The Final Cut Page 7

  He couldn’t very well shoot her, since she was driving. He said only, his voice mild, “That’s one possibility. Next?”

  “Or Inspector York found out about a plan to steal the jewel, tried to put a stop to it, and got herself killed.”

  “As my uncle Bo rightly pointed out, she’d have come to him immediately if she suspected something. That won’t wash.”

  She swerved around a manic bicycle messenger. “Whoa. Idiot. All right. Putting Inspector York aside, is there a market for the Koh-i-Noor out there?”

  “There are private collectors who would literally pay anything to get their hands on something this unique. Not to mention the leaders of the countries who think the Koh-i-Noor belongs to them. India asks for it back annually. Pakistan lays claim to it, as does Iran. All three had the Koh-i-Noor in their possession at one time or another, though India held it the longest. Queen Victoria was simply the last to get her hands on it.”

  “Iran and Pakistan? Could we be dealing with a nationalist with a major grudge?”

  “I don’t think it’s about a pissed-off nationalist, not with Anatoly involved. I suppose it could be about cutting the diamond into pieces for quick sale, but that doesn’t play for me. The Koh-i-Noor is far more valuable left intact.”

  “Then we’re talking about a private collector. Like Anatoly.”

  Nicholas said, “If he has unlimited funds, then yes. If not Anatoly, there are at least a dozen more I can think of to fit the bill.”

  16

  1000 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan

  The Metropolitan Museum of Art

  Thursday, noon

  The Metropolitan Museum of Art sat squarely on Fifth Avenue at Eighty-second Street, with Central Park its lovely backdrop. Three huge banners advertising the Jewel of the Lion exhibit hung from the parapets between the huge columns—purple, red, and gold—each with story-high silk-screened portraits of the crown that housed the Koh-i-Noor diamond.

  Mike turned off the flasher and siren a few blocks away so they wouldn’t announce themselves and make people wonder. She edged the car into a small space a block east of the Met. In front of the museum, people scurried about, and the American flag snapped in the chilly breeze as they walked past.

  Nicholas looked up and couldn’t help himself: he saw the perfect angles for an attack sniper, counted five possible eagle’s nests for shooters, watched the traffic barreling by and the dozens of people walking the streets.

  Nothing would happen, but the thought of it made the hair rise on the back of his neck. He pictured Elaine, carefree and alive, walking up the steps, on this same path daily for the past four months. All her energy, all her time, focused on this one place.

  Nicholas knew to his gut that Mike and his uncle were right. Someone intimate with the exhibit was the thief, someone who’d covered his tracks perfectly. And it wasn’t Elaine. He knew exactly who and what she was. So he had to solve the theft, and he’d solve Elaine’s murder. And absolve her.

  When they reached the Met’s steps, Nicholas said, “I see the museum staff is setting up for the Jewel of the Lion gala. It’s going to be quite a spectacle.”

  Mike nodded and pointed. “Those blue crowd barriers are meant to funnel the attendees into the appropriate doors. Nineteenth Precinct will help man the streets tonight. Even with six hundred people on staff, the Met security won’t be enough. Look at that huge red carpet they’re spreading on the steps. This is a show unto itself. There’ll be more paparazzi here, more reps from all the media swarming all over everyone who looks remotely important, than there are political fund-raisers in an election year.”

  Nicholas looked to the top of the stairs, where a woman with brown hair in a sleek ponytail was watching for them, tap-tap-tapping her boot. When he met her eye and nodded, her smile was clearly relieved. She gave him a tiny wave and a beckoning finger.

  He said, “There’s our curator, Dr. Victoria Browning. I looked her up online after Uncle Bo told me about her. He said she’d be waiting for us.”

  Nicholas made seven guards, plainclothes and uniformed, as they followed her into the cavernous entrance gallery. He assumed there were more guards he didn’t see; the space was nearly bursting with people. The grand stairs were already covered in flashy red carpet, a vermillion trail upward to the exhibit, and the beehive of activity simply enfolded them as they walked.

