by Kim Baldwin
*
Allard Pierson Archeological Museum,
University of Amsterdam
Professor Rafi Bayat stared down at a picture of the Persian crown and its renowned centerpiece, still incredulous. The cut, the color, the dimensions. He’d been certain the gem he’d just seen here in Amsterdam was the real Setarehe Abi Rang. or Blue Star, but Qadir had assured him that the legendary diamond was still in the crown. Could there possibly be two stones exactly alike? Rafi glanced around his cluttered office as he grabbed his coat. He’d only been in Amsterdam for two years, but the items he’d accumulated suggested a lengthy entrenchment in the Dutch capital. His bookcases overflowed with reference material, archeological tools, and small mementos of the digs he’d joined, most of them in the Middle East. He’d worked hard to gain credibility and respect in his field, but had never expected to be at the center of a find that could attract worldwide attention. Unwanted attention. For he understood the implications of the discovery of this look-alike diamond and the possible repercussions for his homeland, and first and foremost, he was true to his heritage.
As he headed out for his appointment with the countess’s attorney, Rafi considered carefully the best approach to take with Hans Hofman. It was rush hour in the city, and the bike lanes were crowded with commuters on this sunny morning, so he stuck out his hand to signal his turn to the line of bicycles behind him as he turned onto the Prinsengracht. His primary task for this meeting was to ensure that the countess kept quiet about her diamond’s uncanny resemblance to the Blue Star. But although he knew the Afghan authorities were now conducting their own investigation into the matter, he was unable to stop thinking about how he could help. If he could clear up the mystery concerning the striking similarity between the two gems and quickly discredit the newly discovered diamond, he would be doing an invaluable service for his country. No one was in a better position to do so. He had the expertise needed, and the van der Jagt family seemed cooperative. He hoped the countess’s attorney would give him a place to start.
Rafi locked his bicycle to a rack beside the canal and smoothed his short black hair with his hand before mounting the steps to Hans Hofman’s office. The man who greeted him was much older than he’d envisioned. Hofman was in his eighties, certainly past the age that most men retired from the legal profession. But despite his outward appearance, the attorney had the vigor and agility of a much younger man, and showed no sign of diminished mental acuity.
“Thank you for coming,” he said as he led Rafi down a hallway and through an outer reception area into a well-appointed office. “I hope you have news for us?”
“No verification yet.” Rafi settled into a leather chair opposite the man’s desk. “It doesn’t appear your stone can be the Blue Star, but it will take some time to investigate this mystery. In the interim, we must be discreet. I’m sure you would not wish to create a political problem between our countries.”
“I understand,” Hofman said, affirming Rafi’s expectations. The Dutch could be counted upon to respect the cultural sensitivities of others. This made them easy to deal with, and exploit, if necessary.
“Now, it will help me a great deal if you can tell me what you know about how the countess acquired this gem?”
Hofman swiveled his office chair and gazed out the window overlooking the canal, his face in profile. “She inherited it from her father, upon his recent death. Count Jan van der Jagt was a colonel in the air force during World War Two.” He paused for a long while, seemingly pre-occupied with his thoughts. “He acquired it in 1946 from a Nazi lieutenant he turned in to authorities.”
“Do you know name of this lieutenant?” Rafi asked.
“Why is this important?”
“Because I am personally going to try to track the origins of this stone. If we are to prove conclusively that the real stone is in the possession of the Afghan people we will need to authenticate the rival stone’s history.”
“I see.” Hofman faced him with a tired expression. “At this point there is nothing I can do to stop you from proceeding?”
“But why would you want to?” Rafi reasoned. “I would think that it will help both of us to get to the bottom of this. Do you not wish to be free to sell the diamond?”
“The countess needs the money, this is true. But we don’t know if she will have any claim to this treasure, you see. And I stand to expose her father…my friend.”
“I am afraid I don’t understand.”
“Count van der Jagt did what was necessary to survive that dreadful period,” Hofman said. “In times of war we do things we may later regret.”
