Steeling a Dream
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
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Steele Holting On
Steeling a Dream
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
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Steele Holting On
Chapter 20 Poker
That afternoon, the team relocated to an Interpol safe house on the northern outskirts of Cork. Interpol
identified O’Callaghan’s spy and distracted him while Laura and Murphy slipped out of the hotel. The
old two-story cottage appeared rundown, in need of paint and a good weeding in the garden. Inside
though, it was outfitted with modern conveniences and tasteful, homey décor.
Remington waited until Laura and Murphy were safely away before he and Mildred checked out of the
hotel. Mildred took care of the bill while Steele leaned against the counter and waited for Sean to finish
his phone call. “Yes, Mr. Steele?”
“My thanks to you. The hotel has been exemplary during this ordeal.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” Hesitantly, Hennessey asked, “Will, ah, will you be going home from here?”
“Not yet. I have a little project to finish before I do that. Do you have any messages for me?”
“Yes sir. A businessman left his phone number for you and asked if you would call him before you
left.” Hennessey handed over a folded note.
“Good.” Steele laid a tip on the counter along with his business card. “My thanks, again. If you ever
need a job, give me a call. I know some people. Good people.”
The boy flushed. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Steele nodded and strolled out the door with Mildred. They dropped the Fiat at the rental place then
walked down three blocks and one narrow alley over to get into a waiting green Saab.
Peterson was already at the safe house when pair arrived. A stocky man dressed as a local farmer
opened the door but Steele wasn’t fooled. He caught the hardened eyes and slight bulge of a hidden gun
under his shirt.
Laura and Murphy sat in the living room with Brian and another man, reviewing the dossier in detail.
The two Interpol agents stood and Peterson introduced his cohort. “Remington Steele, this is James
Buchanan. He’s the agent in charge of the Dublin Six investigation. He’s the primary on this case.”
The men shook hands. “Steele.”
“Buchanan.” Remington sat next to Laura, noting the fatigue in her eyes. She had propped up her leg on
the coffee table and stuck a bag of ice on top of it. She laid her head on his shoulder, being careful to not
bump her now-retaped nose. “Wasn’t Ms. Sweeney supposed to see you today?” Remington asked in a
low voice.
“She did. She and the doctor stopped by while we were packing. Mildred called her as soon as we got
back.”
“What did they say?”
“Stay off my knee and take it easy for a couple of weeks,” she snorted softly.
Remington looked at his watch. Three thirty-five. Laura had been up since before seven that morning.
He made an executive decision that was sure to piss off his wife.
He rose. “Gentleman, my apologies. My wife needs her rest. I’ll return in a few minutes.” He nodded
at the men.
Laura was mutinous and crossed her arms but Remington pulled her to her feet anyway, murmuring in
her ear, “Walk or I carry you, your choice.” She grabbed her crutches and headed for the stairs in the
rear of the house. She ascended a couple of steps before leaning against the wall and looking at the
floor. As unsteady as she was, she knew it was stupid not to swallow her pride and ask for help.
“Remington, I ... I can’t do this.” Without a word, he lifted her and carried her up the narrow stairs to
the bedroom she pointed out. He set her on the bed then retrieved her crutches from the stairwell before
closing the door.
“I’m sorry ... you’re right, I’m more tired than I thought,” Laura admitted.
Remington sat down next to her. “Would you say that again, please? I think I missed it.” He flashed
her a quick smile.
“I’m sor ... oh hush. No, I won’t repeat myself.” She had a half-smile playing on her own lips.
“Just rest for a bit, eh? Until dinner? I’ll wake you myself.”
“You’ll tell me what happened between you and Agent Peterson?”
“Of course,” he assured her.
“Then kiss me so I’ll have good dreams.”
"Your dream prince, reporting for duty!" His mouth closed over hers. He lingered long enough to hint at
the passion he had for her. Her eyes were closed when he rose from the bed and spread the blanket over
her. He thought she look adorable with her auburn hair tumbled on the bed and her lashes fanning down
on her cheeks.
“Remington?” He paused at the door. Her eyes were still closed.
“Yes, love?”
“What was that line from?”
“Rose Marie, Nelson Eddy, Jeanette MacDonald, MGM, 1936.” She smiled as he closed the door
quietly behind him.
Remington poured a cup of tea in the kitchen before returning to his seat in the living room. “Where are
we with O’Callaghan?” he asked.
Buchanan answered, “We have a team staked out around his castle. So far he hasn’t budged.”
“Good.”
“Is Mrs. Steele okay?”
“Yes, an hour of sleep and she’ll be right as rain.”
Buchanan hesitated before bringing up the subject. “I was rather surprised to see her on her feet this
quickly. Those photos were taken just this past Tuesday? Five days ago?”
“Aye.”
“She must be a remarkable woman from what I’ve read and seen.”
“Aye, she is that,” Steele said with a smile.
“Mr. Steele, this is not going to be easy, but I do need to see all the evidence you’ve supplied. I need to
see the videotape. I didn’t want to mention it in front of Mrs. Steele.”
Remington’s expression hardened as he looked around the room. “Do you have a private office? No
offense Mildred, Murphy, Peterson.” He eyed each one individually. “I’d like to preserve her privacy as
long as possible.” They all nodded in understanding, having read the report, or in Murphy’s case, heard
it straight from Steele.
“This way, Mr. Steele.” Buchanan led him into a small office at the rear of the house. It was equipped
with the latest technology, including some that had not been introduced to the public yet. “Talk me
through it. I’ve read the dossier, but I need to hear it from you.”
Remington explained about the video feed into his cell. Once again, he watched the nightmare Laura
suffered. Fortunately they were able to fast-forward through long stretches. They stopped when
O’Callaghan spoke to her shortly after she arrived, at various points during the horrifying night, and then
each time the bully-boys confronted her the second day.
Buchanan watched the scenes impassively. He was used to schooling his emotions and had seen worse.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Steele’s reactions. At the point in the tape that Laura began
fighting, Steele rose and stared out the window.
The agent paused the tape and walked up behind the distraught man. “You must love your wife very
much.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ll do my best to keep this part out of the testimony. We may be able to prosecute without this
evidence, but I can’t promise that. It is a very damaging piece, but it’s not the only piece and I’ll use
every one of those others first.”
Steele turned red-rimmed blue eyes on him. “Thank you. I’ll owe you for that.”
“No, you don’t. No one should have to go through what you two did that night,” Buchanan admitted.
“How are you dealing with it? As a couple, I mean.”
Remington blew out his breath. “Laura didn’t think twice about letting me off the hook. She was far
more upset about what she had done to me. We’re dealing with it.”
“So she knows the whole of it.”
“Yes.”
“Good. If either of you need to talk with someone, I can set you up.”
“Ah, hopefully not. But I’ll let you know.”
“Think you can watch the rest of this with me?”
“No. I think I’ll stand over here and watch the sunset. Feel free to ask questions, but I don’t think I’ve
got the stomach for it.”
“Fair enough.”
Remington could tell that Buchanan turned the volume down low. When the video turned to static, the
agent snapped off the television and VCR. “You’re quite correct; the two men that hurt Laura were very
precise in what they did to her.”
“Aye. I’ve had a beating such as that before. Makes a point but usually doesn’t leave lasting injuries.”
“Is that why you left her to escape on her own?”
Steele shot him an icy glare. “Have you spent time with Laura?”
“Just an hour or so this afternoon.”
“Do you have a partner? A partner you trust implicitly, both with your life and his or her own?”
“Yes, I do. We’ve been a team for ten years.”
“If your partner was in Laura’s situation and you made it possible for him to escape unnoticed while you
provided the distraction, would you do it?”
“Of course.”
“Laura’s been my partner for six years. Perhaps you’ll understand now.”
