Lanighan looked at the stones in his bloody hands and saw a light—blue, transparent, blinding in intensity, and it seemed to outline the edge of each stone. It whirled around the stones, merging them, and soon the edges were no longer to be seen. As the stones became one, they vibrated in his hands, and a whine began, growing louder and higher, like an electrical wire pulled taut and plucked. The light grew brighter and brighter, spearing out, encompassing the stone, his hands, the room.
He felt the light move into him, felt the small poisonous cells in his body pop as they were destroyed. He was on fire, and he hurt, hurt so badly, pain rising from every part of him. The stone—it was killing the cancer, and it was killing him. His heart pounded hard and fast, and his breath grew short. He tried to let the stone drop, but he couldn’t. The light moved through him and around him, and suddenly it coalesced into one narrow beam and split through the top of the warehouse, arcing up into the night sky, piercing the heavens.
And the killing pain left him and poured itself into the light, becoming one with it. He couldn’t look away, it was pure and powerful, and it was born of him. Night became day, and he stared into the face of his own sun, followed its pulsing rays upward through the night sky and beyond, to the soul of the universe. Now he understood the very nature of its being, of man’s being. He was its king, its master.
He was perfection.
He was a god.
The ground began to move under his feet.
97
Voices, loud, angry voices, then there was nothing, no sound at all. It had been only moments, but it seemed much longer since he didn’t know what was happening. Then Nicholas heard Kitsune screaming. He tapped the comms unit in his ear. “Mike! Now!”
He heard her yell to Menard’s men, “Go, go, go!”
Nicholas had wanted to stay close to Kitsune, but six guards had followed her up to the big office on the second floor and he’d been forced to hide in the shadows. When the guards heard Kitsune scream, they didn’t rush into the office. Obviously they’d been ordered not to come in, and they wanted to do something, but there was no one to tell them what to do.
When the building began to shake, the decision was made for them. All but one of the guards took off down the stairs to get out of the warehouse, and Nicholas heard the staccato gunfire from Menard’s men taking them out. The last guard started for the doorway, weapon up. Nicholas came up behind him, hooked his arm around his throat, and twisted, then threw him to the floor.
Nicholas ran into the room. He saw Mulvaney throw Kitsune against a wall. Mulvaney turned and saw him, and incredibly, he smiled, the same smile he’d given Nicholas as he’d escaped over the wire fence in the alley behind Mike’s garage. “I wished I’d killed you. But now’s a good time, isn’t it? You’ve made your last mistake, boyo.”
Nicholas saw the detonator in Mulvaney’s hand. He fired, shattered his hand, but the bullet was too late. Mulvaney had already pushed the button and the floor was buckling under their feet.
The noise of metal wrenching apart was brutal, and then came the wall of flames behind him. No escape back through the door. He saw Mulvaney fall to the floor, heard him cursing, cradling his wrist.
He saw Lanighan standing in the corner, his eyes—exalted, that was it, his head thrown back to the heavens. A long, thin scream tore from his throat. Nicholas saw he had something in his hands. It was the three stones, but now they looked like one, and they were covered with blood, Kitsune’s blood.
Nicholas shouted, “Mike, Lanighan, stop him!”
She jumped in the window and crossed to Lanighan in three strides, turned him around, then put her fist to the soft spot under his jaw. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went down.
Mulvaney was on one knee but coming back up when Kitsune appeared from behind him and kicked him, hard, in the back. He sprawled onto the floor face-first, and she darted over to Lanighan.
The fire was whipping madly toward them, the walls starting to go up in flames around them.
Mike was pulling at his arm. “Nick, we’ve got to get out. Come on. Come on!”
He saw Kitsune through a thickening veil of smoke on her knees by Lanighan, the blood from her arm streaming over his face. She was hurt badly; he needed to help her. He took a step toward her, but she rose and rushed to him, pressed something hard into his hand.
He looked down and saw it wasn’t the three stones united, it was simply the Koh-i-Noor, and it was covered with blood, her blood. What had happened to the other two stones?