Rafi gave the attorney a look of compassion. “Ah. I promise to be very discreet with my inquiries.”
“Thank you. Would you do me the kindness of passing on any information or questions concerning…the German directly to me?” Hofman gestured dismissively with his hand. “I do not want Ms. van der Jagt involved.”
“Of course. I will respect your wishes.”
“The Nazi’s name was Geert Wolff,” Hofman supplied. “He was with the Gestapo and was tried at Nuremberg. To the best of my knowledge, he took the diamond from a wealthy Jew who was sent to Auschwitz. Wolff was executed, and one must assume the man he stole the diamond from is no longer alive, God rest him.”
“A most horrific period for so many.” Rafi got to his feet and extended his hand. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Hofman. I will be in touch.”
Chapter Four
Venice, Italy
Friday, February 8
The private plane the EOO had arranged flew Allegro and Nighthawk from Berne to Venice in eighty minutes. They met their contact in a dark, quiet street away from the city center. Carnival was in full swing, and they could hear the distant shouts and laughter of the revelers who filled the streets and canals. Although they were in an area where they could meet with relatively little fear of being seen or overheard, they still remained on the move, walking as they talked. Nighthawk strolled at Allegro’s right, and the contact was on her left. He reminded her of Dilbert, all glasses and cartoon-geeky. She remained silent for the most part during the briefing, carefully listening.
“Here’s the file that was recently put together on the van der Jagt family.” The contact handed her a thin folder. “It’s a fairly brief account but will have to do for now. The countess’s code name is Rocky and this is Operation Vanish.”
Allegro slowed her steps as she opened the dossier to the first page. The usual mundane specifics were there, but thankfully the report was not as elaborate as some, so she was able to scan it quickly. Kristine Marie-Louise van der Jagt. Age: 38. Height: 5'8". Blond hair, blue eyes. Occupation: Web designer. Her education and employment stats followed, along with information on her parents.
“What if the stone’s not here in Venice?” Allegro glanced over at the contact. “As far as I can see there’s no…” She trailed off and stopped dead as she flipped to the next page.
“There’s no what?” Nighthawk asked, and when she continued to stare at the page in her hands, he jabbed her lightly on the shoulder. “Hello? Anybody home?”
“Proof, there’s no proof,” she said in irritation. “Is this really her?”
Nighthawk leaned in and studied the countess’s picture. The four-by-six color photo might have been an advertisement for a modeling agency or cosmetics firm. Kristine van der Jagt was smiling an enigmatic smile. Her fair skin was flawless, her shoulder-length wheat blond hair shimmered in the sun. She was breathtaking.
“She sure is hot. Can I keep the picture when we’re done?” Nighthawk tried to grab the folder, but Allegro slapped him on the hand.
“Down, Fido. This isn’t one of your porn centerfolds. Besides, if anyone gets to keep this picture, it’s me.”
The contact cleared his throat. “Can we get back to the subject?”
Allegro tore her attention away from the photo with great reluctance. “So…” she summarized as they resumed walking, “
I have to get into this woman’s villa, pass unnoticed through all the guests, search for a possible safe in a cellar with limited access, and hope that there’s a diamond worth millions in there. Then extract it. And nothing in this little plan screams ‘dodgy’?”
Ignoring her sarcasm, the Dilbert look-alike replied blandly, “We don’t have the luxury of a long planning period. Even though there’s probably only a remote chance the diamond is here, the residence must be searched. The movers and estate agents will be all over the place tomorrow morning. Tonight is a sort of farewell to daddy’s mansion and money, which means that whatever is worth anything to the van der Jagts will be leaving with Rocky tomorrow.”
“Why can’t I wait until the guests leave and she’s gone to bed?” Allegro asked.
“It’s Carnival. Who’s going to be sleeping tonight?”
“My kinda party.”
“Think you can manage without getting sidetracked?” Nighthawk teased.
She winked at him before returning her attention to their contact. “How soon do you want me in there?”