“But she’s your wife.”
“She’s been my partner since 1982, my wife for just the past two years. Trust me when I tell you that
the latter was a much harder won road than the former.”
“But--“
“Talk with Laura for a while. Perhaps you’ll understand. I’m going to go check on her.”
Buchanan watched the troubled man go.
Remington quietly opened the door, but found Laura emerging from the tiny bathroom. She rubbed her
elbow. “I bumped it trying to get through the door with my crutches.”
“I’m so sorry, darling. This is not what we envisioned for our anniversary.”
Laura grinned. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s par for the course. If it wasn’t Mildred, gunshots, or the
phone ringing before we were married, it’s foot chases, blackmail and kidnappings after the honeymoon.”
“How can you be so cheerful?” he demanded sourly.
Laura cocked her head. “Maybe because I had a nap?”
“Seriously, Laura. Why aren’t you furious about all this?”
“Rei, love, a week ago I thought you died. Today? We’re together, I’m healing and we have Mildred,
Murphy and Interpol to help us. I promise you, before we leave Ireland, the Dublin Six won’t touch you
again.”
“Laura, you can’t make that promise.”
“I can. Buchanan doesn’t need much to close them down. He’ll probably do it on his own in the next
year with all the evidence he’s accumulated. We’ll just help him do it faster.”
Remington wrapped Laura into a tight hug. “I won’t hold you to that promise. I’m giving them one
week. O’Callaghan is looking for me by next Saturday. If he’s not shut down by then, we’ll be on an
airplane for home. I have a better chance of protecting you in LA than I do here.”
“Shut up and kiss me. I’m not arguing with you now.” He did and their kiss quickly turned ravenous.
The stress of the day drained away as clothing was tossed aside and the couple tumbled to the bed.
Laura landed on top and swore at her knee that wouldn’t yet bend properly.
“You’re going to have to do the honors, Rei.” He laughed while she bit her lip in chagrin. “I’ll have my
way with you soon enough.”
“My pleasure, darling, my absolute ... utter ... most delectable ... pleasure.” He kissed all over her face
between the words. “Now how did we make this work again?” The pair had become inventive experts
at love-making with a gimpy knee. Remington slid a pillow under her leg for support, drifted one finger
down her glistening cleft and tasted it. “Mmmm, delicious.”
Laura’s breath caught. She wanted him hard and fast but hesitated to tell him for fear of bringing up bad
memories. Instead, she caressed and kissed him urgently, concentrating on drawing his desire higher with
her hands.
“Laura,” he mumbled with a mouth full of breast.
“Yes, Rei.” Some of the tension left his body after hearing the nickname again.
“Hold on.” He slid into her in a single stroke. In seconds, her orgasm rolled through her while she bit
her lip again, this time to keep from crying out. He continued to thrust into her and took her up again,
swallowing her moans with his kisses.
The last time, he went over with her, tangling his hands in her hair. He groaned her name and she
breathed his while their bodies shuddered in unison.
Not too long afterwards, Laura crutched her way into the dining room with Remington trailing behind.
Murphy and Mildred caught the light banter between the pair and they exchanged grins. “It amazing
what a little nap will do to relieve the stress of the day,” Murphy drawled.
“Isn’t it?” Laura replied in apparent innocence as she propped the crutches against the wall. Remington
held out her chair as she sat. The two Interpol agents were already at the table dishing up their plates.
Mildred laughed at the pair. “Well, here’s hoping you get to salvage at least some of your anniversary
trip.”
Remington flashed a smile while Laura answered, ““Now Mildred, if something didn’t interrupt us, then
I’d worry. We would have to make something up and I’m sure whatever we came up with to delay our
celebration would be far worse than what others can throw at us.” She was deliberately light-hearted and
reminded her husband how hard they worked to get to this point.
“Absolutely correct, Mrs. Steele.” Remington agreed, catching her meaning.
Petersn and Buchanan exchanged glances. Laura looked fresh as a daisy in spite of her taped nose.
Buchanan noticed that the stress lines had cleared from Steele’s face and he shared a not-so-secret smile
with his wife. Damn. Nothing worse than sitting with a couple who had just indulged in afternoon
nookie. Especially when his own wife was across two islands and the English Channel.
Peterson picked up on it, too and exchanged another glance with Buchanan. Only this time it was sour.
He really didn’t want to like Steele. “Mrs. Steele,” Brian began.
“Laura, please.”
“Laura, how did you two meet?”
She laughed. “How do a private investigator and a professional con artist get hooked up?” She stole a
glance at Remington.
“Ah, yes.” Peterson felt suddenly embarrassed.
“Try this for a deep dark secret: The great detective Remington Steele ... he didn’t exist. I invented him.
Follow: I'd always loved excitement, so I studied and apprenticed, and put my name on an office. But
absolutely no one knocked on my door. A female private investigator seemed so ... feminine. So I
invented a superior. A decidedly masculine superior. Suddenly there were cases around the block. It
was working like a charm. Until the day he walked in, with his blue eyes and mysterious past. And
before I knew it, he assumed Remington Steele's identity. Now I did the work and he took the bows. It
was a dangerous way to live, but as long as people bought it, I got the job done. We never mixed
business with pleasure. Well ... almost never. I didn’t even know his real name!"
Peterson’s jaw dropped open. “Are you telling me he conned you, too?”
“Or I conned him. We’re not quite sure.” Laura laughed again. “The joke was on both of us you see;
Remington turned out to be a better detective than anyone would have expected. We make a great team,
despite his allergy to legwork, paperwork and anything else resembling work.”
“What Laura means to say is that she fell hook, line and sinker for my natural charm and good looks and
couldn’t bear to see me leave. I stayed so I wouldn’t break her heart.” Remington quipped.
“He just liked the condo, the limo and the practically unlimited expense account – oh, and the clothes,
definitely the clothes,” Laura retorted.
“Really, Laura, you forgot about your own delectable charms. Surely you don’t think I would have
given up that part of the package?”
“What charms? It took you four years and three weddings to make me yours.”
“Let’s not bandy that about, eh, it makes it appear to everyone you had the upper hand.”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Laura assumed a superior face while she dug into her food.
Peterson took a stab at getting a piece of information he dearly wanted to know. “So what is your
name?”
“Remington Daniel Harrison Steele.”
Buchanan drawled, “I think the better question is ‘how long has it been your name?’ ”
“Legally? About two years.”
“What was your name before?” Peterson asked.
“I imagine you have the list, mate.” Steele shot him an icy look.
Peterson started to ask again, but Buchanan stifled him with a glare of his own. This was not the time to
stir up animosity. “How did you two get hooked up with them?” Buchanan waived at the other pair.
Murphy gestured toward Laura, “We trained together at the Havenhurst Detective Agency. Once she set
up the Remington Steele Agency, she needed help and we became partners. A year or so after Steele
showed up, I decided it was time for me to open my own doors.”
“And you, Ms. Krebs?” Buchanan wanted to know.
“Mildred, please--I was the IRS agent in charge auditing the agency’s taxes. I got caught up in a case
with them and such a good time, I went to work for them. I started as their secretary, but I became a
full-time private investigator two years ago.”
Buchanan looked mournfully at Peterson. “Why do I get the feeling they have more fun than we do?”
When dinner was cleared, Mildred spread the financial reports she had assembled across the table and
pointed to a particular transaction. The rest of the group listened as Mildred bandied information back
and forth with Buchanan.
She pointed out several transactions on the printouts. “This is the money we’re looking for. He’s paying
somebody a lot of dough. Look at this here, once a month for the past five years he’s transferred
$50,000 to someone. This account number here? It’s a bank in the Grand Caymans.” She continued,
“I put together a balance sheet and cash flow statement based on the information Mr. Steele obtained and
the stuff you gave me. He’s been dipping into his capital for the past three years to pay this money.
