“Why come to us?” Cruz said before his boss could speak. “If the idea of LA cops makes you unhappy, call up the FBI. They’ll be falling all over their wingtips to help you.”
Novikov looked stricken. “The police? The FBI? All are bureaucrats! Either agency would turn the whole matter into a publicity opportunity.”
Cruz didn’t argue. It was the truth.
“In addition,” Novikov continued urgently, “your federal authorities report to Washington. Your government would attempt to turn the theft and the investigation to its own advantage. That is the nature of governments, is it not? They have no friends. They have only interests, as the ambassador once wrote.”
Redpath glanced from Novikov’s handsome, intent face to a crystal globe on the table in front of her. The solid sphere was delicately engraved with the continents and major islands, making it a cross between a fortune-teller’s crystal ball and a geopolitician’s globe.
“I was quoting de Gaulle,” she said, “and not out of admiration. One of the joys of leaving government service is that you can once more afford to have friends as well as interests.”
“Of course.” The Russian nodded approvingly. “I will not deny that I have political motives. I represent my government and its interests and I wish only two things. The first is to recover the Ruby Surprise as quickly and quietly as possible. The second is to minimize the cost to the Russian republic.”
“We aren’t cheap,” Cruz said. “Ask the Peruvian government what it cost them to recover the ten million bucks one of their former presidents stole from the government kitty.”
“I understand your fee is fifteen percent of whatever asset you trace or recover,” Novikov said. “I am willing to personally guarantee that, if you recover the egg, we will submit it to an appraiser of mutual acceptability and we will pay you fifteen percent of the value he or she establishes.”
Cruz glanced at Redpath. She had her diplomatic face on. Novikov could just have offered her a handful of diamonds or a platter of cold spit. Either way, her expression wouldn’t have changed.
“You will be amply rewarded,” the Russian emphasized. “That is the sole way you judge your own interests and the interests of your firm in this privatized world you now inhabit, is it not?”
Gillespie and Cruz looked at Novikov, wondering if the insult was accidental or deliberate.
Cruz voted for deliberate. Then he wondered what was making the normally measured Russian so reckless.
“The ambassador didn’t say we were whores,” Cruz pointed out calmly. “She just said that in a free market we’re free to make our own choices about clients.”
“It’s all right,” Redpath said, smiling at Cruz. “Aleksy is merely trying, in his own singular way, to appeal to our self-interest because he believes that to be the most efficient way to achieve his goal. There was no insult intended. Is that not correct, mon petit chou?”
Novikov’s smile was chilly. “To be sure, luv.”
She glanced back at the crystal globe for a long, silent moment.
Cruz had seen the expressionless gaze before. It was a sign that the extraordinary brain behind the ambassador’s striking green eyes was operating at full speed.
After a few seconds she seemed to reengage with the normal world. She looked at Novikov with a curious, dispassionate expression, as if surprised to see him still there.
“Once we recover the egg,” she said distinctly, “our nomination for the appraisal will be Christie’s auction house.
“Agreed,” Novikov said.
“But regardless of the appraisal,” Redpath added, “the fee will be not less than one million dollars. We will absorb all costs for the search. In return, our judgments are final.”
“Judgments?” Novikov asked her. “What do you mean?”
“If we call off the search, it’s over. If we call in police or federal authorities to make arrests, you won’t object.”
The Russian visibly swallowed. Then he nodded. “Agreed,” he said to her, because he had no other choice. “When can you begin?”
“We already have.”
“A theft such as this one is not the work of amateurs,” Novikov said. “The investigation must be in good hands.”
“Of course.”
Novikov glanced at Cruz and added, “Two good hands.”
Cruz came to his feet with deadly grace but Gillespie was already there, bending down to pick up an empty lemonade glass, blocking the way to Novikov. It looked accidental.
It wasn’t.
“Your investigation will be in good hands,” Redpath said. “Sergeant-Major, did you check with the pilot while you were getting refreshments?”
“Aye. Same old thing.”
“Damn that electrical panel,” Redpath muttered. “You’ll have to drive Mr. Novikov and Mr. Gapan back to Los Angeles.” She turned to Novikov. “But don’t worry, Gillespie hates long drives so he goes at a high rate of speed. You’ll be there almost as quickly as flying. Can I get in touch with you through the Hudson Museum?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. I presume you have a picture of the Ruby Surprise and the waybill for the entire shipment with you?”
“A picture, yes. I will inquire after the waybill.”
As Novikov spoke, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. Gillespie took it and handed it over to Redpath.
“Thank you,” she said.
Then she stood up, signaling an end to the discussion.
Automatically Novikov stood and reached out to take the hand Redpath offered. Before he knew quite what was happening, he and Gapan were being herded by Gillespie out of Redpath’s suite of offices.
As soon as the door closed behind the three men, Redpath sat down again in her chair and stared into the transparent globe on the table.
Cruz crunched ice cubes from his glass while he waited for her to finish her analysis. Finally she looked at him with faint irritation.
