carefully examined and catalogued, right down to where it was mined. He wondered if this theft was connected, and if so, could it be the break the police needed to find the thieves?
“Larry, Stephen has to go to the police, and—”
“Jan! If he does that, he’ll be killed!”
“The police aren’t going to kill anyone.”
Larry shook his head impatiently. “Not Stephen, his boyfriend, partner, lover, life-mate, or whatever—he’s the one who’s being ransomed.”
Jan thought, This is beginning to sound like a B movie. Then, “Does this partner have a name?”
“Armande, Armande Bonnet.”
Jan sprang from his chair, almost spilling what remained of his drink. “Bonnet? The banker’s son?”
Larry’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Do you know him?”
Jan nodded. “Yeah… well, no… I mean I’ve heard of him. Larry, how do you know this banker’s son?”
“I don’t. But I do know his father. He served on a board that oversaw some contracts for NATO. I was there, NATO I mean. I served as liaison for three years before I retired.”
Jan joined Larry at the window. His mind raced with questions. What could a prince and a banker have in common aside from the obvious? Money. The two stood for what seemed like an hour before Jan spoke. “I never realized how beautiful your garden is—especially at night.”
“Can you help? Will you help?” Larry pleaded, without taking his eyes off the quiet scene before them.
Jan considered the request and what it implied. He wondered if Jacques Malreve had known any of this before he asked Jan to find Bonnet’s son. He wondered, too, what Armande Bonnet was doing along Iran’s border. Was he really just a hiker who’d lost his bearings, only to be snagged by an Iranian patrol? How would Mundus’s investigating the disappearance of a French banker’s son impact the negotiations over Iran’s nuclear ambitions? The French Republic may try to find one of its citizens who’d strayed into unfriendly territory, but it certainly wouldn’t expend vital energy looking for a lump of shiny carbon, no matter how valuable it was or who wanted it back. No, Mundus would be needed to find both Armande Bonnet’s son and the Vice-Regal Diamond, wherever it might be.
Jan turned and looked at the old general.
“Perhaps, to your first question, and yes, if I can, to your second question. I’ll need to have a talk with Stephen. Can you get him to my office tomorrow?”
“Yes, I can do that. How much can I tell him?”
“Nothing for now. I’m getting a very uneasy feeling about all this—so mum’s the word.”
Larry nodded. “Loose lips sink ships, I know. In a past life, I was a general with secrets to keep.”
Chapter 28
A Village on the Iranian Border
A RAW wind howled across a narrow plateau high in the Sabalan Mountains. Joachim Nussbaum squatted in a one-room stone hut. A cast-iron coal stove provided the only heat against the biting cold. The ever present wind that swept over these mountains sucked away most of the room’s warmth.
Why in the world would anyone willingly choose to live in a place like this? Joachim wondered.
A toothless old man, his dirt-brown hands and face cracked like crumpled paper, poured strong black coffee into tin mugs. He handed one to Joachim. A Jew in a Muslim’s home in this region was as rare as hen’s teeth, but once he saw the cipher of a flame surrounded by protecting wings that Joachim had scratched on the ground, the old man immediately rubbed it out with his boot and pointed to his tiny house.
As they settled down, the old man pulled a shawl around his broad shoulders and said, “It has been a long time since I saw that sign. Who sent you?”
“America,” Joachim answered.
The old man considered this. To most of the people on the mountain, America was a word tantamount to Satan. He looked at Joachim for some time before he spoke.
“Why are you here?”
“I am looking for a young Frenchman. He was
“Larry, Stephen has to go to the police, and—”
“Jan! If he does that, he’ll be killed!”
“The police aren’t going to kill anyone.”
Larry shook his head impatiently. “Not Stephen, his boyfriend, partner, lover, life-mate, or whatever—he’s the one who’s being ransomed.”
Jan thought, This is beginning to sound like a B movie. Then, “Does this partner have a name?”
“Armande, Armande Bonnet.”
Jan sprang from his chair, almost spilling what remained of his drink. “Bonnet? The banker’s son?”
Larry’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Do you know him?”
Jan nodded. “Yeah… well, no… I mean I’ve heard of him. Larry, how do you know this banker’s son?”
“I don’t. But I do know his father. He served on a board that oversaw some contracts for NATO. I was there, NATO I mean. I served as liaison for three years before I retired.”
Jan joined Larry at the window. His mind raced with questions. What could a prince and a banker have in common aside from the obvious? Money. The two stood for what seemed like an hour before Jan spoke. “I never realized how beautiful your garden is—especially at night.”
“Can you help? Will you help?” Larry pleaded, without taking his eyes off the quiet scene before them.
Jan considered the request and what it implied. He wondered if Jacques Malreve had known any of this before he asked Jan to find Bonnet’s son. He wondered, too, what Armande Bonnet was doing along Iran’s border. Was he really just a hiker who’d lost his bearings, only to be snagged by an Iranian patrol? How would Mundus’s investigating the disappearance of a French banker’s son impact the negotiations over Iran’s nuclear ambitions? The French Republic may try to find one of its citizens who’d strayed into unfriendly territory, but it certainly wouldn’t expend vital energy looking for a lump of shiny carbon, no matter how valuable it was or who wanted it back. No, Mundus would be needed to find both Armande Bonnet’s son and the Vice-Regal Diamond, wherever it might be.
Jan turned and looked at the old general.
“Perhaps, to your first question, and yes, if I can, to your second question. I’ll need to have a talk with Stephen. Can you get him to my office tomorrow?”
“Yes, I can do that. How much can I tell him?”
“Nothing for now. I’m getting a very uneasy feeling about all this—so mum’s the word.”
Larry nodded. “Loose lips sink ships, I know. In a past life, I was a general with secrets to keep.”
Chapter 28
A Village on the Iranian Border
A RAW wind howled across a narrow plateau high in the Sabalan Mountains. Joachim Nussbaum squatted in a one-room stone hut. A cast-iron coal stove provided the only heat against the biting cold. The ever present wind that swept over these mountains sucked away most of the room’s warmth.
Why in the world would anyone willingly choose to live in a place like this? Joachim wondered.
A toothless old man, his dirt-brown hands and face cracked like crumpled paper, poured strong black coffee into tin mugs. He handed one to Joachim. A Jew in a Muslim’s home in this region was as rare as hen’s teeth, but once he saw the cipher of a flame surrounded by protecting wings that Joachim had scratched on the ground, the old man immediately rubbed it out with his boot and pointed to his tiny house.
As they settled down, the old man pulled a shawl around his broad shoulders and said, “It has been a long time since I saw that sign. Who sent you?”
“America,” Joachim answered.
The old man considered this. To most of the people on the mountain, America was a word tantamount to Satan. He looked at Joachim for some time before he spoke.
“Why are you here?”
“I am looking for a young Frenchman. He was
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