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 21 The Heist
Laura found Remington in the tiny walled garden spilling out of the rear of the house. She had rolled
over that morning to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Curious, she wandered around the quiet
house until she found him sitting on the patio, staring thoughtfully at the brightening sky and nibbling on a
thumbnail.
She took the time to prepare his favorite tea while watching him through the window. She closed her
robe before opening the door to the chill air. “I thought you didn’t like mornings.”
He slanted unreadable eyes at her. “Just ones that start too early. Catching them on the backside of a
delightful evening is something else entirely.”
“Since last evening wasn’t that delightful, it must be something else altogether. Care to talk about it?”
she asked while she dropped a kiss in his hair.
Remington took comfort in her light caress. His sensitive hearing had picked up the sounds of someone
in the kitchen, and her scent wafted on the morning breeze moments before she kissed him and handed
him his cup. “Aye. I think I do. Can I ramble on a bit? I’m still sorting it all out.”
“Of course.” She curled up in the chair next to him and sipped her own tea, pleased that Remington was
willing to trust her. Glib as he was, it was still rare for him to spill his thoughts outright to her.
“Daniel would have been terribly ashamed of me for my slip last night. Three years ago, I would never
have allowed Peterson to pull a trick like that on me. Nor you.” He waggled a finger at her.
“Me?”
“I know what you did with the drinks at the table.”
“Ah, I’d wondered if you’d noticed. Peterson picked up on it. That’s why he tried the French bit with
you.”
“How long have you known?” Remington shot a look at her.
“I noticed it, oh, a year or so ago. Remember when we went to dinner with the Jacobs? We were
looking into Marc’s inheritance from his mother and the broker was a little shady.” She pulled her wrap
a little tighter against the cold.
“Ah, yes, the little weasel who thought he deserved his share.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, during dinner we drank wine, of course, but afterwards you ordered a gin and
tonic. I know for a fact no one else picked up on it, but after a while I realized you were in your
'Richard Blaine’ persona. It was something in the way you flattened your accent and your mannerisms.
You have a way of flicking your fingers that you only do as Blaine.” She sipped her tea. “Once we
finished dinner, you dropped the character altogether. Since then, I've only seen you do it one other
time--when we were out with Murphy and Kate last New Year’s Eve.”
“Was that when we were three sheets to the wind?” Remington hoped not.
“Unfortunately, yes. We were drinking Amaretto sours and I saw you slip into Paul Fabrini. As least I
assumed that’s who it was. You became--how do I describe it--very Old World European. You became
quite protective of me, and your manners, while always exquisite, were absolutely impeccable that night.
I do seem to remember a very torrid night of lovemaking afterwards, but that may have been the
holiday.”
Remington cursed under his breath but motioned for Laura to continue. “Rei, I know that no one else
noticed. I think you pulled Fabrini out more than once when you first came into the agency. I’m sure
Murphy thinks that's how you are most of the time. She wrinkled her brow, trying to understand.
“What is the link between the role and the drinks?”
Remington rubbed his temple before answering. “That’s how Daniel trained me. I developed different
characters and linked them to a particular cocktail. By the time I was twenty, I had ten or twelve
different personas I could assume simply by thinking of what that person would drink.”
“Did you ever get confused if you were in one character and someone served you something different?”
“No. I always found a reason to put down the drink or switch to something else. Club soda was usually
a good choice in that situation.”
“But since I was the one serving you, you automatically trusted me and thought nothing of it.”
“Essentially, yes. Old habits kicked in. That was a dirty trick, Laura. I don’t like it. And I don’t like
that Peterson picked up on it and you confirmed it for him.”
“I’m sorry, Remington.” Laura was contrite. She was so infernally proud of his abilities and impressed
that Peterson noticed. “I didn’t think about the fact I was giving away your secrets.”
“Peterson doesn’t like me, Laura. I’ve been a bloody pain in the ass to him for a decade. Now his boss
has patted him on the head and told him that I’m to help him catch a few bad boys and be forgiven for all
I’ve done. I’d be bloody well pissed, too.”
“Is that why the trick with the languages made you so angry?”
“No, that’s another subject entirely. Are you sure you want to hear this?” Remington shifted and put his
tea cup on the table.
“Hmmm. From the sound of that, maybe not, but fire away.”
“I owe my whole existence to Daniel, Laura. He found me picking pockets in the streets. I had a flop
with a few boys in an old warehouse. It was terribly cold in the winters, and we had only the blankets
we stole from someone’s laundry. In the summer, it was sweaty and steamy. For the three years after I
escaped the Darveys, I ran wild on the streets of London. I fought for my bit of turf just to show others
I wouldn’t be beaten.”