He’s almost broke.”
“Do we know who is getting the payments?” That was from Murphy.
Buchanan answered, “We’ve suspect it’s one of the other members of the Six.”
“Johnny Carlisle,” Steele answered.
Buchanan looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Because Carlisle hates O’Callaghan. Johnny cut deals with the other four--Tommy O’Meara, Sean
Nevin, Berk Garrity, and Quinn Denton--about fifteen years ago. They would share resources and
information to control the black market on damn near everything. Nevin and O’Meara wanted to bring in
O’Callaghan because of his links with the local gardaí . Bribing the gardaí is a time-honored tradition in
Dublin but it’s all about family and friendships. O’Callaghan’s family has a history of smuggling
stretching back four or five generations and legions of coppers have drunk fine French brandy in their
names. But Carlisle never wanted O’Callaghan in.”
“Why” asked Murphy.
“Classic love triangle. Two best friends, they both fall in love with the same girl. Girl picks one over the
other. Carlisle was insanely jealous when Erin Brennan married O’Callaghan. About ten years ago, Erin
was murdered. Word on the street was that O’Callaghan double-crossed someone and they took
exception to it. Erin lost her life. Carlisle blamed O’Callaghan and started finding ways to cut him out of
the Six.”
“Gee whiz, Boss, how’d you know all this?”
“Because all the infighting let a certain young thief fly under their radar for a while. When they got their
act together, he moved his show elsewhere. I never liked working for anyone I couldn’t trust enough not
to double-cross me. The Dublin Six didn’t fall into that category.”
Buchanan snorted. “So O’Callaghan’s the weak link, just as we thought.”
“Not necessarily. O’Callaghan is just looking for cash. Carlisle is the one I’ll bet is bleeding him dry.
The man hates O’Callaghan. If he’s the one doing the blackmailing, find out why. If you can prove it,
you’ll put a chink in the whole organization.” Remington stirred his tea.
“Boss, how can all this stretch back for ten years?”
“My guess is Carlisle found what he needed only--”
“About five years ago,” Buchanan interrupted. “We know this because the Six began restructuring their
operations. O’Callaghan’s been less and less involved, but we didn’t know why. Now we do. And with
the information Mildred has uncovered, I think we can trace the money.”
“Just let my fingers at your computers. I’ll find it.”
“I’ll hook you up with our crew in the morning while I get the warrants we need.”
“Perfect.”
“What kind of information would be worthy of blackmail?” wondered Laura. “It has to be something
related to Erin Brennan. Either Carlisle knows what O’Callaghan did or. ... ” She frowned as she
thought it through. “Does Erin have children?”
“We don’t know,” answered Buchanan. “One of our operatives got wind of a rumor about a girl last
year, but we’ve never been able to substantiate it.”
“If Carlisle was making threats against her, that would certainly be a powerful incentive to pay him off,”
Murphy said.
Buchanan looked thoughtful. “I’ll get with my team and see what we can uncover in the next day or
two. In the meantime, we need to keep O’Callaghan occupied and thinking he’s going to get his
diamond.”
“I was given a message from O’Callaghan’s snitch at the hotel to contact him. Shall I?” Steele suggested.
Buchanan nodded. “Use the house phone. It’s a secured line and can’t be traced. We record all
conversations though. One more thing, for all of you,” the senior agent added, “we’ve taken great pains
to conceal your presence here and to shake off any spies that might be tailing you. Please stay here and
let us protect you. I know you are all detectives and used to saving your own butts, but witnesses for the
Dublin Six keep turning up suddenly silent or dead.” He pinned each one with a glare until he received
reluctant nods from the three of the four detectives. Steele just met his look with a steady gaze of his
own.
Murphy leaned forward. “What I can’t figure out about all this is why O’Callaghan hasn’t done anything
yet? We haven’t noticed any tails, anyone spying on the hotel room – all we’ve uncovered is a single
snitch and an idiot watching the hotel.”
“Which means either his men are better than we thought or he doesn’t have the money to hire what he
needs,” said Steele. “If he doesn’t have the cash, it might explain why he wants the diamond. I imagine
there’s a Middle-Eastern sheik somewhere willing to purchase it for a tidy sum and doesn’t care where it
comes from. That might give O’Callaghan the cash he needs to either keep paying Carlisle or to hire a hit
on him and stop the bleeding.”
“It would take a ‘tidy sum’ to get Carlisle. A sniper for sure.” Peterson added, echoing Steele’s words.
“He’s too well protected otherwise.”
“How can we use this to get to Carlisle? He’s appears to be smarter and better protected.” Laura asked
with her arms crossed and tapping her fingers on her elbow, a sure sign she was thinking. She gestured.
“We have to get someone inside. Perhaps if we get someone to warn him at the same time we take
down O’Callaghan. It might earn us his loyalty and maybe even a chance to look around.”
Peterson nearly spit out his coffee while Buchanan looked on thoughtfully.
“Laura, don’t even go there,” Remington warned.
“Why not? It might work.”
“You’re still on crutches and you want to walk into the lion’s den?” Remington was incredulous.
“But it makes sense. You take the diamond to O’Callaghan. When he makes the sale, Interpol
intercepts the buyer and explains that the stone is flawed and we’ll get the money back for him. That
gives us time to follow O’Callaghan. When he sets up the contract for the hit, we intercept and arrest
him. In the meantime, we go to Carlisle and clue him in that O’Callaghan is hiring a hit on him. That
should get us inside his place.”
Remington raised his voice in his ire. “And then what, Laura? One of the Dublin Six nearly killed you.
I’m not about to hand you over to another one!”
Buchanan laid a hand on Remington’s forearm. “Relax, Steele. I agree with you. We’ve got operative
who can do her part.” He shifted his attention back to Laura. “It’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Steele, and
we’ll pursue that line of thinking. But I’m not about to send you since you are still recovering from your
injuries. He looked back at Remington. “Make that call, Steele, and we’ll see where we go from here.”
Remington arched a brow at the order, but crossed to the telephone and dug in his pocket for the
crumpled sheet of paper. “Steele here ...”
A short while later, Buchanan played back the conversation on the tapped line.
Steele here.
Do you have it?
Not yet.
What were you doing in Dublin then, shopping?
Scoping things out.
Seven days, Steele.
Until what? You don’t have my wife. You have nothing to hold over me.
Shall I tip the Dublin police that Michael O’Leary’s in Cork?
The statute of limitations has run out, O’Callaghan.
Sure, but I imagine you won’t like being detained. It might take a few weeks or months to sort all the
charges out. And who would protect your wife in the meantime? How’s her knee by the way?
What do I have to do to get you to go away, O’Callaghan.
Bring me a rock.
If I bring it to you, I want thirty percent. That’s my fee.
Bloody thief. Your fee’s always been twenty.
Yes, but I have more at stake now. And you bloody well pissed me off.
Twenty-five.
Done.
But Steele, my part better be no less than half a million. I knew you weren’t squeaky clean, Steele. No
one could be that good and give it up.
The phone went dead.
“Half a million. Excellent, my good man! If he takes this, it’s just one more thing to hang on him,”
Buchanan complimented. “You know, you might be right about the hit. Half a million won’t last him
very long if he’s planning to keep sending him cash, but it will pay for a contract.”
“Bloody, buggering bastard,” mumbled Steele as he ransacked the kitchen for decent glass of wine.
“Think your account can stand to spring for the diamond?”
“How much are we talking?”
“Mmm, I’ll get Malone down to £75.” Steele idly opened drawers and cabinets, seemingly for a wine
glass.
“My superiors are not going to authorize £75,000 for a rock. That’s probably our entire budget for this
operation. Top right cabinet, Steele. Stop looking. You won’t find anything interesting.”