“You’ll ruin your teeth doing that,” she said.
“Yes, Mother. You’ll be thrilled to know I only do it when I’m irritated.”
“At me?”
“At that slippery little bastard insulting you like Risk Limited was some overpaid rent-a-cop outfit.”
She waved her hand, dismissing the insult.
“Don’t trust Novikov,” Cruz said.
“Any particular reason?”
“He was lying from top to bottom and side to side. If he’s nothing more than a bureaucrat with culture, how the hell can he authorize a million bucks to recover an egg he hasn’t even reported stolen?”
Redpath looked amused. “Better clean up. You’re back on duty.”
“I am? I was under the impression you promised Novikov someone with two good hands.”
“Crap,” she said succinctly. “Get off your buns of steel and get cleaned up. The pilot is going through the preflight check right now.”
“Electrical panel is working again, huh?” he said dryly.
“Convenient things, electrical panels.”
“You don’t trust Novikov any more than I do. Why did you take the job?”
“I’m interested in what Novikov hasn’t told us about that egg.”
“Such as?”
“Rumors. Hints. Whispers.”
“Such as?” Cruz repeated.
“It could be simple disinformation.”
“So give me a rumor, hint, or whisper, and I’ll decide.”
“You have good instincts. I trust them. You should too.”
He grimaced. “In other words, I’m flying blind.”
“But not alone. Not for long. Get moving, Cruz. I’m afraid we’ll have a lot of ugly competition on this one.”
Without a word, he turned and went toward the door.
“Cruz?”
“Yeah?”
“Wear black.”
11
Cambria
Monday afternoon
Swann glanced at his watch an
d headed for the worktable, where Laurel was patiently, slowly, trying to figure out the secret of the egg. But when he reached past her to take the egg, she shoved his hand away.
“No,” she said curtly. “All your poking and prying is as likely to ruin the egg as it is to open it. Leave me alone.”
Moving quickly despite the emotions seething beneath her calm surface, Laurel turned on another overhead light, centering it on the egg. The different illumination suggested an approach to her. A few more moments of study made her decide that the approach might work.
She pushed back from the table.
“What?” he asked instantly.
“I might have found the way.”
“Thanks, Laurie, I—”
“Don’t thank me,” she cut in.
“—knew I could count on you,” he said over her words.
“I couldn’t let you chop this up like egg salad.”
As Laurel turned and went to the locked cabinet on the wall, she saw the satisfied gleam in Swann’s eyes. He’d known all along that she would help him rather than see the exquisite egg destroyed.
“Do you always know the right buttons to push?” she asked coldly, spinning the combination lock.
He didn’t answer.
The cupboard door popped open. She grabbed a leather satchel and looked back over her shoulder at her father. He was watching her with hooded amber eyes.
“If it helps,” he said gently, “I’m not doing this just for myself.”
“I told you I don’t want money.”
“Suit yourself. But I’ve got some friends who need cash as much as I do. Maybe more. They were screwed over by the system too.”
The cupboard door slammed. With a vicious twist of her hand, she spun the combination lock. Then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming the race of her heart.
“Laurie? Is it so awful to help me a little bit?”
“Just stay off my buttons while I do it. I need steady hands for this.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think you would take it so hard. I guess I’ve just gotten used to the whole world being as bent as I am. I never should have come back.”
She wanted to be angry because it was safer that way, but the pain in her father’s voice made anger impossible.
“It’s all right, Dad. If I can help you, I will. God knows you’ve done enough for me, especially since Mom died.”
The mention of Laurel’s mother brought a shadow to Swann’s eyes that he couldn’t conceal. “You and Ariel are the best things that ever happened to me. I wanted to be as good for both of you…”
“We loved you,” Laurel said. “I still do. In the end, that’s all that matters.”
“Love?”
“Yes.”
Though her father didn’t disagree aloud, his smile was so sad and yet so hard that she couldn’t bear looking at it. So she went to the worktable, put down the leather satchel, and opened the lock that secured the satchel’s flap. Inside there were several leather-covered boxes and a portable laptop computer. She ignored the computer and took out one of the boxes.
The box had two compartments. The first section was filled with sheets of paper that had been folded around loose gems. The results were small, rectangular parcels that she’d lined up like filing cards on their long edge. Half the size of her palm, the little paper wraps were the traditional way jewelers kept track of small, valuable items like loose gemstones.
The second compartment of the box held tools of all kinds. The most striking were beautifully machined picks, files, probes, and jig heads, all lined up in a special leather case.
Swann came and looked over Laurel’s shoulder. He whistled appreciatively when he spotted the matched set of tools. “Maybe you did get something from me, after all. That reminds me of a kit I used to carry. Mine wasn’t so fancy, though.”
“You made jewelry?” she asked, surprised.
“Nope. Bombs and timer mechanisms, but the picks and probes were the same.”
The casual revelation sent ice sliding down Laurel’s spine. Suppressing a shudder, she chose a dental probe that had been coated with thin rubber. With a silent prayer of apology for any damage she might accidentally do, she bent over the jeweled egg.
