Nicholas had to admit Andrei Anatoly wasn’t at all what he’d expected. With his mane of silver hair and black-framed glasses, he looked more like a diplomat or a university president than a crime boss. He was a big man, all buffed and polished, wearing an Armani tux if he didn’t miss his guess, being escorted into a small, white-walled, purely impersonal room to a table with four chairs, two on either side.

“He looks a treat, doesn’t he?” Mike said. “Talk about false advertising.”

Then came a tall, elegant man, slender, fit, tanned, not wearing Armani, but still a well-fitted tux. Both had clearly been intercepted on their way to the gala. Nicholas bet that had made Anatoly mad. Good.

The men took seats across from Special Agent Ben Houston. Three FBI agents stood leaning against the opposite wall, their arms crossed over their chests, their Glocks clearly in view of Anatoly, and they looked on with slitted eyes.

Anatoly leaned back in his hard metal seat like he didn’t have a care in the world and smiled pleasantly at Ben.

Mike said, “Poor Ben. He’s had no rest, and he looks whipped. He better perk up; Anatoly’s lawyer might look like a senator in that beautiful suit, but he’s got the personality and instincts of a great white. I’ve gone up against him before, and I didn’t like it a bit.”

Ben introduced himself, thanked the men for coming, then said, “Let’s get started. As you know—”

The lawyer interrupted him. “Agent Houston, my name is Lawrence Campbell, and I represent Mr. Anatoly. I want it on the record that Mr. Anatoly is here voluntarily, as a courtesy to the FBI. However, he is a very busy man and tonight is the gala at the Met. As you know, Mr. Anatoly is not only a lover of the arts, he is also one of the museum’s benefactors. He is naturally very involved in tonight’s gala unveiling England’s crown jewels. We hope you will not keep him or me long.”

Ben said smoothly, “We certainly appreciate Mr. Anatoly’s cooperation. Let me hurry right along, then. Mr. Anatoly, would you please tell the whereabouts of one of your men, Vladimir Kochen?”

Campbell said agreeably, “This sort of question is a waste of Mr. Anatoly’s time, Agent Houston. We know as well as you do that Mr. Kochen was found murdered yesterday, in, I believe, an English police officer’s apartment.”

Anatoly nodded. “I was very saddened to hear of Vlad’s unfortunate death. He was a valued employee until a year ago, when he left my employ. I have not seen him since.”

“May I ask why, then, sir, Mr. Kochen’s cell phone records show”—Ben glanced down at several sheets of paper at his elbow—“ah, yes, here it is, at least a half-dozen calls to both your home phone and your cell in the past week?”

Anatoly put a hand on Campbell’s arm to quiet him and said easily, “I said I had not seen him for a year, Agent Houston, not that I hadn’t spoken to him. If you would know, Vlad wished to return to my employ. We were conducting negotiations, I suppose you could say.”

Nicholas said, “Anatoly’s accent is vaguely European, certainly not Russian. I suppose he’s been able to smooth it out living in the States—how long?”

Mike cocked her head, “He came with his parents, at the tender age of twenty-two. It’s important to him to fit in, and that means getting rid of his Russian accent. He wants to be viewed as a pillar of the community.”

On the screen, Anatoly leaned forward, put his hands on the table. “I assure you, Agent Houston, I had nothing whatsoever to do with poor Vlad’s death. I am as mystified as you seem to be.”

“Tell me, why did Mr. Kochen quit, Mr. Anatoly? Or was he fired?”

“An unfortunate incident. He was not respectful to one of my sons. Yuri told me of it, and I had no choice but to fire him. Our negotiations involved Vlad apologizing to my son and asking his forgiveness. This would have happened if not—” He stopped, gave a creditable Gallic shrug.

Nicholas said to Mike, “This is going nowhere, and Anatoly knows it. He’s hardly going to walk in and admit to murdering Kochen and Elaine.”