“I might. Get the rock back, you’ll get your money back.” He moved to the correct cabinet and took
out a couple of goblets.
“And if I don’t get it back?”
“I’ll only charge you twenty percent. Anyone want a glass of wine?”
“Bloody thief.” Buchanan smirked while Peterson rolled his eyes.
“Laura! Why are we putting up with this again?”
“Mmm, something about catching a bigger fish so the tadpoles won’t get eaten?”
Remington grumbled, “I’m not sure I like that analogy. Certainly ‘Remington Steele’ should rate better
than a tadpole.”
“Sometimes I know exactly what you’re going to say, most of the time,” she retorted.
“To Have and Have Not, Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart, Warner Brothers, 1945.” Remington
pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Darling, I’m so proud of you.”
“The other times? You’re just a stinker,” she finished. Remington shook his head while he laughed out
loud. He heard Mildred chortling behind him as she loaded a plate of chips and dip. Laura grinned at
him. “Didn’t you make me see it again last month?”
“Of course, but you don’t always pay attention.”
“I can’t help it if you distract me,” she slanted her eyes at him, “by reciting all the lines.” She finished
with a flirtatious smile.
Buchanan interrupted. “Are they always like this?” he wondered.
“Yes,” chorused Murphy and Mildred.
Remington dropped on the table a box of poker chips and cards he found in one of the cabinets.
“Anyone care for a game while we talk?”
Murphy nodded. “That’s the best idea we’ve had all night.”
“Well, I can think of others, Michaels, but rest assured, they won’t involve you.”
“That’s going to cost you at least twenty, Steele.”
“Better put your money where your mouth is, mate, and hope your poker playing is better than your pool
game.”
Murphy gave Laura a mournful look. “Can I please take him out back? Just for five minutes? I promise
I’ll only blacken one of those pretty blue eyes.”
Mildred abruptly sat between the two of them and shot them both quelling looks. “Do I need to send
you to your rooms, boys?”
“Only if Laura goes with me,” Remington shot back. Murphy made a rude gesture behind Mildred’s
back that made his brother smile.
Buchanan and Peterson traded long looks before Buchanan finally nodded. It would give them a chance
to get to know this team. “What’s the buy in?” Brian asked.
“£100?” Steele suggested, “Just to make it interesting? Ladies, are you in?”
“I’m in, Chief,” nodded Mildred.
“I’ll deal,” offered Laura. She flashed Remington and Mildred a smile, reminding them of the last case
where she posed as a dealer. Her husband had taught her a great deal since then. Murphy grabbed
bottles of beer for the rest of the table, leaving the Steeles with their wine.
“What are we playing?” James asked.
“Dealer’s choice,” prompted Murphy. He knew Laura. They had played a time or twenty at
Havenhurst.
Laura opened a new deck and shuffled them professionally. “I’m sure everyone is aware not to let Mr.
Steele handle the cards too much. One good pass and the whole deck will be marked.”
“Laura, have you so little faith? This is an honest game among friends.”
“I’ve played cards with you, Mr. Steele. Let’s start simple. Five card draw. Pair of jacks or better to
open the bet. Five pound ante.” Buchanan flipped his chip on the table, starting the game.
Peterson watched his old nemesis across the table. At Interpol Paris, the agent was known to be a
sneaky card player and usually walked away flush. An hour later Peterson thought he had a line on
Steele’s tells until the other man switched to drinking a gin and tonic. Astonished, he watched Steele slip
into an entirely different character. His accent even flattened out slightly, taking an Australian tone to it,
but without any obvious local phrases.
Laura saw him take note and sent him a wink across the table as she dealt a round of cards. An hour or
so later, with a slight smile, she got up to pour a new round of drinks. She set a short glass of Amaretto
on the rocks next to Steele.
Amazingly, Peterson watched Steele make the switch again, this time giving a faint Italian air to his words
and gestures. The Interpol agent muttered to himself, No wonder he was so damn hard to track. If he
does this unconsciously, what can he do when he’s paying attention? Not only that, each shift in
character completely changed Steeles ‘tells,’ rendering it impossible for anyone to determine if he was
bluffing. Not surprisingly, Steele had a fair stack of chips after a couple of hours.
The phone rang, startling the players into taking a break while Buchanan took the call.
“Buchanan ... bonsoir, monsieur. Oui, le Steeles sont ici, tout à fait sûr ... Oui, M. Steele a proposé que
nous jetions un autre coup d'oeil chez Johnny Carlisle. Il peut faire du chantage à O' Callaghan.
Pourquoi? Je souhaite que j'aie su ... Mais O' Callaghan payant quelqu'un au loin ... Steele pense que
c'est Carlisle et a quelque chose faire avec Erin Bennett. Ouais, faites-regarder les dans encore. Avons-
nous les garanties encore? ... Que diriez-vous de Carlisle? Pouvez-vous essayer de tirer ses disques de
banque encore? Oui, je prendrai ceux que nous avons obtenus l'année dernière ... Je voudrais que Krebs
regarde les données demain. Elle peut voir que quelque chose que nous avons manqué ... Bon, nous
rechercherons le courier le matin ... Mme. Steele est très bien à l'heure actuelle. Un docteur l'a regardée
juste avant qu'elle l'ait obtenue, ainsi nous pouvons attendre un jour ou des deux different ... Oui,
monsieur. Nous parlerons le matin. Bonne nuit.”
Peterson abruptly turned to Steele, “Je n'ai pas ma montre, quelle heure est elle?” I don’t have my
watch, what time is it?
Steele flipped over his wrist. “C'est seulement dix en soirée. Néanmoins voulez-vous jouer?” It’s only
ten in the evening. Do you still want to play?
It took a long minute of silence for Remington to realize his error. He saw identical looks of surprise on
his wife and friends’ faces. Peterson just shook his head, and Buchanan nodded as if he expected it.
“Now that wasn’t a very nice trick to pull on me, Peterson.” Steele shook his own head, angered that he
fell for the ruse. Switching languages in the middle of a conversation was tried and true method of seeing
what another person understood. Daniel had drilled him in it repeatedly, both in using it on a mark and in
not falling for the ploy. Peterson executed the technique brilliantly by asking his short question after
Buchanan’s long conversation on the phone. His estimation of Peterson as an agent rose a notch.
Seeing his ire, Laura abruptly changed the subject. “Who’s in for another round?”
Steele poured himself a club soda. “I’m in.” He was royally pissed at himself. Nods, “me”s and
“I am”s resounded as the detectives and agents took their seats again.
Peterson expected Steele to make a move. He saw that the man was angry over his lapse and the agent
was curious to see how dealt with it.
Laura called out the game, “Seven card stud.” She passed out the cards. “Ante up.” While they played,
Peterson saw Steele at his finest. After the first thirty minutes, Buchanan and Mildred both folded the
game, leaving Murphy, Peterson and Steele. Twenty minutes later, Laura’s brother-in-law chucked in
his hand as well.
Just as Peterson began to get a hang of Steele’s tells, the man shifted slightly and he knew he was out of
luck. He played one more hand and tried to bluff through it before losing it outright. Tossing his cards
on the table, he held out his hand. “Steele, I think we can count this night as a draw.”
Remington impassively shook it, “Aye mate, quite the card player you are. I’ll sit at your table anytime.”
Later that night, Laura snuggled in Remington’s arms. “So tell me, just how many languages can you
speak?”
“Mmm,” he kissed her throat. “French, as you know,” he kissed her nose. “Spanish, you probably
guessed,” he kissed her cheek. “A smattering of German and Russian to get me by,” he kissed her other
cheek. “Gaelic, like any good Irish boy,” he kissed her forehead. “And every form of English known to
mankind,” he kissed her lips. “Je t’aime, mon chéri, je t’aime.”