“As a child, I learned to be whomever the people I stayed with wanted me to be. Quiet, boisterous,
angry, sad--it didn’t matter. I learned to adopt accents and demeanors the way some children learn their
letters. On the street, I perfected the ability to blend. I wasn’t a bad pickpocket and had a fair shot at
winkling a bit of money out of a mark. My mates taught me to pick locks and hotwire cars. I did a fair
share of the former, a bit of the latter, and you know the rest. It wasn’t much of a life, but at least it was
one I chose, until Daniel found me.”
“After I lifted Daniel’s wallet, it took him weeks to track me down and have a simple conversation. He
promised to show me how to be a real thief, but I didn’t dare trust him. That winter, blankets appeared
at my flop, along with food or medicine when we needed it, and one time a book of poetry. It took me a
couple of months to work out how Daniel was sneaking in and out without setting off our traps. When I
figured it out, I found Daniel and asked him to teach me. And he did. Thank God I had some schooling
or I would have been hopelessly lost.”
That raised Laura’s brows. Remington caught it and gave her a wry smile. “Love, school was better
than home. I was warm, got a bit to eat and was so good that even the nuns couldn’t find a reason to
punish me. It was funny actually. I wanted Daniel to teach me to be a better thief, and instead, he hired
tutors for me. I had no idea why I was learning to draw and was reading about art history, geometries
and languages. I’d ask, but he would just laugh and tell me I needed to catch up with my peers. At the
time, we lived everywhere--from nasty little flats to elegant apartments--depending on his latest scam, but
we always had a tutor along.”
“Daniel figured out that I had good recall and insisted that I memorize everything. I wasn’t allowed to
write anything down. I remember conjugating French verbs while practicing how to lift jewelry from
Daniel and reciting my history lessons while learning to crack a safe. We had some spectacular fights
about that. Well, that and everything else, anyway.” He rubbed his chin. “Now I understand he was
training my memory.”
“I think I get why movie quotes stick in your head,” Laura commented.
Remington snorted, “I spent a lot of time in movie theaters, both before he picked me up, and later
when I’d get pissed at him--which was quite often.” He sipped his tea again before continuing. “When I
was sixteen or thereabouts, he placed me at Eton as a Sixth Form Scholar. I have no idea how he got me
in, but I worked harder in those two years than I ever have in my life. I had a private tutor the entire
time. If I wasn’t studying, I was playing sports.” He caught Laura’s nod. “Yes, that’s where I learned
marksmanship, polo, archery and all that. The other boys hated me. Most of them were the sons of
British upper class or had been there since they were thirteen or so. I came in for the last two years and
there was a great deal of resentment because of it.”
“What did you do?”
“What I always did. I fought when necessary, blended in, learned to joke with the chums and put on my
best British accent. By the time I left, most of them thought I was the younger son of an Earl or Marquis
somewhere.”
“Where was Daniel while you were at Eton?”
“Oh, around. He picked me up during all the breaks, and on the odd free weekend, and taught me real
pickpocket work. We spent the summer between my Eton years trolling around France, running low-
level scams and working on my characters.”
“When I graduated, I was terribly angry with Daniel for stashing me away for so long and I bolted. I felt
as if he’d been training me to be his little trick pony. When I left, I did anything and everything for a
while. Circuses are a great way to hide out and even Daniel couldn’t find me there, but it wasn’t long
before I tired of that life and I hopped another freighter. Did a fair turn as a smuggler--I think I told you
about that one. When the tanker sank, I hooked up with another captain and made my way to South
America.
“The Kilkenney Kid.” Laura referred to his nickname during that time. “That’s where you learned
Spanish.”
“Not at first. I ran a few cons, lifted a few wallets, but mostly I used my fists to keep myself afloat.
Then I hooked up with Barney. You know that story. What I didn’t tell you is that after he left me high
and dry, I called Daniel. Ironically, after Eton, I discovered I had a taste for the better life, and I hadn’t
found it in my wanderings. I began to think perhaps Daniel had the right idea.” Remington sipped his tea
while he reflected.
“He never asked me where I’d been. He wired me money and I met him in Greece. We began conning
our way from Italy to Ireland Along the way, I developed a fair reputation as a thief.” Remington
smiled sadly. “Those were fun times with Daniel. Hard, frustrating, but fun nonetheless.”
“Do you miss it?” Laura asked curiously.
“I suppose I miss the challenge. The cons were fun, and I loved the thrill of executing a perfect heist. I
don’t miss the wretched motels, sleeping in doorways, bad food or no food at all, and not knowing where
I was going to be the next day. I can say that I left that all behind by the time I got to Monte Carlo and
the Riviera.”
He smiled in reflection. “Now that, Laura, was living the real 'high life.' Swank hotels, fabulous food,
and the smoldering atmosphere--I loved every second of it. I still didn’t know who or what I would be
the next day, but good Lord, we lived like kings.”
“We?”
