Black River (Sean O'Brien Book 6) Read online

  O’Brien stood from the canvas director’s chair in the salon and stepped to the open doors leading to the cockpit. He watched a white pelican straddle the top of a dock piling and preen its feathers. He turned back to Dave and Nick. “What if it’s real? What if the diamond is authentic and the one in the crown today is the fake? Unless the diamond was tested, no one would know.”

  Nick grinned. “We’d know if a gemologist had tested the one outta the river, ‘cause if that’s the real deal, what does that make the one locked up the in the Tower of London? Makes it an imposter, that’s what.” Nick took a long pull from an icy bottle of Corona.

  Dave lean forward, surfing through the channels on TV, and said, “It was common practice, when transporting diamonds of that value years ago, to use a replica—a decoy—that would be packaged and delivered under armed guard in a route generally made public. At the same time, the genuine stone would often be sent through the postal service, believe it or not. Nick, you’re correct in your premise—is the diamond currently housed in the Crown Jewels in fact a real diamond—the Koh-i-Noor, or was there some confusion and the one in the Tower of London was the counterfeit while the actual diamond was shipped to the Confederate States of America?”

  Nick grinned and shook his head. “You can bet a year’s worth of afternoon tea that the Brits won’t be in a hurry to do a scratch ‘n sniff on the rock in the Crown Jewels.”

  A cross-breeze blew across the marina, the wind bringing the smell of rain into Gibraltar. The curtain on the starboard side puffed, lightning cracked beyond the lighthouse somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Within seconds, rain pelted the marina, large drops slapping the thick fiberglass exterior of Dave’s boat. He looked at O’Brien and asked, “What’s wrong, Sean? You leave all the windows on Jupiter open?”

  “No, it’s what Joe Billie found when we located the spot near the river where the photo of the woman was taken.”

  Nick stood from the bar. “Oh, boy. You said the coins, a Minié ball, and a crushed stogie was there. Rain won’t help.”

  O’Brien stared out the transom door at the storm. He watched rain attack the marina, boats rocking in place, bow and stern lines stretched, a burst of lightning splintering white veins across the dark purple sky. He turned back to Dave and Nick, blew air out of his cheeks and said, “Two extremes do the most damage to latent DNA and fingerprints—water and very dry conditions. Tonight it’s a hard rain, and if the sheriff’s office hasn’t bagged that evidence, what’s left of that cigar will probably be washed into the St. Johns. And we can add that to the river’s list of secrets.”

  Among covert intelligence circles, it’s known by only two letters: IB. The full title is Intelligence Bureau, the oldest state-run spy agency in the world. In a secure office, deep in the heart of the agency located in New Delhi, India, the field director for external operations, Hira Goda, pushed back in his chair, touched the tips of his boney fingers together, and stared impassively across his desk at the woman.

  Goda, pushing fifty, seldom blinked, dark half circles under eyes that absorbed light like coal. He said, “You were handpicked for the operation. You’ve seen the briefs, viewed the video of the diamond found in the river. However, to fully understand the importance of this assignment is to know the soul of India. The Koh-i-Noor has been gone too long. She must be returned home.”

  Malina Kade tilted her head, emerald green eyes probing, oval face flawless, amber skin smooth, full lips sensuous. She wore no make-up. Brown hair pulled back. “She? Why apply a gender reference to a diamond?”

  Goda propped his elbows on the chair’s armrests and looked across his interlaced fingers. “Because of its history with India.”

  “I read the briefs, and I am aware of the diamond’s legacy in India. There was no mention of gender associated with the diamond?”

  “It is believed the Koh-i-Noor is not meant to be owned by a man. In its seven-hundred-year past, those men who have claimed it—those who have tried to possess it—have met untimely and often gruesome deaths. It is not the case when the diamond was kept by a woman.”

