A Beautiful Heist

by Kim Foster

  “So listen, ladies,” Ethan said, leaning in to us. “After you came to me about this job, Montgomery, I did some digging and made a few calls. Interested in hearing what I found out?”

  Brooke looked up, an eyebrow raised. “By all means.”

  This was a great idea. Talking about the job would be a perfect distraction. Not to mention necessary to the task at hand.

  Ethan nodded and removed a file from his carry-on bag. I blinked. A file? This was a whole new side of Ethan. “From the intelligence I could gather, they’ve secured themselves within Westminster Palace.”

  Brooke blinked. “The Parliament buildings themselves? Big Ben?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, that sounds easy enough to break into,” I said flatly. “Nondescript. Unnoticeable.”

  Ethan ignored my sarcasm and pressed on. “Sandor has a minister in his pocket. So they’re using a wing of Westminster Palace. They’re in the Victoria Tower, which is where the parliamentary archives are kept. It’s got the tightest security of the entire building. From the reports I could gather, they haven’t set foot out of there since arriving in London, so the Aurora must be up there with them.”

  I was inclined to agree. “I’m sure Sandor wouldn’t let it out of his sight, or his possession.”

  At that moment our flight was called. Brooke, Ethan, and I boarded the plane and slid into the plush leather seats of business class. On this size of aircraft, the middle section of business class had three seats together. I sat between Brooke and Ethan. It grew stuffy as we waited for takeoff—in spite of the deafening ventilation that drowned out the piped-in music. Flight attendants bustled up and down the aisles as passengers jockeyed for position in the stash-your-carry-on game.

  Just as I was settling into my seat, my phone rang.

  “Hello, darling.” It was my mother. “Listen, I want you to come with me tomorrow to get Reiki done. This girl I’ve found is a genius.”

  “Sorry, Mom. Can’t. I’m on a plane right now.” I admit, it gave me a small pleasure to be able to brush my mother off with a bona fide excuse.

  “Are you? Where are you going? And with whom?”

  “London. I’m going with some . . . colleagues.” I glanced at Brooke, seated to my right. Ever since the bookstore signing, my mother had been on my case to be more like the famous thief who clearly had her life together and always had fabulous hair. “Brooke Sinclair, actually, is one,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Listen, Mom—don’t mention anything about this to Templeton, okay? If you’re talking to him, that is. Which you shouldn’t be, by the way.”

  “Certainly,” she said.

  Ethan leaned over to me. “Cat, put your tray up, we’re taking off soon,” he said. I nodded.

  “Listen,” said my mother. “I don’t want you going anywhere near that Hackney neighborhood in London. I was just watching this program on television and it’s a very dangerous place....”

  “Mom, I’m not going to Hackney. I’m going to a very safe neighborhood. Westminster, actually. You know, Big Ben? I’ll be fine.”

  “Hmm. Well, more importantly, dear, did you take a Bonine? You know you get airsick sometimes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Mom, I haven’t been airsick since I was five.”

  “Did you remember to pack the new grappling hook I bought you? I read excellent reviews about it—”

  “Yes. I packed it,” I lied.

  “Oh, and, darling, do you have an umbrella? It’s terribly rainy in London this time of year.”

  “Mom, I’m hanging up now.”

  “Good luck, sweetheart!”

  I turned off my phone just in time for takeoff. The lights were dimmed and we were jiggling and jostling as the plane lumbered down the runway. There was a pause and then the engines roared louder and I felt pressed back in the seat, like there was an invisible hand on my sternum. We lifted up then, and everything felt lighter. We were on our way. I took a deep breath. The seat belt sign eventually bonged and turned off.

  Within short order dinner was served: steaming hot beef bourguignon, crusty rolls, salad, chocolate cake, wine . . . but my food sat uneaten. I picked at the roll, drank most of the wine. After the trays were cleared and coffee was served, the lights dimmed. I looked around to see that, besides the three of us, everyone was plugged into headphones, gaze glued to miniscreens watching movies. Which left us free to talk business again.

