But Mandy was no longer listening to Brother Simon. She had turned her head at the sound of a commotion behind her. She looked over at the nearby riding path and saw the oddest sight: a man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and riding goggles, on horseback with a second, rambunctious horse in tow. For a moment the man looked straight across at her and then raised his head, looking past her into the middle distance, before looking back over his shoulder then at the second, riderless horse who was acting so skittish. With a hard pull on the reins the man tried to settle the animal.
Mandy was wondering what in the world this bird was up to when all at once Brother Simon began speaking excitedly in French and tugging at her sleeve. Turning, and looking with him across the way, she saw the reason for his alarm: Anton Manning flying backwards out of his chair and down onto the cafe’s tiled floor while another man, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and riding goggles, stood there firing a silent gun into him.
The few other patrons of the cafe now throwing back their chairs, dashing away from their tables in all directions — the sound of their screams filling the air. The beautiful Mrs. Manning, though, not moving or making a sound, just watching, with poised stillness...
Mandy unholstered her gun and took aim and fired: Three bullets found their target just above the hooded assassin’s heart. He fell to the ground not far from the body of his victim. Mandy bit her lip and felt a sudden coldness about her. She knew that she had just done the right thing, but still, she had never killed anyone before.
She had no time to brood about it, though, for in the next moment she heard the sound of a threatening male voice and spun around to see the other hooded man now pointing a gun at her from atop the horse. “Drop it, vitch,” the voice demanded in a heavy accent.
But before she could respond, the horse suddenly reared up on hind legs and she saw the hooded rider holding on for dear life. The gun in his hand fell to the ground. And in the next instant she saw Brother Simon standing on the path behind the upright horse and rider with a switch in his hand. Mandy let out a breath. How the little man had gotten back there she didn’t know. But she was certainly glad he had.
Now the horse came down on all fours again and, turning, took off down the path with galloping hooves. Instinctively, Mandy sighted the hooded rider, but Brother Simon called out to her: “No, mademoiselle, we want him alive.”
She lowered her gun and watched with astonishment as the little man rushed over to the second horse, who had been acting so skittish in tow, and took hold of the reins. With the air of an experienced rider, he unstrapped the saddle — which apparently had been too tight for the animal — and let it fall to the ground, then, quickly leaping up onto the horse’s bare back like a pint-size cowboy, charged headlong down the path in hot pursuit as she stood by motionless, still with the gun in her hand, listening for sirens.
THE NEXT DAY
Mandy heard the sound of something buzzing around her ear — a small, insignificant insect coming out of nowhere and surprising her. Brushing it away, she said: “Oh!” Her boss, Chip Parker, looked up and across his desk at her. “You all right?”
It was just past noon, and the two of them were having a meeting in his office in the building that housed the Manhattan headquarters of the company they worked for — the Dodge Insurance Company.
Mandy nodded, crossing her shapely legs and pushing dark-brown hair back from her face. She pointed at the report she had written, which was lying on top of his desk. A moment ago he had been reading quietly to himself: his lips, she had noted, hardly moving at all; a vast improvement from when she had first met him. Back when the two of them were starting out as trainee investigators in the company.
“So what do you think?” she said.
Chip, tapping his chubby ring finger on top of the report, said: “I think that if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the Sunburst Diamond back we’ve got to go for it.”
“In that case, Monsarrat is our guy. All our information to date is that the diamond was never broken up, or fenced on any known market, after being stolen from the Harrington Collection. My guess is that Monsarrat has been sitting on it — like a nest egg — for the past five years.”
“Yeah, a six-million-dollar nest egg. That’s what the policy it was insured for was worth.” The phone on the desk rang. “Hello. Oh, it’s you. What — as a matter of fact I’m talking to her right now.” Chip paused, putting his hand over the mouthpiece, and looked across his desk at her to whisper, “Legal.” Then, speaking back into the phone: “What — yeah, I saw the paper.”
Mandy sighed; she’d seen the paper, too. And the newscasts: Brother Simon had become an overnight media sensation. Video of him on horseback jumping over picnic tables in the park and charging through street traffic in relentless pursuit of the hooded rider could also be seen now on YouTube. The most downloaded video, though, was of Brother Simon leaping from his steed and grabbing hold of the fleeing man, causing both riders to go down onto the pavement right in front of Mickey Mantle, where Brother Simon sat on the other as a couple of mounted policemen arrived on the scene.
However, for her part in it all there was no publicity. As an investigator who often went undercover, she made it her business to keep a low profile. And the police seemed satisfied that her use of deadly force was justifiable. She would, of course, have to attend a hearing on the matter — perhaps that’s what Legal was now bending Chip’s ear with. “Well, I’ll get back to you on that.”
Mandy heard the tinny voice at the other end say: “Just straighten that girl out.”
She pursed her lips and looked across the desk at Chip finishing his call.
“I guess you heard that,” Chip said when he’d hung up.
“What do they want to straighten me out about this time? Taking down a stone-cold killer or bringing back a hot lead on the Sunburst Diamond? Which is it?”
“Take it easy. You know how it is with these people. I’ll handle them.” He paused then, shifting gears. “And what about this Brother Simon — you trust him?”
“No. Although he did have my back yesterday. I’ll say that much for him.”
The phone rang again. “Oh, really? Okay.” Chip put the phone down and raised his eyebrows. “Speak of the devil. It’s your boyfriend. He’s downstairs in the lobby and wants to see you — says it’s urgent.”
“History is made at night,” Brother Simon said, speaking to Mandy while holding a hot dog in one hand and signing his name to a napkin with the other. They were standing in front of a hot-dog vendor on the sidewalk outside the building where she worked. The vendor had recognized Brother Simon and asked for an autograph. Brother Simon was happy to oblige. Clearly, he was enjoying his new status as a celebrity: When she had come out of the elevator she’d found him in the lobby with a number of people crowded around him, taking his picture with camera phones. As she ushered him out onto the sidewalk, he’d filled her in on a brief conversation he’d had with the hooded rider. “His name is Ivan Woronov. And he is connected to the Russian mob. They too are after the Sunburst Diamond. Although Ivan swore to me that he didn’t know there was to be any killing; he thought it was going to be a simple holdup.”
Mandy wasn’t buying any of it. “That was a hit.”
“Well, if it was, I don’t believe Ivan knew anything about it. I looked into his eyes and I could see he was not a bad soul, just a misguided one.”