by Jeff Lindsay
Taylor shrugged. “Dunno. Chief’s girlfriend isn’t here, either.”
“She probably all busted up ’bout the chief,” Tremaine said.
“Yeah,” Snyder said. “Think Miller is, too?”
“He’d sure as shit stay away if he was guilty,” Mallory said.
“Maybe,” Szabo said. “And maybe it’s a legit reason.” He filled them in quickly on what Special Agent Shurgin had said.
“A Frog?” Snyder demanded. “You think it was some Frog killed the chief?” He snorted and shook his head.
“Why not? You can get badass Frenchmen,” Tremaine said, looking and sounding injured. “Some of those ole boys in Marseille are badass as they come.”
“Anybody can get the drop on anybody else, you know that,” Szabo said. “The point is, we don’t know. I mean, Miller doesn’t come in today? Yeah, sure. That looks guilty. But we got to consider this other guy.”
“Why?” Mallory asked. “Chief said that thing about the beard, and then the beard plays hooky?”
“FBI don’t fuck around wasting time,” Taylor said. “He says it’s the Frog, he got a reason.”
“Sure,” Mallory said. “We all know how smart and efficient the government is, right?”
“Fuck is wrong with you?” Taylor demanded. “FBI is the best in the world at their shit, and—”
“I’m just saying I want some fucking proof!” Mallory said just as hotly. “You can’t just—”
“Stow it,” Szabo said. The two men went silent. “We can’t do shit about Miller when he’s not here. And we’re gonna look like prize assholes if it is the Frog and we miss him.” He looked around the small circle of faces. “We’re not quitting on Miller,” he said. “Not on anything or anybody. Not until we got the guy that scragged the chief. But Miller isn’t going anywhere—he’s fucking married to an Eberhardt. So right now we focus on this French guy. Okay?”
After a moment’s thought, the others all nodded their heads. “Right,” Szabo said. “Let’s set our action stations.”
CHAPTER
30
It had been the longest day Katrina could remember.
The morning had been bad enough. The phones had not stopped ringing for two minutes, and every call had been a network, or a bureau, or a newspaper—calls had come from all over the world, all wanting the details of what had happened last night at the disastrous gala. And even though Katrina’s plan had been to hand all these calls over to her brother Tim, there had just been too many for him to handle alone, and she’d had to give statements to such unlikely places as Bahrain, Indonesia, and Guiana. She didn’t know what to say, and she stumbled over every phrase, until, in the end, Tim had crafted a general statement, and they had both answered each call by reading it, thanking the caller for their interest, and hanging up.
And then, to have that FBI agent, with his ridiculously thick goggles, sitting in the conference room the entire time, staring at the video monitor and snapping irritably at anyone who interrupted him. His attitude of cranky authority, combined with his creepy appearance, were nearly as intimidating to Katrina as all the phone calls. She had never wanted so badly to have Randall there for moral support.
Katrina had tried to call Randall, to tell him what was happening and that she was staying here and why. But he hadn’t answered his phone. She hoped that meant he was driving home, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying about him, on top of everything else. It was a long drive; some of the roads were very bad and filled with drunken rednecks—what if he’d had an accident? The way things seemed to be going right now, that made a kind of emotional sense to her, and she couldn’t lose the mental image of a broken Randall lying in a cold upstate ditch. And all for some ridiculous painting that was almost certainly a fake of some kind.
Katrina sat in the office worrying and answering a few more telephone calls. When the museum closed for the day, she switched on the answering machine. With nothing to do now, she passed the hours fretting. She took turns worrying about Randall, then about the museum, then occasionally pausing to wonder if she was in any danger herself. Special Agent Shurgin had asked her to be there to represent the family, but he hadn’t said why he thought that might be necessary, nor what she might be asked to do.
And then, at long last, the FBI man called them all to the conference room.
* * *
—
Right there.” Special Agent Shurgin pointed at the screen. Katrina leaned forward and watched as the video image of a shadowy figure flitted across the museum’s roof and then vanished over the side. “That’s him.”
“Khar too kharé,” the Iranian commander, Iravani, muttered.
Szabo nodded. “Yup.”
“Hervé Coulomb,” Shurgin said with quiet intensity. “And he is not here to look at pictures. He is here to take the jewels.”
Katrina took a ragged breath. So much had happened—was happening—and it was just a little too much to take in all at once. After last night . . . and now this, another attack . . . ? “Are you—I mean, how can you be sure?” she asked. “That it’s—you know. This, this—criminal . . . ?” It sounded terribly feeble, even to her ears, but she didn’t want it to be true, not on top of everything else.
Shurgin pushed back from the screen and looked at her. It was not a friendly or encouraging look. “How many men do you know who can move up walls like that?” he said. “And how many of them would be on the roof of your museum, knowing they could get shot for it?”
Katrina bit her lip and shook her head.
Shurgin nodded, once, and said, “That’s him. Believe me, I know him when I see him.”
Of course, Katrina thought. That is, if you really can see anything. The thick glasses made her nervous for some reason—more nervous than having an FBI special agent come into the museum and take over. But Erik had told her to do what the special agent told her to do. She probably would have anyway since she had a natural respect for authority. And in any case, the man was there to help them.