Kitsune’s face was highlighted by the inferno behind her. He saw her mouth move: “Go.”
He made a grab for her, but she raced back toward Mulvaney.
Mike screamed, “Nicholas, come on, come on! I’ll get Lanighan.” She pulled him up and threw him over her shoulder and carried him to the fire escape. Nicholas climbed out the window, and she shoved Lanighan at him.
Together, they got Lanighan down the rickety metal stairs as Menard’s men came running. Nicholas literally threw Lanighan at them. He saw the building was a raging inferno, pulsing with the heat of the flames. He started back to the fire escape.
Mike grabbed his arm. “No, Nicholas, it’s too late!”
He turned briefly to look at her and said only, “I have to go back for her,” and she watched helplessly as he began to climb the ladder rungs.
The metal was hot under his hands, and the higher he climbed, the hotter it became. He reached the window but could see only billowing endless flames, the black smoke threading in and out in a mad dance. He yelled her name again and again.
Then he saw her. He yelled her name again. She turned and smiled, gave him a small salute, and turned back into the fire. He saw her standing over the body of her mentor, and Nicholas would swear he heard the sound of a bullet over the crackling roar.
She was gone.
He climbed back down the fire escape, and saw Menard’s soldiers had gathered up the remainder of Lanighan’s guards. One of Menard’s men said, “We have four down out front. The firefighters are on their way.”
Mike stepped to his side, gripped his shoulder. Her face was black, covered in soot. He slowly reached up a hand and wiped her cheek.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and began running her hands over his chest, his arms. “Nicholas, listen to me. You’re bleeding, bad, but I can’t find the wound. Where are you hit?”
His ears hurt, his throat was raw with smoke. His hands were blistered from the heat of the metal. He looked down to see his shirtfront was covered in blood from where he’d wiped his hands. “I’m fine. It’s not my blood, it’s hers. Kitsune’s gone. I think she shot Mulvaney.”
It had all happened in a split second.
Mike hit him on the shoulder. “You scared me again. Stop doing that.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Koh-i-Noor, still smeared with Kitsune’s blood.
Mike stared at the bloody stone. “So she gave it to you after all.”
He saw Kitsune’s face again, saw her smile, saw her walk into the heart of the fire. He cleared his throat. “She’d never hidden the Koh-i-Noor in Lanighan’s briefcase. She had it all along; it was in the blue bag. I saw her pry it out of Lanighan’s hand, and she gave it to me.”
Mike didn’t say anything. She’d seen Kitsune lean over him, but she hadn’t seen anything else, at least not clearly.
They turned and watched the fire, listened to the smaller explosions rip through the warehouse as the charges that Mulvaney had laid ignited. Nicholas could swear the Koh-i-Noor was warm in his hand, but when he looked down at it, he saw that the skin of his palms was burned and beginning to blister.
Mike asked, “Nicholas, did you see the other diamonds?”
“No.” Had he? He simply didn’t know.
“All that precious art on the bottom floor, all of it destroyed.”
The roof started to collapse, the corrugated metal walls buckling with an unearthly groan. Nicholas put his arm aroun
d her shoulders and turned her away.
“Enough. Let’s go home.”
98
Ritz Paris
15 Place Vendôme
Sunday morning
Mike came out of her bedroom the next morning to find Nicholas already showered, dressed, and sitting at the table in their living room, eating a croissant that she wanted to rip out of his hand.
He looked up and smiled at her. “Good morning. Before you ask, yes, my stitches survived.” He saw her arm was back in a sling. No wonder, given the way she’d jerked Lanighan over her shoulder last night. “How about yours?”
She waved him off. “All good.”
She sat at the table and stared at the beautiful plate of food in front of her—café crème, yogurt, croissants with strawberry preserves, and a big fat brioche.
He said, “Best of all, here’s coffee. You’ll need your strength. Our debriefing is in half an hour.”
She asked, “How are your hands?”
“I’ll do.” They fell into comfortable silence as they ate their breakfast.
