O’Brien stood from the canvas director’s chair in the salon and stepped to the open doors leading to the cockpit. He watched a white pelican straddle the top of a dock piling and preen its feathers. He turned back to Dave and Nick. “What if it’s real? What if the diamond is authentic and the one in the crown today is the fake? Unless the diamond was tested, no one would know.”

Nick grinned. “We’d know if a gemologist had tested the one outta the river, ‘cause if that’s the real deal, what does that make the one locked up the in the Tower of London? Makes it an imposter, that’s what.” Nick took a long pull from an icy bottle of Corona.

Dave lean forward, surfing through the channels on TV, and said, “It was common practice, when transporting diamonds of that value years ago, to use a replica — a decoy — that would be packaged and delivered under armed guard in a route generally made public. At the same time, the genuine stone would often be sent through the postal service, believe it or not. Nick, you’re correct in your premise — is the diamond currently housed in the Crown Jewels in fact a real diamond — the Koh-i-Noor, or was there some confusion and the one in the Tower of London was the counterfeit while the actual diamond was shipped to the Confederate States of America?”

Nick grinned and shook his head. “You can bet a year’s worth of afternoon tea that the Brits won’t be in a hurry to do a scratch ‘n sniff on the rock in the Crown Jewels.”

A cross-breeze blew across the marina, the wind bringing the smell of rain into Gibraltar. The curtain on the starboard side puffed, lightning cracked beyond the lighthouse somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Within seconds, rain pelted the marina, large drops slapping the thick fiberglass exterior of Dave’s boat. He looked at O’Brien and asked, “What’s wrong, Sean? You leave all the windows on Jupiter open?”

“No, it’s what Joe Billie found when we located the spot near the river where the photo of the woman was taken.”

Nick stood from the bar. “Oh, boy. You said the coins, a Minié ball, and a crushed stogie was there. Rain won’t help.”

O’Brien stared out the transom door at the storm. He watched rain attack the marina, boats rocking in place, bow and stern lines stretched, a burst of lightning splintering white veins across the dark purple sky. He turned back to Dave and Nick, blew air out of his cheeks and said, “Two extremes do the most damage to latent DNA and fingerprints — water and very dry conditions. Tonight it’s a hard rain, and if the sheriff’s office hasn’t bagged that evidence, what’s left of that cigar will probably be washed into the St. Johns. And we can add that to the river’s list of secrets.”

Among covert intelligence circles, it’s known by only two letters: IB. The full title is Intelligence Bureau, the oldest state-run spy agency in the world. In a secure office, deep in the heart of the agency located in New Delhi, India, the field director for external operations, Hira Goda, pushed back in his chair, touched the tips of his boney fingers together, and stared impassively across his desk at the woman.

Goda, pushing fifty, seldom blinked, dark half circles under eyes that absorbed light like coal. He said, “You were handpicked for the operation. You’ve seen the briefs, viewed the video of the diamond found in the river. However, to fully understand the importance of this assignment is to know the soul of India. The Koh-i-Noor has been gone too long. She must be returned home.”

Malina Kade tilted her head, emerald green eyes probing, oval face flawless, amber skin smooth, full lips sensuous. She wore no make-up. Brown hair pulled back. “She? Why apply a gender reference to a diamond?”

Goda propped his elbows on the chair’s armrests and looked across his interlaced fingers. “Because of its history with India.”

“I read the briefs, and I am aware of the diamond’s legacy in India. There was no mention of gender associated with the diamond?”

“It is believed the Koh-i-Noor is not meant to be owned by a man. In its seven-hundred-year past, those men who have claimed it — those who have tried to possess it — have met untimely and often gruesome deaths. It is not the case when the diamond was kept by a woman.”

“Maybe that is why the former queens and the current Queen of England have refused to release it back to India. The Koh-i-Noor gives them longevity.” Malina smiled. “Maybe diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

Goda shook his head and leaned forward in his leather chair, a paddle fan slowly turning from the ceiling. “There is very little humor in this erupting situation. The current Queen of England, and those before her, were never the rightful owners. They are the keepers of stolen property.”

“Yes, but Britain maintains the Koh-i-Noor was confiscated as part of the spoils of war. I do know that much about the diamond’s history, as I imagine most of the adult population of India knows.”

“Because it is so well known in our culture, this is one of the reasons it must be recovered and brought back to India for all to see.”

Malina, looked beyond Goda to a framed oil painting of Humayun’s Tomb hanging on the wall. She cut her eyes back to Goda and said, “Why me?”

“Why? You were just looking at the painting of Humayun’s Tomb. The magnificent structure was finished in 1572. The Koh-i-Noor had been part of India’s history three-hundred years before the tomb was ever built. That is why, Malina. Earth’s most magnificent diamond, the Mountain of Light, was birthed from the womb of Indian soil.”

“You said I was handpicked for this task…may I ask by whom?”

“The decision went higher than the director. As to the reason why you were chosen, obviously it is attributable to your skills as a field agent. You know America well. You were educated there. You’ll blend in well. And just perhaps, if you do recover the diamond, because you are a woman, you may not be endangered by its curse…and you will live to return the Koh-i-Noor to its birthplace.”

“When do I leave?”

“Tonight.”

“What if it is not the authentic Koh-i-Noor? It could be some kind of hoax.”

“Perhaps. Smokescreen diamonds were used in the transport of diamonds such as the Koh-i-Noor. The only way to know for sure is to find it. And to find it before anyone else does. One other thing. On the video, the American in the boat on the river who found the Koh-i-Noor, he spoke about a contract between England and the former Confederate States of America. We look at that contract as proof of an illicit bill-of-sale. The British, eleven years after they stole the Koh-i-Noor, were in no legal position to barter, trade or offer as collateral something they did not rightfully own. If the diamond is found, and determined genuine, the contract will be further evidence they were fundamentally pledging stolen property. Bring us the original, the signed contract. And find the diamond the American retrieved from the river. If my suspicions are correct, that diamond is the real Koh-i-Noor. And it belongs to India.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Goda nodded. He opened a file folder on his desk and lifted out an eight-by-ten photograph. He slid it across his desk to Malina. “This man might be your biggest obstacle.”

“Why? Who is he?”

“His name is Sean O’Brien. He has been seen consulting or consoling the widow of the American who found the Koh-i-Noor, Jack Jordan, the man killed. The news media spotted him.”

“Why would O’Brien be an obstacle?”

“Do you recall in the states when a group of terrorists was within seconds of lifting off from a runway to drop a small nuclear bomb over Atlanta?”

“Yes…is this man the one who ended that with one shot?”

“It is the same man. As impressive as that was, his real skill was finding the federal agent who had breached and hidden his deception for decades.”