So she just folded her arms across her chest and watched as Shurgin turned his head back to the screen. “There can’t be any doubt. That’s Coulomb, and he was looking for a way in from the roof. If he doesn’t find it there, he’ll keep looking until he finds it somewhere else. But,” he said, “I think he has found it.”
Katrina looked around at the men gathered here in the conference room: Lieutenant Szabo, the leader of the Black Hat team; Iravani, the Iranian commander; Mr. Alinejad from the Iranian Special Interest section; and Wilkins, the man from the State Department. Tim had gone home, pleading a prior engagement, but Katrina was quite sure he just didn’t like being there with all the law enforcement and security men around. And Erik had left at five o’clock without even making an excuse as feeble as Tim’s. So Katrina was the only representative of the Eberhardt family, and the museum, currently present.
“I know this man,” Shurgin said, still staring at the shadowy image on the screen. “He does. Not. Quit.” He scowled at the screen, the lines on his brow deep furrows. “Last night was no more than a test run, to see what our defenses looked like from the inside.” He frowned at the screen and ran the recording backward, running the same clip again.
“Are you sure this man was here last night?” Katrina asked. “Inside the museum? With all the people here? I mean, it was— The place was packed.”
“That’s exactly why I’m sure he was here,” Shurgin said without looking away from the screen. “No one would notice him in the crowd.”
“Wait a sec,” Lieutenant Szabo said. He took a step forward closer to Shurgin. “So if he was here last night—he’s the guy killed Chief Bledsoe?”
“That’s highly likely,” Shurgin said.
“Why?” Szabo demanded.
“Either because your chief was helping him, or because he wouldn’t,” Shurgin said.
Shurgin swiveled in his seat, bringing him practically nose-to-nose with Szabo. “Either he was helping Coulomb, or he would not,” Shurgin repeated. “There is no other possible explanation.”
“Chief Bledsoe would never. EVER. Flip on us,” Szabo said softly.
Shurgin held his gaze for a long moment until Katrina wanted to scream. Then he said, very matter-of-factly, “I’m sure you’re right,” and turned back to the video screen.
Szabo took a very deep breath and then straightened up slowly.
“Perhaps we could get back to the point?” Mr. Wilkins said. “You said this French thief has already found a way in? So you believe he will be back?”
“I know he will,” Shurgin said.
“Knowledge is wonderful,” Commander Iravani said dryly. “Do you also know when he will return?”
“Yes,” Shurgin said. “He will come back tonight. And he will keep coming—until he gets in.”
“What do you suggest?” Szabo asked.
Shurgin faced Szabo and smiled, the first sign of humanity Katrina had seen from the FBI man. “I say—we let him in. Tonight.”
The Iranian snorted and looked at Shurgin as if he was crazy. “You will forgive me if I do not share your infidel sense of humor?”
“I’m dead serious,” Shurgin said, all traces of the smile gone. “If we give Coulomb one way in, he’ll take it. And when he comes—tonight—we will be waiting for him.”
“There’s not a whole lot of time to set something up,” Szabo said. “And how do we let this guy know the way in without him getting suspicious?”
“Coulomb has an informant on the inside who has been paid to clear the way for him,” Shurgin said. Szabo growled, and Shurgin looked at him, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I meant it when I said you’re right. The chief was not Coulomb’s informant. But I know who is.” He glanced around the circle of startled faces, and he smiled. “One of us, in this very room, has been selling information to Coulomb on the dark web.”
“Who?” Katrina blurted. They all looked at her. “For God’s sake, don’t go all Miss Marple on us—who would do that?”
Shurgin’s smile grew wider. “I did,” he said.
The stunned silence lasted several seconds, and then everyone erupted angrily at the same time. Shurgin rode it out with smile in place and finally held up his hand for silence. He glanced at them one at a time, his gaze settling at last on Mr. Alinejad, the Iranian diplomat, who was smiling broadly. “Mr. Alinejad has understood,” Shurgin said.
“I congratulate you—it is very nearly as devious as a Persian solution,” Alinejad said, showing a double row of very white teeth. “You offer him a piece of meat—but it also has in it a hook, correct?”
Shurgin nodded. “I offered the information for sale on the dark web,” he said. “And I sorted through the replies until I had Coulomb.”
“Very clever,” Alinejad said.
Shurgin acknowledged the compliment by inclining his head.
“What info did you give him?” Szabo asked. He still looked a little angry.
“I told him that cutting the power to the museum would take out the alarm system,” Shurgin said. “And I said I would divert the guards and cut the backup system.”
“Hold on a second,” Szabo said. “Cut the backup?”
“Otherwise, the alarms will still go off and Mr. Coulomb will not come in to join us.” He looked at Szabo, then at Iravani. “If he has one way in, and one time to use it, and we know it,” he said carefully, “we will have him when he comes.” He turned his unsettling gaze on Szabo. “If your team is as good as you seem to think, we will have him.” He looked around again, as if daring anyone to object.
No one did, although Wilkins shook his head and murmured, “A bold plan. A bit risky.”