Chapter 21 -- The Heist
That afternoon, the team relocated to an Interpol safe house on the northern outskirts of Cork. Interpol
identified O’Callaghan’s spy and distracted him while Laura and Murphy slipped out of the hotel. The
old two-story cottage appeared rundown, in need of paint and a good weeding in the garden. Inside
though, it was outfitted with modern conveniences and tasteful, homey décor.
Remington waited until Laura and Murphy were safely away before he and Mildred checked out of the
hotel. Mildred took care of the bill while Steele leaned against the counter and waited for Sean to finish
his phone call. “Yes, Mr. Steele?”
“My thanks to you. The hotel has been exemplary during this ordeal.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” Hesitantly, Hennessey asked, “Will, ah, will you be going home from here?”
“Not yet. I have a little project to finish before I do that. Do you have any messages for me?”
“Yes sir. A businessman left his phone number for you and asked if you would call him before you
left.” Hennessey handed over a folded note.
“Good.” Steele laid a tip on the counter along with his business card. “My thanks, again. If you ever
need a job, give me a call. I know some people. Good people.”
The boy flushed. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Steele nodded and strolled out the door with Mildred. They dropped the Fiat at the rental place then
walked down three blocks and one narrow alley over to get into a waiting green Saab.
Peterson was already at the safe house when pair arrived. A stocky man dressed as a local farmer
opened the door but Steele wasn’t fooled. He caught the hardened eyes and slight bulge of a hidden gun
under his shirt.
Laura and Murphy sat in the living room with Brian and another man, reviewing the dossier in detail.
The two Interpol agents stood and Peterson introduced his cohort. “Remington Steele, this is James
Buchanan. He’s the agent in charge of the Dublin Six investigation. He’s the primary on this case.”
The men shook hands. “Steele.”
“Buchanan.” Remington sat next to Laura, noting the fatigue in her eyes. She had propped up her leg on
the coffee table and stuck a bag of ice on top of it. She laid her head on his shoulder, being careful to not
bump her now-retaped nose. “Wasn’t Ms. Sweeney supposed to see you today?” Remington asked in a
low voice.
“She did. She and the doctor stopped by while we were packing. Mildred called her as soon as we got
back.”
“What did they say?”
“Stay off my knee and take it easy for a couple of weeks,” she snorted softly.
Remington looked at his watch. Three thirty-five. Laura had been up since before seven that morning.
He made an executive decision that was sure to piss off his wife.
He rose. “Gentleman, my apologies. My wife needs her rest. I’ll return in a few minutes.” He nodded
at the men.
Laura was mutinous and crossed her arms but Remington pulled her to her feet anyway, murmuring in
her ear, “Walk or I carry you, your choice.” She grabbed her crutches and headed for the stairs in the
rear of the house. She ascended a couple of steps before leaning against the wall and looking at the
floor. As unsteady as she was, she knew it was stupid not to swallow her pride and ask for help.
“Remington, I ... I can’t do this.” Without a word, he lifted her and carried her up the narrow stairs to
the bedroom she pointed out. He set her on the bed then retrieved her crutches from the stairwell before
closing the door.
“I’m sorry ... you’re right, I’m more tired than I thought,” Laura admitted.
Remington sat down next to her. “Would you say that again, please? I think I missed it.” He flashed
her a quick smile.
“I’m sor ... oh hush. No, I won’t repeat myself.” She had a half-smile playing on her own lips.
“Just rest for a bit, eh? Until dinner? I’ll wake you myself.”
“You’ll tell me what happened between you and Agent Peterson?”
“Of course,” he assured her.
“Then kiss me so I’ll have good dreams.”
"Your dream prince, reporting for duty!" His mouth closed over hers. He lingered long enough to hint at
the passion he had for her. Her eyes were closed when he rose from the bed and spread the blanket over
her. He thought she look adorable with her auburn hair tumbled on the bed and her lashes fanning down
on her cheeks.
“Remington?” He paused at the door. Her eyes were still closed.
“Yes, love?”
“What was that line from?”
“Rose Marie, Nelson Eddy, Jeanette MacDonald, MGM, 1936.” She smiled as he closed the door
quietly behind him.
Remington poured a cup of tea in the kitchen before returning to his seat in the living room. “Where are
we with O’Callaghan?” he asked.
Buchanan answered, “We have a team staked out around his castle. So far he hasn’t budged.”
“Good.”
“Is Mrs. Steele okay?”
“Yes, an hour of sleep and she’ll be right as rain.”
Buchanan hesitated before bringing up the subject. “I was rather surprised to see her on her feet this
quickly. Those photos were taken just this past Tuesday? Five days ago?”
“Aye.”
“She must be a remarkable woman from what I’ve read and seen.”
“Aye, she is that,” Steele said with a smile.
“Mr. Steele, this is not going to be easy, but I do need to see all the evidence you’ve supplied. I need to
see the videotape. I didn’t want to mention it in front of Mrs. Steele.”
Remington’s expression hardened as he looked around the room. “Do you have a private office? No
offense Mildred, Murphy, Peterson.” He eyed each one individually. “I’d like to preserve her privacy as
long as possible.” They all nodded in understanding, having read the report, or in Murphy’s case, heard
it straight from Steele.
“This way, Mr. Steele.” Buchanan led him into a small office at the rear of the house. It was equipped
with the latest technology, including some that had not been introduced to the public yet. “Talk me
through it. I’ve read the dossier, but I need to hear it from you.”
Remington explained about the video feed into his cell. Once again, he watched the nightmare Laura
suffered. Fortunately they were able to fast-forward through long stretches. They stopped when
O’Callaghan spoke to her shortly after she arrived, at various points during the horrifying night, and then
each time the bully-boys confronted her the second day.
Buchanan watched the scenes impassively. He was used to schooling his emotions and had seen worse.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Steele’s reactions. At the point in the tape that Laura began
fighting, Steele rose and stared out the window.
The agent paused the tape and walked up behind the distraught man. “You must love your wife very
much.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ll do my best to keep this part out of the testimony. We may be able to prosecute without this
evidence, but I can’t promise that. It is a very damaging piece, but it’s not the only piece and I’ll use
every one of those others first.”
Steele turned red-rimmed blue eyes on him. “Thank you. I’ll owe you for that.”
“No, you don’t. No one should have to go through what you two did that night,” Buchanan admitted.
“How are you dealing with it? As a couple, I mean.”
Remington blew out his breath. “Laura didn’t think twice about letting me off the hook. She was far
more upset about what she had done to me. We’re dealing with it.”
“So she knows the whole of it.”
“Yes.”
“Good. If either of you need to talk with someone, I can set you up.”
“Ah, hopefully not. But I’ll let you know.”
“Think you can watch the rest of this with me?”
“No. I think I’ll stand over here and watch the sunset. Feel free to ask questions, but I don’t think I’ve
got the stomach for it.”
“Fair enough.”
Remington could tell that Buchanan turned the volume down low. When the video turned to static, the
agent snapped off the television and VCR. “You’re quite correct; the two men that hurt Laura were very
precise in what they did to her.”
“Aye. I’ve had a beating such as that before. Makes a point but usually doesn’t leave lasting injuries.”
“Is that why you left her to escape on her own?”
Steele shot him an icy glare. “Have you spent time with Laura?”
“Just an hour or so this afternoon.”
“Do you have a partner? A partner you trust implicitly, both with your life and his or her own?”
“Yes, I do. We’ve been a team for ten years.”
“If your partner was in Laura’s situation and you made it possible for him to escape unnoticed while you
provided the distraction, would you do it?”
“Of course.”
“Laura’s been my partner for six years. Perhaps you’ll understand now.”
“But she’s your wife.”
