A Brilliant Deception (32 page)

J
ack and Wesley stepped from their cab onto Fifth Avenue. They entered the lobby of the grand old hotel and crossed the busy, bustling lobby, Jack dressed as a white-jacketed waiter, Wesley as a guest of the gala upstairs, in a tux.

They rode the elevator together, all the way to the top, but separated after that. Jack would enter through the top floor kitchen, but Wesley would enter the party from the guests’ entrance. They’d mocked up a fake invitation, once they’d received the tip the Fabergé was there.

Jack carried a tray, making sure he looked busy—lest he get roped into some menial task or other—as he walked by sous chefs preparing caviar and lobster, and porters carrying crates of champagne bottles.

Once he got inside the party, Jack would need to first locate Cat, and make sure she was safe. He knew she was there somewhere—that was the other piece of intel from the tip. Once he’d found her, his next job would be to find the Fabergé.

Why, exactly, the Fabergé was there tonight, Jack had no idea. Was it being watched? Being dangled? Being used as mere decoration—or as a demonstration of the prowess of the United States?

Jack wished he knew more about the particulars. He also wished he knew why Cat was tangled up with this again. Last he’d seen her (
had that really been only two days ago?
), she’d been in the paradise of Bali, at the resort. And he’d just proposed.

His gut tightened at the memory. God . . . what was he going to do about that?

Jack attempted to push all that out of his mind. He had a job to do. He did briefly wonder how Cat was going to feel once he and Wesley crashed this gala. Would she be pissed at them for messing with this little side operation she’d been working on?

She’d get over it.

Jack made his way toward the service entrance that led out to the gala. Before going further he straightened his jacket and pulled himself up to his full height. He pushed the door open and walked through.

He took two steps forward and found himself standing in a perfectly empty ballroom.

Jack stood there, stunned. Then the door opened on the far side of the ballroom and in walked Wesley. His bewildered expression matched Jack’s exactly.

Jack instantly scanned the space, looking for dangers or signs of an ambush. Nothing. They were entirely alone. He crossed the floor quickly and approached Wesley.

“A trap?” Wesley hissed, looking around warily, exactly as Jack had.

Jack shook his head. “There’s no evidence of that.” No evidence of anything happening there at all.

Wesley pulled out his phone and double-checked the intel. But it was quite clear; this was the location. It soon became obvious what had happened: this was a wild goose chase. They’d been fed incorrect information, to keep them away from the real location of the Fabergé, the real operation, whatever it was.

And although it was possible Caliga themselves had set up this decoy, Jack had a likelier candidate. This trap hadn’t really been a trap at all. There was no danger, no harm. If Caliga had set this up, they would likely be dead by now. No, the whole purpose of this ruse was to keep Jack and Wesley out of the way.

It had Cat’s name written all over it.

Which meant one thing: Cat was in trouble. A prickle of dread walked up Jack’s spine. How could he help her if he didn’t even know where she was? A name immediately flashed into his mind—one person who might be able to help. He closed his eyes and thought it through, making sure it was his only option.

Jack turned on his phone and dialed Ludolf Hendrickx’s number.

R
eilly twirled me around the dance floor of the rooftop patio; for a sociopathic son of a bitch he was a surprisingly good dancer. He was posing as an undercover Secret Service agent, but my mind raced as I wondered what role he was actually playing in Atworthy’s plans. It couldn’t only be to keep tabs on me. There had to be something more.

Atworthy had ordered us to dance, ostensibly so Reilly could issue some last-minute instructions. No doubt he was also going to assess how well I was falling into line.

“So, Cat Montgomery,” Reilly said. “It seems we’re working together on the same side, at last.”

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re part of this?”

He shrugged, smiling. “I’m part of whatever side is going to win. Anyway, do you think I care what happens to the British PM? I’m Irish, remember?”

“Don’t worry, Reilly,” I said through my teeth. “I would never have thought you might have cared about anyone. British, Irish, or anything else.”

I started to pull away, but he held me tight. “Not just yet, lass.”

He grinned, apparently not offended in the least by my attempt to get away from him. He pulled me closer, proving his point.

