exiting the lobby, he nodded at the doorman, who smoothly opened the door for him. Corbett strutted down Madison Avenue toward his destination, taking time to peer at a leather briefcase in the window of Bottega Veneta. Price tag—thirty-two hundred dollars. He didn’t really need one but thought perhaps he should go to his lunch meeting with it. Would make him look business savvy. He glanced at his watch. He had chosen the Raymond Weil Maestro for today. Simple. Elegant. Not over the top. If he stopped in the boutique, he would be late for lunch. Not a good idea. His future was waiting. So were the truffles.
* * *
It was almost five o’clock in London, and Marcus was jittery. He kept checking his pocket to make sure the diamond earring was still there. He was feeling desperate. Desperate in a lot of ways. In just the past few months, he had gone through tens of thousands of dollars feeding his cocaine habit. He justified his actions by remembering that his wife went through more money than that on lunches, handbags, shoes, and expensive champagne. Like his partners, he knew that Live-Life-Long was unlikely to be around much longer. How ironic. He and his partners would have to split up, and he had no idea what would come next. Steinwood had family money to fall back on, and Corbett, well, he was just a dick and would finagle something. Corbett also seemed to have made a lot of money over the past few years, beyond what he had earned from the partnership. Leave it to him to grow his cut of the profits into a fortune.
Where is that damn boy? By the time the buzzer finally rang, Marcus was thinking he might crawl out of his own skin. He was drenched in sweat. Again. He reached into his desk for another dry handkerchief. Last one. He had to remind himself to bring more tomorrow.
Marcus gave Jerry a friendly pat on the back. “How was your day?”
Jerry shot him a strange look. “Since when do you give a toss about my day?”
“Aw, c’mon, Jerry. We’ve known each other a long time. And you had to drag yer arse here twice today.” Marcus was being unusually casual with his delivery boy.
“Whatever. Got the gem?”
“Absolutely!” Marcus beamed as he handed the diamond over to him. “Got my coffee?”
“Here ya go.” Jerry dropped the coke packages on the desk. Marcus practically jumped on top of the cocaine, brushing Jerry aside. “Easy, old man. You don’t want to be breaking the furniture.” Jerry turned and headed out the door.
Marcus shoved his pinkie into one of the bags and pulled out a decent-sized wad under his fingernail. He sounded like a Hoover as he snorted his first hit. More beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. And his hands were still shaking. This was not good. He reiterated to himself that maybe it was time to change it up. Or perhaps change it down. Yes, maybe something to slow him down instead of speeding him up. But what? He didn’t fancy shooting himself up with heroin. But maybe he could snort it. He’d give that some thought. For now, he would try to pace himself over the next couple of days. He had no choice. He had only a couple of days’ worth of powder, and he couldn’t pinch another diamond just yet. He was hanging his hope on Steinwood convincing that stupid woman Charlotte Hansen to return to London and continue her program.
Chapter 15
New York City
Avery Snowden had been in counterintelligence for decades. He had met Charles and Fergus several years ago, when MI6 was tracking suspected terrorists in London, assisted by Scotland Yard. It had been a bit tense among the men in the beginning—each trying to be top dog. But after a few clandestine meetings, they had developed the trust of a band of brothers. They’d been able to uncover a plot to strike several soft targets. Thanks to their intel, the raid they devised had gone off without a hitch and resulted in the arrest of half a dozen terrorists. The official record showed the suspects had been convicted and sentenced during a trial that was off-limits to the press and public. They had been transported to an “unknown location” and had never been heard from again. Justice could be sweet.
Avery had got his orders from Charles and had put two of his best shadows on Dr. Corbett and Dr. Marcus. He