James Patterson - Kill Me If You Can

“Don’t worry about it, Captain,” Adam said. “Nobody is getting in here.”

“What are we looking for?” Zach asked.

I told them the whole story. Zelvas, Chukov, the diamonds, Paris, Venice, Amsterdam, Marta, and of course, Katherine.

“Where’s Katherine now?” Adam asked.

“New York,” I said. “At least I think she flew back to New York after she left me in Venice. I phoned her, texted her, but no response. She probably thinks I just want her back, so she’s avoiding me.”

“Knowing the Russian mob,” Ty said, “if they can’t find you, they’ll go after her.”

“You’re right,” I said. “That’s why I came back here. I want them to find me. Fast.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. Four rings later a voice that was laced with sleep and booze picked up.

“Chukov.”

“This is the Ghost,” I said.

Chukov woke up in a hurry. “Where the hell are you? Where are my diamonds?”

“I’m still in Amsterdam,” I said. “Your diamonds are back in New York.”

“Where? Who has them?”

“Matthew Bannon,” I said. “He couldn’t unload them. The kid is an amateur. He couldn’t sell a fire extinguisher in hell. By the time I tracked him down, he chickened out and skipped town.”

“Where’s Bannon now?” Chukov said.

“He flew back home. He’s holed up in his apartment, trying to figure out how to get rid of those stones,” I said.

“He’s in New York?” Chukov said. “That son of a bitch.”

“Relax, Vadim. I’m catching a flight out of Schiphol in a few hours. I should be in New York by tonight to wrap things up. I’ll call you then.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Chukov said.

I hung up and turned to my three bodyguards.

“Let’s ramp up, boys. The Russians are coming.”

CHUKOV’S PHONE RANG.

He clenched his teeth and picked it up. “Hello, Nathaniel. I was just going to call…”

“They sent for me,” Prince screamed.

“Who sent for you?” Chukov said.

“Who do you think? The heads of the Syndicate. You’ve made so much goddamn noise trying to find my diamonds that they found out Zelvas was stealing and now they want answers.”

“But Zelvas was only stealing from us,” Chukov said.

“That’s not the way they will see it. Now, where the hell are my diamonds?” Prince screamed.

“We’re working on it,” Chukov said. “We had a little setback.”

“What? What kind of setback?”

“Marta Krall is dead,” Chukov said. “From what I can put together, she tracked Bannon to Amsterdam and he killed her.”

Chukov had to hold the phone away from his ear as Prince let out a torrent of insults aimed at Krall, Bannon, Chukov, and the mothers who spawned all three from their respective wombs.

“Nathaniel, I know it sounds bad, but it’s under control,” Chukov said. “I just heard from the Ghost. Bannon couldn’t sell the diamonds, so he brought them back to New York. I swear I’ll have them in another few hours.”

“Natalia and I are at the airport now,” Nathaniel shouted. “In another few hours, I’ll be in Nassau and the Syndicate will have my balls in a vise. I want those diamonds back, and if Bannon already sold them, I want the money.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Chukov said.

“That’s what you told me when you hired Krall, may she rot in hell,” Prince said. “And unless you get the diamonds now, you’ll be joining her.”

“Nathaniel, I promise you I’ll—” Chukov stopped. Prince had hung up.

He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the bar, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swig. He had seen Prince go off the deep end before, but this was the worst.

He needed to put together a team. He called the top five professionals on his list. Three were out of the country on assignment, but both the Sicilian and the Jamaican were in New York and available. Then he called Nick Benzetti.

“Bannon is back in New York,” Chukov said. “He still has the diamonds and my boss is going batshit.”

“What happened to your sweet little German girlfriend who shoved the Glock in my face?” Benzetti said. “I thought she was handling the whole mess.”

“She’s dead,” Chukov said.

“Aw, poor thing,” Benzetti said. “Is she really dead, or are you just saying that to make me feel good?”

“I’m putting together a team,” Chukov said. “I want the diamonds back and Bannon at the bottom of the East River. I have two men already. Do you and your partner want in?”

“Yeah, but we’re not working for chump change,” Benzetti said. “Whatever you’re paying the other two guys, we get the same.”

“I can’t afford to—”

“No problem,” Benzetti said. “There are plenty of cops who work cheap. Just dial nine-one-one. Nice talking to you.”

“Wait. Don’t hang up.” Chukov could feel his chest tightening. He grabbed his inhaler. “Okay, okay,” he wheezed. “But it has to be now. We’re running out of time.”

“Relax,” Benzetti said. “The guy is a dipshit art student. How long can it take?”

NATHANIEL AND NATALIA caught the early-morning JetBlue flight to Nassau in the Bahamas. The Syndicate had rented a block of suites at the Atlantis, a sprawling ocean-themed resort with waterslides, river rides, a hundred-million-gallon aquarium, and almost as many slot machines. It was Disneyland, SeaWorld, and Las Vegas all rolled into one. The Princes despised it.

A limo picked them up at the airport and took them to the One&Only Ocean Club on the eastern end of Paradise Island. Once a private estate, it was now a gated community of oceanfront guest rooms, garden cottages, and luxurious villas.

“You’ve hardly spoken a word since we left New York,” Nathaniel said as soon as they were alone in their room.

“What is there to say?” Natalia said. “We’re here for an inquisition, not a vacation.”

“The inquisition doesn’t start for five hours. Till then, let us enjoy life.”

By noon Natalia was swimming laps in the pool, ignoring the stares of strangers who were trying to figure out the relationship between the voluptuous woman in the white bikini and the silver-haired man who looked old enough to be her father.

She toweled off and slipped on a pair of sandals. “I’m tired of giving those mudaks something to gawk at,” she said. “Let’s walk in the garden.”

Directly behind the pool area were the lush multi-terraced Versailles Gardens, the thirty-five-acre centerpiece of the Ocean Club.

They walked hand in hand past tropical trees, bronze and marble statuary, and a pond whose surface was graced with water lilies and lotus blossoms, until they reached the final terrace — the Cloisters — a twelfth-century monastery that had been shipped stone by stone from France and now stood overlooking Nassau Harbor.

The air was fragrant with the scent of roses, hibiscus, and oleander. Natalia sat down on a stone bench.

“Why are they persecuting you?” she asked. “Zelvas shortchanged the customers and skimmed off the diamonds. You’re the one who caught him. You’re the one who had him killed.”

But they both knew that was only a half-truth.

When Nathaniel found out that Zelvas was stealing, he knew he should report the violation to the Syndicate immediately and return the stolen diamonds to them.

“I have a better idea,” he had told Natalia. “Let Zelvas take the fall, but we’ll take the money.”

He had recruited Natalia to get close to Zelvas.

“How close?” she asked.

Nathaniel didn’t hesitate. “Whatever it takes.”

And so Natalia worked her magic, the big, ugly Russian fell in love, and the cache of diamonds grew fatter.