The Final Cut

“As you know the bank doesn’t have names attached to the accounts online, only numbers. You’ll have to get a warrant for the names tied to the numbered account. Though I wouldn’t count on it being anything other than multiple false identities, and therefore meaningless. The Fox seems to have plenty of identities.”

Mike said, “You’re right, Dillon, she does. Assuming this is the Fox’s money, why would she circle back to the same bank? Is this the safest way to move the money around?”

“With as many accounts as it pinged through, yes, it’s a very safe way to launder money. I wouldn’t have found it if I wasn’t specifically looking for these types of transfers from this specific bank and cross-referencing by the account numbers you found. All the Swiss banks are good, but she must trust this bank implicitly. I’d be willing to bet she has someone on the inside at the bank ru

Nicholas arched a black brow. “Marie-Louise Helmut, perchance?”

“Probably,” Mike said, then turned back to the screen. “Dillon, did you see any direct ties to Saleem Lanighan?”

“No, not yet, but I bet the originating account will trace to him. Since it’s been closed, there’s no foolproof way to tell. Maybe you’ll have more luck on your end. One more thing. Nick, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. But last week there was a money transfer from this Smith Barney account to Elaine York’s bank account as well. One payment of two hundred thousand dollars.”

Nicholas felt the news like a punch to his gut. It was over, no more trying to pretend Elaine was i

He said only, “Thanks, Savich. We’ll take it from here.”

“Be careful, guys.”

They closed his computer, Nicholas looked at his watch. Nearly eight. Mike was watching him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. The question is, are you?”

“Like I said, ’tis only a flesh wound.”

“You’re lying. I admire that. Okay now, we know Lanighan is based in Paris. Find out where he lives. Later tonight you and I are going to go watch his house and see if he has plans.”

“What about the Fox?”

“If she’s making a delivery to Lanighan, he’s the one we need to track. Like you said, she seems to have a sixth sense about us on this case. Who knows? Maybe she’ll come to us.”

84

New York, New York

26 Federal Plaza

Saturday afternoon

Ben Houston was deep into Anatoly’s files when Zachery called him into his office.

Ben gathered his things and walked the hundred feet to the executive suites on the twentieth floor. Normally at 2:00 p.m. the leadership would be in their daily big-dog meeting, but since it was a weekend, only a few stragglers were around. Even Marya

Something big was going down.

Zachery gestured to the black leather couch instead of his round conference table. “You’ve been at it for hours. Take a load off.”

Like everyone else working this case, Ben had managed only a few hours’ sleep for the past few days. Safer to take the chair. “If I get on that couch, you’ll never get me off it. What’s happening, sir?”

Zachery stood at his window, staring out across the East River into Brooklyn, his arms behind him. “Nicholas and Mike found the buyer for the diamond; Savich has verified it.”

“Who is it?”

“A wealthy businessman, Saleem Lanighan, supposedly a direct descendant of the Lion of Punjab, who was the one who surrendered the Koh-i-Noor to Queen Victoria.”

“So Sherlock was right,” Ben said.

“Yes, she was. However, we have lots more work to do, Ben. The NSA has sent over the trace of the phone number the Fox called from her plane. They confirmed the signal, and we’ve been able to track it. The owner of the phone has been in New York for the past week. He left the country last night, bound for Paris. We ran his face through the NGI facial-recognition database, and it matched the photo of a British national who tried to assassinate François Mitterrand two decades ago. Interpol believes this man is the Ghost. They’re sending us everything they’ve got, which isn’t much.

“It seems likely the Ghost killed not only Elaine York, but Anatoly and his two sons and attacked Mike and Nicholas in the garage. We’ve also identified the man killed at Anatoly’s. His name is Jason Rathbone, and he works for Saleem Lanighan. There were no prints in the system, but there was a DNA match on CODIS.”

Zachery said, “Savich told me Elaine’s bank accounts show a two-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit last week. So she was being paid, but for what? By whom?”

Ben couldn’t bear it. He’d hoped everything would be explained, that Elaine would be exonerated. But no. Ben said only, “I don’t know, sir.”

Zachery came over and sat in the chair opposite Ben. “I don’t know, either. We need to find the tie between the Ghost and Elaine and Anatoly. They’re all mixed together in this, but we don’t know exactly how.

“Track this Ghost character, Ben, and find out what he took from Anatoly’s safe. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course, sir. I’m on it.”

Ben left Zachery staring out the windows, and went back to his desk. He called Mike first thing, to warn her so she’d know about the Ghost, but she didn’t answer her phone, so he left her a message to call him as soon as she could.

And then he settled himself at his desk to mourn Elaine York and find a killer.

85

Paris

Saturday evening

Kitsune checked into a small, quiet hotel on the West Bank, took a room sight unseen, and was barely inside the door before she plugged the thumb drive into her laptop and watched the files upload. Hundreds upon hundreds of files, every one a valuable link to Lanighan’s enterprise. It gave her great satisfaction to hold the heart of his world in her hands.

If Mulvaney was close by, she would find him in these files.

She set the laptop down on the small desk and opened her bag. She wanted to hold on a bit longer, but there was no help for it, she needed fuel and rest. The hotel provided fruit at the front desk. She’d taken three apples and a banana, had jerky and granola bars in her bag from her stop at the travel center. She ate while the files began to load, then took a shower. She set her alarm for two hours of sleep and drifted off immediately.

She woke refreshed, though still tired. She took a handful of vitamins loaded with ginseng to help her stay awake and focused. She drank water, stretched, and made a cup of herbal tea.

While she was sipping her tea, the files finished uploading. She scrolled through them, down to the S files—the security folder—hoping there were protocols of the security systems from Lanighan’s warehouses. She was in luck; there was a folder inside labeled DropCams.

There were at least fifty camera feeds to go through. With a sigh, she settled deeper in her chair and began opening them one by one.

She hit pay dirt on the eighth folder. The screen was separated into five squares, two large showing the first-floor interior of a warehouse, and row upon row of what she knew must be artwork, and three smaller squares on the bottom showing individual rooms on the top floor, one a very large office. And in the office, she saw Mulvaney, tied to a chair, his arms stretched tight behind his back, a gag in his mouth. He was slumped over, asleep or dead, she couldn’t tell. The video was too grainy to see if his chest rose and fell. She saw flashes of light, shadows moving outside the range of the cameras. She realized whoever was in the room with him was taking photographs.