“She’s been my partner since 1982, my wife for just the past two years. Trust me when I tell you that
the latter was a much harder won road than the former.”
“But--“
“Talk with Laura for a while. Perhaps you’ll understand. I’m going to go check on her.”
Buchanan watched the troubled man go.
Remington quietly opened the door, but found Laura emerging from the tiny bathroom. She rubbed her
elbow. “I bumped it trying to get through the door with my crutches.”
“I’m so sorry, darling. This is not what we envisioned for our anniversary.”
Laura grinned. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s par for the course. If it wasn’t Mildred, gunshots, or the
phone ringing before we were married, it’s foot chases, blackmail and kidnappings after the honeymoon.”
“How can you be so cheerful?” he demanded sourly.
Laura cocked her head. “Maybe because I had a nap?”
“Seriously, Laura. Why aren’t you furious about all this?”
“Rei, love, a week ago I thought you died. Today? We’re together, I’m healing and we have Mildred,
Murphy and Interpol to help us. I promise you, before we leave Ireland, the Dublin Six won’t touch you
again.”
“Laura, you can’t make that promise.”
“I can. Buchanan doesn’t need much to close them down. He’ll probably do it on his own in the next
year with all the evidence he’s accumulated. We’ll just help him do it faster.”
Remington wrapped Laura into a tight hug. “I won’t hold you to that promise. I’m giving them one
week. O’Callaghan is looking for me by next Saturday. If he’s not shut down by then, we’ll be on an
airplane for home. I have a better chance of protecting you in LA than I do here.”
“Shut up and kiss me. I’m not arguing with you now.” He did and their kiss quickly turned ravenous.
The stress of the day drained away as clothing was tossed aside and the couple tumbled to the bed.
Laura landed on top and swore at her knee that wouldn’t yet bend properly.
“You’re going to have to do the honors, Rei.” He laughed while she bit her lip in chagrin. “I’ll have my
way with you soon enough.”
“My pleasure, darling, my absolute ... utter ... most delectable ... pleasure.” He kissed all over her face
between the words. “Now how did we make this work again?” The pair had become inventive experts
at love-making with a gimpy knee. Remington slid a pillow under her leg for support, drifted one finger
down her glistening cleft and tasted it. “Mmmm, delicious.”
Laura’s breath caught. She wanted him hard and fast but hesitated to tell him for fear of bringing up bad
memories. Instead, she caressed and kissed him urgently, concentrating on drawing his desire higher with
her hands.
“Laura,” he mumbled with a mouth full of breast.
“Yes, Rei.” Some of the tension left his body after hearing the nickname again.
“Hold on.” He slid into her in a single stroke. In seconds, her orgasm rolled through her while she bit
her lip again, this time to keep from crying out. He continued to thrust into her and took her up again,
swallowing her moans with his kisses.
The last time, he went over with her, tangling his hands in her hair. He groaned her name and she
breathed his while their bodies shuddered in unison.
Not too long afterwards, Laura crutched her way into the dining room with Remington trailing behind.
Murphy and Mildred caught the light banter between the pair and they exchanged grins. “It amazing
what a little nap will do to relieve the stress of the day,” Murphy drawled.
“Isn’t it?” Laura replied in apparent innocence as she propped the crutches against the wall. Remington
held out her chair as she sat. The two Interpol agents were already at the table dishing up their plates.
Mildred laughed at the pair. “Well, here’s hoping you get to salvage at least some of your anniversary
trip.”
Remington flashed a smile while Laura answered, ““Now Mildred, if something didn’t interrupt us, then
I’d worry. We would have to make something up and I’m sure whatever we came up with to delay our
celebration would be far worse than what others can throw at us.” She was deliberately light-hearted and
reminded her husband how hard they worked to get to this point.
“Absolutely correct, Mrs. Steele.” Remington agreed, catching her meaning.
Petersn and Buchanan exchanged glances. Laura looked fresh as a daisy in spite of her taped nose.
Buchanan noticed that the stress lines had cleared from Steele’s face and he shared a not-so-secret smile
with his wife. Damn. Nothing worse than sitting with a couple who had just indulged in afternoon
nookie. Especially when his own wife was across two islands and the English Channel.
Peterson picked up on it, too and exchanged another glance with Buchanan. Only this time it was sour.
He really didn’t want to like Steele. “Mrs. Steele,” Brian began.
“Laura, please.”
“Laura, how did you two meet?”
She laughed. “How do a private investigator and a professional con artist get hooked up?” She stole a
glance at Remington.
“Ah, yes.” Peterson felt suddenly embarrassed.
“Try this for a deep dark secret: The great detective Remington Steele ... he didn’t exist. I invented him.
Follow: I'd always loved excitement, so I studied and apprenticed, and put my name on an office. But
absolutely no one knocked on my door. A female private investigator seemed so ... feminine. So I
invented a superior. A decidedly masculine superior. Suddenly there were cases around the block. It
was working like a charm. Until the day he walked in, with his blue eyes and mysterious past. And
before I knew it, he assumed Remington Steele's identity. Now I did the work and he took the bows. It
was a dangerous way to live, but as long as people bought it, I got the job done. We never mixed
business with pleasure. Well ... almost never. I didn’t even know his real name!"
Peterson’s jaw dropped open. “Are you telling me he conned you, too?”
“Or I conned him. We’re not quite sure.” Laura laughed again. “The joke was on both of us you see;
Remington turned out to be a better detective than anyone would have expected. We make a great team,
despite his allergy to legwork, paperwork and anything else resembling work.”
“What Laura means to say is that she fell hook, line and sinker for my natural charm and good looks and
couldn’t bear to see me leave. I stayed so I wouldn’t break her heart.” Remington quipped.
“He just liked the condo, the limo and the practically unlimited expense account – oh, and the clothes,
definitely the clothes,” Laura retorted.
“Really, Laura, you forgot about your own delectable charms. Surely you don’t think I would have
given up that part of the package?”
“What charms? It took you four years and three weddings to make me yours.”
“Let’s not bandy that about, eh, it makes it appear to everyone you had the upper hand.”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Laura assumed a superior face while she dug into her food.
Peterson took a stab at getting a piece of information he dearly wanted to know. “So what is your
name?”
“Remington Daniel Harrison Steele.”
Buchanan drawled, “I think the better question is ‘how long has it been your name?’ ”
“Legally? About two years.”
“What was your name before?” Peterson asked.
“I imagine you have the list, mate.” Steele shot him an icy look.
Peterson started to ask again, but Buchanan stifled him with a glare of his own. This was not the time to
stir up animosity. “How did you two get hooked up with them?” Buchanan waived at the other pair.
Murphy gestured toward Laura, “We trained together at the Havenhurst Detective Agency. Once she set
up the Remington Steele Agency, she needed help and we became partners. A year or so after Steele
showed up, I decided it was time for me to open my own doors.”
“And you, Ms. Krebs?” Buchanan wanted to know.
“Mildred, please--I was the IRS agent in charge auditing the agency’s taxes. I got caught up in a case
with them and such a good time, I went to work for them. I started as their secretary, but I became a
full-time private investigator two years ago.”
Buchanan looked mournfully at Peterson. “Why do I get the feeling they have more fun than we do?”
When dinner was cleared, Mildred spread the financial reports she had assembled across the table and
pointed to a particular transaction. The rest of the group listened as Mildred bandied information back
and forth with Buchanan.
She pointed out several transactions on the printouts. “This is the money we’re looking for. He’s paying
somebody a lot of dough. Look at this here, once a month for the past five years he’s transferred
$50,000 to someone. This account number here? It’s a bank in the Grand Caymans.” She continued,
“I put together a balance sheet and cash flow statement based on the information Mr. Steele obtained and
the stuff you gave me. He’s been dipping into his capital for the past three years to pay this money.
