you are meddling in. How dare you—”
“Don’t worry.” Hecht interrupted him with a wink. “We got it.”
Renwick nodded slowly, as if trying to calm himself, although in truth Hecht’s revelation was no surprise; he had known for several days now about Kristall Blade’s thoughtless attack on Weissman. If things had been different, he might even have been in a position to prevent it. No matter. For now, the important thing was for them to think they had gained an advantage. If they felt they were in control, it would make them complacent. And their complacency would eventually present him with the opportunity to make his move. Until then, he was happy to grant them their small victory and pretend to have been outsmarted.
“And now I suppose you think that little bit of cleverness entitles you to a seat at the top table?”
“This is bigger than an old painting. We can sense it. We want a share in whatever it is you are after.”
“And what do I get in return?”
“You get the arm and whatever it can tell you.”
There was a pause as Renwick pretended to consider Hecht’s offer. His wineglass sounded like a deadened bell as he rhythmically tapped the squat gold signet ring on his little finger against the rim.
“Where is the arm now?”
“Still in London. One phone call from me and it will be flown out here—or destroyed. You choose.”
Renwick shrugged. “Very well. Eighty-twenty split.” He had no intention of splitting anything but knew it would arouse suspicion if he didn’t try to negotiate.
“Fifty-fifty.”
52 james twining
“Do not push your luck, Johann,” Renwick warned him.
“Sixty-forty then.”
“Seventy-thirty. That’s my final offer,” Renwick said firmly.
“Done.” Hecht took out his phone. “Where do you want it delivered?”
“I will go to London,” Renwick said with a wry smile. “Things are already in motion there. Maybe we can use this to our advantage.”
“You still haven’t told me what this is all about.”
Renwick shook his head. “I will talk to Dmitri. What I have to say, he should hear first.”
Hecht leaned into the table and raised his voice ever so slightly. “He will only speak to you once I have verified your story. If we are to be partners, he needs more than promises.”
“Very well.” Renwick sighed. “I will tell you what you need to know, but no more. The full story will have to wait for Dmitri. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Renwick reached into the red bag by his chair. Hecht’s hand flashed across his chest as he felt for his gun.
“Careful, Renwick. No tricks.”
“No tricks,” Renwick agreed. His hand emerged from the bag clutching a small model steam train. He placed it on the table and pushed it over to Hecht. The miniature pistons pumped merrily as it rolled over the tablecloth until it bumped into Hecht’s plate with a resonant ping and came to a stop.
“What is this? Some sort of joke?” Hecht’s tone was suspicious.
“No joke.”
“But it’s a train,” he said dismissively.
“Not
just
any
train.
A
gold
train.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NEAR BOROUGH MARKET, LONDON
January 5—1:03 p.m.
What’s he got to do with this?” Tom’s voice was at once angry and uncertain. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t even think about Harry without remembering how much of himself he had lost the day he finally uncovered the truth. It was as if half his life had been revealed as one long lie.
“That’s what we’d like to find out.”
“What do you know?”
“Not as much as you”—Turnbull snorted—“given that you and dear old Uncle Harry were almost family.”
“You’d be surprised,” Tom said bitterly. “The Harry Renwick I knew was intelligent, funny, kind, and caring.” Tom couldn’t stop his voice from softening at the memory of Renwick in his tatty old white linen suit. Renwick, who’d never forgotten his birthday, not once. His own father had never managed that. “The Harry Renwick I knew was my
“Don’t worry.” Hecht interrupted him with a wink. “We got it.”
Renwick nodded slowly, as if trying to calm himself, although in truth Hecht’s revelation was no surprise; he had known for several days now about Kristall Blade’s thoughtless attack on Weissman. If things had been different, he might even have been in a position to prevent it. No matter. For now, the important thing was for them to think they had gained an advantage. If they felt they were in control, it would make them complacent. And their complacency would eventually present him with the opportunity to make his move. Until then, he was happy to grant them their small victory and pretend to have been outsmarted.
“And now I suppose you think that little bit of cleverness entitles you to a seat at the top table?”
“This is bigger than an old painting. We can sense it. We want a share in whatever it is you are after.”
“And what do I get in return?”
“You get the arm and whatever it can tell you.”
There was a pause as Renwick pretended to consider Hecht’s offer. His wineglass sounded like a deadened bell as he rhythmically tapped the squat gold signet ring on his little finger against the rim.
“Where is the arm now?”
“Still in London. One phone call from me and it will be flown out here—or destroyed. You choose.”
Renwick shrugged. “Very well. Eighty-twenty split.” He had no intention of splitting anything but knew it would arouse suspicion if he didn’t try to negotiate.
“Fifty-fifty.”
52 james twining
“Do not push your luck, Johann,” Renwick warned him.
“Sixty-forty then.”
“Seventy-thirty. That’s my final offer,” Renwick said firmly.
“Done.” Hecht took out his phone. “Where do you want it delivered?”
“I will go to London,” Renwick said with a wry smile. “Things are already in motion there. Maybe we can use this to our advantage.”
“You still haven’t told me what this is all about.”
Renwick shook his head. “I will talk to Dmitri. What I have to say, he should hear first.”
Hecht leaned into the table and raised his voice ever so slightly. “He will only speak to you once I have verified your story. If we are to be partners, he needs more than promises.”
“Very well.” Renwick sighed. “I will tell you what you need to know, but no more. The full story will have to wait for Dmitri. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Renwick reached into the red bag by his chair. Hecht’s hand flashed across his chest as he felt for his gun.
“Careful, Renwick. No tricks.”
“No tricks,” Renwick agreed. His hand emerged from the bag clutching a small model steam train. He placed it on the table and pushed it over to Hecht. The miniature pistons pumped merrily as it rolled over the tablecloth until it bumped into Hecht’s plate with a resonant ping and came to a stop.
“What is this? Some sort of joke?” Hecht’s tone was suspicious.
“No joke.”
“But it’s a train,” he said dismissively.
“Not
just
any
train.
A
gold
train.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NEAR BOROUGH MARKET, LONDON
January 5—1:03 p.m.
What’s he got to do with this?” Tom’s voice was at once angry and uncertain. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t even think about Harry without remembering how much of himself he had lost the day he finally uncovered the truth. It was as if half his life had been revealed as one long lie.
“That’s what we’d like to find out.”
“What do you know?”
“Not as much as you”—Turnbull snorted—“given that you and dear old Uncle Harry were almost family.”
“You’d be surprised,” Tom said bitterly. “The Harry Renwick I knew was intelligent, funny, kind, and caring.” Tom couldn’t stop his voice from softening at the memory of Renwick in his tatty old white linen suit. Renwick, who’d never forgotten his birthday, not once. His own father had never managed that. “The Harry Renwick I knew was my
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