  “Maybe that is why the former queens and the current Queen of England have refused to release it back to India. The Koh-i-Noor gives them longevity.” Malina smiled. “Maybe diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

  Goda shook his head and leaned forward in his leather chair, a paddle fan slowly turning from the ceiling. “There is very little humor in this erupting situation. The current Queen of England, and those before her, were never the rightful owners. They are the keepers of stolen property.”

  “Yes, but Britain maintains the Koh-i-Noor was confiscated as part of the spoils of war. I do know that much about the diamond’s history, as I imagine most of the adult population of India knows.”

  “Because it is so well known in our culture, this is one of the reasons it must be recovered and brought back to India for all to see.”

  Malina, looked beyond Goda to a framed oil painting of Humayun’s Tomb hanging on the wall. She cut her eyes back to Goda and said, “Why me?”

  “Why? You were just looking at the painting of Humayun’s Tomb. The magnificent structure was finished in 1572. The Koh-i-Noor had been part of India’s history three-hundred years before the tomb was ever built. That is why, Malina. Earth’s most magnificent diamond, the Mountain of Light, was birthed from the womb of Indian soil.”

  “You said I was handpicked for this task…may I ask by whom?”

  “The decision went higher than the director. As to the reason why you were chosen, obviously it is attributable to your skills as a field agent. You know America well. You were educated there. You’ll blend in well. And just perhaps, if you do recover the diamond, because you are a woman, you may not be endangered by its curse…and you will live to return the Koh-i-Noor to its birthplace.”

  “When do I leave?”

  “Tonight.”

  “What if it is not the authentic Koh-i-Noor? It could be some kind of hoax.”

  “Perhaps. Smokescreen diamonds were used in the transport of diamonds such as the Koh-i-Noor. The only way to know for sure is to find it. And to find it before anyone else does. One other thing. On the video, the American in the boat on the river who found the Koh-i-Noor, he spoke about a contract between England and the former Confederate States of America. We look at that contract as proof of an illicit bill-of-sale. The British, eleven years after they stole the Koh-i-Noor, were in no legal position to barter, trade or offer as collateral something they did not rightfully own. If the diamond is found, and determined genuine, the contract will be further evidence they were fundamentally pledging stolen property. Bring us the original, the signed contract. And find the diamond the American retrieved from the river. If my suspicions are correct, that diamond is the real Koh-i-Noor. And it belongs to India.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Goda nodded. He opened a file folder on his desk and lifted out an eight-by-ten photograph. He slid it across his desk to Malina. “This man might be your biggest obstacle.”

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “His name is Sean O’Brien. He has been seen consulting or consoling the widow of the American who found the Koh-i-Noor, Jack Jordan, the man killed. The news media spotted him.”

  “Why would O’Brien be an obstacle?”

  “Do you recall in the states when a group of terrorists was within seconds of lifting off from a runway to drop a small nuclear bomb over Atlanta?”

  “Yes…is this man the one who ended that with one shot?”

  “It is the same man. As impressive as that was, his real skill was finding the federal agent who had breached and hidden his deception for decades.”

  Malina stared at the picture. “In a black and white photo, his eyes are unreadable. I wonder if it is the same way in person. What is his background?”

  “We know he was in U.S. military intelligence. Served in Delta Force…Afghanistan and Iran, but that’s about all we know. Whatever he did, an
d whoever he reported to, his records are buried, as if two years of his life did not exist.”

  “Why is he involved with the widow of the man who found what might be the real Koh-i-Noor?”

  “We don’t know. That is your job to find out. Perhaps they have a relationship. Maybe they killed the husband and are planning to sell the diamond on the black market. O’Brien probably has the expertise to accomplish that. You must learn the extent of his involvement, and to make sure, above all else, that you can recover the Koh-i-Noor before England does. This is a very serious race. You are to leave tonight.”

  Malina stood. She placed the photo of O’Brien in her file folder, raised her eyes up to Goda and said, “I will not fail.”

  Goda nodded. “If it is the Koh-i-Noor on the video, it means the diamond has been buried in a locked box in the mud of an American river since it was taken. Find it, Malina. Recover and return it the country of its birth, and once again the Mountain of Light, like a star in the heavens, will radiate its ancient light over India.”