“We have to move fast.” He handed Nighthawk a navigator memory card. “The layout for the house. You’ll be able to move most freely around the interior if you pass as one of the masqueraded guests.”
Allegro grinned. “Can I go as a cat burglar?”
“No,” both men replied.
*
Southwestern Colorado
Montgomery Pierce stared out his window at the blizzard raging beyond his office, obscuring his splendid view of the Rocky Mountains and the immense Weminuche Wilderness Area. The snow covering the remote, wooded landscape was thigh deep, perfect for winter survival training but a pain in the ass for everything else. Still, he had no doubt the esteemed visitor due any minute would somehow make it through to the Elite Operatives Organization campus. If the deputy director of the Military Intelligence Service was trying to get to them for an assignment in this weather, it meant he was acting under orders from brass at the Pentagon. In anticipation, Monty had invited the two other members of the EOO’s Governing Trio to sit in on the briefing. It took a vote of any two of them to dispatch a member of their Elite Tactical Force on a dangerous mission and he’d already obtained their approval for the Venice operation, based on nothing but a phone call from Norton, who was waiting out a blizzard at the time. They needed more information before Monty was willing to commit resources on the broader operation Norton had alluded to.
“If Norton himself is coming in all this mess, this must be pretty big,” said a voice from behind him.
Joanne Grant, Director of Academics, was good at reading Monty’s mind. They’d grown up together at the Academy, had been ETFs in the same graduating class, and he’d been in love with her for nearly four decades. Since emotional attachments of any kind were discouraged in their line of work, he’d never once acted on those feelings, but he noticed every little detail about her.
She placed a cup of coffee on the small oval conference table and sat down. Today her white hair was styled a little differently than usual, swept away from her face. It made her neck appear longer, and accentuated her high cheekbones and vivid green eyes. Monty sucked in his stomach, as he did whenever she was around. He also made sure those damn bifocals he’d come to depend on were nowhere in sight. There was little he could do about his thinning blond hair and pale skin, a by-product of his Scandinavian heritage. He hoped his look was mature and distinguished, not middle-aged and well past his prime.
“I don’t know much more, just that this is a high-priority, time-sensitive European operation. The usual.”
David Arthur, Director of Training, joined them, brushing snow from his winter white camo fatigues. When he took off his white skullcap, his copper-colored crew cut stood out in stark contrast. “Sorry. Got held up in explosives class. Anything from Venice yet?”
Monty checked the time. His intercom buzzed twice, confirming that the guard at the front gate had just admitted Major Cliff Norton. He drew the blinds, a habit whenever anything of importance was being discussed.
As soon as he’d joined them at the conference table, the major, a balding career soldier with a dour expression, flipped open his briefcase and got right to the point. “This is it.” He withdrew a photograph and tossed it toward Monty. Grant and Arthur leaned closer to study it. “The Blue Star Diamond,” Norton continued. “This rock is supposed to be in the Persian crown, on exhibit in Kabul. But a source in the Afghan government claims the diamond in the crown is a fake and the gem in the possession of the Dutch woman is the real thing.”
“My operatives are presently attempting to steal not just any diamond, but one that will create political heat with Muslims?” Monty concluded, wondering what the tradeoff was. “Why is the U.S. getting involved in this?”
“We have intelligence that the diamond is about to be stolen by another party and sold to finance al-Qaeda,” Norton replied. “Our informant is in a position to return the stone to the crown, where it belongs.”
“Making the Afghans happy,” Grant noted.
“Yes, and in exchange we’ll get information about an imminent terrorist threat to be launched from Afghanistan against Western targets.”
“How reliable is your source?” Monty asked.
“He’s always delivered, so far. But this time there’s no money changing hands. He says it’s his duty.”
“Did you try offering more cash for information on the threat?”
“We’ve exhausted that option,” Norton said. “Look, we don’t give a damn about the rock, and whether or not it returns to the goddamn crown, but this a code-red situation. Our assets in Afghanistan are on standby and we can move in as soon as you do your part.”
