“You want to find the Dagger first, whoever the hell you happen to be.”
B pulled out his hanky and polished his ring. “It’s my turn for a compliment. You’re as perspicacious as you are handsome.”
“You want our help,” I said.
“Certainly.”
“You think we know something?”
“Let’s not be coy.”
“How much is it worth?” I asked.
“You wish to be compensated?”
“The Medici Dagger. What’s it worth?”
“Oh. That depends on to whom it is sold. An art collector would pay a substantial sum. Recall what the Japanese paid for a single Van Gogh? But Kee? What would he pay for a laser-targeted, nondetectable, satellite- launched smart bomb? Think of a large number. So . . . let us have a go at the Circles. We know you’ve got two pages of notes, two sets of Circles—”
“How’d you know—”
“Bugs. Electronic insects. A tiny microphone on your dinner cart. ‘Our fruitful earth will unavoidably become dry and sterile at the hands of men who it seems cannot help but wantonly destroy the very thing which gives them succor.’ Leonardo was quite a poet, wasn’t he? I’d like to have a look at those pages. Perhaps your lovely friend would be kind enough to translate the rest for us, although she is by no means critical to the translation. Coded Circles, hoisting system? Fascinating.”
“I want to see my friend right now,” I insisted. “I want to know she’s all right.”
“Your Ginny?” B said with a wry smile. I glared at him. He shrugged. “We bugged your phone at the Four Seasons as well.”
“So,” I said to the pompous bastard, “you’re the FBI or the NSA or no, MI-5, right? You’re a Tea Bag. MI- 5.”
“Tea Bag, how homespun,” B said, remaining unruffled. “A Southernism you picked up from your mother? She was from Tennessee, was she not?”
I gnawed the inside of my lower lip.
“Reb,” he said, “I’m simply the best man to tidy up Dodge, now that John Wayne is deceased and you’ve been relieved of your six-shooter. Very interesting, that. Never saw the likes of it before. We should discuss its origin.”
I heard the sound of muffled voices emanating from the next room.
“I’m keenly interested in the Medici Dagger,” B went on. “I know you are, too. Cooperate with me now, won’t you? The key to your deposit box in the hotel vault would be appreciated, if something of interest lies within it. Rummaging through a room is one thing, including popping the odd wall safe. But opening safety deposit boxes, well, keys make the job so much more civilized. Be my buddy. Your father would most certainly have considered his Uncle Sam.”
“Why did you drug us? Why didn’t you just ask nicely? I’m a reasonable guy.”
B thought for a moment. “I admit Mobright got a bit overenthusiastic in bringing you in. The opportunity to have a look at the notes outweighed his more humane sensibilities. However, I pose to you this question: Would we have had your full attention otherwise?”
I paused and then gave him three looks: contemplation, conviction, concession. “I could be Doc Holliday,” I said, showing some team spirit.
B stood, looking self-satisfied, and walked confidently over to me, all five feet seven inches of him. Offering me his small, manicured hand, he said, “In answer to most of your questions, my high-flying friend, I am Inspector Arlen Beckett, chief of Global Affairs, Gibraltar.”
“And just what is Gibraltar?”
“Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, a specialized task force made up of senior agents from several Western members of the NATO alliance was formed for the purpose of preventing the proliferation ofweapons of mass destruction. Catchy name, Gibraltar. Come now, my boy, you’re bordering on being tardy for the inevitable handshake.”
I grinned and stuck my hand out. Then I balled a fist and gave him a quick stiff uppercut to the jaw that knocked him up, back, and out. He hit the thickly carpeted floor, feet flat, knees sticking up. His hair didn’t budge a centimeter.
“I’m not your boy,” I said.
There were more sounds from the next room. I checked Beckett for a gun. Nothing. I dropped his seat cushion on top of the teacup and stomped on it as quietly as I could, then picked up a piece with a nice sharp edge to it. I walked to the door, cinched my face like a proper Englishman, and, trying to sound like Beckett, called out,“Oh, Mobright?”
The door opened and Mobright stuck his face in. “Yes, sir?” he inquired. I grabbed him under the knot in his tie, hoping it wasn’t a clip-on, and jammed the shard against his throat. “Sir’s not necessary,” I said. “You can call me Reb.”
“Reb. Please, I—”
“Another fucking word and you bleed. You know I’ll do it.”
His pinched mouth opened as if he were about to speak and then shut again. I spun him around, and, with his body as a shield, stepped into the room where they had stashed Ginny.
