and quickly shot ahead of a cab driver who was vying for the
same crack in the traffic flow to get into the fast lane. She appeared to be in
a good mood today. Something about getting out on the open road with the wind
whipping around them seemed to appeal to her.
John watched the
Hudson River flash by in a blur. “Of course, it would have been better to hire
a limo with bulletproof glass and tinted windows.”
“I detest
limousines,” she scoffed. “I think they’re the most vulgar cars. Any wannabe
rap star or pimply seventeen-year-old on a prom date can drive around in one.”
She had a point.
“Still, if you want
security…”
“But I don’t want
security, or rather, I’m not worried about it. It’s my father who’s the big
worry-wart.”
“I take it he’s not
coming to the ball?” remarked John.
“No, he hates these
big social things.”
“What about you?”
“I hate them, too,
but Lillian Spencer was a friend of my mother’s. They went to Vassar together
and she specifically asked me to come and, of course, I am curious to see all the beautiful jewels. I won’t be able to
stand most of the ladies wearing them, but that doesn’t matter. Just seeing
this collection of gems all in one place will be something.”
He could imagine her
eyes lighting up behind the Jackie O’s. “It’ll be a security nightmare is what
it’ll be.”
“But there will be
secret service and the museum’s security and, of course, I’ll have you,” she
said with a slight condescending lilt to her voice, which John did not
appreciate.
“Listen, I’m telling
you, it’s a security nightmare. You’re lucky your father had the foresight to
hire someone to watch over your stuff,” he insisted.
She shrugged and they
rode in silence after that all the way through the state of New Jersey.
Somewhere around
Trenton, Veronica reached over and flipped open the glove compartment. She
pulled out a CD and slid it into the built-in player on the dashboard. The
velvety voice of Lena Horn purred out of the speakers with a swanky band
arrangement to back her up.
Veronica sang along
with Lena as she flew past the other cars on the highway. John liked the way
she drove. She was sure of herself and had quick reflexes. She didn’t tailgate,
choosing instead to jump ahead of any slowpokes on the road. He stretched back
in the leather seats and watched the world fly by with the sun on his face and
the music soothing his spirit. This might not be such a bad job after all.
They were speeding
through Pennsylvania when Veronica said, “So tell me some exciting stories
about your days at the FBI chasing jewel thieves.”
“Well, let’s see.” He
thought about it. “The man who gave me the most trouble is your friend the
Ghost.”
“The one who wrote
the note.”
John nodded.
“I read about him in
the newspapers,” said Veronica. “He took Katherine Park’s diamond ring.”
“It’s possible. I’ve
tracked him all through Europe, down to Charleston, and over to Los Angeles,
among other places. The thing about him is…he doesn’t leave any trace—nothing.”
John bit his thumb and shook his head. “Every other thief leaves some kind of
telltale sign. Some of them are just glorified thugs who pull off jewelry store
robberies like they were hitting a local gas station. Some of them are so
caught up in their own crazy game they get arrogant and leave calling cards.”
“Actual calling
cards?” asked Veronica, unable to keep the interest from her voice.
John smiled. “One guy
does. He calls himself the White Russian because he claims his family goes back
to the aristocracy of the Russian Empire, though it’s more likely he’s a
descendant of the craftsman from the House of Fabergé. He seems to have
inherited some of their skill with jewels.”
“What has he stolen?”
she asked.
“His biggest heist
was about five years ago. He grabbed a Burmese ruby the size of an egg out of
the hotel room of a Saudi
same crack in the traffic flow to get into the fast lane. She appeared to be in
a good mood today. Something about getting out on the open road with the wind
whipping around them seemed to appeal to her.
John watched the
Hudson River flash by in a blur. “Of course, it would have been better to hire
a limo with bulletproof glass and tinted windows.”
“I detest
limousines,” she scoffed. “I think they’re the most vulgar cars. Any wannabe
rap star or pimply seventeen-year-old on a prom date can drive around in one.”
She had a point.
“Still, if you want
security…”
“But I don’t want
security, or rather, I’m not worried about it. It’s my father who’s the big
worry-wart.”
“I take it he’s not
coming to the ball?” remarked John.
“No, he hates these
big social things.”
“What about you?”
“I hate them, too,
but Lillian Spencer was a friend of my mother’s. They went to Vassar together
and she specifically asked me to come and, of course, I am curious to see all the beautiful jewels. I won’t be able to
stand most of the ladies wearing them, but that doesn’t matter. Just seeing
this collection of gems all in one place will be something.”
He could imagine her
eyes lighting up behind the Jackie O’s. “It’ll be a security nightmare is what
it’ll be.”
“But there will be
secret service and the museum’s security and, of course, I’ll have you,” she
said with a slight condescending lilt to her voice, which John did not
appreciate.
“Listen, I’m telling
you, it’s a security nightmare. You’re lucky your father had the foresight to
hire someone to watch over your stuff,” he insisted.
She shrugged and they
rode in silence after that all the way through the state of New Jersey.
Somewhere around
Trenton, Veronica reached over and flipped open the glove compartment. She
pulled out a CD and slid it into the built-in player on the dashboard. The
velvety voice of Lena Horn purred out of the speakers with a swanky band
arrangement to back her up.
Veronica sang along
with Lena as she flew past the other cars on the highway. John liked the way
she drove. She was sure of herself and had quick reflexes. She didn’t tailgate,
choosing instead to jump ahead of any slowpokes on the road. He stretched back
in the leather seats and watched the world fly by with the sun on his face and
the music soothing his spirit. This might not be such a bad job after all.
They were speeding
through Pennsylvania when Veronica said, “So tell me some exciting stories
about your days at the FBI chasing jewel thieves.”
“Well, let’s see.” He
thought about it. “The man who gave me the most trouble is your friend the
Ghost.”
“The one who wrote
the note.”
John nodded.
“I read about him in
the newspapers,” said Veronica. “He took Katherine Park’s diamond ring.”
“It’s possible. I’ve
tracked him all through Europe, down to Charleston, and over to Los Angeles,
among other places. The thing about him is…he doesn’t leave any trace—nothing.”
John bit his thumb and shook his head. “Every other thief leaves some kind of
telltale sign. Some of them are just glorified thugs who pull off jewelry store
robberies like they were hitting a local gas station. Some of them are so
caught up in their own crazy game they get arrogant and leave calling cards.”
“Actual calling
cards?” asked Veronica, unable to keep the interest from her voice.
John smiled. “One guy
does. He calls himself the White Russian because he claims his family goes back
to the aristocracy of the Russian Empire, though it’s more likely he’s a
descendant of the craftsman from the House of Fabergé. He seems to have
inherited some of their skill with jewels.”
“What has he stolen?”
she asked.
“His biggest heist
was about five years ago. He grabbed a Burmese ruby the size of an egg out of
the hotel room of a Saudi
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