Soon she was lost to everything but the goal of finding the egg’s hidden secret. The jewels themselves she dismissed quickly, but she lingered over the settings, which could have concealed a mechanism.
None did.
Disappointed but not surprised, she turned her attention to the solid gold filigree itself. It was beautifully wrought and so cleverly soldered that she saw no break in the pattern, no variation, nothing that would point the way to opening the egg without damaging it.
Frowning, she straightened.
“Nothing, huh?” Swann asked, correctly reading her expression.
“Not yet.”
“Well, there’s always my way,” he said, reaching past her.
“No.” She blocked his hand with her body. “Give me a few more minutes. Surely you can spare that much time to save something as extraordinary as this.”
He hesitated. “Okay. But only a few minutes, Laurie. Every second that thing is here increases your exposure.”
Without a word she went back to working on the egg.
While Swann waited, he watched his daughter. He saw himself in the tiny frown lines gathered between her black eyebrows and in the intensity of her concentration. Not for the first time he wondered what life would have been like if he’d been more settled and the world less wild.
Time only runs one way.
“The whole purpose of the egg is the surprise, right?” Laurel mumbled to herself.
“Art was never my best subject.”
She ignored him. “The last thing Fabergé would have wanted would be to irritate the czar. Therefore, any mechanism would have to be easy to operate. Concealed, yes, but still natural for someone to find.”
With her right hand, Laurel grasped the egg like it was a present she’d just unwrapped. One of her fingertips fell naturally onto an intricate filigree knot. There were other knots just like it in the pattern, but none were placed exactly where a right-handed person would grasp the egg.
One cord of the filigree was raised slightly.
“Oh, you were a clever courtier,” she murmured to a long-dead craftsman. “Hide it just enough so there is a sense of victory in finding it, but don’t hide it so well that your lord and master would get frustrated.”
“Do you have it?” Swann asked sharply.
“I think so.”
He reached for the egg.
Again she blocked his hand with her body. “Wait. It’s delicate.”
Gently she pressed on the raised filigree, trying to slip the gold wire first one way and then the other.
There was a soft metallic sound as a hidden lever moved. The jeweled shell split into two pieces, as if the top had been sliced off a soft-boiled egg. As the top came off, a hidden internal mechanism lifted up a red gemstone that was bigger than the ball of a man’s thumb.
“My God,” Laurel whispered, shaken by the size of the gem.
The stone was deep red, with large flat facets. Despite the odd cut, the gem burned with a ruby fire that was eerie. Alive.
“So that’s why they call it the Ruby Surprise,” Swann said.
She barely heard him. She was focused exclusively on the stone. The color was too deep to be described as pigeon’s blood, the standard by which all rubies were judged. But the gem itself seemed flawless.
“I’ve never seen a stone quite like it,” she said. “Light pours through it. I guess the czar’s likeness would have gone on one of the broad facets.”
Swann grunted.
“But the color is a bit off the highest standard,” she said. “The ruby would be hard to match with any other stones. It’s dark.”
“Like blood that’s just starting to dry,” he said.
Laurel had used the term pigeon’s blood for so many
years that she no longer thought what the comparison really meant. With a grimace, she looked away from the hypnotic stone.
The interior of the bottom of the egg had a design that was an intricate, asymmetrical, curved lattice made of silver and gold wires and pieces of what looked like clear crystal. If there were other jewels inside the egg, they weren’t immediately obvious.
Something cheeped rhythmically, startling Laurel from her intense study.
Swann pulled up the tail of his loose shirt and reached for the beeper on his belt. The motion gave Laurel a glimpse of the gun butt in the small of his back. Black, deadly, yet oddly beautiful in its shape, like a Stealth aircraft. A practical objet d’art for a practical man.
When Swann saw the readout window of the beeper, he nodded like he’d expected to see just that number.
“Over there,” she said, pointing across the room to a phone.
He went over, punched buttons, and waited while it rang.
She couldn’t tell from his expression if he was pleased, angry, or indifferent to the interruption.
“It’s me,” he said when the call was answered. “What’s up?”
He listened briefly. “What did he say?”
As Swann listened, Laurel sensed the gulf between them opening wider with every second. Gone was any hint of an affectionate father, or of a lover who still grieved for a woman seven years dead.
Now her father was what life had made him, what he’d chosen to be—a contract warrior. Hired muscle. Perhaps even an assassin.
I cut my share.
“Then squeeze his nuts harder,” Swann said distinctly. “Twist ’em until they pop. He’ll come around.”
As he listened to the response, his eyes almost disappeared in a cold, humorless squint of a smile.
“Then twist harder,” he said curtly. “I’m headed south now. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
After he hung up, he stared at the phone for a long moment, as if trying to decide something. Finally he looked around. When he saw his daughter, his eyes widened. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.
“Is there anything else you need from me?” she asked. Her throat was so tight the words were hoarse.
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