Crown Jewel

by Christopher Reich

  “He was concerned about me after what happened earlier.”

  “The car trying to run you over…”

  Vika nodded. “He’d called my room to see if I was all right, and when I didn’t answer he came looking for me.”

  A quizzical expression crossed Toby’s face and she could see he was wrestling with the same questions she’d had: How had he found her mother’s apartment? How had he gotten in? Instead of asking, Toby finished his drink and walked to the bar for another. “Simon Riske,” he said, half laughing. “I’d say I owe the man a bonus. A bloody big one.”

  Vika turned in her chair. “Pardon?”

  “Riske. Ought to double his salary. Least I can do seeing as how he’s doing two jobs.”

  “You know him?”

  Toby nodded. “Of course I know him. I hired him. I’m chairman of the Société des Bains de Mer. I took over the post last year. Who do you think brought him down here? I take it he didn’t tell you.”

  Vika shook her head. “And he didn’t tell you about me? About what happened?”

  “Why would he? Not part of the job.” Toby took a long pull of gin, no tonic. “I was supposed to meet him tonight, but he didn’t show.” He raised a finger in the air. “That’s who you were looking for at the Sporting Club earlier.”

  Vika nodded.

  “You have feelings for him?”

  “Please, Toby. I just met the man.”

  “He has a checkered past. Not quite up to your usual standards. That’s all I’ll say.”

  “You hired him,” she retorted, betraying her feelings.

  “He’s meant to be good at what he does, though I’m beginning to wonder. He’s up and vanished. Between you and me, I’m damned angry. Last thing I need is for another of our investigators to get himself killed. The board will be all over me. I didn’t want to hire another in the first place. Told ’em we could solve the problem in-house.”

  “‘Another’?”

  Toby brushed past her, distracted. “It’s not your business, Victoria. You have enough to concern yourself with already.”

  “He’s alive,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “He is?” said Toby from across the room. After a moment, he raised his glass and drank an extraordinary slug of gin. “Well, thank goodness for that, at least.”

  “I spoke to him just a little while ago,” Vika explained. “He phoned while you were downstairs.”

  “I don’t suppose he told you if he’d found out who’s stealing our money.”

  Vika said that he hadn’t and that he’d called to apologize for leaving the Sporting Club without telling her. “He did mention that he hoped to have his business concluded by later tonight.”

  Toby brightened. “I’ll take that as good news.”

  Vika went on to explain what they’d found when they returned to the Château Perigord the next day.

  “A cuff link,” said Toby. “That’s your proof?”

  “It matched one I found at the crash site. Simon’s trying to determine to whom it belonged.”

  “But how is that evidence of murder?”

  “It’s not. But it is a clue to who may have done it. Mama certainly didn’t wear cuff links.” Vika crossed her arms. “There’s also a video.”

  Toby took a pull of his drink and waited for her to go on.

  “We checked the security cameras at the pharmacy across the street,” she said. “They show Mama’s Rolls leaving her building late that night not long before the accident. She wasn’t driving. There were two men in the front. We can’t really identify either one, but it’s enough to prove that Mama didn’t drive herself off the cliff.”

  Toby crossed the room, eyes narrowed. “Do you have this tape?”

  “It’s at the pharmacy.”

  “And the cuff links?”

  “Simon has them. There were strange markings on them. He’s asking a friend of his if he can figure out what they are.”

  “You’re certainly keeping him busy,” said Toby, shooting her a look of displeasure. “I’m beginning to understand why he hasn’t found our gang of thieves.”

  “He saved my life, Toby. Twice.”

  “Of course he did. And I’m grateful. Don’t misunderstand me, dear. It’s just that I have two hats to wear. I’m not paying Riske to look into your mother’s death.”

  “Mama’s murder is a far bigger matter than the casino losing a few dollars.”

  “Two hundred million isn’t a few dollars, Victoria.”

  “It’s nothing compared to Mama’s life.”

