darkness: “Stop, right there.”

  She whipped around, crouched, gun pointed, finger already putting pressure on the trigger, but she realized she couldn’t risk firing yet, not outside. Even suppressed, it might bring the guards.

  Decision made in a split second, her movements quick and sure, she holstered the gun and whipped a K-Bar knife out of its sheath on her thigh. The weapon made a vicious whisper as it left the webbing, and she readied it, sharp edge out.

  A man took a step from the darkness and said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Drummond!

  She lashed out at him, and he danced back, away from her lunge, back arched and stomach drawn in. Close, but she didn’t get him.

  She pulled out the second K-Bar and sliced back the other way, forcing her way forward, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet. He stepped back just as a cloud floated in front of the moon, effectively blacking out the scene.

  Knives poised and blind, she went for him again, a shadow in the dark. His fist shot out and hit her face. Pain radiated out from her cheek, and she gasped, ducked, and swung out her leg to trip him, but he was gone, fast as lightning. He was behind her, his hand in her hair, jerking her head back, exposing her throat. She jabbed one knife backward, but he twisted in time and she missed again.

  He wrapped his hand hard around her right wrist and pulled her toward him. A mistake, that. She could throw him now. Leg forward, balanced on her toes and ready to spin, knowing the move would drive him over her shoulder, but she froze at the touch of hard metal against her temple.

  “Drop the knives now, or I’ll take great pleasure in dropping you where you stand.”

  It was Mike Caine.

  Time stopped for a moment. She heard her own heavy breathing, felt the blood dripping from her nose, and wondered if Drummond had broken her wrist.

  Kitsune said, “If I drop the knives, they’re going to make quite a bit of noise, then the guards will come. You’ll never make it out alive.”

  Mike grabbed a K-Bar from her hand and tossed it behind her with a clatter. Nicholas removed the second gun from her hip holster, and took the other knife away.

  He wrenched her arms behind her back, and Mike tossed him her handcuffs. He latched them on, then turned her around and grinned, his teeth flashing white in the light of the moon.

  “Hello, Victoria.”

  92

  Nicholas retraced their path to the fence. There was a perfect body-size hole where he’d cut through the metal. Mike went first, watching for guards, cleared the road, then signaled the go-ahead. He pushed Victoria through and followed after her.

  He wanted to tell Mike she’d put a stop to the fight at just the right moment because he didn’t know how much longer he’d have been able to dodge those knives. He felt a small wetness at the base of his spine; most likely he’d torn open his stitches. He certainly didn’t need any more.

  When they reached the car, Mike got into the back with Victoria, her Glock pressed hard against her ribs. Nicholas got behind the wheel, and quietly pulled the car away.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her voice shook a bit, not from fear, Mike thought, but from the pounding adrenaline.

  Nicholas said, “Away from here. We want the Koh-i-Noor and we want it now. Where do you have it hidden?”

  Kitsune laughed. “You seriously think I’m going to hand it over to you?”

  “Yes.” He might have well have said, Don’t, and I’ll kill you myself.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked again.

  Mike wondered the same thing but contented herself with keeping the barrel of her Glock against Victoria’s ribs.

  Nicholas took turns too fast, going deeper into the Parisian suburbs. After fifteen minutes, he pulled into a small alleyway behind a row of town houses. “Mike, back in three, don’t let her move an inch,” and he got out of the car.

  Kitsune said, “You take orders rather well, don’t you, Mike? Lying down for the man, huh? Why? You don’t work for him. Surely you’re too smart to be sleeping with him. Why don’t you think about this: you help me and I can give you more money than you’ve ever dreamed of.”

  Mike really would like to beat the crap out of this woman. Such a pity, but she couldn’t, not with her in handcuffs. She gave her a big smile. “Screw you, Victoria.”

  Kitsune didn’t move, didn’t say another word.

  Nicholas appeared on Kitsune’s side of the car and opened the door. “Come. And be quiet about it.”

  Kitsune saw her chance, opened her mouth to scream. Nicholas yanked her out of the car and smashed his hand over her mouth. He whispered, “I said, be quiet.”

  She tried to bite him, so he clouted her hard over the ear, enough to stun her, and dragged her into the rear entrance of the town house.

  Mike followed, silently applauding.

  Nicholas tied Victoria to a chair in the kitchen, arms and legs, and gagged her with a dishrag he found in a drawer.

  Mike felt Victoria’s pulse, strong and steady. Good. She wasn’t hurt badly. She turned to Nicholas, who was sitting on the table, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, watching.

  Mike said, “Now we’re breaking and entering?”

  He grinned at her. “Safe house.”

  From his time as super-spy, of course.

  “Now what?”

