O’Brien smiled. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“Sean, you can’t save the world.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“I never should have pointed you in the direction of that old man. If I’d known a photo he was carrying would put your life in danger, I would have told him you sold your boat and no longer come to the marina.”

“But that would be lying, Kim.” O’Brien smiled.

“I’d much rather tell a white lie than see you hurt or worse. I couldn’t handle that…not now. Not ever.”

“Hey, nothing’s going to happen. Police are investigating. I’m out of it.”

“Did you tell the old man you’re out?”

“Not yet because I haven’t found the painting.”

“Then stop looking for it and the answer to his question. If that painting, and apparently you think it is…if it’s connected to a murder, the theft of some legendary and probably cursed diamond, and a clandestine contract between England and the Confederacy…why on earth would you try to find it? Isn’t the painting now part of the police investigation?”

O’Brien said nothing.

Kim looked out the open isinglass window, the soft breeze in her hair, a white pelican alighting on a dock post. “Sean, I just worry about you…that’s all. I care deeply about you. Maybe that’s my fault. I guess there’s that fine line I walk by caring about you and trying hard not to sound like I’m nagging you. Of course you’ll help the old man find the painting, maybe help the widow and daughter, because it’s what you do. But helping others doesn’t have to mean putting your life on the line. You could do something a little less threatening, like volunteer to help at the Salvation Army or a homeless shelter for God-sakes.” Kim bit her bottom lip and tried to smile.

“Hey, it’ll work out. I’m not putting my life on the line. I’m not looking for a diamond or a killer. I’m just trying to assist an elderly man in finding a family heirloom, that’s all.”

Kim lifted Max off the wooden floor and held her close. “If you need to be out of town, I can watch Max.”

“Thank you.”

Kim looked down and lifted the old photo of the woman from behind the child’s artwork. She asked, “Do you still believe the woman in the picture was holding the same type of rose I received?”

‘Yes. Did he leave another one?”

“No, thank God. Did you ever bump into the guy I described?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, I have.”

“When?”

“He showed up here at the Tiki Bar. I think he might be following me.”

“When you were auditioning, did you tell him you worked here?”

“No. I don’t know if it’s just bizarre odds that he’d stop in here for lunch, or is he stalking me?”

“Did he approach you?”

“Not directly. He took a seat in the back corner of the restaurant. Julie waited on him. He ordered sweet tea and a hamburger. And every time I’d glance toward that part of the restaurant he was looking at me. My shift ended twenty minutes later. On the way home, I had some errands to run. Each place I stopped, I had the feeling that I was being followed. Maybe I was just suspicious, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. It’s something I’ve had since those men broke into my house.” She bit her lip and looked away. “And this re-enactor hasn’t broken any laws. He hasn’t said a word to me since that day on the movie set. I hate the feeling of being suspicious and downright paranoid.”

O’Brien said nothing for a moment. His phone rang in his pocket. He removed it and glanced at the number. Dave Collins calling. O’Brien answered and Dave said, “Sean, I just spoke with Charlie Simmons…the guy who owns the sixty-foot Hatteras docked two slips down from me. Anyway, he said he saw your Jeep in the marina lot. Are you on property?”

“Yes, I’m talking with Kim.”

“Better cut it short and come take a look at this.”

“Take a look at what?”

“Nick and I are flipping through the news channels, domestic and international. And all of a sudden, what do we see on tabloid TV? We see you display your pitcher’s arm. Looks like you just threw out the first pitch in what is becoming a tense global game. Although you managed to hit an open garbage truck with that microphone, to quote our friend, Nick, you just landed in a big pile of shit because all hell is breaking out over this diamond — or the diamond’s possibility of it being identified as the Koh-i-Noor. You need to see this because that bright, flashing stone is a lightning rod, attracting fire and tension as to who really owns it. And now saber rattling between two powerful nations is happening.”

The black Jaguar sedan moved through London traffic en route to the Palace of Westminster and the Parliament House of Commons when Prime Minister Duncan Hannes’ mobile phone vibrated softly in the inside breast pocket of his tailored suit jacket. Although the caller ID was not displayed, Hannes wasn’t hesitant to take the call.

All his life he’d leaned into challenges. Never back away. It was time this threat was quashed like an annoying insect. Keep the bloody bastard on the line long enough to give M15 time to lock down a more precise location. He answered. “Yes.”

“It is so unfortunate that the proverbial cat is out of your bag, Duncan.” The man’s voice had dreamlike coolness. It was as if a master hypnotist was about to instruct the most powerful politician in Britain to swim naked across the English Channel. “However, there is no real controversy until tangible evidence is brought forth. All else is simply scuttlebutt. Nothing but unproven rumor in an election year. The video with the alleged Crown Jewel diamond could easily have been faked. The contract mentioned in the video hasn’t been seen in public. I can keep it that way, Duncan. I can deliver to you the paper with the unverified signature of someone who held your position 160 years earlier, Lord Palmerston. I’ll wrap the diamond in it. All you have to do in return is make the deposit into the account. Nothing will ever surface. No embarrassment to the Royals. No re-writing of history. It all fades quietly away. And you, Duncan, become the silent hero. A true knight in Her Majesty’s kingdom.”

“How can you negotiate without the goods?”

“Who says I don’t have them?”

“I do. Your call is rubbish, tantamount to the threat of blackmail without the cards on the table. You’re nothing but the joker.”

“I will show you the cards, but now when I spread them on the table it will be for the world to see. And you, dear Duncan, will go from what could have been a knightly position to a mere jester in Her Majesty’s court.”

The caller disconnected.

Duncan pressed four numbers on his mobile phone. A man with a low voice said, “We have every word, sir. Hold a minute and we’ll triangulate a possible location.”

“Please be expeditious. I want this bastard picked up. If England still had beheading, I’d personally stick his bloody head atop a post on the London Bridge.”

“Sir—”

“Yes!”

“The call came from a disposable mobile near Orlando, Florida.”

“Is Randolph James there?”

“He’s standing next to me.”

“Put him on the line.”

“Mr. Prime Minister, we’re getting closer.”

“James, find this man and find him quickly. Send your best man or woman. Find this person and bring him here.”

The Jaguar slowed and stopped in front of the entrance to the House of Commons. Prime Minister Duncan Hannes looked out the car window toward a mob of news reporters gathered to meet him. At that moment, four months before his reelection bid, they looked more like a pack of wolves. He knew they were here to ask him questions about the video of the American who says he found and read the contract between England and the Confederate States of America.

“We’ll find him, sir.”

“James, after 160 years, why does this suddenly appear on my watch, and four months before the elections?”