The Final Cut

Her face was set, her tone cold. “She already tried to blow us all up. I’m not taking any more chances.”

“Actually, all she had to do was call the number before I disarmed it and we’d all be playing harps. She didn’t. She waited until she had to know we’d have disarmed the bomb.”

She frowned at him. “Not the point.”

They strapped themselves in and put on headsets so they could hear the pilot and speak to one another. The bird lifted off, twisted slightly, then banked right and headed north.

Nicholas looked over to see a grin on Mike’s face a mile wide. Her voice crackled in his ear, distorted by the headset. “I love this chopper. I don’t get to do intercepts like this very often.”

“It’s certainly faster than driving.”

“Fifteen minutes, tops. We should reach Tweed before Victoria’s cab arrives.”

“Yeah, we will.”

Mike said, “You think there’s something else going on, don’t you?”

“I’m wondering how we got this lucky.”

The pilot spoke in their ears: “We’re five minutes out.”

Mike said, “Thanks, Charlie,” and looked back to Nicholas. “Sometimes gift horses really neigh, don’t they? With any luck, we’re about to wrap this whole thing up. We’ll bring Victoria back to New York and restore the diamond to the crown. And there will be rejoicing in the kingdom again.”

Charlie said in their headsets, “I already heard about the theft on the radio. Talk about a brouhaha—I sure hope this comes off easy.”

“It will.” She turned to Nicholas. “When this is wrapped up, I’m hoping we can get Victoria to talk, tell us how this whole thing went down and who financed it.”

He said, “If we do catch her, don’t count on her opening her mouth. No thief of her reputation would ever nail the boss. Ever.”

“It’s against a thief’s moral code?”

“In her case, I’m sure it would be.”

The lights of the Tweed Airport runway glittered in the distance, and the pilot broke into their conversation. “Tweed tower has cleared the airspace surrounding the airport and we’re on a path to intercept. Are we a go?”

Mike said, “We are a go, Charlie. This isn’t exactly a high-traffic airport, but there are still several cabs. Have you identified our target?”

“Yep, we’ve got a lock on the cab. We have clearance to stop it before it reaches the airport. We’ll drop down right in front of it as soon as it takes the exit. Do you know if the suspect is armed?”

“I can’t confirm either way. Better be ready for anything, Charlie.”

He relayed the message to the tac team. Six heads nodded in unison.

The helicopter banked to the left, circling out over the water before diving back toward the highway. Mike saw police lights turn on, five squads merging into traffic, two ahead of the cab, three behind. It was a beautifully timed intercept. The cab slowed, then pulled to the side of the road.

Charlie hovered the chopper for a moment, and the tac team sprang into action, slithering down cords to the ground. They surrounded the cab, weapons pointed. The troopers stepped in.

It was over in a heartbeat, the cabbie out and on the ground with his hands on his head, Victoria Browning pulled from the backseat. Mike pulled off her headset, and could hear her screams over the helicopter’s rotors, hear her crying out, “What are you doing? Why are you arresting me?”

The instant Charlie set the chopper down on the road, Nicholas ripped off his headset and jumped out the door, Mike on his heels, her Glock at the ready.

Nicholas yelled before he reached her. “Where is the Koh-i-Noor, Dr. Browning?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her black hair blew back from her face, and Nicholas knew this gift horse wouldn’t neigh.

“Bloody hell. Who is this?”

Mike lowered her weapon. “I don’t know. But she’s definitely not Victoria Browning.”

34

Mike called over the roar of the helicopter rotors, “It’s the wrong cab. We’ve got the wrong cab.” She started toward the head of the tactical unit, but Nicholas grabbed her arm.

“No, it’s the same license plate. She duped us. Again. Well, bollocks.”

Mike whirled around and made a cutting motion across her neck. Charlie shut down the rotors, and they could hear each other again. The troopers shoved the woman into the backseat of a vehicle, the cabbie in a separate car.

Mike wanted to kick the helicopter skids. “How did she pull this off? Did she get out along the way? Trade places with this woman? Did she set it all up beforehand?”

Nicholas said, “Watch this.” He’d uploaded the video feed Savich sent to his tablet before they left the museum. He queued it up and hit play, froze the video on the figure getting into the cab. He pointed at the screen.

“Those are the clothes she was wearing when we arrived at the museum, without a doubt. The hair matches, and the height. But we never see her face, only a profile.” He gestured at the sobbing woman who was now sitting in the back of a state trooper’s vehicle.

“This is the same woman who got into the cab. But it’s not the Fox.”

Mike stared at the screen. “As you say, bollocks.”

Nicholas closed the tablet, smacked it with his fist. “Of course it wasn’t her. This is the Fox we’re talking about, one of the finest thieves in the world. She spent at least a year pla

Mike followed him to the trooper’s car. She flashed her creds. “Good job on the intercept. We’re ready to speak with her now.” The trooper nodded and stepped to the side. Mike leaned into the car.

“Step out here a moment, ma’am.”

The woman got out of the backseat awkwardly, her hands cuffed behind her back. She had long, dark hair, and looked a bit like Victoria, especially dressed in the same clothes. Enough to fool them all.

She was shaking, crying, and hiccupping, all at the same time. One look at Mike and her sobs gained new volume, and words spilled out, but all Nicholas could make out was paid me.

Mike spoke calmly and slowly. “You’re not under arrest, you’ll be okay. Stop crying, we need your help. I’m Special Agent Caine, FBI. Tell me your name?”

The woman hiccupped again and took several deep breaths. “I’m Tanya. Tanya Hill.”

Mike motioned for an officer to remove the cuffs. They watched Tanya Hill shake her hands, rub her wrists, hiccup a couple more times, then say, “I didn’t do anything.”

“What are you doing in this cab, coming to Tweed tonight?”

“I’m flying to Dallas. There was this call for actresses, and I answered. The lady hired me to put on these clothes, walk out of the Met. She told me to get a cab, ask to go to Tweed, and get on a plane to Dallas. She paid me fifteen hundred dollars, gave me an ID, an invitation to the gala, these really nice boots, everything.”

“Is the ID in your purse?”

“Yes, ma’am, Agent ma’am.”

A tactical team member handed Mike the purse. “It’s clear.”

Mike pulled out a black wallet from the green faux-crocodile clutch. Inside was an ID with the woman’s face on it, with the name and home address of Victoria Browning. Mike handed it to Nicholas.

Tanya Hill stared between the two of them, and another sob escaped. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t, and fifteen hundred dollars is a lot of money—I mean, I paid my rent from this one job. I won’t be able to keep the money, will I? Oh, man, I already gave it to my landlord. He’ll kick me out if I try to get it back.”

Nicholas said, “The money’s yours if you tell us all about the woman who hired you.”