Chapter 33
“SHE’S RIGHT,” RICE SAID. “We don’t have a lot of time left to find those diamonds. First Chukov warns us, now she does.”
“So, what are you suggesting? Give me a plan.”
“We go public. Get the surveillance shot of Bagboy out to the press.”
“Are you crazy?” Benzetti said. “This isn’t even our case. The bombing at Grand Central belongs to Homeland Security. We’re trying to find a bag of blood diamonds stolen from ruthless killers, and we’re trying to do it on the down low. If we go public, we’ll have Feds all over us.”
“I understand that. So we go to the press and we don’t say anything about Grand Central. We’re just two cops looking for a suspect. We can say he’s wanted in connection with whatever we want. We can say he’s a person of interest in an ongoing murder or robbery investigation. Doesn’t matter. But we don’t give the TIPS phone number. We just give out our direct lines and we handle the incoming. What do you say?”
Benzetti nodded. “Let me think about it.”
Rice exploded. “How about putting a gun in your mouth while you’re thinking? Damn it, Nick, that blond bitch was even crazier than Chukov. She said she’s keeping an eye on us, and from the way she got the jump on us, I believe her. I don’t care about walking away with a fistful of diamonds. I got two kids. I want to walk away with my life.”
“Okay,” Benzetti said. “We’ll go public. I know a guy who works over at New York One. It’s not CNN, but they do twenty-four-hour, ’round-the-clock news — and it’s all local. We’ll tell them they have an exclusive for a day. They’ll flash this poor bastard’s picture and our phone numbers every six minutes until we find him and kill him.”
Chapter 34
“IS KATHERINE ONE IN a couple hundred million or what?” I asked. “Can you even begin to think of another woman who would meet me for lunch and then a few hours later drop everything and jump on a plane to Paris?”
No answer.
“Okay, okay, maybe a lot of women would drop everything to go to Paris. But name one besides Katherine who would go with me.”
No answer.
“What’s the matter?” I said. “Cat got your tongue?”
At that point, my somewhat bored audience finally responded with a loud meow.
We were in the apartment. Just me and Hopper. He was licking himself and I was packing. I was so hyped that I needed to talk, and I must have been interesting, because he seemed willing to lick, listen, and watch me pack.
“According to my father, there are two ways to pack,” I explained to the cat. “The Marine way and the wrong way. First rule: travel light. Unless you’re flying to the moon, you can buy anything you didn’t bring. If you know what you’re doing, you can go around the world with one bag.”
My one bag was a well-traveled Red Oxx Sky Train, the world’s most efficient carry-on. I opened it up and then started bundle-wrapping. It’s an old military trick that saves space and avoids creases. It’s also a great way to hide things in plain sight.
You lay your clothes out flat, one on top of the other, biggest stuff on the bottom. At the top of the pile, you put a central core object. Mine is always an organizer pouch filled with socks and underwear. Then you carefully fold your clothes over the core, one by one, until you have a compact little bundle. Once you master the technique, you’ll never pack any other way.
I had done it hundreds of times, but this time, my central core was the medical bag and my socks filled with diamonds.
“I know it’s risky, smuggling these into a foreign country,” I told Hopper. “If I get caught by French customs, I could wind up in jail. Even worse, if anyone finds out I’m the guy who has Mr. Zelvas’s diamonds, I could wind up dead. If that happens, Hopper, my neutered little friend, you’ll have to stay at the cat sitters’ forever. But it’s worth the risk. If I can sell these, I’ll be in fat city. Even if I get half of the thirteen million they’re supposed to be worth, I’ll still be pretty much set for life.”
I got another meow.
“You’re right.
The doorbell rang, and I checked the monitor.
“It’s Katherine,” I told Hopper. I zipped up the Sky Train and buzzed her in.
She came bounding up the stairs, wearing jeans, a navy sweater, and a New York Yankees baseball cap.
“This is all I brought,” she said, dropping a soft-sided canvas carry-on bag to the floor.
“Boy, when I said
“Everything is washable,” she said. “Plus, I’m hoping you rented one of those Paris hotel rooms where clothing is optional.”
I turned to the cat. “What did I tell you? She’s one in a million.”
I wrapped my arms around Katherine’s slim waist and pulled her close. Her breath was warm and sweet. Her lips were soft and seductive.
This was joy. This was all I ever needed. I had my art, I had the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, and if things went according to my makeshift plan, I was about to have all the money I’d ever need.
Nothing could stop me now.
Chapter 35
“HIS NAME IS BANNON,” Gravois said. “Matthew Bannon.”
Marta didn’t have to write it down. It was seared in her mind. “What took you so long, Etienne?” she said. “Please don’t tell me you decided to meet your wife for dinner after all.”
“No, no, I didn’t meet my wife.”
“If I find out you did, I’ll kill her and make you watch.”
“I swear I went straight back to the office, but my boss was still there. He knew it was my wife’s birthday and wanted to know why I came back. I told him we had a fight. Then I had to wait for him to go home.”
“Why?”
“He hovers,” Gravois said. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him I came back to break into confidential police files and download data for some assassin’s next target?”
Marta lit a cigarette. She was, as always, in a no-smoking hotel room. They were always so much cleaner than the rooms that allowed smoking. Most smokers were pigs. Not her.
She inhaled deeply and watched the smoke billow into the air slowly. She took a second drag so that Gravois could suffer in silence for at least a minute.
“All right,” she finally said, “I’ll take your word for it. Now tell me about this Matthew Bannon.”
“He’s not in the criminal database,” Gravois said. “I picked him up through his military records. He’s an
