O’Brien slid across the booth seat opposite Laura and Paula. He said, “Well, hello ladies. I’m so glad you could join me for lunch.”
“Me too,” Paula said, grinning.
Laura attempted a smile; her fearful thoughts swirling behind guarded blue eyes. “It’s good to see you, Sean.” She lifted the file folder, handed it to her daughter and said, “Paula has a gift for you.”
Paula smiled and opened the folder. She carefully lifted a page from her coloring book. “Mommy cut this out. It’s the butterfly I colored. I wanted to give it to you. I signed it. My letters aren’t very good.” She handed the page to O’Brien.
He said, “Your letters are fine. I can read it perfectly. You did a great job with the butterfly. I will proudly hang this work of art in my house, maybe on my refrigerator.”
Paula grinned, a top front tooth missing. “Art’s my favorite subject in class.”
O’Brien smiled. “I can see why, you’re good.”
Laura said, “And she’ll have some time to practice here at the table. The waitress brought some coloring sheets with the menus. Here, Paula, start on one. We’ll order your mac and cheese in a sec. I need to show Sean something by the entrance.”
“What?”
“An antique that I like. I’ll be able to see you from right over there.”
Paula smiled, lifting up a green crayon. O’Brien followed Laura about twenty feet toward the door. She stopped to point out an antique butter churn on display in the corner. She lowered her voice. “I was threatened.”
O’Brien, glanced back at Paula for a second. “Who threatened you?”
“I don’t know. It was right after I got off my phone with you. A man called. He spoke in a whisper. His voice was icy…cold. Almost inhuman. He warned me to be careful of what I said to the reporters. He said it might come back to haunt me and my daughter.” Laura looked toward Paula, and then cut her eyes up to O’Brien. “He said some things are better left buried in the past, and its best to let a sleeping junkyard dog lie. Otherwise there could be consequences.”
“Was he referring to the diamond or the Civil War contract, or maybe both?”
“I don’t know.”
O’Brien scanned the restaurant, diners busy in conversation, the scent of roast beef and marinara sauce coming from one table. He said, “You need to let the detectives know.”
Laura nodded. “I’ll call them right after we’re done.”
O’Brien looked over Laura’s shoulder, out the front door window just as a satellite news truck rolled into the parking lot.
THIRTY-SIX
Dave Collins sat in a deck chair on the cockpit of Gibraltar, working a crossword puzzle when he received the call. His screen flashed ID UNKNOWN. He thought about ignoring the call, but with the unexpected chain of recent events, his instinct told him to answer. He did and the voice, a British accent, said, “Dave, Alistair Hornsby here. How’s retirement in Florida treating you?”
“My golf game’s become worse, but I get senior rates at the course, and I can play anytime.”
“That’s the problem with old analysts like us. Presented with too much time on our hands, we overanalyze everything, even hobbies. But I suppose golf is a head game.”
“When are you hanging up the magnifying glass?”
“Soon, but remember ol’ boy, I’m a bit younger than you.” He paused a few seconds. “Dave, the reason I am ringing you is because we have a twenty-five year history. We worked a good number of situations together. I like to believe the world is a little better off because of it.”
“Maybe. Now that I have time to explore it, in hindsight, I sometimes wonder if we made the right choices for the right reasons, and for the right people. I had no illusions then, today I have reservations.”
“We live in a complicated world. Yes, very often it’s much to gray, diluting the easier choices made in a black and white condition. But someone has to do what we do…or it could be worse. I think that’s what has kept me in the wheelhouse this long.”
“What’s up, Alistair? If you’re planning a visit to Florida, let’s do some serious fishing followed by consuming responsible amounts of gin martinis.”
“Give me eighteen months. Prime Minister Hannes has a unique situation on his hands, blackmail.”
“Blackmail?”
“Royal blackmail to be precise.”
“What happened — did one of the queen’s grandsons get caught with his pants down, someone shoot a few below-the-belt selfies and is threatening to post them on the Internet?”
“I wish that were the matter. We could easier deal with that. Fact is, the blackmailer may be there in Florida, perhaps very close to you, at least as a geographical reference.”
“What do you mean?”
“His encrypted messages to the prime minster, although routed from many global servers, indicate his presence somewhere in Florida, and the hotspot is there.”
“Hotspot? Cutting to the chase, I’m sure your call is related to the alleged discovery of a diamond that was found by a documentary producer. He called it the Koh-i-Noor, which is supposed to be in the crown jewels.”
“That’s exactly some of it. The other half, if I may borrow your term alleged — the alleged unearthing of a Civil War contract that may connect the UK to that bloody American war, ostensibly Queen Victoria and the Royal Family. These are some dark and potentially damaging skeletons in the closet. In order to prevent the rewriting of history books, to keep India at arm’s length, the damn contract, if it exists, and the diamond, must not tangibly validate one another.”
“I see your dilemma. Why call me? I’m out of the game.”
“Because of our history together combined with the rumor that you are doing some consulting work from time to time.”
“That was when a friend of mine found a World War II U-boat sunk off the Florida coast with weapons-grade uranium for cargo. He became part of the salvage op when a Russian arms dealer and a Jihadist terrorist group were en route to the dive site.”
“We followed it closely, of course. I assume the friend you are referring to is Sean O’Brien.”
“You’ve done your research.”
“He wasn’t invisible in the heat of taking the hostiles down. Maybe he works free-lance.”
Dave said nothing for a moment, a sea gull squawking from the top of a sailboat mast. “Alistair, why don’t you ask him?”
He chuckled and said, “Perhaps, I shall. In the meantime, whoever is sending in the blackmail threats is extremely sophisticated, or his coconspirator is, at encryption. And he seems to know British protocol well. We have an agent there in Florida, sifting through the murky details.”
“Do I know him or her?”
“Him…and I don’t think so. He was a field op in the Middle East, great at cracking codes. He predicted the rise of Isis half dozen years ago. He’s one of our best. He might drop by your marina to introduce himself to you. Because this suspected diamond was discovered not far from your area, if you hear anything, please let me know…for old times’ sake. Dave, don’t overanalyze golf. It’s just a sport, and the only one you play facing a motionless ball. Unless, of course, billiards is your game, and that’s where you’re always looking for the angles. Cheers.”
O’Brien led Laura and Paula further into the restaurant. He said, “Let’s get another table in a quieter section. Maybe a little more private.” He spotted a table in a corner. “This will work well.” He pulled the chairs out for little Paula and Laura and then sat facing the door across the restaurant. Paula continued coloring. O’Brien looked at Laura and asked, “What happened during the news conference?”