  He gestured toward Victoria, who was coming around enough to open her eyes. She was making mewing noises behind the gag.

  “Now she gives us the whereabouts of the Koh-i-Noor.” He hopped off the table and pulled the gag from her mouth. Mike gave her a drink of water.

  Nicholas said, “Don’t bother screaming; this place is soundproof.”

  Kitsune cocked her head to the side, eyed him. “And to think I waited for you to leave before I blew the bomb in Geneva. What a mistake that was.”

  “Yes, it was. Where is the Koh-i-Noor?”

  “It’s still in Geneva.
”

  “Okay, Victoire Couverel. Yes, we’ve met your brother, we know about your parents, about their murder. We know about your adoptive parents, the missionaries. And look at you. You grew up to be the notorious thief known as the Fox. Fact is, I know enough about you to know you’d keep the Koh-i-Noor close. Now, where is it?”

  She was stunned. But she’d never let him see it.

  She gave him a sneer. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

  Nicholas said, “Listen, all we want is the diamond. You give it to us, and you’ll live the night.”

  “I did not lie. It’s in Geneva. In a safe place.”

  Nicholas was advancing on her when his mobile rang. After a moment, he pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Penderley.

  He said, “Mike, convince our guest of the smart course of action.” He threw her the K-Bar knife he’d lifted during the fight. Mike caught it, expertly twisted it in her hand so the blade was pointed out, directly at Victoria’s lily-white throat.

  It was a nice move. He went into the living room and answered the phone with a brusque “Yes?”

  “I’ve spoken to Miles,” Penderley said. “The leak on the jewels traced directly to the Tower of London.”

  Nicholas asked, “Are the Yeoman Warders the only ones outside of the queen’s people who knew this was even being discussed? Has anyone left their ranks suddenly of late?”

  “No, but last year there was an engagement that broke up. The man’s name is Grant Thornton, and his fiancée walked out on him. No one’s ever heard from her again.”

  “Photo, please?”

  “It’s in your email.”

  “Hold on.” He switched apps to his email, pulled up the photo. He looked at a tall, dark haired, well-built man looking down at a smiling woman who was staring directly into the camera without knowing the shot was being taken. It was Victoria Browning, of a sort. Her hair was darker, and her eyes were a different color, a sparkling light blue, and her smile was genuine. The combination made her exotic instead of merely pretty.

  “That’s our girl. Do you have the man in custody?”

  “No. No one thinks he knows a thing about any of this, so we’re simply keeping an eye on him.”

  “Okay. If we need leverage, you can haul him in. If he and the Fox were engaged, perhaps she had real feelings for him. I’ll be back in touch soon.”

  93

  Nicholas hung up and went back to the kitchen. Mike looked one second away from belting Victoria. She’d obviously said something to tick Mike off.

  He turned one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it, laying his arms along the top. Relaxed, not a care in the world. Mike stepped away a few feet, crossed her arms over her chest.

  Nicholas smiled. “Victoria. Victoire. What shall I call you?”

  “Kitsune. You may call me Kitsune.”

  “Kitsune, Japanese for fox. So are you Japanese? Your heritage seems a bit muddled to me. Like a dog from the pound.”

  “Woof.”

  He stood up and leaned over her. “Let me tell you how this is going to work. You are going to give me the Koh-i-Noor, and in return, I’ll put in a good word for your friend Grant Thornton. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the one who gave you the information about the Koh-i-Noor stone moving to New York months before it was publicly announced? As we speak, he’s being transferred to the tombs in London. Into a mixed cell. You know how they love the pretty boys. Word gets out he’s former SAS and they’ll want to make an example of him.”

  She paled, couldn’t help it, and Nicholas thought, Got you.

  Kitsune raised her chin. “He has nothing to do with this. Nothing, and you know it.”

  “I beg to differ. As does Her Majesty’s government. Thornton will be stripped of his rank, his work, his pension. He will be an outcast from his world, a pariah. On top of his humiliation, he’ll go to jail for the rest of his life. If he survives the night, naturally.”

  He walked around her, circling his prey. “A man like him, who’s dedicated his life to queen and country? You’ve destroyed him, Kitsune. It’s all on your head. He lost everything because he had the misfortune to fall in love with you—a fraud, a chimera, only the illusion of a woman who didn’t really exist.”

  Kitsune closed her eyes and saw Grant. Beautiful, innocent Grant. He would be the one to suffer, and she’d done it to him. The Brit was right about that.

  “I’ll save him if you give me the Koh-i-Noor.”

  She gave him a long look, weighed his word, he knew, weighted him. She said finally, “I have conditions.”

  Nicholas stopped his pacing, went back to his chair and sat, eyebrows politely raised.

  “You’re hardly in a bargaining position, but let’s hear it.”