  Brooke reached forward and pulled out a quilted Chanel makeup bag. “Okay,” she said, touching up her lip gloss in a tiny mirror. “So, Ethan, what do we know about security at Westminster?”

  Ethan grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask.” He withdrew a sheaf of documents. I smiled to myself. Ethan was thoroughly enjoying this.

  Brooke paused in her grooming. “What’s all that?”

  “Intel. Recon. Blueprints and building schematics.”

  “Really?” She looked at me. “Impressive.”

  We discreetly sifted through floor maps and blueprints and satellite images and lists of CCTV locations and security systems, intruder alarms. One thing was obvious: this was not going to be easy. After looking everything over and making notes, I reclined in my seat. A yawn escaped my lips.

  “We should probably get some sleep,” Ethan said. “Big job ahead of us.”

  Brooke nodded, but continued frowning at the documents. She pulled out a pencil.

  “Oh, hang on,” Ethan said, flipping through his folder. “One more thing. Here’s the file on the intended sacrifice victim.”

  Brooke snapped her head up and looked over her reading glasses—the reading glasses I was confident she didn’t actually need but I had to admit looked very stylish, with their square plastic frames and Donna Karan engraved on the arm. “Sacrifice?”

  I nodded grimly. “The Caliga believe they need a human sacrifice in order to unlock the power of the Gifts,” I explained.

  “Oh. Well, naturally,” Brooke said.

  “She’ll be a prisoner, when we get in there,” Ethan said. “We’ll have to find a way of getting her out, too.”

  “How, um, mythical. Is she a virgin?” asked Brooke.

  “That I don’t know,” said Ethan. “But here’s the file.”

  He handed it to me and I flipped it open. I looked at the picture stapled to the inside cover. And found myself staring at Nicole Johnson’s face.

  Chapter 36

  Ethan related the details on where they were holding Nicole, but all I heard was the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.

  “Oh. My. God,” I said quietly, staring at the photograph.

  Ethan glanced at me sharply. “Do you know her?”

  I nodded. Brooke snatched the file from my hand. “That’s Nicole Johnson,” she said, looking at the photograph.

  Ethan studied it again. “Oh, you’re right. I remember her from the golf tournament. I hadn’t really looked closely at the face.”

  I scraped my teeth together and closed my eyes. Really? Did it really have to be her that I needed to save? How did this happen?

  I puzzled things back into place. Sandor must have grabbed her because he knew she was following him. She was the enemy, working for the FBI, and she was getting close to finding out the truth. It had been a smart move on Sandor’s part, I had to admit, in the tradition of killing two birds and all that. Getting rid of the FBI on your back and landing yourself a sacrifice candidate, all in one go.

  And then I remembered it had been me who had drawn Sandor’s attention to Nicole’s presence at the convenience store, when she was staking him out. I closed my eyes. This was my fault, too.

  Ethan studied me with concern. “No worries, Montgomery. We’ll get her out. She’ll be fine.”

  I liked Nicole. I did. I told myself firmly this didn’t change a thing. But just to recap: I was about to put myself in extreme peril and make a potentially career-ending move that involved teaming up with my sworn enemy and saving the woman who stole t
he love of my life.

  Perfect.

  It was a bright, frosty day and Jack was ready for a fresh start. In the kitchen he snapped a crisp newspaper, scanning the headlines and drinking coffee.

  Life would go back to normal, Jack told himself. He would go back to his regular job as an FBI agent. And this time, with no conflict. He would go back to a life free from criminal entanglement. No Wesley. No Cole. No Cat. He felt a twinge there, but firmly chalked it up to heartburn from the coffee he’d just gulped.

  Standing before the hallway mirror, he straightened his tie and plucked off the piece of tissue from his freshly shaved neck. Ready to go.

  And then, the phone rang. Jack picked up the receiver resting on the front hall table. “Hello?”

  “Jack, is that you?” said a woman’s voice. “Judy Montgomery here—Cat’s mother.”

  There was silence for several seconds. Cat’s mom? What was she calling for? “Um, hi, Judy.” He rubbed his face and frowned. “How have you been?”