He’s almost broke.”
“Do we know who is getting the payments?” That was from Murphy.
Buchanan answered, “We’ve suspect it’s one of the other members of the Six.”
“Johnny Carlisle,” Steele answered.
Buchanan looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Because Carlisle hates O’Callaghan. Johnny cut deals with the other four--Tommy O’Meara, Sean
Nevin, Berk Garrity, and Quinn Denton--about fifteen years ago. They would share resources and
information to control the black market on damn near everything. Nevin and O’Meara wanted to bring in
O’Callaghan because of his links with the local gardaí . Bribing the gardaí is a time-honored tradition in
Dublin but it’s all about family and friendships. O’Callaghan’s family has a history of smuggling
stretching back four or five generations and legions of coppers have drunk fine French brandy in their
names. But Carlisle never wanted O’Callaghan in.”
“Why” asked Murphy.
“Classic love triangle. Two best friends, they both fall in love with the same girl. Girl picks one over the
other. Carlisle was insanely jealous when Erin Brennan married O’Callaghan. About ten years ago, Erin
was murdered. Word on the street was that O’Callaghan double-crossed someone and they took
exception to it. Erin lost her life. Carlisle blamed O’Callaghan and started finding ways to cut him out of
the Six.”
“Gee whiz, Boss, how’d you know all this?”
“Because all the infighting let a certain young thief fly under their radar for a while. When they got their
act together, he moved his show elsewhere. I never liked working for anyone I couldn’t trust enough not
to double-cross me. The Dublin Six didn’t fall into that category.”
Buchanan snorted. “So O’Callaghan’s the weak link, just as we thought.”
“Not necessarily. O’Callaghan is just looking for cash. Carlisle is the one I’ll bet is bleeding him dry.
The man hates O’Callaghan. If he’s the one doing the blackmailing, find out why. If you can prove it,
you’ll put a chink in the whole organization.” Remington stirred his tea.
“Boss, how can all this stretch back for ten years?”
“My guess is Carlisle found what he needed only--”
“About five years ago,” Buchanan interrupted. “We know this because the Six began restructuring their
operations. O’Callaghan’s been less and less involved, but we didn’t know why. Now we do. And with
the information Mildred has uncovered, I think we can trace the money.”
“Just let my fingers at your computers. I’ll find it.”
“I’ll hook you up with our crew in the morning while I get the warrants we need.”
“Perfect.”
“What kind of information would be worthy of blackmail?” wondered Laura. “It has to be something
related to Erin Brennan. Either Carlisle knows what O’Callaghan did or. ... ” She frowned as she
thought it through. “Does Erin have children?”
“We don’t know,” answered Buchanan. “One of our operatives got wind of a rumor about a girl last
year, but we’ve never been able to substantiate it.”
“If Carlisle was making threats against her, that would certainly be a powerful incentive to pay him off,”
Murphy said.
Buchanan looked thoughtful. “I’ll get with my team and see what we can uncover in the next day or
two. In the meantime, we need to keep O’Callaghan occupied and thinking he’s going to get his
diamond.”
“I was given a message from O’Callaghan’s snitch at the hotel to contact him. Shall I?” Steele suggested.
Buchanan nodded. “Use the house phone. It’s a secured line and can’t be traced. We record all
conversations though. One more thing, for all of you,” the senior agent added, “we’ve taken great pains
to conceal your presence here and to shake off any spies that might be tailing you. Please stay here and
let us protect you. I know you are all detectives and used to saving your own butts, but witnesses for the
Dublin Six keep turning up suddenly silent or dead.” He pinned each one with a glare until he received
reluctant nods from the three of the four detectives. Steele just met his look with a steady gaze of his
own.
Murphy leaned forward. “What I can’t figure out about all this is why O’Callaghan hasn’t done anything
yet? We haven’t noticed any tails, anyone spying on the hotel room – all we’ve uncovered is a single
snitch and an idiot watching the hotel.”
“Which means either his men are better than we thought or he doesn’t have the money to hire what he
needs,” said Steele. “If he doesn’t have the cash, it might explain why he wants the diamond. I imagine
there’s a Middle-Eastern sheik somewhere willing to purchase it for a tidy sum and doesn’t care where it
comes from. That might give O’Callaghan the cash he needs to either keep paying Carlisle or to hire a hit
on him and stop the bleeding.”
“It would take a ‘tidy sum’ to get Carlisle. A sniper for sure.” Peterson added, echoing Steele’s words.
“He’s too well protected otherwise.”
“How can we use this to get to Carlisle? He’s appears to be smarter and better protected.” Laura asked
with her arms crossed and tapping her fingers on her elbow, a sure sign she was thinking. She gestured.
“We have to get someone inside. Perhaps if we get someone to warn him at the same time we take
down O’Callaghan. It might earn us his loyalty and maybe even a chance to look around.”
Peterson nearly spit out his coffee while Buchanan looked on thoughtfully.
“Laura, don’t even go there,” Remington warned.
“Why not? It might work.”
“You’re still on crutches and you want to walk into the lion’s den?” Remington was incredulous.
“But it makes sense. You take the diamond to O’Callaghan. When he makes the sale, Interpol
intercepts the buyer and explains that the stone is flawed and we’ll get the money back for him. That
gives us time to follow O’Callaghan. When he sets up the contract for the hit, we intercept and arrest
him. In the meantime, we go to Carlisle and clue him in that O’Callaghan is hiring a hit on him. That
should get us inside his place.”
Remington raised his voice in his ire. “And then what, Laura? One of the Dublin Six nearly killed you.
I’m not about to hand you over to another one!”
Buchanan laid a hand on Remington’s forearm. “Relax, Steele. I agree with you. We’ve got operative
who can do her part.” He shifted his attention back to Laura. “It’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Steele, and
we’ll pursue that line of thinking. But I’m not about to send you since you are still recovering from your
injuries. He looked back at Remington. “Make that call, Steele, and we’ll see where we go from here.”
Remington arched a brow at the order, but crossed to the telephone and dug in his pocket for the
crumpled sheet of paper. “Steele here ...”
A short while later, Buchanan played back the conversation on the tapped line.
Steele here.
Do you have it?
Not yet.
What were you doing in Dublin then, shopping?
Scoping things out.
Seven days, Steele.
Until what? You don’t have my wife. You have nothing to hold over me.
Shall I tip the Dublin police that Michael O’Leary’s in Cork?
The statute of limitations has run out, O’Callaghan.
Sure, but I imagine you won’t like being detained. It might take a few weeks or months to sort all the
charges out. And who would protect your wife in the meantime? How’s her knee by the way?
What do I have to do to get you to go away, O’Callaghan.
Bring me a rock.
If I bring it to you, I want thirty percent. That’s my fee.
Bloody thief. Your fee’s always been twenty.
Yes, but I have more at stake now. And you bloody well pissed me off.
Twenty-five.
Done.
But Steele, my part better be no less than half a million. I knew you weren’t squeaky clean, Steele. No
one could be that good and give it up.
The phone went dead.
“Half a million. Excellent, my good man! If he takes this, it’s just one more thing to hang on him,”
Buchanan complimented. “You know, you might be right about the hit. Half a million won’t last him
very long if he’s planning to keep sending him cash, but it will pay for a contract.”
“Bloody, buggering bastard,” mumbled Steele as he ransacked the kitchen for decent glass of wine.
“Think your account can stand to spring for the diamond?”
“How much are we talking?”
“Mmm, I’ll get Malone down to £75.” Steele idly opened drawers and cabinets, seemingly for a wine
glass.
“My superiors are not going to authorize £75,000 for a rock. That’s probably our entire budget for this
operation. Top right cabinet, Steele. Stop looking. You won’t find anything interesting.”