  Dr. Browning stopped next to the stairs and waited for them to catch up. Despite being smartly dressed in a gray wool sheath with a wide black belt, black tights, and high-heeled black leather boots, she looked exhausted, dark shadows beneath her eyes.

  Nicholas shook her hand. “Nicholas Drummond, Metropolitan Police. This is Special Agent Mike Caine, FBI. You’re Dr. Victoria Browning.”

  “Yes, I’m Dr. Browning. Mr. Horsley is waiting for you upstairs. Shall we?”

  Browning had a Scottish accent, and Nicholas recalled reading that she was born and raised in Roslin, though he hardly wanted her to know he’d been checking up on her. As they started toward the north elevators he said, “It’s very nice to hear a familiar voice. Edinburgh, is it?”

  Browning smiled, showing nice straight white teeth and dimples, which made her look very young. “Well done, Detective Chief Inspector. And I grew up near Roslin.”

  He said easily, “A charming village. Overrun with tourists headed to the chapel, I suppose?”

  “After The Da Vinci Code made us famous, yes, but you know, I wanted out badly, before the movie, and so I read archaeology at the University of Edinburgh, then did my postdoc research fellowship in art crimes and cultural heritages. Before curating the Jewel of the Lion exhibit, my responsibilities here at the Met included verifying the provenance of everything that comes in from the Middle East and India, my specific areas of expertise. You would be amazed at how many fakes and stolen goods we find.”

  Mike said, “How horribly ironic.”

  Dr. Browning gave an exhausted laugh. “Agent Caine, you have no idea. Now, before I start screaming at these hordes of people, let’s take this conversation elsewhere.”

  She led them to the oversized service elevator. She used a key and swiped a white plastic pass through the black card reader before she hit the button. As the door slid shut, she collapsed back against the wall, letting it hold her weight, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Forgive me. I’m devastated, haven’t slept much worrying about all this. First Elaine, now the Koh-i-Noor. It has not been a good week. And now we’re going to have the fake Koh-i-Noor in place tonight for the gala.”

  Nicholas said, “No one will realize it’s a fake, Dr. Browning, you know that.”

  She gave him a tired smile. “But that’s not the point, is it?”

  Mike asked her, “So you deal with all kinds of stolen art? I heard the Prado in Madrid found a good quarter of their paintings were forgeries, including a recent Sarah Elliott painting.”

  “Yes, The Night Tower, I heard. It’s still hard to believe, isn’t it? On the positive side, I also work with both the Museum Security Network and the Association for Research into Crimes Against Art to identify illegal pieces that make their way to our doors, make sure they’re returned to their rightful owners.”

  Nicholas said, “It’s been my experience there’s a huge market not only for stolen art, but all sorts of artifacts as well. Correct?”

  Dr. Browning nodded. “Yes. That’s why I work directly with the FBI Art Crimes team as well. I’m not accustomed to seeing our pieces leave the premises without permission.”

  Mike said, “I’m new to all this. Please tell us more about your security measures.”

  Browning waved her hand at the card reader mounted by the floor numbers. “This is part of the standard security protocol we have in place. Doors won’t close without the pass. This elevator goes only to the secure floors; you have to have both a key and a pass, as you saw, to access them. It’s also on camera twenty-four/seven, and so far there is nothing to indicate they were tampered with.”
She sighed. “Except, of course, for that five-minute power outage.”

  17

  Browning pulled a folder out of the slim black briefcase she’d set on the floor beside her. “Here’s the duty roster for the past three days, including tonight’s staffing for the ball. We have a huge security team in place.” She shook her head and Nicholas noticed the small gold hoops in her ears. “This theft doesn’t make any sense at all. I know everyone who works here. They work here because they love art and love our museum. They’d never do anything to hurt us.”

  Mike said, “No one’s been acting strangely over the past few days?”

