Zara slapped his face so hard the sound of the smack sent a number of Pacific swallows flying into the air for safety. “You have some nerve, Jedediah Mason.”
Mason didn’t flinch, but he felt the pain vibrating away from his cheek and over his ear. The slap was meant to hurt, and it did, but it hadn’t meant to harm. “I deserved that.”
“Sure did,” Caleb called over.
“If I was her, I’d have slapped both sides of your face at the same time,” Milo said.
Zara gave him a sharp look. “You’re not me, Milo, so keep it zipped.”
Milo gave a sloppy two-fingered salute and said, “Sir, yes sir!”
Zara rolled her eyes and then looked back at Mason. “Seriously, Jed — how could you walk back into my life after what happened?”
“We can talk about that later,” Mason said. “Right now I have a job, a big job, and I need to know if you’re in or out.”
“Where’s Virgil?”
“New York. Saying goodbye to Jen and Amy. He’s meeting us at the job. Are you in?”
She shook her head and gave a smile that said: I just cannot believe you’re asking me this. “No.”
“At least think about it,” he said. “This is the gig to end all gigs.”
The Jushoku spoke in Japanese. “Should we stay?”
“No, Jushoku,” Zara said, knowing none of the ghosts would understand a word. “I can deal with this.”
The monks faded away into the darkness, leaving Zara alone with the three men and a cool, rising wind ushered in by the night. “Don’t talk to me about gigs, Jed. My father died chasing the gig to end all gigs.”
“And what would Jimmy do?” Caleb said. His low voice was heavy in the silent yard.
Zara lowered her voice. “Do not bring him into it.”
“You brought him into it,” Milo said.
She let Milo’s words hang in the air for a long time as she studied the way the last rays of the sun were striking the pagoda roof above her head. “The gig to end all gigs, huh?”
The film crew following Ella Makepeace along the London sidewalk was small — Gus, the director was doubling as the soundman and then there was Sandy with the HD broadcast camera on his right shoulder.
Mason, Caleb and Milo leaned up against a wall and crossed their arms as they watched Ella do her thing and astonish the crowd. Zara walked over from a café with some green tea and joined them. “Has she wowed them all yet?”
“Not yet, you’re just in time,” Milo said. “Check out the bird she’s with now.”
“You mean woman, right?”
Milo glanced at Zara and smiled. “Sure, that’s what I said — check out the woman she’s with now.”
Zara watched Ella carefully as she misdirected the young woman with a series of deft movements and gentle commands. “There goes the watch,” she said.
“And now she’s got her mobile phone out of her bag too,” said Milo.
“And next up,” Caleb said, “is her pashmina.”
“Woah,” Zara said. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s just common or garden variety sleight of hand and misdirection,” Mason said.
“I meant Caleb knows that thing’s called a pashmina,” she said with a wink. “I’d have thought you’d call it a massive handkerchief.”
“Hey,” Caleb growled. “I have my feminine side like anyone else.”
“Caleb?” Zara said.
“What?”
“You’re about as feminine as a GMC Sierra with spike lug nuts and bull bars.”
“That’s two miracles today,” Milo said. “Not only does the legendary Caleb Jackson know that enormous scarf is called a pashmina, but the even more legendary Zara Dietrich knows of the existence of spike lug nuts.”
“I’ll spike your lug nuts in a minute,” Zara said. “I grew up on the road, Gomer.”
“Nice,” Caleb said, and he and Zara shared a high five. “Wait a minute — why is Zara even more legendary than me?”
“Her dad was Jimmy Dietrich, Cal. He toured with Aerosmith, Guns and Roses and about a million other bands. When you throw in the fact she’s a Silat guru, well… this shit adds up, you know?”
“Heads up,” Mason interrupted. “Looks like she’s finished filming this segment.”
Mason approached Ella and when she saw him, her eyes lit up and the world-famous smile appeared on her face. She recognized him at once, but she wasn’t letting on for the camera. “What about you, sir?” she said casually. “Will you take part in our TV show?”
Mason took off his shades and cleared his throat. “Why not?” He cast an uncertain eye at the camera on Sandy’s shoulder.
“Try not to look at the camera,” Gus said. “We’ll just have to cut it out in edit.”
“You might be able to fool these guys,” Mason said, locking his eyes on Ella. “But you’re not going to get one over on me.”
“No?”
“No.”
“In that case, why do I already have your Rolex and wallet?”
She waved them at the camera and the crowd applauded.
Mason laughed. “Dammit, Makepeace. How do you do that?”
“Tricks of the trade, Jed. Tricks of the trade.” She and Gus decided to call it a day and Sandy pulled the camera off his shoulder with weary sigh.
“So why are you here?” she said.
“Job.”
She gave him a knowing smile. “What sort of job?”
“He wants you to put on a production of Purcell’s Dioclesian,” Milo called out. “We’re retrieving a mystery item — stolen apparently. What do you think?”
“Jesus, Milo,” Zara said. “Why don’t you just put an ad in the New York Times?”
“Sorry.”
Mason took his shades off and looked into Ella’s bright green eyes. “Well? Just for old times’ sake?”
“I want a fair cut, Jed. None of this you get fifty and we split the rest bullshit.”
“When did I ever do that?”
“Two years ago in Moscow.”
“Ah.”
“V?”
“With his family. Meeting us in Istanbul.”
“Istanbul, eh?”
A nod.
“I don’t know, I have Ben now.”
“He’ll understand.”
“Maybe. And what about the seventh member of our team?” she said, peering over his shoulder.
“She’s on site already, getting some transport sorted.”
“And we’re splitting the money evenly?”
“We are.”
She smiled. “So we have a deal, then?”
“As long as you don’t do some crazy hypnotist shit on me and make me give you my split of the cash, then yes.”
“Great,” she said. “And thanks for giving me that idea, by the way.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Get this right, and we’ll never work again.”
He could still hear the Englishman’s words as he walked into the sprawling campus of Harvard University. Looking at all these spoiled brats sliding from privilege to good fortune and back to privilege again, he hoped to hell the Brit was right. For these students, life was just a matter of surfing Daddy’s money all the way to the beach house but for him it was about street fights and pain and rage.
The visceral hate he felt for them rose like acid inside him until it was high enough in his throat that he almost choked, and that went for the assholes who called themselves professors too. If anyone in this world deserved a good pounding it was these guys, but today only one of them was going to get what she deserved.
He crossed Oxford Street and disappeared into the shadows of the Hoffman Laboratory. The narrow path ran along the south side of yet another opulent park of oak trees and smooth lawns. The smell of freshly cut grass drifted on the warm evening air. Up ahead loomed the Harvard Museum of Natural History but the building that formed its southern wing was his target tonight.