As offensive as it was to be embraced by this man and forced to dance with him, it did glean me a few interesting pieces of information. For one thing, as I began to pull away, my hand had dropped down his back a little. And what I felt there was a slender pack strapped around his waist, rising up under his jacket.

It was a microlight BASE jump parachute, in a slim backpack. I could tell because I’d been coveting one myself, although they were considered “experimental,” only available as top-secret military issue.

So. Reilly was preparing to jump from this rooftop. But what was his intention? Was it merely a contingency plan? I thought back to dancing with Atworthy—I hadn’t felt a similar pack on Atworthy’s body. Reilly must have a special assignment.

The other thing I’d detected, when Reilly had pulled me tighter, was the edge of a firearm tucked in his holster. I wasn’t terribly surprised he was armed, but it raised another question: was he planning to shoot someone?

And then I remembered something Atworthy had said, moments ago. He’d said Reilly was here as backup. As
a little bit of insurance
. My heart dropped into my stomach. Reilly was here as backup for the sniper, if the sniper failed.

Which I knew he would. Or at least I hoped he would, if my sabotage efforts had been a success.

This gave me a whole new problem. Now I was going to have to find a way to neutralize Reilly.

I remembered the gun Reilly had used in Paris. A Walther P99. It was a good weapon. It also happened to be my choice of firearm, too. Not that I usually carried a weapon, but when I did, it was always a Walther P99. It was the weapon I’d trained with. It had always bothered me that we had this similarity, but here it might work to my advantage. I knew that gun inside out. If I could get it from him, I could remove the firing pin, completely disabling it. The job could be done in less than a minute using little more than a pair of tweezers—something I had in my purse even now.

If I were to take his gun, however, it would have to be now. On the dance floor. This was as close as I was going to get. But was it even possible? My pickpocketing skills were solid, but Reilly was a seasoned thief, a professional. He’d know.

Unless I distracted him. It was time to use the other tools I had at my disposal. I commanded my muscles to relax, to soften into his arms a little. “Truthfully, Sean, I’ve been hoping we’d have the chance to work together someday,” I said, my voice pitched a little lower.

I tried to keep things subtle; I couldn’t lay it on too thick or he wouldn’t believe me. I leaned in a bit closer, and let him feel the length of me pressed up against him. He was a man. On average men might be stronger than women, but they all had one major weakness.

He had always seemed disinterested in me on a personal level. Tonight was going to have to be different. I held my breath and gingerly moved my fingertips underneath his jacket, toward his holster.

This was multitasking at its best. Reaching in to his weapon, yet pretending to be calmly seducing him, all at the same time. I was close, and then I looked up into his eyes. What I saw there stopped me in my tracks.

He was not buying it. His gaze hadn’t softened one iota; he was not being pulled in by my femme fatale routine. He hadn’t detected my play for his gun yet, but if I went any further, he would.

I gingerly withdrew my hand.

The song ended and he nodded at me brusquely as we went our separate ways. That had been close. I had narrowly avoided disaster, but I was still left with a major problem: how was I going to disarm Reilly now?

I
strolled back toward the party, away from the ladies’ room. It hadn’t taken me long to pickpocket a woman’s cell phone as she stood in front of the mirror applying lipstick. A phone was a critical part of my plan, and Atworthy’s security assistants had confiscated mine when he’d picked me up.

I tucked into an alcove and sent Ethan a text on the stolen phone. “Send a message as soon as you have him.” I hadn’t heard whether Templeton was safe. I needed to know.

I then jotted a quick e-mail to the NYPD, with a critical piece of information I thought they could use. But I didn’t send it. Instead, I scheduled it to send twenty minutes from now. I hoped my timing would be right.

The phone slid into my purse. I would have one more use for it.

I took a deep breath. A big task loomed ahead of me. Briefly, I considered an entirely different course of action. All it would take would be a word in the ear of the Secret Service guys at the gala.

I quickly dismissed the idea. For one thing, I didn’t know which Secret Service guys were actually working for Atworthy and which ones were there to protect the prime minister. Even if I did manage to choose wisely, tipping them off about Atworthy’s plan would effectively be giving the go-ahead on Templeton’s execution order.