Monty picked up the photo and brought it closer to his face. “If they come up empty in Venice, what are we looking at? A vault in the ABN AMRO?”
The major withdrew a dossier from his briefcase, opened it to the relevant page, and set it beside a print of the photo he’d e-mailed five hours earlier, when the orders were given for Operation Vanish. “Kristine Marie-Louise van der Jagt. Her late father had a safe deposit box in Amsterdam but it’s been emptied, and she doesn’t have one of her own that we can find. So we think the gem is likely to be in a mansion in the Netherlands if it’s not at the Venice location. Bottom line is, we have to get it ASAP. We’re not the only ones after it.”
“Understood,” Monty said.
Norton pointed to another address in the file. “That’s her lawyer’s office in Amsterdam. He’s settling the estate and is close to the family, so that might be the best place to start if the stone isn’t in Venice.”
Monty nodded. “I’ll get someone on it.”
Once the major had departed, David Arthur asked, “Do we keep Allegro on this? We could assign Domino to the Netherlands end, since this is time critical.”
“I don’t want to send in a second-tier crew and possibly clue in our competition,” Monty responded. “Allegro’s our best in breaking, entering, and retrieving. She has that instinct.” He didn’t have to explain what he meant. They were all well familiar with the ETF’s profile and accomplishments. She had an uncanny ability to figure out where people hid things, to locate what others could not. “Hell, I think she could find Bin Laden if we asked her to.”
“Let’s just hope she doesn’t leave a trail of destruction behind.” Arthur glanced down at Allegro’s file. “She’s great at what she does, even irreplaceable, but she’s so damn fearless and cocky about her abilities, she overestimates herself. One of these days, she’ll overreach and we’ll be cleaning up after her. Trying to break that one was one of the most challenging things I’ve had to do.”
“All that and you didn’t succeed,” Grant joked. “But her heart’s in the right place, and she’s very dedicated to us.”
“She wasn’t and still isn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Monty agreed. He’d just received a new pile of her speeding tickets, proving the point. “But she�
�s always delivered, no matter the circumstances. Nighthawk is with her. He won’t let her mess up.”
Arthur chuckled. “Poor bastard.”
The comment elicited one of Monty’s rare smiles. He reached for his cell phone. “She’s high maintenance but she’ll deliver.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Grant’s expression turned glum. “Her inexorability will someday be the end of her.”
*
The dimly lit streets around the Piazza San Marco were crowded with revelers, many in exquisitely ornate leather or papier-mâché masks and the traditionally opulent and colorful period costumes that celebrated the rich history of Venice or Commedia dell’Arte characters. There were also ample partygoers in more modern dress, masquerading as animals and clowns or barely disguised beneath whimsically decadent garb. Many were headed to private parties, staged events, and balls. The rest were content to join the tourists mingling among the street performers, an abundance of musicians and jugglers, acrobats and fire-eaters, and small theatrical troupes.
From the balcony of her second-floor bedroom, Kristine van der Jagt observed the merriment along the pedestrian walk in front of the villa and in the canal, which was crowded with boats. The din from the celebrations was deafening. It was nearly eleven p.m. and her first guests would arrive any moment, but already she was bored senseless. The annual Carnival affair had never really held much appeal for her, yet she kept up the family tradition, and now she wondered why. For her mother, it had been an escape from her loneliness; for her father, an opportunity to boast and impress. But Kris had long ago ceased to derive any real pleasure from such hedonistic pursuits, and tonight, especially, she was in no mood to entertain. It was likely her last night in the villa and she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. The charming fifteenth-century home was more than her residence. It was a refuge, a stark contrast to the cold and lonely mansion in Haarlem where she’d grown up. Venice was warm and colorful, a city in love with life. Romance hung in the air, and though she’d not found it here herself, as she’d once hoped, the atmosphere was full of promise and she’d never stopped believing something magical was possible.