  Dr. Browning shook her head again, making the earrings dance. “Nothing has happened to point suspicion. We were refused all vacation requests for the first three weeks of the exhibit, so it’s all hands on deck.” She frowned slightly. “Except Elaine. She’d never taken a sick day before, and, of course, the day of the power outage, poof, off she goes. Anyway, there’s a new shift coming in at four o’clock this afternoon to staff the ball; we’ll have to make sure everyone’s accounted for.”

  Nicholas said, “The diamond isn’t exactly a large item to steal. It could have been slipped into someone’s pocket, and walked right out the door.”

  “Yes, that’s true. At one hundred five carats, it’s a massive diamond, but small enough to fit in your hand. We have the files for everyone who’s been in the museum since the exhibit arrived and we’re going through the video feeds to see who was where and when. Assuming the diamond was switched during the five minutes of missing video feed, we’re checking the cameras to see if anyone was out of place, leading up to that time, and afterward.”

  Mike said, “If the diamond is still on-site, it could be anywhere.”

  “Yes. All the staffers who started their shifts this morning have been asked to stay on until dismissed by Mr. Horsley. They’ve complied, but everyone knows something’s up. Something major. We won’t be able to keep this quiet much longer. Our rumor mill is as big as our staff.”

  The elevator stopped on the fifth floor. Dr. Browning led them down a corridor, their heels echoing in the cavernous silence, through a few turns, then to a gray steel door guarded by two men wearing the black fatigues of Bo’s security firm. She said, “VIP tour, guys. We’ll be about ten minutes or so.” They stood aside without a word, and Nicholas noticed they both carried Glock .40s. Bo wasn’t kidding—the security staff was loaded for bear.

  Dr. Browning put her palm in the reader and waited for the beep. She said to Mike, “Another layer of security, the biometric reader.” She swiped her pass in the reader and entered a code. The door hissed when it broke free of its seal. She said, “This is a low-oxygen environment; it helps keep things nice and fresh. Here we are.”

  The room was dark, but at its center were three long vitrine cases softly lit from within and full of incredible artifacts—gold and jewel-handled daggers and swords, brilliant earrings and glittering tiaras, and scores of intricately carved gold boxes, all from the Tower of London.

  In the elevated middle vitrine, clearly the star of the show, sat the queen mother’s beautiful crown on its bed of purple velvet. Nicholas had seen it several times, and it always took his breath away. The history of the jewels aside, they were bloody gorgeous.

  And the Koh-i-Noor. Enhanced by the special display lighting, the brilliant diamond shined bright as the stars from its home in the stunning crown. It was insanely large, oval, and the size of an egg. And it was a fake. No one would be able to tell the difference tonight at the gala, no one.

  There was a note of awe in Mike’s voice. “This is quite impressive, Dr. Browning, but—”

  She interrupted smoothly, with a smile. “Do call me Victoria, please. I know. This stone doesn’t look fake at all, does it? It’s really rather magnificent. That is because it’s a perfect replica of the original Koh-i-Noor, which, trust me, is even more spectacular, at least to a trained eye. This replica fits the setting like it was made for it, which technically it was.”

  Nicholas leaned in for a closer look. “I would never know the difference. Tell us again why you tested it?”

  Victoria said, “I received a call from Peter Grisley, who was hired several years ago to digitally map the Koh-i-Noor. There are some great stories about it online, published in a number of places. I’ll get one of my guys to pull it all together for you. Someone broke into his workshop and stole his replicas, but he doesn’t know when it happened, because he’s a snowbird and has been in Arizona since November. He came home for a weekend before flying here to see the exhibit and realized that his replicas were missing, so he called us immediately, knowing something must be up.” She paused, staring at the display and said, “Boy, was he ever right.”

  18

  The air lock hissed, and Bo Horsley came into the exhibit room with a big smile and his arms out.