Until I got confirmation from Ethan, I needed to keep moving forward with my plan. There was always the chance Ethan would fail. A wave of queasiness passed over me at the thought.

Reilly and I met in the foyer outside the elevators, as arranged. When nobody was watching, we took the staircase down one floor, turned sharply to the left, and continued down a corridor—the one that led to the prime minister’s private quarters.

The hallway was dim and our feet sank deeply into the plush carpet as we moved. There were no guards to overcome here; all the security staff were at the party protecting the prime minister. The belongings were entrusted to barriers and technology.

Always a mistake.

As we crept along the hallway toward the east wing, a plan formulated in my mind. I had to get that firearm away from Reilly.

When we reached the doorway that separated us from the east wing, where the prime minister’s quarters were, I held my hand out to stop him. “There’s a metal detector here,” I said.

Reilly looked at me sharply. “Bullshit,” he said.

“I’m serious, Reilly, I saw it on the blueprints. If you go across that threshold, your gun will set it off.”

“How do you know I have a gun?”

“I assumed. You’re posing as Secret Service, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I need to go through to disable the entry panel. Only my irises are coded for the scanner.” I tried not to smile. I’d hoped this was true; there was mention of this arrangement made in the security dossier Atworthy had given me, although the name had been omitted. It had been a tricky maneuver on his part, and one he was proud of, no doubt. And now I was using it against him.

“Listen, I’ll hold the gun,” I said. “You go through and disable the door, then come back.”

Reilly made no move to give me his weapon. He watched me with extreme suspicion.

I rolled my eyes. “Reilly, how stupid do you think I am? If I shot you, how would that help me? Atworthy would kill me, he would kill Templeton—and that’s the whole reason he got me on board anyway, right?”

Reilly flicked on his phone and spoke into it. “Atworthy, I’m disabling the door. Montgomery is holding my firearm out of range of the metal detector. If you hear anything, come and kill her immediately.”

I crossed my arms. “Feel better?”

Reilly, with a twist of his mouth, removed his Walther P99 from his holster and handed it to me.

“How suicidal do you think I am, Reilly? Come on, let’s get on with this.”

Reilly smirked at me, then walked through the archway, through the imaginary metal detector, and then several more feet down the corridor. There, he set to work on the security panel.

I waited, holding the handgun behind my back. In a second I had my tweezers out of my purse. With a few flicks of the wrist I had the slide removed. In another several seconds, and some deft tweezer work, I had flipped out the firing pin.

Reilly finished unlocking the iris scanner and returned through the doorway. I slowed my breathing and held out his gun for him, a pleasant smile on my face.

“Your turn,” he said, stepping out of the way. This was why Atworthy had forced me to join them. This was where my skills were needed. Reilly had many talents, but advanced safecracking was not one of them. Neither was maneuvering through a laser grid.

I carefully pushed open the door to the prime minister’s suite. The rooms were hushed and dark, apart from the glowing red lights of the laser web, blocking the way. The laser grid proved to be more of a deterrent than an actual barrier; I barely broke a sweat getting through it.

Within minutes I reached the safe on the far side of the living room, and started the process of cracking into it.

To my surprise, I cracked it much sooner than I expected. All those acrobatics must have warmed me up and centered my mind. I smiled; things were going much smoother than I’d hoped.

But that was good because I needed a little extra time to enact the plan I’d concocted.

I reached into the safe and pulled out a sheaf of papers. It was an odd feeling for me, to be stealing paper. It wasn’t shiny or sparkly, but without question, valuable.

I flipped through the pages and snapped pictures of them on the stolen phone. I was going to send copies of all these documents to Felix, who could forward them to the League, before I handed them over to Atworthy. It would be the insurance policy, the only way I could be certain the right thing would be done. The only way I could stop Atworthy—even if all else failed. I felt a rueful glow of pride at that. I needed to do the right thing here. I needed to know I wasn’t going to be the catalyst to all-out war.

I typed Felix’s number and pushed
SEND
.

Nothing happened.
Searching for network....

All the air left my lungs. There was no network. I kept trying but I soon realized the Wi-Fi was down and there was no other way to connect. I couldn’t complete the one task that would make this all okay.

What was I going to do now?