“No.”

“I assumed she was the curator from the start. Remember, Nicholas, she told us she named the exhibit? Jewel of the Lion. She thought it was catchy.”

“How convenient for her, moving up the ladder so quickly,” Sherlock said. “What sort of illness did the original curator contract?”

Bo said, “Vertigo. I remember hearing it was a terrible case, too. He ended up taking an early retirement package.”

Mike said, “I bet she Hitchcocked him with the vertigo. Were there any rumblings when Browning got the position? Scuttlebutt? Surely there were more experienced curators who would have been more likely replacements than a newbie.”

Bo shook his head. “Before my time. I’ve only been here six weeks, remember, and Victoria was already the lead dog when my company came on board. I’ll have to discuss it with the director and the personnel director. My staff liked her, though. She was easy to work with, tough but nice. She worked hard, like everyone else, but I don’t know anything more personal about her than her choice of drink—Diet Coke. We’ll have to talk to her coworkers for more.”

Nicholas said, “I spent the plane ride over brushing up on the details of the exhibit. My briefing said Browning was chosen because of her extensive knowledge of the crown jewels.”

Bo nodded and shook the file. “I have it here, too. A ‘preeminent authority,’ it states.”

Mike said, “An authority? She must have faked her bio.”

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. “Faked? Yes, I suppose she could have faked any and all of it, though it would take a bit of doing. The palace vetted her, so she must check out, even with a pretty deep check.” He turned to Bo. “I’m sure the Met did as well, correct?”

“We do a thorough background check on every employee, from janitors to the board members.” Bo read from Browning’s file. “Her employment record, her transcripts checked out, nothing to set off any alarm bells.”

“Then we need to go deeper. Ten pounds says her name isn’t Victoria Browning.”

Savich called out, “Got it. The video feed from the attack is up and running. You’re going to want to see this.”

32

They watched the grainy video.

Bo said, “Oh, she’s very, very good. She programmed the computer in the comm center to create a timed power surge which forced the fifth-floor generators to kick in. Only the fifth floor, mind you. So when she threw the gas canisters and the alarms picked it up, only the fifth-floor alarm went off, not the rest of the building. It gave her exactly the cushion of time she needed to grab the diamond and get away.”

Nicholas said, “Savich, rewind it again, to the moment before it all goes black. See, right here. The second Paulie releases the diamond from the setting, Browning takes out what looks like a perfume bottle, squirts it at him, and then Louisa. They’re effectively blinded, start rubbing their eyes, and she hits each of them with a police baton, then pockets the diamond. Look at how fast she moves. If I wasn’t looking for it, I wouldn’t see it.”

Savich froze the frame, then advanced it at quarter-speed.

“See, right there.” Nicholas pointed at the screen. “Spray, and now the ASP baton is out and she’s spinning. She’s had martial-arts training, without a doubt.” He whistled in what could almost be called admiration. He had to hand it to her, Browning was quick.

Sherlock said, “Those expandable batons hurt, and a blow with one to the head will do some damage. Paulie and Louisa are lucky they weren’t hurt worse.”

Savich nodded. “So they’re down, she scoops up the diamond. She runs to the comm center, throws in the canister. It doesn’t take more than ten seconds before everyone is down. She slams the doors closed to contain the gas and heads back to the stairwell. I pick her up again two minutes later, when the fire alarm goes off. Bo, I’m sure you’ll find the museum alarms were triggered when she pulled the alarm as she exited the stairwell on the main floor.”

Nicholas said, “Then she waltzes right out the front door.”

Mike said, “We have to get in contact with the NYPD, get their camera feeds to track her.”

Bo shook his head. “We need a warrant for that, and it’ll eat up valuable time.”

Savich started typing. A few minutes later, the screen split into five squares, each showing intersections and stoplights. He toggled the switch in front of him, and the cameras attached to the feeds turned in unison.

Bo said, “You’re slipping. Thought it would only take you a second.” He snapped his fingers.

Savich grinned at him. “Let’s see where she went.”

Mike said, “You hacked into the secure New York City CCTV network?”

“No, that would be illegal,” Savich said. “This is the live, public, and very unsecured tourist cam system. It shows every intersection in the area. Perhaps even a better view than our official cameras, since they’re bogged down with the new license-plate technology. Let’s see where the Fox went.”

He backed up the feed and started searching. Mike followed each frame closely. “Wait, Dillon. Right there.” She pointed at the top-right quadrant. With a click, it filled the computer screen. He backed it up and hit play, and Victoria Browning’s pretty boots walked into the frame and hopped in a cab.

Mike said, “She changed out of her ball gown and back into her work clothes so she’d be less conspicuous on the street. Got her at the corner of Fifth and East Eighty-fifth at 9:39 p.m. She’s headed across town.”

Savich freeze-framed the camera and zoomed in, then started typing again. “The cabbie’s hack license is NY670097. Running it now.”

Zachery came into the room. “Bomb squad team leader called. They’ve finished dismantling the rest of the device Browning planted. They said to tell you well done, Nicholas. Took some quick thinking to throw on your jammer.”

Savich said, “Here we are. The cab is registered to a Daneesh Himsah. I’ve got his cell, calling it now.”

“Told you Savich was good,” Bo whispered to Nicholas.

“Yes, and he’s on a roll. Let’s see how far he can get.”

A man’s voice came out of the laptop’s speakers.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Himsah, my name is Special Agent Savich, with the FBI. You had a fare an hour ago, a woman you picked up at the corner of Fifth and East Eighty-fifth. Where did you take her?”

Click.

“Can you believe that—he ended the call.” Savich sounded so surprised everyone laughed.

Nicholas said, “Let’s get the NYPD to pick him up. Maybe a face-to-face will—”

A ring interrupted them. Savich clicked the laptop screen. Words scrolled down. “The taxi driver is texting us.”

Fare in cab. Thru the CT border booth. Drop off at Tweed.

Zachery said, “That’s the airport in New Haven, Connecticut. Tell him to keep it up. We can intercept. Thank you, Savich.”

Mike read over his shoulder as he typed in a message to the cabbie.

Proceed as planned. Police will intercept at airport. Thank you for your cooperation.

She said, “Nicholas, you and I will go. I want to see Victoria Browning’s face when we arrest her. First, though, I need to change my red gown for jeans.”

33

An MD-530 Little Bird was ready when they arrived at the FBI helipad. Zachery had pulled a tactical unit for them, six men bristling with weapons, silent as the grave, awaiting their orders.

Overkill, Nicholas thought, and said, “Mike, surely they won’t be needed.”