  “Fine, fine. But listen, Jack. I need your help. Catherine is flying to London for a job. I spoke to her last night when she was on the plane. And the truth is, I’m worried. I’ve been stewing about it all night. It’s something Templeton doesn’t know about. I don’t understand it. She told her father she’s not getting paid for this job. And that she’s trying to make something right—correct a very old wrong. Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  Jack’s bright-morning feeling began curling up at the edges and shriveling away. “I—I’m not sure, Judy. Was she by herself?”

  “I heard a man’s voice in the background. He said her name.”

  Ethan, Jack thought, with a kick to the stomach.

  “Oh, and Brooke,” Cat’s mother added. “You know, Brooke Sinclair?”

  Brooke? Alarm bells sounded. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I don’t know, Jack, I have a bad feeling. She made me promise not to tell Templeton. Which . . . is why I’m calling you. She didn’t say anything about not telling you.”

  Damn. Cat had gone to London to get the Fabergé back. That’s what she’d meant by correcting an old wrong. She must have found out the truth somehow. Jack wasn’t surprised, really; it made perfect sense that Cat would do this. The girl had grit, that was certain.

  “Do you have any idea where they’re going? Could it be Greenwich, perhaps?” He cringed, waiting for the answer.

  “No,” Judy said.

  Jack exhaled with relief.

  “Westminster Palace, actually,” she said. “You know, Big Ben and all that?”

  Westminster, Jack thought, frowning. Something about that made him think—

  Wait. Jack dashed down the hall, cradling the phone. He scrabbled on his desk and found the piece of paper Wesley had given him, the transcribed old prophecy about the Gifts. As he reread the words, his skin prickled and crawled. Something was wrong. The origin of time. That could be—

  Oh no. He quickly pulled up a browser on his computer and Googled St. Stephen’s, punching the keys. He sat back hard in his desk chair as he stared at the first search result: St. Stephen’s chapel, on the site of Westminster....

  The time reference could be the great clock. Big Ben.

  Jack ground his teeth. Wesley and Cole were in the wrong place. He heard a woman’s voice, tinny in his ear, and realized that Cat’s mother had been speaking the whole time.

  “I suppose if she’s with Brooke,” Judy was saying, “she’ll be fine. That girl is very capable....”

  Brooke. Jack’s blood ran cold. It was a trap; it had to be. Brooke could easily have fed false information to Nicole about the prophecy and Greenwich. And because of that, Cole and Wesley, and the FBI for that matter, had been sent off to the wrong location. The final part of the plan would be to accompany Cat to the correct location, Westminster, where Sandor was waiting.

  Cat was in great danger.

  Jack felt a hot flush of fear and anger. It was stupid of Cat to do this. It was reckless and risky.

  Cat’s mother was still talking in Jack’s ear. “There’s something else I feel the need to say, Jack. And I know Cat is not going to be happy with me for this, and this may not be the best time to mention it, but the truth is: she has always loved you.”

  “That’s, um, kind of you to say, Judy. But she seems quite happy in her new relationship now. I’m sure it was Ethan Jones’s voice you heard on the airplane.”

  “Ethan?” Judy said. She laughed. “Oh goodness, she’s not in a relationship with that fellow. I believe she had a little fling, but it was nothing serious.”

  Jack frowned, confused. “How do you know that?”

  “I have ways,” she said lightly.

  Jack’s stomach flip-flopped. Could this be true?

  “You know,” Judy said, “I’m ever so glad I decided to phone you, Jack. I feel much better. You’ve been very reassuring.”

  When Jack got off the phone with Cat’s mother, he pressed back into his office chair. He tugged his tie to loosen it, and rubbed his face. So much for a fresh start.

  Jack picked up the phone to send an urgent message to Wesley. But when he tried, the call was blocked. He stared at the phone a moment, frowning. And then he remembered. Total severing of communication. He had no way of contacting Wesley.

  Jack leaned forward, buried his head in his hands, and scrubbed his hair. He sat back and gazed out the window. So. What was he going to do now?