  “Grant walks, no stain on his character, and he returns to his job. Has he been told about me?”

  “No.”

  It was an unutterable relief. She nodded. “He will not be told about any of it. Not about me, not about Lanighan. Nothing.”

  “All right. And?”

  “Lanighan is holding a man in the warehouse. He is important to me. See that he’s freed and I’ll tell you where the diamond is.”

  “Ah, now, Kitsune, you’re going to have to do better. If you want our help, you tell us up front where the Koh-i-Noor is, and then we’ll talk about meeting your conditions.”

  She shook her head. “My friend first. And your word, as a gentleman, that he will not be harmed.”

  Mike stepped in. “Are you talking about William Mulvaney?”

  Kitsune couldn’t believe this. Did everyone on the planet know about Mulvaney?

  “Yes. His name is Mulvaney.”

  “What’s he to you?”

  “A friend.”

  At Nicholas’s raised eyebrow, she added, “More than a friend. He is my mentor, my partner. He is a man I have known more than half my life.”

  “You sound like you would give your life for him,” Mike said.

  Kitsune said simply, “Yes.”

  “Is he your friend? A man you would trust with your life? A man you would sacrifice yourself for? Is he really?” and Nicholas queued up the phone conversation they’d overheard on their way to the warehouse.

  “Where is the bitch with the stone?”

  “She’ll come. She wants her money too much to betray you. It’s all she ever cared about. Relax.”

  Mike said, “Is this the voice of your friend Mulvaney?”

  Kitsune rolled her eyes. “Please, I know how you work. You can manipulate anything, make Drummond here sound like the president of the United States.”

  Mike said, “Yep, that’s certainly possible, but take a look at this. We couldn’t have screwed around with this. We took this from your car at the warehouse.”

  She put Kitsune’s laptop on the table and opened the lid. The video camera feed from the warehouse was still running.

  Mike backed the feed up, set the small computer in Kitsune’s lap.

  “This was shot less than an hour ago.”

  Kitsune looked down, saw the time stamp, and saw Mulvaney walk out of the warehouse, upright, unfettered, tossing off some remark at the man who stood nearest the door. He was by no means tied up, nor did he seem to be under duress. On the contrary, they were laughing.

  What is going on here?

  Nicholas said, “We have it all, Kitsune. Lanighan kept detailed records.”

  “You’re lying.” She smiled. “I destroyed everything.”

  Nicholas smiled back. “No, you didn’t. We got there before you. Remember Savich? He’s been on Lanighan for a day now, and guess what? Lanighan saved all your emails. All your planning, every detail. And we found emails between your friend Mulvaney and Lanighan. Let me read one to you. This is dated a year ago.

  “You can’t trust Kitsune. Did I mention her name is Victoire? Her full name is Victoire Couverel. She was a careless little gutter snip, no more than sixteen, when I saved her from jail in Naples. I
saw the potential in her and trained her myself. She has betrayed me and she will betray you as well if she has a chance. Use this information wisely. Watch your back around her. I will bring you Anatoly’s diamond. I will send the account number when I have secured the stone from America. Once she’s made delivery of the Koh-i-Noor, kill her. You need the blood of a woman to fulfill the promise of the stone. If you can’t do it yourself, I will do it for you.”

  “Stop! Stop, now.”

  “Betrayal tastes pretty rank, doesn’t it, Victoire?”

  “Bloody bastard.” Her voice was flat, unemotional. Shock, Mike thought, the woman was in shock.

  Kitsune’s head dropped. She was tired, so tired. She didn’t understand any of it. She hadn’t betrayed Mulvaney. She would cut off her own arm before she’d even consider betraying him. Why had he said that she had? What did he mean about needing her blood to fulfill the promise of the stone?

  She wanted to weep. Why did the man she’d loved more than her own father hate her now? What was she going to do?

  94

  Paris safe house

  Saturday night

  Her world was crashing down around her ears, and yet here she was clearly plotting and assessing. Nicholas could practically hear her thinking.

  He said to Mike, “Call Menard. Tell him to take the warehouse. We’ll transport Kitsune to the Préfecture de Police, let them start the paperwork to extradite her to America.”

  Her voice rang out in the small kitchen. “No.”

  He glanced back at her, but kept talking to Mike. “We’ll want a full assault, he has plenty of help. If we overwhelm them—”

  “No!”

  He stopped and gave her his full attention.

  “What?”

  She spoke through clenched teeth. “I will help you. I will give you everything you want, and more. But we must do it my way.”

  She was taking a huge risk. But this was Mulvaney, and she had no choice. He had given her back her life—no, he’d done much more. He’d given her a life. Even if he hated her enough to betray her, she still owed him.