As if Anatoly could hear through the video feed, he said, “If we are finished here, the gala will be starting soon, and I don’t wish to be late. Like every other guest tonight, I wish to see the crown jewels, especially the Koh-i-Noor.” And both Anatoly and his lawyer started to rise. Ben shook his head. “A few more questions, Mr. Anatoly.”

Mr. Campbell grunted in impatience. “What other questions would you possibly have to ask my client?”

“Be seated,” Ben said, steel in his voice. They looked a bit surprised but complied, the lawyer tapping his pen on the tabletop and Anatoly examining his nails in apparent boredom.

Ben placed a picture of Inspector York on the table.

“Do you know this woman?”

Anatoly merely glanced at the photo, and he sounded a little more Russian when he said, “I have never seen this woman in my life. I will say a prayer for her soul.”

Ben laid three more pictures beside it, and Nicholas realized they were from Elaine’s crime scene. He hadn’t seen any of the photos, and the images hit him like a fist to the gut. It was hard, but he tried to focus on Anatoly’s reaction, not his own.

Nicholas felt Mike’s hand lightly touch his arm. He said, “See how he stiffened a bit as he looked at the photos? He’s a good actor, but he knows her.”

“I agree. If it were someone else, we could chalk it up to a natural reaction to seeing a dead body, but given who he is, it’s hardly likely crime scene photos would faze him.”

Campbell said, “We’re very sorry we couldn’t be of more help. And if there’s nothing else, Agent Houston, we really must be going.”

Anatoly rose, and his lawyer quickly followed suit.

Nicholas said, “Mike, quickly, tell Ben to ask Anatoly if he arranged for the theft of the Koh-i-Noor diamond.”

Mike stared at him. “You’re crazy, it’ll give everything away.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Trust me. Do it.”

She texted Ben, and Nicholas could see Ben’s surprise when he read the text, but then he smoothed himself out and lounged back in his chair. “Mr. Anatoly, one last question. Did you pay someone to steal the Koh-i-Noor?”

Mr. Campbell shouted, “Enough! This is utterly ridiculous. We’ve had enough of your accusations. We’re leaving.”

He began to push Anatoly from the room, but Anatoly appeared frozen to the spot.

He looked more than frozen, Nicholas thought, he looked stunned—horrified, actually. It wasn’t an act. He gathered himself together, but when he spoke, his voice wasn’t all that steady. “Agent Houston, do you mean to tell me the Koh-i-Noor diamond has been stolen from the exhibit?”

“No, sir. I’m asking if you arranged for the diamond to be stolen?”

Anatoly went a deep, unhealthy red, and shouted, “You drag me in here, insult me, and now you accuse me of planning to steal the precious Koh-i-Noor? Understand me clearly, Agent Houston. I have worked tirelessly for the past three years to bring the diamond, indeed, all the crown jewels, to America. I have helped fund this exhibit. This is absurd, you are absurd! Poshel na khui, suka, blyad!”

He continued to rant in Russian, and a wide grin spread across Nicholas’s face. “I’d say we rocked his boat.”

Mike said, “Do you know what he is saying?”

Nicholas said, “The gist of it, yes. Trust me when I say it’s not appropriate for polite company.”

Ben said, “Mr. Anatoly, I’ll get an agent to escort you and Mr. Campbell out. We’ll talk again soon.”

He looked directly into the camera, an eyebrow arched.

The feed went dark.

Nicholas said, “Anatoly lied through his teeth about knowing Elaine, and not seeing Kochen recently, but his shock and surprise at being accused of trying to steal the Koh-i-Noor seemed quite genuine. He wasn’t aware the diamond’s missing.”

“But maybe he set the whole thing up. Maybe he was somehow using Inspector York and Kochen, but things fell apart and he had them both murdered. Don’t forget the seven sons.” She added after a brief pause, “But here’s the problem: shooting Kochen full of cyanide? That doesn’t sound at all like Anatoly.”