  “Nicholas Drummond. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Uncle Bo looked so much like Nicholas’s mother it was unnerving at times. They hugged, slapping each other on the back. Nicholas said, “It’s good to see you, Uncle Bo.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Nick, but I’m very glad you came. Mike, thanks for picking Nick up at JFK. You don’t look bad for a woman who was up all night.”

  She shook Bo’s hand. “I only need an hour or two of sleep to stay upright with all this adrenaline pumping through my veins. I knew retirement wouldn’t suit you. You’ve been gone only six weeks, yet here you are, back on the treadmill.”

  “And what a treadmill—listen, Mike, I don’t know anyone from Federal Plaza other than you that I’d rather have hunting for the blasted diamond, and finding out why Inspector York was killed. Thanks for being so discreet.” He paused, blasted a big smile at Nicholas. “And now you’ve got my boy here to help you. First off, let me assure you the director of the Met is on board with our plan—no choice, really, since he wants to save his job, his reputation, not to mention all the money the Met would have to pony up. Nick, did you get Mike up to date on what we think happened?”

  Nicholas nodded.

  “Good. I have something for you.”

  Bo dropped a small white box into Mike’s hand. She looked at it closely, turned it over a few times.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Nicholas asked.

  Mike smiled. “If you’re thinking it’s a relay capacitor for an EMP, yes.” She turned to Bo. “Where did you get this?”

  “Turned up in a sweep of the basement. This is how the thief turned off the power yesterday.”

  Mike cocked her head to one side, looked back at the fake Koh-i-Noor, tossed the relay into the air and caught it, then murmured, “Five floors away.” She looked up. “I realize the most likely scenario is that the thief stole the Koh-i-Noor during the five-minute power outage, which means he or she had an inside helper, someone who could have attached this very effective device to the museum’s electrical grid to shut everything down while the thief was switching out the diamonds. I’m thinking we have to look at everyone again, not only the people with direct contact with the diamond.”

  Bo grinned like a bandit at her. “Smart as a whip,” he said to Nicholas. “You’re exactly right, Mike. We’re not talking about a dozen or so staff, we’re talking the whole ocean of Met employees. We’ve pulled the files for every employee within spitting distance of the exhibit, but it isn’t a small group, believe me, and then there are the delivery people and students and the public who are in day and night. Cross-referencing our security video from the museum with the FBI’s new NGI program—next-generation identification facial-recognition technology—will at least get us in the ballpark if there’s anyone with a record who’s been in and out of the museum around the time of the power outage.

  “And another little spanner in the works: we realized the five-minute power outage also wiped the tapes of at least a minute before everything went black, so checking the basement stairs probably won’t show us our inside guy. But we
’ll see. Can you handle integrating the NGI system with our video feeds, Nick?”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Good. Victoria, your job is to make sure no one suspects there’s a problem. This is business as usual, a last-minute test of all our security systems before the gala tonight. Would you please get the video feed from the day of the power outage for Nicholas and Mike so they can get started matching it to the NGI database? See if we’ve hosted any criminals over the past few days.”

  Victoria said, “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

  Nicholas wasn’t blind. He quirked a brow at Mike. “Any trouble with me finding criminals with you?”

  She narrowed her eyes but said, “Of course not. But remember, the system is pretty new, and we’re talking a lot of people, which means we’ll probably have a lot of false leads.”

  “I know a few tricks that might save us some time.”

  Nicholas ignored her raised eyebrows and reminded himself where he was. Best not to share with her his less-than-legal skills.

  Bo said, “Good, good. Mike, did you enjoy meeting Sherlock last night?”

  “I’ve gotta say, sir, Sherlock is pretty impressive, what with her ability to reconstruct a crime scene. We’ve got what happened at Inspector York’s apartment pretty nailed down.”

  “Don’t call me sir. I’m Bo to you now. Maybe something neither of you know. Savich designed the base programs we used for VICAP and CODIS, in addition to adapting the facial-recognition program developed at New Scotland Yard for the FBI.” Bo rubbed his hands together. “He and Sherlock are solidly in the loop. They’ll be a great resource for us.”