  Chapter 37

  My leg muscles tightened as I gained purchase on a foothold and hoisted myself several inches upward. I was a hundred and fifty feet off the ground, midway to the top of Victoria Tower, the tallest tower in Westminster Palace. The Thames glittered in the streetlights, far below. I could see the great clock, the one everyone calls Big Ben, lustrous atop the tower opposite me. Double-decker buses rumbled across Westminster Bridge; a big black cab honked faintly in the night.

  The cold stone was carved with ornate Gothic features like leaves, birds, and gargoyles, which made for excellent climbing. An English drizzle hung in the air, soaking into my black Lycra.

  Brooke and I were climbing together, tucked into the shadowy side of the tower, hidden from street view. My heart beat a steady clip and my limbs moved rhythmically. I felt like I was full of electricity.

  Mostly, this felt like an insane idea. Like we didn’t stand a chance. But there was a faint, tiny hope—and that’s what I was clinging to.

  After we’d arrived at Heathrow Airport that afternoon, a London cab had carried us away from the airport and into the city itself. The cab dropped us off at our home base, the Savoy Hotel. That was where we made our plans.

  When we checked in, a package was waiting for me at the front desk. A plain brown-wrapped box from Lucas, containing a full complement of all my favorite tools: a climbing harness, grappling hook, Manolos with a tranquilizing dart in the stiletto ... everything. Just as I requested.

  “Okay, here’s how we’re going to do it,” Brooke said, pulling out a blueprint from Ethan’s file and a notebook jammed with written notes. “So first of all—”

  “When did you come up with this?” I asked her. I stared at the notes, frowning with confusion.

  “On the plane.”

  “What? In your sleep?”

  “I stayed awake.”

  Ethan and I exchanged a glance. A smile curled my lips. This was the old Brooke. The Brooke without agenda or artifice. This was the reason I asked her to help me.

  She continued. “You know about misdirection?” she asked, spreading sheets out on an old metal table. “The way a magician uses one hand to distract the audience while the other hand does the trick?”

  I frowned slightly, wondering where this was going. “Sure.”

  “Well, that’s going to be us,” she said.

  We listened and she described in detail how we were going to get in. She stood up and started pacing as she laid out the plan, and then she reached the point where we g
et to the safe.

  “And, Cat,” she said, turning to me, “you’ll take it from there.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because you’re the best at safecracking,” she said plainly, without looking up.

  “I—am?” A thrill passed through my insides at the compliment.

  “I mean, no offense, Ethan Jones,” Brooke said, not looking particularly concerned whether she was offending anyone or not. “But I don’t know enough about your skills. That’s why I’ve got you positioned here, to start, as a lookout.” She put a finger on the schematic.

  Ethan smiled wryly. “No offense taken, Brooke. And you’re quite right. Montgomery is the best at safecracking.”

  Brooke went on to outline the rest of the plan. My eyes widened as she laid out the details; I saw Ethan’s do the same.

  Now, the wind whipped all around us as we climbed Victoria Tower for the first stage.

  “So, Cat,” Brooke said, her voice coming in with a faint crackle through my earpiece. “We’re about to save the life of the woman who stole your man. Interesting, isn’t it?”

  And there we had it. There was the other side of Brooke I knew and loved. I scraped my teeth together. “Brooke, shut up,” I spat.

  “What?” she said with mock innocence.

  Ethan’s voice came crackling through our earpieces. “Do you ladies think you could cut the chitchat and focus on the task at hand?” He was posted at the bottom of the tower, posing as a homeless guy on a nearby bench. We’d left him sipping cold coffee from a shelter-issue Styrofoam cup, buried under layers of grubby sweatshirts and a plaid blanket, clad in pink slippers and a deer hunter hat, face dirt smeared to the point of unrecognizability

  Actually, he was more than merely a lookout tonight. He had also sabotaged the nearby CCTV cameras with a precisely, yet surreptitiously, fired paintball gun.

  There was silence for a stretch as we climbed higher. I glanced over at Brooke. For at least the fourteenth time, I questioned my judgment in bringing her with me. But could I have done this without her? A small voice, deep inside, answered No.

  Anyway, the plan was already in motion. I just hoped I wouldn’t live to regret the decision. I continued climbing; I reached my grip upward and found a handhold on a stone gargoyle.