The Final Cut

He dialed her number, and she answered with a curt “Yes?”

“I have made the arrangements. Tell me how you’ve bungled this so badly. From the way my father talked, he considered the Fox to be above mistakes. I begin to believe you are not worth the vast amount I agreed to pay you.”

She heard it in his voice, beneath the smooth, civilized words he spoke, and she knew absolutely he would betray her, and so it pleased her to say, “You will listen, Saleem. The wire-transfer numbers from your first payment to me in Paris allowed me to track down other account amounts you’ve used to pay other thieves over the years. I placed a list of these numbers in a Sages Fidelité safe-deposit box. If my list survived the explosion, it is possible for an accomplished forensic accountant to trace the accounts back to you, don’t you think?”

He froze in shock. He knew to his gut she was telling the truth, but wait, no, it didn’t matter, since he always closed those bank accounts after each transaction. But given enough time . . . He said very softly, “You bitch.”

She laughed. “That’s right. Now, shut up and listen to me closely, because I am not lying. I have every intention of honoring our agreement. I know you’ve been very careful over the years, just as I know it’s very unlikely anyone could ever trace the accounts back to you.

“You will consider this a warning. I will lead the police directly to you if you try to betray me. Do you understand? Your empire is in my hands, Saleem. Honor our agreement.”

“That is all I ever intended. It is you I do not trust.”

“There is no reason for you not to trust me. You know my reputation. We will try again tomorrow. Remember, I have the diamond in my hand. Now, slow those agents down.”

His voice was clipped, rage bubbling. “Unlike you, I don’t screw up,” and he threw the mobile onto the leather seat next to him and gu

A police car flashed past him, heading into the city.

With an eye on his rearview mirror, he took the ramp for the highway, northwest toward Paris, then set the cruise control to one hundred twenty kph, fast enough so he wouldn’t seem suspect among the other drivers.

Arrogant, stupid woman. In Paris, she would learn exactly how much power he had over her.

70

Geneva, Switzerland

Friday evening

He heard his name from a distance, and felt hands shaking him. He didn’t want to wake, wanted to drift back into the sweet oblivion nestling him deep, but there was pain now, bright and sharp in his back, and so he opened his eyes.

Flashing lights. Voices, screaming, calling. He tried to focus, but his eyes wouldn’t work right. A woman’s voice in his ear, calm, controlled, a touch of fingers, feather light. “Nicholas? Can you hear me? Answer me.”

Her voice was familiar somehow. He searched for the woman’s name. Mike. Mike Caine. Her blond hair was swinging in his face. He reached up, whether to push it out of his face or hug her, he didn’t know, and she wrapped her arms around him. He felt the warmth of her tears and smiled. Better. Even pain lessened in a woman’s arms. She was soft and warm, and her hair smelled like flowers, and wild grass. Jasmine, he thought.

Then she pulled away from him, and pain sliced across his lower back like a hot knife. He gasped and was gone again.

When he awoke the second time, the confusion, the heat, the noise were gone. The air around him was quiet, deathly so. Something cold was across his face; pulses of chilly oxygen pushed into his nose. Low, steady beeps, the thrum of his own heart in his chest, pounding hard. The smells were different, antiseptic and u

“Nicholas? You’re back. No, stay with me. Stay awake now. Listen to me. You’re going to be okay.”

His vision swam into focus. Mike was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hand held between hers. She had a black smudge on her cheek. He wanted to reach up and wipe it away, but his arm was curiously heavy.

She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, fast and light. “You listen to me, you lamebrain. Trying to get yourself killed was not part of the deal.”

His voice wouldn’t come. She gave him a sip of water. It tasted better than his grandfather’s favorite single malt, Glenfiddich. His voice came out a croak. “What happened?”

“You blew up the building.”

It was coming back now, bits and pieces, the blue-white gleam of the diamond in the box, the red and orange wires, the hot explosion at his back.

“Not me. I closed the lid.”

“You should have told the bomb that. The moment you stepped out the door, the whole building blew. You had a shard of glass in your back, plus several cuts from the shrapnel. The doctors removed it all. And your hands were burned a bit. You most likely have a concussion, and your hearing might be messed up for a while. Mine’s finally getting back to normal. It was a big blast.”

He couldn’t feel his back, and panic began to creep in. “My back?”

“You’re probably numb from the lidocaine. They had to stitch you up a bit. You’re going to be sore, but you’re all right.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

She shook her head. “Some people banged up, but everyone’s okay.”

He looked around the room, small, white, one chair. The blinds were closed. It seemed like night to him though. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours. You were bleeding badly, and you were unconscious. I thought—well, you’re okay. Tomas was scared for you, too. Yes, he’s all right. Last time I saw him he was shaking like a leaf, stuttering as he tried to answer the police officer’s questions.” She touched a hand to his cheek. “Don’t do that again, all right?”

“I’ll do my best,” and he smiled, though it hurt, and leaned back against the crackly pillow.

“Menard and the Geneva police are all over the bomb. The fire was confined to the one building, which was amazing. C-4, it looks like, on a detonator. Was it similar to the bomb at the Met?”

“No. There was a pressure switch. She wasn’t playing around this time.”

Mike’s lips pressed together in a grim line. “No, she wasn’t. And when we catch her, I’m going to beat the crap out of her.”

He wanted to laugh, but suddenly it all came back, and he started to sit up. “Did they find the diamond?”

“No, don’t try to get up. You’re hurt.”

She pressed on his shoulders and eased him back down. It took him a moment to control the pain. “The diamond. The Koh-i-Noor. It was in the box. The bomb surrounded it. The box was wired to blow the moment anyone opened it.”

“Are you sure, Nicholas?”

“I am. Have them look. Did the boy Tomas know about the bomb?”

“No. As I told you, he was totally freaked out. I heard him tell the police about Browning. He admitted she paid him well to direct us to the first box, the one with the account numbers in it. The one with the bomb was meant for someone else, a lone man, Tomas said, with dark hair and eyes.”

“The buyer,” Nicholas said.

“Probably,” Mike said. “I guess if things went wrong, she needed to take him out and destroy the evidence. But we forced Tomas to give us the second box—and kablooey. I better call Menard, tell him about the diamond.”

Mike made the call, and Nicholas allowed himself to float for a minute. She came back and sat down on the chair next to him. She didn’t touch him. “They’ll look, but it’s too hot to go in now.” She leaned forward, stared him straight in the eye. “Seriously, Nicholas, you scared me to death.”

“When we find her, after you beat the crap out of her, I’m going to strangle that woman. She’s tried to blow me up twice now. I’m starting to take this personally.”

“Tell me, what tipped you off? You realized there was a bomb and told us to leave.”