“What?”
“I believe you know. Why didn’t you tell me your great, great grandfather had written a poem, an homage to the sacrifice of war and an indication as to where the remains of the Confederate gold might be found?”
“Because, to be frank with you, I couldn’t remember much if it. I was just a kid. It was the note to my great, great grandmother that stuck with me the most. Mr. O’Brien, I’ve been very fortunate in many respects. I’ve made and earned a lot of wealth. Any remaining treasure from the CSA, after pilfering, probably doesn’t amount to much by today’s measurements. But what does have immense value is the discovery of the painting itself. May I have the opportunity to purchase it?”
“I’m going to give the owner your contact information.”
“Thank you.” He sighed. “The police found my son’s body. They believe he was shot and killed in a drug deal.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Louden.”
“I can’t say his death was unexpected. Inevitable, probably. Even you suggested that. I just wish he could have learned that his relative, Henry Hopkins, was never a coward.”
O’Brien said nothing.
“I’ll send you a check. You earned it. Thank you.” Gus Louden disconnected.
O’Brien and Laura Jordan sat at her kitchen table, sipping coffee, Paula playing with two friends and a dachshund puppy on the patio. O’Brien looked out the bay window and smiled. “The puppy reminds me of Max a few years go.”
“She’s so sweet. Great with Paula and the kids. We named her Peanut.”
He reached in his sports coat pocket and lifted out the diamond and Civil War contract still sealed in the Ziploc plastic bag. “These are for you.”
“You found them. How? Where? How’d you track them down?”
“A lot of trial and error. Cory Nelson was trying hard to fence them. He circulated in areas where he never should have gone. That’s what got him killed. The important thing is that these were yours and Jack’s. And now you have them back.”
“And I have the painting back, too. It arrived by courier yesterday. He said he didn’t know who’d sent it or where it had come from. All he knew was someone wanted it delivered to me. Do you know anything about that, Sean?”
“I know that it’s back where it started. But should you want to sell it, I have a buyer.”
“When it was delivered, the painting came wrapped in brown paper. Inside was an envelope with ten one hundred dollar bills. There was no note. Just the painting and the money. Jack and I only paid two hundred dollars for it and the old magazines.”
“Maybe whoever returned it was paying you interest for your time and money.” O’Brien reached in his pocket and pulled out a card. “Here’s the number for the man who originally hired me to track down the painting. He’d love to have it back in his family.”
“I’ll contact him. I also need to contact someone in the British government.”
“Why?”
“Jack wanted the diamond and the old contract returned to the Royal Family. I think it’s the right thing to do.” She glanced down at her finger, her wedding and engagement rings shining in the light coming through the window. She smiled. “Besides, I have the biggest diamond I’ll ever need. Jack gave me this when he proposed. It’s worth more to me than all the diamonds in the world.”
O’Brien smiled. “Before you start calling British embassies, I have a friend who is very well connected to the British government. He’ll be in a good position to get your message to the right people quickly.”
“Thank you.”
“I want to go with you to your bank to make sure you safely get this stuff in a safe deposit box.”
“After that, Sean, where are you going? What’ll you do now?”
He glanced out the window, the sounds of children playing and a puppy barking filled the air. “I need to spend some quality time with Max. She’s overdue.”
“I want to thank you for all you’ve done.”
O’Brien heard a text message come through his phone. He glanced at it. Dave Collins wrote: Urgent. A call is coming to your phone from Alistair Hornsby. You might want to take it…
O’Brien turned to Laura. I have an incoming call I need to take. May I answer it in Jack’s old office?”
“Of course. Do you remember where it is?”
“Yes.” O’Brien’s phone rang on his way to the room. He answered and Alistair Hornsby said, “Mr. O’Brien. Dave brought me up to speed. So I take it you have the diamond and the old contract.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I just retuned them to the last owner, the woman whose husband found them in the river. But I think she would very much like to return them back to England, to the Royal Family. I’m at her home. I can put her on the line.” O’Brien could hear Hornsby release a breath.
“Thank you. But before you do, I wanted to let you know we heard everything that happened when you encountered James Fairmont on that yacht. You did a remarkable job. Dave told me how you’d battled Fairmont in the river after he’d injected you. And then we were informed on Fairmont’s final moments. We are absolutely stunned. You managed to eliminate one of the best trained agents in the history of the UK.”
“It wasn’t all me.”
“Regardless, it happened because of your efforts. I’m in Prime Minister Hannes’ office. He’d like a word with you.”
O’Brien waited for twenty seconds and then Prime Minister Hannes said, “Mr. O’Brien, I have been thoroughly briefed on what you did. Great Britain is in your debt. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I just spoke by telephone with Her Majesty, the Queen. She, too, extends her deepest gratitude and asked me to convey that to you. Also, she told me that she believes, without a doubt, that you’ve earned the highest honor Her Majesty can bestow on a person.”
“I’m not looking for a reward. If there is one, please give it to Laura Jordan.”
“The honor I am referring to is something that only the Queen of England can perform. Her Majesty wishes to offer you an honorary knighthood. I do hope you will accept it. You have indeed earned it.”
EIGHTY-NINE
On the seventh day, O’Brien began to see changes for the better in Kim. They walked on the beach, Kim laughing as she watched little Max romp in the sea foam, bark at gulls, the breeze across the Atlantic lifting Max’s ears like small bird wings. It had been seven days since O’Brien had brought Kim to a small pink cottage framed with red and blue bougainvillea tucked away in a semi-private cove of white sand and sea oats on Key Largo. They swam in the Atlantic. Baked in the sun. Ate fresh fruits and broiled fish. Took long walks, the sunshine and sea salt healing the cuts and bruises on her body.
O’Brien knew that the restoration of her mind, her spirit was going to take more time. In some latent form, the scars inflicted by Silas Jackson would be with Kim for the rest of her life. During their first vacation week, they didn’t talk about what had happened. It was too early. Too raw. And then after swimming in the gin clear water on the afternoon of the seventh day, a brief shower fell over the sea and lagoon.
She lifted her face to the sky, letting the soft warm drops splash off her face and into her open mouth. She closed her eyes, treading water and lifting her hands, letting the rain hit her palms. In less than a minute, the shower passed, moving further out into the ocean, the sun peeking behind a few clouds.
They swam to the shore, stepped out of the water and sat on a beach towel, Kim’s eyes fixed far away on the horizon.
She turned to look at O’Brien and said, “I’ve tried so hard to wrap my head around what happened. I keep seeing his face, the tattoo on his chest and arm, the sour smell of his bed and body. I kept thinking…why me? Why did a psychopath pick me? He wanted to breed me like selected farm stock. And then I stopped asking myself: why me?” She paused, took a deep breath and, for a full minute, watched Max peacefully sleeping between them on the towel.