The Final Cut

“I’ll do.” They fell into comfortable silence as they ate their breakfast.

Mike wiped the crumbs off the front of her shirt, glanced at her watch. “Okay, it’s time to fill them in on our adventures last night.” She opened her laptop and tapped into the CIVITS secure videoconference feed. The twentieth-floor conference room appeared on the screen. Zachery, Ben, Gray, Savich, and Sherlock were sitting around the table.

She waved a croissant at them. “Bonjour.”

Light laughter, then Zachery said, “It’s already all over the news, all over the world, and viral on the Internet. The Koh-i-Noor saved, but no details. Probably one of Menard’s men saw you with it but didn’t know how you’d gotten it. After we get things clear, we’ll hold a press conference here.

“I’m very glad to see both of you alive. Is the warehouse fire out yet?”

Nicholas answered, “At last count, there were two hundred firefighters and forty-five engines on scene, and the thing’s still burning. Mulvaney knew his business. All the surrounding warehouses went up in flames, too. The fire spread nearly half a mile through the area. They had to evacuate all the home.”

Mike said, “Not to mention every ounce of evidence was destroyed and all the priceless artwork stored there. It will be a week before the hot spots die down enough for a forensic examination to begin.”

“Any bodies recovered?” Ben asked.

“Four guards who were near the doors, firing at Menard’s men, and one guard from the second floor.”

Zachery asked, “The Ghost? The Fox?”

Nicholas shook his head. “The last time I saw Kitsune—the Fox—she’d knocked Mulvaney out. He was facedown and unconscious near the doorway where the fire was coming in fast.” He paused for a moment, and added in an emotionless voice, “She was bleeding heavily. She gave me the Koh-i-Noor, then walked back into the flames.” He didn’t mention the gunshot because he didn’t know if Kitsune had used it to kill Mulvaney or herself. He didn’t want to know.

“How’s Lanighan?” Savich asked.

Mike said, “He’s in a secure unit at Hôpital Saint-Antoine. Menard told us he’s retreated into his own mind, chanting sutras. He won’t answer to his name, won’t recognize anyone around him. The doctors don’t know if or when he’ll ever recover.

“All of you now know what Lanighan wanted to do—merge the three stones and heal himself. Become immortal.” She nodded to Nicholas.

He said, “I can’t describe what I saw last night as well as I’d like, but here goes. I saw Lanighan standing in the corner of the big second-floor room, his face lit up, his arms outstretched toward the ceiling, and he was cupping a huge bloody stone in his hands. He looked, well, maybe like he saw something no one else had ever seen before, he looked like he’d been blessed—I know that sounds strange. Really sorry, but nothing more than that.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You remember Lanighan had leukemia as a teenager and went into remission. Recently the leukemia returned. And I, well, I asked the emergency-room doctors to test his blood.” He paused a moment. “His blood work came back entirely normal.”

There was silence, then Savich said, “Are you saying the legend had truth at its core? That reuniting the three parts of the diamond cured him?”

“All I’m saying is he no longer has cancer. Perfect health, at least physically. I can’t tell you more because I don’t know any more.”

Everyone was quiet. Sherlock finally broke the silence. “You said the Fox gave you the Koh-i-Noor. Is it damaged in any way?”

Nicholas said, “Both Mike and I have examined it thoroughly and we can’t see anything wrong with it. It’s in the safe here in the room. I suppose the insurance indemnity folks would like it returned to the Met so it can be replaced in the crown.”

Zachery said, “You bet. Last time I saw the director he was rubbing his hands together, saying he now expects the Jewel of the Lion exhibit will draw twice as many people as they’d pla

Nicholas said, “I’m glad someone will benefit from all this—” He waved his hand. This what? he wondered. Waste? Tragedy? He supposed some good had come out of this, but frankly all he could think about was the needless loss—Elaine dead, Kitsune killed in the fire.

Savich said, “Not only will the Met burst its seams with visitors to the exhibit, but Bo still has the contract. The Met has asked him to double the security.”

Sherlock said, “Yep, Bo’s a happy camper.”

Zachery asked them to run through the previous night’s events, then once more, with a dozen questions thrown in. He finished with, “Job well done, people, and thanks, Drummond, for your minor assistance to the FBI.” And he laughed.

Savich said, “Nick, would you mind sticking around for a moment? I’d like to talk to you alone.” The conference room emptied around him.

Nicholas said, “Sure, Savich.” He glanced at Mike.

She said, “I’m outta here; a nice hot shower calls my name.”

When they were alone, Savich said, “I have a proposition for you.”

Up went a black brow.

“Nick, you’ve got talent, and insight, and let’s be honest here, you take crazy, stupid chances and you’re a bit uncaring about your own hide. I also think you’ve got the luck of the Devil, and that’s never something to discount. However, the important thing is you get results.”

The brow was still up. “You’re very kind.”

Savich gri

Nicholas nearly spewed out the coffee he’d just drunk. “What? You want me to join the American FBI?”

“Yes. You’d have to go through the proper cha

“You work well with our agents, and you’ve scored a big win recovering the Koh-i-Noor. I’ll even put in a good word for you. You’ll have to go through the academy at Quantico like all the other agents. It won’t be easy, and I can’t guarantee you won’t wash out.”

Nicholas said, “After all that, it would be a shame to blow the landing, wouldn’t it?”

Savich laughed. “I can’t promise, but I think I could get you assigned to the New York Field Office. It seems to me you’d be a good fit there, and from all the signs, Zachery thinks you’re a pretty handy guy to have around. I’d want you to work with my teams in Washington, D.C., as well, on a case-by-case basis.”

It was finally sinking in. The FBI. Nicholas Drummond, a cop with New Scotland Yard—the American FBI. He said slowly, “I hadn’t thought about another life-changing move, Savich. I really appreciate what you’ve said, but I’ll have to think about it, long and hard.” Only he didn’t, he realized, he really didn’t.

“All I can ask. Hurry, though. The new academy class starts soon. Now, you and Mike get home safe. And again, congratulations.”

Call ended, Nicholas sat back on the sofa, staring out at the Parisian sky. Rain had begun to fall. He hoped it would help put out the warehouse fire.

The American FBI.

Mike came into the living room. “Yeah? So will you be the first Brit in the FBI?”

“Agent Caine, were you eavesdropping?”

“Sure. Did you know he was going to ask you to come aboard?”

He shook his head.

“Will you? Will you come join us?”

He laid his arm along the back of the sofa. “What do you think, Mike? Do you want me to join you?”

She gave him a long look. He looked like he’d been in a major-league brawl and he’d won, just barely. He didn’t look at all like Mr. Aren’t I Great. What he looked was tough and dangerous and tired, and beneath it all was a deep well of excitement, and perhaps a dollop of uncertainty.