“No risk at all,” Shurgin said. “We know when and where he will come. We will be there waiting.” He looked at Iravani. “I was going to suggest that your team move into position to make the capture, Commander Iravani.” Wilkins nodded approvingly.
“Of course,” Iravani said with heavy sarcasm. “So when this criminal attacks, it is my men and my country who are in danger, and if he succeeds, we are to blame.”
“If you prefer, I will ask Lieutenant Szabo’s men,” Shurgin said. “I’m quite sure they can handle it if you can’t.”
“We’d love to snag the bastard,” Szabo said. “Dead or alive.”
“Alive,” Shurgin snapped. “It must be alive!” He blinked angrily around the circle of faces, then appeared to calm down. “The FBI has a very long list of major crimes Mr. Coulomb has been connected with. We would very much like to get our hands on Mr. Coulomb, alive, and have a long conversation—”
“And so you will risk my country’s greatest treasures?” Iravani said angrily. “To catch a simple bloody thief?”
Shurgin stared at Iravani. His eyes were huge through the lenses and somehow conveyed a weird menace. The Iranian backed up half a step, and Katrina thought, Oh, good—I’m not the only one who finds this man a little alien. “If we set the trap properly—if we do this in a competent way,” Shurgin said flatly, “there is no risk. And,” he added, raising a hand to forestall Iravani’s objection, “whoever makes the capture will look like heroes. All the media around the world will grab at this, play it up big.” He allowed a very small smile to play on his lips. “I can see headlines like ‘Revolutionary Guard Captures Thief American Police Cannot.’” He let Iravani enjoy that for a moment, then nodded. “But if you don’t think your people can handle this—”
“We will do this,” Iravani snapped. “But only if we approve of the arrangements.”
Shurgin looked at the Iranian for a few uncomfortable seconds, then nodded. “Very well,” he said at last. “Then assuming you agree—here’s what we’ll do.”
CHAPTER
31
I don’t trust that FBI guy, Lieutenant,” Snyder said when Szabo rejoined the team. “Somethin’ ’s off about him.”
“I don’t trust him, either,” Szabo said. “He gives me the fucking creeps, and there’s definitely something off. That changes nothing. He’s a federal agent.”
“Yeah, but, Lieutenant,” Tremaine said. He hesitated, then went on in his soft voice, “My brother-in-law, he’s a cop? Louisiana State Police? And he was thinkin’ ’bout trying for the FBI?”
“Is he a dumb cracker like you?” Taylor asked. “Cuz if he is—”
“Shut up, Taylor,” Tremaine said without anger. “Point is, you got to have good eyesight—think he said, no worse than 20-40?”
“Which this motherfucker clearly don’t have,” Snyder said. “So what the fuck?”
They were all silent for a minute. “Maybe he had an accident in the line of duty,” Szabo said.
The others looked at him dubiously.
“Well, shit, I don’t know,” Szabo said. “He’s got a real badge, and he’s got this French guy coming in tonight, and if there’s a chance the Frog killed the chief, I want to know about it, all right?”
Slowly, one at a time, the others nodded. Szabo nodded back and said, “Let’s get in position,” and they began to move together out of the lobby and down the hall.
“Yeah, but,” Snyder said, “even if he really is what he says—why the fuck did he make us the backup?” Snyder grumbled. “To a bunch of fucking towelheads, too—that ain’t right . . .”
Taylor grunted agreement. “I fucking hate this,” he said.
“Diplomatic reasons. Ab
ove your pay grade,” Szabo said.
“And if we’re backup, how we gonna get a chance at this guy, Lieutenant?” Tremaine added. “Like you said, we got to have a few words with him before the cops take him away.”
“We’ll get our chance, I’ll make sure of that,” Szabo said reassuringly, even though he wasn’t entirely sure about that himself.
“Just saying,” Snyder said. “Our country, and we let a hostile foreign power take point?” He shook his head. “That ain’t right.”
“And we cut the backup alarm system?” Tremaine said. “Don’t much like that.”
“We’re the backup,” Szabo said. “And we’re better than any battery-powered high-tech gadget. Goddamn it, I want to get my hands on this guy just as bad as you do.”
“Yeah, but, Lieutenant—” Taylor said.
“For Christ’s sake, quit whining,” Szabo cut him off. “Shurgin was right. We got to lure this guy in, or he’ll get spooked and run. And that means cut the alarms—all the alarms. That just makes sense.”
“Shit,” Snyder grumbled. “I never did like sense.”
“That’s why you never made it past PO3,” Taylor said.
“Fuck you,” Snyder replied.
“All right,” Szabo said. They’d arrived at the exhibition. “Take perimeter positions and stay awake. Okay, Taylor?”
“Fuck you very much, sir,” Taylor responded, saluting smartly.
Szabo watched the men move off into position. But goddamn it, they’re right, he thought. There’s something wrong about Shurgin. But there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do about it for now. He shrugged it off and took his place near the exhibit hall’s door.
* * *
—
Afew minutes later, Szabo heard a clatter of feet and turned to see Special Agent Shurgin coming out of the door that led upstairs. He closed the door and approached Szabo.
“Lieutenant,” Shurgin said as he neared. “Is your team in place?”