  Toby finished his drink and set his glass back on the bar. “You’re right, of course. You must excuse me. At least now we can go to the police and let them take things over. I don’t want you in the middle of this. You’re a mother and a businesswoman. You’ve got Robert to worry about, not to mention your investments and the trust.” He fixed her with a no-nonsense stare. “I take it that’s the real reason you came down. Make sure there are no difficulties in transferring the estate to your son.”

  She met his gaze, held it, then nodded.

  “Where’s the ring now, anyway?”

  “Why?”

  “Someone’s got to keep it safe. I’m going to march it downstairs straightaway and put it in the hotel vault. And you, young lady: you are getting on the first flight out of here in the morning. I won’t hear a word otherwise.”

  “I drove.”

  “Then you’ll drive back. And with a bodyguard. That man, Philippe, or another. I don’t care. I’ll pay Riske to go with you if he’s really finished his business.”

  Toby buttoned his blazer. “Well,” he said. “I’m waiting. Give me the damned ring.”

  Chapter 57

  Jojo’s beat-up Peugeot sat parked on an incline on the Rue Gauthier, one block over from the drop house. Battered stone villas lined the road. Centuries-old trees hung over their rooftops. It was after midnight. Few lights burned in windows.

  Simon flashed his brights, then killed his headlamps as he pulled up behind Jojo. Two men stood with Jojo. One was young, lean, and dark. The other was middle-aged at best, bald, and very fat. Seeing the two, Simon knew he had made a mistake.

  “Where did you get the wheels?” asked Jojo as Simon climbed out of the car.

  “Borrowed them.” Radek and his brother were in the trunk with instructions to keep quiet or else. Simon hoped they’d suffered enough to mind his warning. He had no choice but to keep them hostage. He couldn’t allow Ratka to know he was alive.

  “Over here.” Simon collared Jojo and walked ten steps away from the others. “Who are your friends?”

  “You didn’t think you and me were going to hit the Serbians alone? You said you wanted to go in heavy.”

  “Firepower. Not people.”

  “I got both. So what?”

  “The kid is still in diapers. The other one can’t make it up a flight of stairs.”

  “You were a punk once, too. A pretty tough one, if I recall.” Jojo returned to the car and opened the trunk. “Besides, give anybody one of these and he’s Superman.”

  Simon looked at the pile of Kalashnikov machine guns strewn one over another and at the stack of magazines. He picked up one of the rifles and put it to his shoulder. He rubbed his finger on the trigger guard and lowered his cheek to check the sights—not that anyone had ever sighted a Kalashnikov. With twenty-five bullets spraying a target in three seconds, accuracy was overrated.

  “Fair enough.” Simon marched up to the two men and introduced himself. The young one was Salvatore, the fat one Toto. Their accents gave them away as Corsicans and not long off the boat.

  “How much?” asked Salvatore, bouncing on his toes. “Jojo said there’s a treasure chest in there. Millions, maybe.”

  “Maybe,” said Simon, not sure if the kid’s eyes were dilated or if he was imagining it. It was hard to tell in the dark.

  Toto rammed a magazine into the machine gun and chambered a round. “
I’ll go in first,” he said. “Clear the place out, let you do your work.”

  Simon put his hand on the barrel, forcing it toward the ground. He could smell the booze on Toto’s breath from five steps away. “Slow down. Before we do anything, I need to scout the place.”

  “Why?” asked Salvatore. “It’s a house. We bust in the front door. Take care of business. Get the take and leave.”

  “That’s the ticket,” said Toto. “Hit ’em hard and fast.”

  Simon had forgotten how they’d done things in the old days, when they’d take down a Brink’s truck with ten guys blasting it with their AKs, the police too scared to come within a block. Things hadn’t changed.

  “Steal money from a thief and no one goes to the police,” he said with as much calm as he could muster. “Kill a thief and the police will get involved. Ideally, we surprise them, get the money, and get out.”

  “Right,” said Toto, clearly not buying it.

  “They’re not just going to give us the money,” said Salvatore. “Why take chances? You think they have guns like ours?”

