Black River

“So you’re saying whoever damn near sliced Nelson’s head off was after the diamond.”

“Most likely.”

“Maybe it’s Silas Jackson.”

“Possibly, but not likely.”

“Why?”

“Did a guy by the name of Paul Wilson contact you?”

“No, who is he and why would he contact me?”

“He works for the British government, and I told him you’re ru

“Okay, O’Brien, I’m assuming he’s a field agent. Those guys play by no rules of engagement and jurisdiction. I doubt I’ll hear from him unless there’s something he needs and can’t find for himself. So the Brits want to get involved in this scavenger hunt. This must become real sticky across the pond.”

“A priceless diamond and a blood-stained Civil War contract with their name on it has a way of making things sticky.”

“Yes, so does four known deaths co

O’Brien was silent.

“Gotta go, Sean. Looks like a fisherman found something near the river.”

O’Brien disco

Dave said nothing for a moment. He looked up from his laptop. “If Nelson was complicit in the killing of Jack Jordan, and it looks like he was…maybe someone’s pawn…who’s the real mastermind behind the thefts, the killings, and presumably the blackmail of the Royal Family?”

“Did you locate that number Laura gave me?”

“Indeed.” He looked up over the top of his bifocals. “It’s a number co

“According to Laura, the call was made to his phone.”

“So who inside the British Consulate in Miami would be speaking with Jordan after the discovery of the diamond?”

“Someone who has access to Prime Minister Duncan Ha

Dave eased back on the couch. He stared out the open doors to the cockpit, a forty-foot sports fishing boat was heading out of the marina into Ponce Inlet and the ocean. He said, “Looks like the proverbial excretion is about to hit the international fan. I’ll try Paul Wilson’s phone. He wrote his mobile number on the back of a charter captain’s brochure that Wilson picked up on the docks.” Dave pointed to a fishing brochure on the far end of the coffee table. “Sean, can you pass that to me? If I can’t reach Wilson, I’ll call Alistair Hornsby, my old colleague in London.” Dave glanced at his watch. “It’s about midnight London time.”

O’Brien picked up the card brochure, turned it over and looked at the hand-written number on the reverse side. He stared at it, concentrating.

Dave asked, “Something unusual?”

“Very. This is the number that was on Ike Kirby’s cell phone the night I found him.”

“What?”

“It was the last number Ike dialed before he died.”

SEVENTY-TWO

O’Brien caught movement on the port side of the boat. Max turned her head, ears cocked. Within seconds, ta

Dave held his palm up for a second. “Hold on, Nick. We have a situation.” He turned back to O’Brien and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t tell me that Ike knew agent Paul Wilson. Why…what’s the co

O’Brien stood next to the salon’s open door, the breeze blowing his shirttail. “I don’t think Ike was involved. But I do think we have one very smart blackmailer and killer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I believe it was the killer who made the last call from Ike’s phone?”

“The killer…why?”

“Because he wants to double-cross the man he’s working with — the guy with the expertise, the means and the encryption savvy to open the gates to the prime minster and the Royal Family. And that guy is agent Paul Wilson.”

“Really? How so?”

“Because, whoever killed Ike and hit the send button to Wilson’s number, wanted to lay a trail to Wilson — to suggest that Wilson and Ike had a liaison. Is that Frank Sheldon or someone working for him…or someone from the British Consulate in Miami? And, remember, when I first met Wilson here at the marina — I asked him if the Koh-i-Noor in the Crown Jewels was the real diamond. He hesitated, thought a second too long about his answer. When he said it was real and had been there 170 years, I suggested that this key information could take the wind out of the blackmailer’s threats because it would mean the Civil War contract might be a fake, too. But he shrugged it off, saying even a replica diamond could have been used as collateral with the contract.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that he knows the diamond pulled out of the river is real because they’ve tested the one in the crown. And whomever made the fake call to Wilson’s phone is brilliant and very deadly.”

Dave inhaled a chest full of air, slowly releasing it. “I’ll call Alistair and let him know he has one hell of a mess on his hands.”

“We’re dealing with a very cu

Nick folded his thick arms across his chest and said, “Sean, Dave…listen, you got more than one situation, there’s another one down by the river. Switch it to Cha

“Was?” Dave asked, changing cha

Nick nodded. “Hell yes, was. It has to be her.”

Dave switched cha

The reporter’s voice-over said, “Police are calling this a brutal homicide. To recap: they were alerted to the location of a woman found dead in the river, the body wedged up against exposed cypress tree roots. The cause of death is under investigation. However, the fisherman, Harold Frost, who first spotted the body, is here on the scene with me.” The shot pulled out wide, revealing a sixtyish man wearing overalls, Detroit Tigers cap, and white T-shirt and orange rubber boots. His weathered face was dotted with gray whiskers, eyes nervous. The reporter asked, “Mr. Frost, please tell us what you saw.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I was fishin’ for bass in the shoals when I saw what I thought was some kind of trash caught in the cypress knees. I motored my John-boat in closer and could see it was the body of a woman. I could tell she was dead. Poor thing.” He exhaled and licked his cracked lips. “She seemed to be in her thirties. Dark brown hair. Wearing a business suit of some sort. I could see that…” He paused and shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing at the river. “It looked to me like some sorry S-O-B had tried to decapitate her.”

“Did you see anything else? Maybe signs of someone in the area?”