It All Began in Monte Carlo by Elizabeth Adler Page A

“Two, here in France,” he said, “plus one in London, one in Rome, Berlin, Milan . . .”
    â€œYou’re looking at a lot of loot to be disposed of,” Mac said. “You have any idea who they are using?”
    â€œNone.” The Inspector gave an angry shrug, then smoothed his smart uniform jacket back down again. He adjusted his cap to a better angle, peering out the window at the helicopter lights sweeping the coastline. “Nobody knows how they can get away withthose diamonds without cutting them and that will more than halve their value. The other stuff, emeralds, rubies, they’ll get rid of easily enough, they’ll already have men in place for that. But the diamonds are another matter.”
    â€œHow much do you reckon they’re worth?”
    The Inspector took a deep breath. “In Paris, one necklace alone was worth over twenty million. They took rings, each worth many hundreds of thousands. And the unset stones,” he shrugged again, “well, La Fontaine is still guarding their real value even from us, probably because they had more than the tax man knew about. But trust me, Mac Reilly, we are talking hundreds of millions.”
    â€œBut
here,
in Monte Carlo?” Mac couldn’t help adding, “Of all places, surely the safest on earth.”
    â€œCertainly, along with Zurich, it’s one of the safest in Europe. As yet we have no knowledge of exactly what was taken tonight. They used the same format, expensively dressed women shoppers wearing masks, Marilyn Monroe if you can believe it. They hijacked the security doorman, shot out the security camera, took all the mobile phones, cut the lines and locked the door after them. There was no alarm, no sign that anything was wrong until somebody walked by, saw lights on and people lying on the floor. That was when she called us.”
    â€œShe?” Mac looked at him curiously. He would have thought it would have been a man who sounded the alarm.
    â€œA female. Anonymous. Said she didn’t want to be involved, but that something was wrong at La Fontaine. My men have the place surrounded, the area’s cordoned off. We sent ambulances.”
    Mac’s eyebrows rose. “There are casualties?”
    â€œIt would seem so.” The Inspector’s voice had a grim edge to it. “Here we are,” he added as the big car swept past the square and along the boulevard to where an area was roped off with yellow police tape. Emergency vehicles stood by along with dozens of cop cars, blue lights flashing. A couple of fire trucks waited on the otherside of the street and police photographers busied themselves taking shots of the storefront. Lights were on in the shop and Mac could see uniformed men inside.
    â€œSorry I won’t be able to get you to your hotel,” the Inspector said, talking on his mobile at the same time to somebody inside the store. “I’m needed here.”
    Mac thanked him as he climbed out of the car. Halogen lights suddenly bathed the scene in hard white industrial light. As he watched, a black body bag was carried from the store and loaded into a dark van Mac knew must be from the coroner’s department. He felt a familiar clench of anger in his stomach. The bastards had killed someone, probably the security guard or some innocent store assistant. God, what men would do for money. For some, life was meaningless in the face of millions of dollars.
    He turned and walked quickly away, waved through by the cops who had seen him arrive with their chief, hearing the wail of even more sirens.
    The hard white light disappeared into the soft melting darkness of a Côte d’Azur night as he quickened his step, thinking only of Sunny. Sunny was here. They would find each other again, he would tell her how much he loved her; what she meant to him. He would marry her whenever she wanted. Just please God let her still love him. Let her leaving him not be the