Mike wiped the crumbs off the front of her shirt, glanced at her watch. “Okay, it’s time to fill them in on our adventures last night.” She opened her laptop and tapped into the CIVITS secure videoconference feed. The twentieth-floor conference room appeared on the screen. Zachery, Ben, Gray, Savich, and Sherlock were sitting around the table.
She waved a croissant at them. “Bonjour.”
Light laughter, then Zachery said, “It’s already all over the news, all over the world, and viral on the Internet. The Koh-i-Noor saved, but no details. Probably one of Menard’s men saw you with it but didn’t know how you’d gotten it. After we get things clear, we’ll hold a press conference here.
“I’m very glad to see both of you alive. Is the warehouse fire out yet?”
Nicholas answered, “At last count, there were two hundred firefighters and forty-five engines on scene, and the thing’s still burning. Mulvaney knew his business. All the surrounding warehouses went up in flames, too. The fire spread nearly half a mile through the area. They had to evacuate all the home.”
Mike said, “Not to mention every ounce of evidence was destroyed and all the priceless artwork stored there. It will be a week before the hot spots die down enough for a forensic examination to begin.”
“Any bodies recovered?” Ben asked.
“Four guards who were near the doors, firing at Menard’s men, and one guard from the second floor.”
Zachery asked, “The Ghost? The Fox?”
Nicholas shook his head. “The last time I saw Kitsune—the Fox—she’d knocked Mulvaney out. He was facedown and unconscious near the doorway where the fire was coming in fast.” He paused for a moment, and added in an emotionless voice, “She was bleeding heavily. She gave me the Koh-i-Noor, then walked back into the flames.” He didn’t mention the gunshot because he didn’t know if Kitsune had used it to kill Mulvaney or herself. He didn’t want to know.
“How’s Lanighan?” Savich asked.
Mike said, “He’s in a secure unit at Hôpital Saint-Antoine. Menard told us he’s retreated into his own mind, chanting sutras. He won’t answer to his name, won’t recognize anyone around him. The doctors don’t know if or when he’ll ever recover.
“All of you now know what Lanighan wanted to do—merge the three stones and heal himself. Become immortal.” She nodded to Nicholas.
He said, “I can’t describe what I saw last night as well as I’d like, but here goes. I saw Lanighan standing in the corner of the big second-floor room, his face lit up, his arms outstretched toward the ceiling, and he was cupping a huge bloody stone in his hands. He looked, well, maybe like he saw something no one else had ever seen before, he looked like he’d been blessed—I know that sounds strange. Really sorry, but nothing more than that.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You remember Lanighan had leukemia as a teenager and went into remission. Recently the leukemia returned. And I, well, I asked the emergency-room doctors to test his blood.” He paused a moment. “His blood work came back entirely normal.”
There was silence, then Savich said, “Are you saying the legend had truth at its core? That reuniting the three parts of the diamond cured him?”
“All I’m saying is he no longer has cancer. Perfect health, at least physically. I can’t tell you more because I don’t know any more.”
Everyone was quiet. Sherlock finally broke the silence. “You said the Fox gave you the Koh-i-Noor. Is it damaged in any way?”
Nicholas said, “Both Mike and I have examined it thoroughly and we can’t see anything wrong with it. It’s in the safe here in the room. I suppose the insurance indemnity folks would like it returned to the Met so it can be replaced in the crown.”
Zachery said, “You bet. Last time I saw the director he was rubbing his hands together, saying he now expects the Jewel of the Lion exhibit will draw twice as many people as they’d planned; it’ll be the event of the century. Hey, it’ll probably be the start of a new legend. Once he hears the details, he’ll probably give you guys a lifetime membership to the Met.”
Nicholas said, “I’m glad someone will benefit from all this—” He waved his hand. This what? he wondered. Waste? Tragedy? He supposed some good had come out of this, but frankly all he could think about was the needless loss—Elaine dead, Kitsune killed in the fire.