  O’Brien made the call from the galley. Dave and Nick continued watching the world news as the thunderstorm slacked off, the heavy rain passing. When Detective Dan Grant answered, O’Brien asked, “Dan, did anyone make it to the river bluff?”

  “Do you mean the place seen on the video where somebody was sighting down on Jack Jordan’s boat when he pulled the strongbox from the river?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hold on, Sean. I’ll check.”

  O’Brien watched the lightning in the distance over the ocean. Grant returned, exhaled, and said, “Looks like that area hasn’t been examined yet. It’s scheduled for tomorrow morning. Larry Rollins is driving out there.”

  “In the meantime, the evidence might be getting washed in a hard rain.”

  “Hold on, Sean. First of all, we don’t know if it’s evidence. We don’t know if a crime has been committed.”

  “But you know someone had sighted rifle crosshairs on Jack Jordan from that riverbank before he was killed.”

  “And that’s the prime reason the investigation ramped up. We’ve interviewed every actor, extra, and crew member on the movie set. Even that pompous ass director. We do know this…Jack Jordan’s wife is the beneficiary of a half-million dollar life insurance policy. Accidental shooting or murder, she gets the payout.”

  “When did coverage on that policy begin?”

  “Gimme a second, I’ll pull the file.”

  O’Brien watched a Bertram yacht, bone white, running lights reflecting from the dark water, enter the marina. Its big diesels purred as the captain piloted the boat toward an open slip on N dock.

  Dan Grant came back on the line. “Looks like the policy was taken out about ten years ago.”

  “It wasn’t long after Laura and Jack Jordan were married. So why would she kill him now? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Murder, if she did it, isn’t supposed to make sense…if you’re sane. People change, Sean. You know that. Maybe she was seeing somebody else. Hell, maybe she grew to hate the guy and waited for the right time to have him taken out.”

  “That would mean one of the re-enactors was a hit man.”

  “Or maybe her lover turned hit man. We checked her phone records. She made and received a lot of calls from a guy named Cory Nelson…a man she calls a family friend.”

  O’Brien said nothing for a few seconds. “Were all of the re-enactors questioned?”

  “Of course. For the most part, nothing even smelled like intent. All the guys shooting the rifles that day had the same story: they believed they were shooting blanks. And out there on the film set with moving troops, there’s no way to figure trajectory of a bullet. We’re either talking about one hell of a marksman, or Jack Jordan was simply in the wrong place at the wrong damn time and got in the way of a stray bullet nobody even knew was in one of those old rifles. Laura Jordan may be innocent, but a half-mil could be incentive if things were rocky at home.”

  “A half-million isn’t even pocket change compared to the value of that diamond. We know this, Dan, Jack Jordan found the diamond and now it’s gone—apparently stolen. There’s your incentive. Now all you have to do is find out who was motivated to pull the trigger.”

  “Stay dry, Sean. Gotta go—”

  “Wait…you said for the most part nothing smelled like intent. What might you have?”

  “That’s part of the investigation. Suffice to say that a witness said he saw one of the re-enactors in a heated argument with Jack Jordan, on the movie set, and it was the day before he was killed.”

  “Did you question the guy who had the argument?”

  “Sean, only because we go way back am I even talking with you. Of course we questioned him. Guy’s name is Silas Jackson. He’s a long time Civil War re-enactor. He said the argument was about Civil War trivia, and it was spirited only because this guy, Silas, and Jordan had running debates through years, but they never took it personal.”

  “For some, the Civil War was personal. Jackson was fired from the film set.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because the painting I’m looking for was on the set. A few months before he was killed, Jack Jordan and his wife bought it from an antique dealer in DeLand. Jordan loaned the painting to the filmmakers to use as a prop for scenes they were shooting in an antebellum house called Wind ‘n Willows. Someone stole the painting. It might have been Jackson because a witness said Jackson was enamored by the image of the woman in the painting. He told a re-enactor that he thought the woman would be resurrected and found among the living.”