  Simon was in a bad place. A cokehead and a drunk. The hits were coming fast and furious. “Get in the car,” he said, holding the door open. “I’ll be back in ten. Jojo: no one moves a muscle. Clear?”

  “Sure thing,” said Jojo, offering a smile by way of consent, his white teeth gleaming against his too tan face. “You’re the boss.”

  Simon walked down the hill, slowing every few steps to allow the pain in his back to dissipate. The street view on his phone’s map showed the house on Rue Chaussée to be two stories with a tile roof and a steep brick driveway leading to an attached garage. Some steps led to the front door. Google Earth offered a bird’s-eye view and revealed a tight backyard with a pool and a shed set against the house. The city’s sprawling botanical garden abutted the property to the rear, and its exotic species had broken out of their boundaries and encroached on the yard. Simon saw the shed as a means of helping him break into an upstairs window…assuming the pictures were still accurate.

  As he walked, his mind returned to his confrontation with Radek. Seeing the mechanics of the operation from the inside had given him a clearer perspective on the overall plan. Again, he saw it as two operations. One involving theft from the casino, the other taking control of the von Tiefen und Tassis fortune. It wasn’t a stretch to understand how an organized criminal like Ratka might come up with a plan to cheat at baccarat on a large scale. But how did he come to the idea that he could steal a German aristocrat’s family wealth? A man like Ratka didn’t mix with the likes of Vika. The two were oil and water. Someone had to have told him about her and her family. But telling wasn’t enough. That someone had given Ratka explicit instructions not to pay off his soldiers so that they could put the winnings to better use. Not only that, but he’d convinced Ratka to trust him with the money. No small feat.

  And then?

  Confounded by his inability to connect the dots, Simon did his best to deconstruct all he knew about Ratka’s activities. He saw three distinct events. First came the cheating operation at the casino. Radek had blurted that after tonight the game was over. Ratka had all he needed. Toby Stonewood had stated that the casino had already lost two hundred million euros, and he’d said they were down even more in the last few days.

  The second event involved gaining access to Vika’s family fortune. Here Simon came to a roadblock. Should someone kill Vika and her entire family, the money would pass to the next relative…a cousin, a nephew, whoever. When twelve billion dollars was in play, you could count on plenty of people popping out of the woodwork.

  Which left extortion of some kind…a plan to force Vika to sign over her assets. That didn’t jibe either. Wouldn’t it have been easier to put pressure on the old woman? Why had they killed Stefanie, and what had they been looking for in the apartment?

  Simon kept coming back to the same issue: Why did Ratka need two hundred million euros and change to get his hands on Vika’s fortune?

  One person knew the answer…and he or she was the one calling the shots.

  It always came back to Vika. It had to be someone close to her. Simon felt the answer floating just beyond his fingertips. He was close…oh so close.

  Simon put away the problem as he reached the corner and looked up the Rue Chaussée. There were no cars in any direction. The only noise was the gentle rush of the wind and the swaying of the trees. Living in London, he had forgotten that elsewhere most people were safely tucked into bed by midnight.

  Not seeing any approaching headlamps, Simon jogged up the hill. He stopped twenty meters from the house, ducking into the driveway of a neighboring villa. Alone among its neighbors, the drop house appeared lived-in and awake. Lights glowed from windows on all floors. Two cars were parked in the driveway. A Mercedes and a Renault. As Simon watched, the front door opened. A man left the building and descended the steps. He went to the second car, the Renault, climbed in, and drove away.

  Simon used the sound of its departing motor to cover his approach. Instead of taking the steps, he navigated his way up a cut of earth beside the garage, all vines and loose dirt, arriving at the rear of the villa. He imagined the layout of the home to be similar to that of others from its era. A kitchen to the rear of the ground floor, the dining room adjoining, with a door leading to the yard. The storm shutters on the ground floor were closed. He crept closer. Through a crack in the wood, he observed two men seated at a table. One wore a shoulder holster with the butt of his weapon visible. Where there’s money, there’s muscle. Simon tried the back door. Locked.