“I might. Get the rock back, you’ll get your money back.” He moved to the correct cabinet and took
out a couple of goblets.
“And if I don’t get it back?”
“I’ll only charge you twenty percent. Anyone want a glass of wine?”
“Bloody thief.” Buchanan smirked while Peterson rolled his eyes.
“Laura! Why are we putting up with this again?”
“Mmm, something about catching a bigger fish so the tadpoles won’t get eaten?”
Remington grumbled, “I’m not sure I like that analogy. Certainly ‘Remington Steele’ should rate better
than a tadpole.”
“Sometimes I know exactly what you’re going to say, most of the time,” she retorted.
“To Have and Have Not, Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart, Warner Brothers, 1945.” Remington
pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Darling, I’m so proud of you.”
“The other times? You’re just a stinker,” she finished. Remington shook his head while he laughed out
loud. He heard Mildred chortling behind him as she loaded a plate of chips and dip. Laura grinned at
him. “Didn’t you make me see it again last month?”
“Of course, but you don’t always pay attention.”
“I can’t help it if you distract me,” she slanted her eyes at him, “by reciting all the lines.” She finished
with a flirtatious smile.
Buchanan interrupted. “Are they always like this?” he wondered.
“Yes,” chorused Murphy and Mildred.
Remington dropped on the table a box of poker chips and cards he found in one of the cabinets.
“Anyone care for a game while we talk?”
Murphy nodded. “That’s the best idea we’ve had all night.”
“Well, I can think of others, Michaels, but rest assured, they won’t involve you.”
“That’s going to cost you at least twenty, Steele.”
“Better put your money where your mouth is, mate, and hope your poker playing is better than your pool
game.”
Murphy gave Laura a mournful look. “Can I please take him out back? Just for five minutes? I promise
I’ll only blacken one of those pretty blue eyes.”
Mildred abruptly sat between the two of them and shot them both quelling looks. “Do I need to send
you to your rooms, boys?”
“Only if Laura goes with me,” Remington shot back. Murphy made a rude gesture behind Mildred’s
back that made his brother smile.
Buchanan and Peterson traded long looks before Buchanan finally nodded. It would give them a chance
to get to know this team. “What’s the buy in?” Brian asked.
“£100?” Steele suggested, “Just to make it interesting? Ladies, are you in?”
“I’m in, Chief,” nodded Mildred.
“I’ll deal,” offered Laura. She flashed Remington and Mildred a smile, reminding them of the last case
where she posed as a dealer. Her husband had taught her a great deal since then. Murphy grabbed
bottles of beer for the rest of the table, leaving the Steeles with their wine.
“What are we playing?” James asked.
“Dealer’s choice,” prompted Murphy. He knew Laura. They had played a time or twenty at
Havenhurst.
Laura opened a new deck and shuffled them professionally. “I’m sure everyone is aware not to let Mr.
Steele handle the cards too much. One good pass and the whole deck will be marked.”
“Laura, have you so little faith? This is an honest game among friends.”
“I’ve played cards with you, Mr. Steele. Let’s start simple. Five card draw. Pair of jacks or better to
open the bet. Five pound ante.” Buchanan flipped his chip on the table, starting the game.
Peterson watched his old nemesis across the table. At Interpol Paris, the agent was known to be a
sneaky card player and usually walked away flush. An hour later Peterson thought he had a line on
Steele’s tells until the other man switched to drinking a gin and tonic. Astonished, he watched Steele slip
into an entirely different character. His accent even flattened out slightly, taking an Australian tone to it,
but without any obvious local phrases.
Laura saw him take note and sent him a wink across the table as she dealt a round of cards. An hour or
so later, with a slight smile, she got up to pour a new round of drinks. She set a short glass of Amaretto
on the rocks next to Steele.
Amazingly, Peterson watched Steele make the switch again, this time giving a faint Italian air to his words
and gestures. The Interpol agent muttered to himself, No wonder he was so damn hard to track. If he
does this unconsciously, what can he do when he’s paying attention? Not only that, each shift in
character completely changed Steeles ‘tells,’ rendering it impossible for anyone to determine if he was
bluffing. Not surprisingly, Steele had a fair stack of chips after a couple of hours.
The phone rang, startling the players into taking a break while Buchanan took the call.
“Buchanan ... bonsoir, monsieur. Oui, le Steeles sont ici, tout à fait sûr ... Oui, M. Steele a proposé que
nous jetions un autre coup d'oeil chez Johnny Carlisle. Il peut faire du chantage à O' Callaghan.
Pourquoi? Je souhaite que j'aie su ... Mais O' Callaghan payant quelqu'un au loin ... Steele pense que
c'est Carlisle et a quelque chose faire avec Erin Bennett. Ouais, faites-regarder les dans encore. Avons-
nous les garanties encore? ... Que diriez-vous de Carlisle? Pouvez-vous essayer de tirer ses disques de
banque encore? Oui, je prendrai ceux que nous avons obtenus l'année dernière ... Je voudrais que Krebs
regarde les données demain. Elle peut voir que quelque chose que nous avons manqué ... Bon, nous
rechercherons le courier le matin ... Mme. Steele est très bien à l'heure actuelle. Un docteur l'a regardée
juste avant qu'elle l'ait obtenue, ainsi nous pouvons attendre un jour ou des deux different ... Oui,
monsieur. Nous parlerons le matin. Bonne nuit.”
Peterson abruptly turned to Steele, “Je n'ai pas ma montre, quelle heure est elle?” I don’t have my
watch, what time is it?
Steele flipped over his wrist. “C'est seulement dix en soirée. Néanmoins voulez-vous jouer?” It’s only
ten in the evening. Do you still want to play?
It took a long minute of silence for Remington to realize his error. He saw identical looks of surprise on
his wife and friends’ faces. Peterson just shook his head, and Buchanan nodded as if he expected it.
“Now that wasn’t a very nice trick to pull on me, Peterson.” Steele shook his own head, angered that he
fell for the ruse. Switching languages in the middle of a conversation was tried and true method of seeing
what another person understood. Daniel had drilled him in it repeatedly, both in using it on a mark and in
not falling for the ploy. Peterson executed the technique brilliantly by asking his short question after
Buchanan’s long conversation on the phone. His estimation of Peterson as an agent rose a notch.
Seeing his ire, Laura abruptly changed the subject. “Who’s in for another round?”
Steele poured himself a club soda. “I’m in.” He was royally pissed at himself. Nods, “me”s and
“I am”s resounded as the detectives and agents took their seats again.
Peterson expected Steele to make a move. He saw that the man was angry over his lapse and the agent
was curious to see how dealt with it.
Laura called out the game, “Seven card stud.” She passed out the cards. “Ante up.” While they played,
Peterson saw Steele at his finest. After the first thirty minutes, Buchanan and Mildred both folded the
game, leaving Murphy, Peterson and Steele. Twenty minutes later, Laura’s brother-in-law chucked in
his hand as well.
Just as Peterson began to get a hang of Steele’s tells, the man shifted slightly and he knew he was out of
luck. He played one more hand and tried to bluff through it before losing it outright. Tossing his cards
on the table, he held out his hand. “Steele, I think we can count this night as a draw.”
Remington impassively shook it, “Aye mate, quite the card player you are. I’ll sit at your table anytime.”
Later that night, Laura snuggled in Remington’s arms. “So tell me, just how many languages can you
speak?”
“Mmm,” he kissed her throat. “French, as you know,” he kissed her nose. “Spanish, you probably
guessed,” he kissed her cheek. “A smattering of German and Russian to get me by,” he kissed her other
cheek. “Gaelic, like any good Irish boy,” he kissed her forehead. “And every form of English known to
mankind,” he kissed her lips. “Je t’aime, mon chéri, je t’aime.”
Chapter 21 -- The Heist