  “Too bad his brain isn’t living. Another thing about this guy. He was busted a few years ago for dealing crystal meth. He did a nickel stretch in Raiford. Half the time he was in solitary confinement. FBI has him on their watch list. In addition to playing Civil War games, he’s a known underground militia leader with a suspected fifty or so paramilitary followers. He’s a highly skilled survivalist and a prepper. They meet and train deep in the Ocala National Forest.”

  “What did the autopsy show about the caliber of the bullet—the Minié ball that killed Jordan.”

  “It was a .58 caliber. Shot through a rifled bore. About half the re-enactors were using Springfield model smooth bore muskets firing .69 caliber rounds. The other half was using Springfield models .58 caliber, rifled bore.”

  “Which musket did Jackson use?”

  “He says he fired blanks or nothing but black powder. Regardless, he was using a rifled bore .58 caliber.”

  “Is there enough left of the Minié ball to match it with a ballistics test to Jackson’ gun?”

  “It’s doubtful. Bullet was pretty well torn up. We’re testing it”

  “Dan, the place on the river bluff where Joe Billie and I found the Minié ball, loose change, stogie and boot print with the crack in the heel, may not have been soaked by the rain. The huge cypress tree was full of foliage and Spanish moss. Maybe the stuff is still there. And maybe it came from Jackson.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I saw a wardrobe photo of Jackson. He was wearing a Confederate officer’s uniform. The image on the video of the man with the gun is low resolution, but from a distance it looked like he might have been wearing a period hat and clothes. Could be the same.”

  “You hunt for that painting, Sean. We’ll look for the killer, if there is one.”

  “If I find the painting, I’ll find the killer.”

  Dan Grant blew out a long breath into the phone. “I hope this new PI career you’re doing doesn’t cross paths with our investigation. We’re old friends, not new partners.” He disconnected.

  O’Brien stepped up from the galley back to the salon where Dave gestured to the TV screen and said, “Take a look at the ripple effect, and how a tsunami can be created from a viral video if the controversy is of global curiosity.”

  The channel was on CNN and the graphic to the left of the news anchor’s head spelled: India – Old War Wound Fl
ares Up. The reporter said, “This morning in New Delhi, the Indian government is considering a resolution that would make a formal, diplomatic request for the British Government to have the legendary diamond, known as the Koh-i-Noor, examined by an Indian gemologist for authenticity. This move is coming on the heels of renewed international interest in the whereabouts of the diamond—a precious stone that many in India, including heads of state, believe was stolen by the British government from India in 1850 and wound up as part of the Crown Jewels. In London, Indian Ambassador Samar Patel had this to say.”

  The video cut to a thin, dark-skinned man in a gray suit being interviewed in front of the Indian embassy on Aldwych Street. He said, “The Koh-i-Noor has a long history with India. When it was, shall we say… removed from our country in 1850, it was done so unlawfully. The Koh-i-Noor came from Indian soil and it was part of the Indian culture for hundreds of years, all the way back to the eleventh century. The diamond, before it was pilfered, was recognized as a treasure of India, much as the Taj Mahal is today. We implore British Prime Minister, Duncan Hannes to seek permission for an independent gemologist to examine the diamond housed within the Crown Jewels. We hope that the Queen and members of the Royal Family do allow this to transpire.”

  The reporter asked, “What happens if the real diamond is there in the Tower of London as assumed? Prime Minster Hannes has gone on record, in his recent visit to India, as saying the return of the Koh-i-Noor to India will not happen. So, if the real diamond is there, it would seem that nothing changes in the last 170 or so years, correct?”

  “No. Regardless, India still owns the Koh-i-Noor. However, if it is not genuine, then that is a game-changer. It means the diamond seen on the video and found in a Florida river may be the authentic Koh-i-Noor, and my government will be offering a reward of sixty-million rupee for its return to India.”