wiped the powder off the toolbox then picked it up to reposition it, and something gold rolled out from behind it.
He snapped on his latex gloves again and lifted the small ball up to view.
On a flat side of the golf-ball-shaped object, an embedded compass gave him a northeast heading from where he stood. And the compass was dead-on. That meant the thing was non-magnetic. Probably made of solid gold.
Damned expensive paperweight.
What was this thing doing in his aircraft?
There was only one reason for a compass to end up lost in his airplane last night. A passenger had lost it.
And he’d carried only one passenger in months.
Angel.
Zane grinned at this break. Lifting a print from the pebbled surface was beyond his skill level, but if he could convince Ben to do a little overtime, the genius print matcher would have an identity for him by Thursday morning.
Chapter 8
Mason assessed each of the six men standing in a line on the back lawn of his property. Long shadows stretched from the trees behind them as if the setting sun wanted to point out each one responsible for the fury burning his scalp.
Someone needed killing.
It was beyond the pale that these men had lost Angelina. He hired the best when it came to security for a reason. Jeff had been the exception and he’d been around for a long time. He’d been loyal, certainly.
But he’d outlived his usefulness.
Jeff should have been able to keep Angelina contained.
And yet in hindsight, Mason could understand Jeff’s screwing up.
But these men?
Ten armed and dangerous guards, including these six, had allowed one woman to escape.
He couldn’t tolerate ineptness and every one of these men knew it. But now was not the time to vent his frustration. Now was the time for results. The best way to get what he wanted was to offer an incentive. “Kenner will go over the plan when we’re through here. I want Angelina back. I’ll award a half million dollars to the man who brings her in alive and with the eight coins she stole from me.”
A pittance compared to what those coins – and vengeance – were worth.
Six sets of eyes stared back with cold confidence.
Kenner ordered the men to meet him in the guard quarters. Once they dispersed, Kenner told Mason, “We need a tracker.”
“Agreed.” Mason had men in Jacksonville checking every way out of the city by public or mass transportation. “Get a list of the best who can be discreet. I’ll be in my office.”
When he walked into the office in his private estate outside of Raleigh, he eyed the glass case where he’d placed the coins. He’d been certain that Angelina believed him when he told her he had eye witnesses willing to testify that she was seen leaving the museum at the time of the coin theft.
That should have brought her to heel.
But the bitch had stolen the coins instead.
He still couldn’t believe it.
His cell phone played a piece of music with dire notes, meaning the caller was unknown. The only person he’d given this number to who didn’t already have a ringtone was Angelina. Had she come to her senses?
Grinning, he answered, “ Lorde .”
“Listen very carefully as I do not repeat myself,” a decidedly male voice ordered.
Mason cut in, “Who the hell is this?”
“You can call me Czarion . Have you found the coins yet?”
Shock didn’t begin to describe Mason’s first reaction. His second one was to yank the phone away and check ... no caller ID. His next move was to pull it back and say, “What coins?”
A lofty sigh came across the lines then Czarion said, “I don’t have time for this. You stole eight St. Gaulden’s Double Eagle coins, one of which is a 1933. You intended to trade them to a German for a panel from the Amber Room.”
Mason sat down in his chair. Hard. It couldn’t be the FBI. They didn’t call up and discuss a felony when they could just raid the compound.
“Since we both know that you had the coins, let’s move this along.
He snapped on his latex gloves again and lifted the small ball up to view.
On a flat side of the golf-ball-shaped object, an embedded compass gave him a northeast heading from where he stood. And the compass was dead-on. That meant the thing was non-magnetic. Probably made of solid gold.
Damned expensive paperweight.
What was this thing doing in his aircraft?
There was only one reason for a compass to end up lost in his airplane last night. A passenger had lost it.
And he’d carried only one passenger in months.
Angel.
Zane grinned at this break. Lifting a print from the pebbled surface was beyond his skill level, but if he could convince Ben to do a little overtime, the genius print matcher would have an identity for him by Thursday morning.
Chapter 8
Mason assessed each of the six men standing in a line on the back lawn of his property. Long shadows stretched from the trees behind them as if the setting sun wanted to point out each one responsible for the fury burning his scalp.
Someone needed killing.
It was beyond the pale that these men had lost Angelina. He hired the best when it came to security for a reason. Jeff had been the exception and he’d been around for a long time. He’d been loyal, certainly.
But he’d outlived his usefulness.
Jeff should have been able to keep Angelina contained.
And yet in hindsight, Mason could understand Jeff’s screwing up.
But these men?
Ten armed and dangerous guards, including these six, had allowed one woman to escape.
He couldn’t tolerate ineptness and every one of these men knew it. But now was not the time to vent his frustration. Now was the time for results. The best way to get what he wanted was to offer an incentive. “Kenner will go over the plan when we’re through here. I want Angelina back. I’ll award a half million dollars to the man who brings her in alive and with the eight coins she stole from me.”
A pittance compared to what those coins – and vengeance – were worth.
Six sets of eyes stared back with cold confidence.
Kenner ordered the men to meet him in the guard quarters. Once they dispersed, Kenner told Mason, “We need a tracker.”
“Agreed.” Mason had men in Jacksonville checking every way out of the city by public or mass transportation. “Get a list of the best who can be discreet. I’ll be in my office.”
When he walked into the office in his private estate outside of Raleigh, he eyed the glass case where he’d placed the coins. He’d been certain that Angelina believed him when he told her he had eye witnesses willing to testify that she was seen leaving the museum at the time of the coin theft.
That should have brought her to heel.
But the bitch had stolen the coins instead.
He still couldn’t believe it.
His cell phone played a piece of music with dire notes, meaning the caller was unknown. The only person he’d given this number to who didn’t already have a ringtone was Angelina. Had she come to her senses?
Grinning, he answered, “ Lorde .”
“Listen very carefully as I do not repeat myself,” a decidedly male voice ordered.
Mason cut in, “Who the hell is this?”
“You can call me Czarion . Have you found the coins yet?”
Shock didn’t begin to describe Mason’s first reaction. His second one was to yank the phone away and check ... no caller ID. His next move was to pull it back and say, “What coins?”
A lofty sigh came across the lines then Czarion said, “I don’t have time for this. You stole eight St. Gaulden’s Double Eagle coins, one of which is a 1933. You intended to trade them to a German for a panel from the Amber Room.”
Mason sat down in his chair. Hard. It couldn’t be the FBI. They didn’t call up and discuss a felony when they could just raid the compound.
“Since we both know that you had the coins, let’s move this along.
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