  He backed up a few steps. A window on the second floor was open and he caught the scent of tobacco. Voices carried on the still air. A heated conversation in a language he did not speak.

  Simon checked his watch, thinking about Jojo and his friends waiting for him in the car. Salvatore worried him the most. Simon had been gone just seven minutes, but seven minutes felt like seventy when you were coked up. Simon recalled the reckless ambition fueled by alcohol, drugs, and mostly youth itself. Salvatore wouldn’t wait in that car forever. Jojo wouldn’t either, despite his promises. Simon guessed it had been a rough summer for the boys in Marseille. Jojo and his friends could smell the feeding trough.

  Ten steps took him to the shed. The second-floor window was above and to the left. It made sense that the counting room was upstairs in the most secure room in the house. He extended his arms to the shed’s roof and he recoiled in agony. His hands could go no higher than his head. Stubbornly, he tried again. The pain was worse still and he vowed to take revenge on Ratka.

  A drainpipe ran up the side of the house. A firm tug established its sturdiness as fair to middling. Tonight those odds sounded good. Simon wedged a foot between the building and the pipe and managed to work his way to the top. An arm’s length separated him from the open window. He could hear the conversation as if he were in the room himself.

  Two men were engaged in a frank exchange of views. They were speaking Serbian, but Simon would have known one of them if he were speaking Chinese.

  Ratka.

  Simon listened, trying to catch a word here or there. He was vaguely aware of an engine approaching, tires complaining as brakes were applied too firmly. He was perched too precariously to give it much thought. He held his phone in one hand, arm extended, hoping it would record the conversation.

  A door in the house slammed and the men stopped speaking. A chair slid across the floor. The door closed again, this time more quietly.

  Simon leaned closer to the open window. He was just able to make out a faint reflection in the glass of two persons facing each other.

  “What are you doing here?” said Ratka.

  The answer was delivered in a crusty stentorian voice made softer by a plummy English accent.

  “You fucked up,” said Lord Toby Stonewood. “Simon Riske is alive.”

  Chapter 58

  Riske is dead. We took him to my house. My men killed him
. I was there.”

  “You saw it? With your own eyes?”

  Ratka regarded the tall Englishman standing in his house, challenging him, all but accusing him of making the mistake himself. One day, he told himself. But after. Only after. “I left before to go to the casino and pick up the money. Our money. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Riske called Victoria at the hotel not long ago. I don’t know what happened, but your men failed to carry out my instructions.”

  “Wait.” Ratka turned his back to the Englishman and telephoned first Tommy and then Pavel. Neither answered. He’d suspected something was wrong for the past hour or so. Earlier, he’d received a call from the team at the Sporting Club saying that Radek was acting strange and had disappeared before they’d finished for the evening. Radek hadn’t answered his phone either.

  “I’ll find him,” said Ratka. “I’ll kill him. And with my own hands.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Toby. “He can’t hurt us. I’ve found it.”

  “The ring? She gave it to you?”

  “You scared her sufficiently. But tell me this: Why did you go to her apartment? That was bloody stupid of you.”

  Ratka stared at the Englishman, despising his notions of right and wrong. There was only strong and weak. He offered no reply.

  Toby Stonewood moved toward the desk, turning the monitor toward himself. “How much are we up tonight?”

  “Sixteen million,” said Ratka.

  “That’s four short. I told you we need twenty.”

  “Still two hours to go. Relax.”

  “We can’t be a penny shy. The law is the law. You can’t cheat the taxman.” Stonewood sat down and unbuttoned his blazer. “Get me a drink, will you? A bloody big one.”

  “Maybe you’ve had enough tonight already.”

  The Englishman fixed him with a liverish gaze. “I’m not asking.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Ratka went downstairs to the kitchen. In a cabinet, he found a bottle left over from the Englishman’s last visit. He held it up to the light. It was half full. Short visit. He put a few cubes of ice in a glass and filled it to the top. Then he spit in it.