Black River

FORTY

O’Brien sat with Dave and Nick in Gibraltar, Dave holding the remote control and channel surfing, his Internet-capable TV streaming newscasts from around the world. He stopped and paused the picture of a newscast coming from the BBC and said, “Sean, how did one of those tabloid TV shows shoot video of you tossing the reporter’s microphone into the back of that garbage truck? Were you ambushed? And there you stood with the widow and child of Jack Jordan, the poor bloke who was killed on the movie set. The kid looked really frightened.”

“Laura Jordan is being threatened. Someone called after the video went viral, before she met with the news media, and told her to say nothing about the diamond and or the Civil War contract.”

Dave grunted, glanced at the stationary image on his TV screen. “Sounds like Laura ought to be telling this to the police.”

“She’s talking with them. I first spoke with her because she and her husband owned the painting I’m trying to recover.”

Nick sat on one of the bar stools, crossed his hefty arms, and said, “Maybe the same person who snatched the painting stole the diamond and killed her husband. Sean, that puts your hunt for the painting smack dab in the middle of some deep dung ‘cause look at the shit that’s gettin’ stirred up over this diamond and the Civil War contract.”

Dave nodded and lifted one hand. “But is it authentic? Sean, Ike Kirby is probably the best person in the nation to help Laura Jordan determine if the contract is genuine. Give me her number, and I’ll ask Ike to call her to set up an appointment.”

“Okay. But I’ll reach Laura first in a few minutes to tell her to be expecting his call.” O’Brien wrote her number down on a napkin and slid it across the table to Dave.

Nick finished his beer and said, “Dave, turn up the sound. It’s time my man, Sean, got a reality check.”

“Indeed,” Dave said, looking from the TV screen to O’Brien. “As cold and horrific as the killing was on the movie set, assuming the victim was murdered, wait until the international bounty hunters begin following the same trail you’re following, Sean. This scavenger hunt becomes deadly when the bounty is priceless. If these guys take prisoners, it’s only to break arms and legs like that garbage truck smashed the microphone.” Dave pressed the remote and the newscast continued.

The news anchor, a platinum-haired man in his early sixties, said, “The Royal Family is having no public comment on the discovery of what is certainly one of the most coveted and valuable diamonds in the world, the Koh-i-Noor. The viral video, now with more than 130-million views, shows a diamond, apparently identical to the infamous Koh-i-Noor, lifted out of a strongbox off the bottom of a tropical river in Florida. The video is a clip from a documentary in production about the American Civil War, and the presenter — a man who was later killed in an accidental shooting on a movie set — claims that the UK entered into a contract with the Confederate States of America at the start of the war, England apparently helping to fund the Confederate war effort. He contends that he discovered an old contract that spells out how the famed diamond was on loan to the Confederacy in some kind of a top-secret collateral agreement. Prime Minister Duncan Hannes laughed when asked about both the diamond and Britain’s alleged involvement with the Confederacy.”

The image cut to the prime minister getting out of the back seat of a black, chauffeur-driven Jaguar as the car stopped in front of the British Parliament building. The prime minister answered the reporter’s question with a smile and slight chuckle. “The diamond in question, the Koh-i-Noor, is where it’s been for many, many years…in the late Queen Mother’s crown, which is on display with the rest of the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London. And, as far as the supposed connection between Great Britain and the American Confederacy, I assure you the purported contract is a complete fabrication. Queen Victoria and the British government, at that time, were wholly neutral during the American Civil War. Neither Her Majesty, nor her government took sides.” He cocked his head, smiled at the reporter and said, “Whilst I don’t mind answering questions to ludicrous hoaxes, if you have a more current and important topic, I’d be delighted to respond.”

The image cut back to the reporter standing in front of the Tower of London. He said, “The flip side to all of this is the huge, renewed pubic curiosity about the diamond. The Tower of London was forced to restrict entrance after three p.m. today to accommodate record crowds. Seems that everyone, tourists here in London, and British citizens, are queuing up to get a close look at the fabled Koh-i-Noor…if it’s the actual diamond. Dylan Anderson, BBC, London.”

Dave smiled and stirred his cocktail. “The prime minister has a great poker face.”

O’Brien crossed his arms. “Meaning you think he knows more than he’s saying.”

“Indeed. An old British friend of mine, an intel analyst, called me. Someone is blackmailing Prime Minister Hannes. The blackmailer, a man who says he has the Civil War document and the diamond to back it up, threatens to release both. That means history books with reference to the Civil War will be rewritten or amended. The Royal Family gets dragged into a 160-year-old mess, and India demands the return of a diamond they say England stole.”

Nick made a long whistle. “No wonder the prime minister looks constipated.”

Dave smiled. “Sean, my old colleague asked me if you do work-for-hire.”

“Did you volunteer me?”

“Never. Certainly not without speaking to you first.”

“I’m sure the UK has agents to deal with this situation. They’re probably already here.”

“Yes, but they haven’t sent multiple agents, only one man. And he’s on the trail — a trail that could lead him to you, only because your association with the widow of the man who found the booty.”

O’Brien nodded. “My only link is because Laura Jordan and her husband found and bought the painting in that Deland antique store.”

Nick ran his fingers through his thick hair and said, “Yeah, man, but that little antique store might as well be a freakin’ Pandora’s box ‘cause look at what’s happening. And now some blackmailer is about to lay the cards on the table, and one of those cards is the queen.”

Dave said, “Nick, that information stays between the three of us. It’s confidential.”

“Already forgot it.” He grinned and sipped a beer.

O’Brien said nothing.

Dave pushed further back in the couch. “Of course Duncan Hannes is going to deny, make light of, and downplay any British association with the Confederate States of America, even long after the Civil War. The war was, and still is, undeniably the worst wound in American history. Less than a century earlier, we fought to leave the reins of the British monarchy, and later we can’t even agree on how we’ll govern our young nation so an internal war erupts, the result left us with a broken nation and almost 700,000 dead. More killed than in all U.S. wars combined.”

Nick tossed a piece of feta cheese to Max and said, “Too much blood spilled. Sean, you’re my blood brother for life ‘cause you saved my life pullin’ those bikers off me. It’s my obligation to you and God to raise the caution flag on the track when I spot evil in your rearview mirror, brother. This has all the DNA of something really dark. A horrible Civil War. A secret contract. A diamond in the roughest of the rough. And that damn painting. It’s not too late to tell your client ‘thanks but no thanks.’ I bet the diamond pulled out of the river is just a fake and all this will amount to nothing.”

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.”