Savich said, “Not only will the Met burst its seams with visitors to the exhibit, but Bo still has the contract. The Met has asked him to double the security.”
Sherlock said, “Yep, Bo’s a happy camper.”
Zachery asked them to run through the previous night’s events, then once more, with a dozen questions thrown in. He finished with, “Job well done, people, and thanks, Drummond, for your minor assistance to the FBI.” And he laughed.
Savich said, “Nick, would you mind sticking around for a moment? I’d like to talk to you alone.” The conference room emptied around him.
Nicholas said, “Sure, Savich.” He glanced at Mike.
She said, “I’m outta here; a nice hot shower calls my name.”
When they were alone, Savich said, “I have a proposition for you.”
Up went a black brow.
“Nick, you’ve got talent, and insight, and let’s be honest here, you take crazy, stupid chances and you’re a bit uncaring about your own hide. I also think you’ve got the luck of the Devil, and that’s never something to discount. However, the important thing is you get results.”
The brow was still up. “You’re very kind.”
Savich grinned. “No, I’m not kind at all. I’m being entirely selfish here. I want you, Nick. Would you consider leaving New Scotland Yard and joining the FBI?”
Nicholas nearly spewed out the coffee he’d just drunk. “What? You want me to join the American FBI?”
“Yes. You’d have to go through the proper channels to apply, but with your spook and cop experience, your facility with languages, and your computer skills, you’re a match with what we’re looking for. You’re thirty-one, only a year over the average age for our entrants.
“You work well with our agents, and you’ve scored a big win recovering the Koh-i-Noor. I’ll even put in a good word for you. You’ll have to go through the academy at Quantico like all the other agents. It won’t be easy, and I can’t guarantee you won’t wash out.”
Nicholas said, “After all that, it would be a shame to blow the landing, wouldn’t it?”
Savich laughed. “I can’t promise, but I think I could get you assigned to the New York Field Office. It seems to me you’d be a good fit there, and from all the signs, Zachery thinks you’re a pretty handy guy to have around. I’d want you to work with my teams in Washington, D.C., as well, on a case-by-case basis.”
It was finally sinking in. The FBI. Nicholas Drummond, a cop with New Scotland Yard—the American FBI. He said slowly, “I hadn’t thought about another life-changing move, Savich. I really appreciate what you’ve
said, but I’ll have to think about it, long and hard.” Only he didn’t, he realized, he really didn’t.
“All I can ask. Hurry, though. The new academy class starts soon. Now, you and Mike get home safe. And again, congratulations.”
Call ended, Nicholas sat back on the sofa, staring out at the Parisian sky. Rain had begun to fall. He hoped it would help put out the warehouse fire.
The American FBI.
Mike came into the living room. “Yeah? So will you be the first Brit in the FBI?”
“Agent Caine, were you eavesdropping?”
“Sure. Did you know he was going to ask you to come aboard?”
He shook his head.
“Will you? Will you come join us?”
He laid his arm along the back of the sofa. “What do you think, Mike? Do you want me to join you?”
She gave him a long look. He looked like he’d been in a major-league brawl and he’d won, just barely. He didn’t look at all like Mr. Aren’t I Great. What he looked was tough and dangerous and tired, and beneath it all was a deep well of excitement, and perhaps a dollop of uncertainty.
She said slowly, “Well, Dillon is right. All in all, you’re not a bad cop. You’ve got a pretty good brain. Trust the academy to train you up, make you into a real agent. Then yeah, maybe I could deal with having you in New York.”
“I’m blushing. You and Savich, both of you heaping all these compliments on my head.”
She joined him on the sofa and took one of his battered hands in hers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the queen makes you a knight or something.”
He felt the warmth of her flesh as she cradled his hand. It felt good. He realized she smelled like jasmine and wild grass again. He said, “Well, fact is, even though I hate to admit it, I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
She cocked her head to the side and regarded him thoughtfully. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we? If you come to New York, I wouldn’t say no to having you as a partner.”
“You’re saying if I join the FBI, you’d have my back?”
The Final Cut Page 33