“Daniel and Felicia, among others, depending on whom or if I was running with anyone at the moment. I
did a great deal of work alone at the time, but someone would pop in and we’d have a bit if fun. Which
all leads me to my current predicament.”
He caught Laura’s shiver out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t misunderstand me, Laura. I have no
desire to be anyone other than your Remington Steele. Our life is more than I ever dreamed possible.”
He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. “But Daniel worked quite hard to teach
me certain skills and to take advantage of my natural abilities. I feel as if I’m letting him down by letting
them slip.”
Laura frowned again. “But you’re not slipping. Those same abilities have made you a very good
detective. You pay attention to details and you connect them together quite well. Plus, I’ve seen you
shift consciously into character after character dozens of times. I’m always been just a little bit jealous of
how easily you do it. That and the ability to get the information you need from the right people are
priceless in detective work. Do you know that most of the people I trained with at Havenhurst weren’t
half the investigators after a decade that you were after only a couple of years?”
“Laura, that’s due to an excellent teacher.”
“No, it’s not, Rei. That’s due to your brilliance and depth of experience. Face it; you have a nose for a
great con that eludes me time and again,” Laura assured him.
“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He fell silent for a long time. “It doesn’t change the fact that
I’ve been off my game enough to fall for a good trick.” Reluctantly he conceded, “Peterson did it
perfectly. He took advantage of a situation to find out a little more about me.” He mused, “He is
considered a good agent. That’s something at least. I’ll have to think about it some more.”
She stood up and held out a hand to Remington. “Can we do it in bed? It’s early and I’m freezing out
here.”
“I think we can manage that.”
Remington threw a couple of blocks of peat into the fireplace before snuggling under the covers with
Laura. She smiled and traced his cheek with her fingertip.
“I get it.”
“Get what?”
“You.”
“What do you mean?”
“Buchanan and Peterson are still the enemy. You’re holding your cards close to your chest until the very
last minute.”
“Laura, they are still Interpol and I feel itchy just being here. I’m not fooling myself. If they want to go
back on our agreement, they will, and I’ll be spending the rest of my life decorating a jail cell somewhere
in the cold part of France. The only reason I agreed to this is that I--good Lord, I hate to admit this--I
don’t think we can wiggle out of this one by ourselves. I think O’Callaghan’s deranged enough to send
an assassin to kill us both. We’re just not equipped to handle that much ... evil. If I’m holding my cards
close, it’s because if we do need to cut and run, I hope to have a few tricks that no one’s seen before.”
He was being brutally honest with her, and, despite the warm covers, Laura shivered again. Now she
wondered if they would ever get home.
Later that morning, Steele and Buchanan made arrangements to retrieve the diamond from Malone.
Rory agreed to sell the stone to Remington for £70,000. “I’m taking a loss on this for ye, Mick.”
“Aye, I’m sure you’ll add it to my bill for the bracelet,” Steele shot back.
Malone chortled, “I might. Just promise me something, mate.”
“What’s that?”
“If ye ever manage to cut a decent stone from the thing, don’t tell me about it.”
“No promises, mate. You’ll leave the stone where we agreed?”
“Aye, I’m not liking this, but I’ll trust ye. You’ve never done me wrong and I’m betting you’ll not start
now.”
“It’s good doing business with you, Malone. The money will be there in morning.”
Late that afternoon, Remington, Brian and Murphy made the four-hour drive to Dublin from Cork.
Around midnight, Brian waited in the car while Remington and Murphy disarmed the single alarm Malone
left working in his office.
Remington found the raw diamond wrapped in silk and out of sight on Malone’s chair in his office. The
package was sitting on a stack of papers. Steele tucked both of them into one jacket pocket and retrieved
a cashier’s check from another. He started to leave it on the desk but changed his mind. With a
mischievous grin he crossed to Malone’s office safe and, in seconds, spun the combination lock and
found the sequence to open it. He laid the check in the center of the strong box and closed the door.
On Malone’s desk, he found a note pad and sketched a quick message which he hid in the top desk
drawer. Murphy reset the security system on the way out. Steele left the door open a tiny crack. Sixty
seconds later, alarms blared. The trio vanished before the gardaí arrived.
Peterson drove while Murphy watched for anyone following them. “Damn Steele, you were right. Third
car back.”
“Turn here,” Remington ordered.
Peterson complied.
“Take the next right and punch it.”
Brian opened up the Saab in the alley.
“Hard left and a right onto the freeway. Take the first exit and make a U-turn to get back on the
freeway. We should lose them.” Twenty minutes later, the little car darted out of town, alone on the
highway in the early hours of the morning.
Peterson glanced at Steele. “You knew O’Callaghan would have the place watched. You wanted it to
look like you were breaking in.”
“That’s the idea. Keep him thinking I’m following his orders.”
“What’s going to happen with Malone?”
“Nothing. He’ll be there by now. No theft, nothing to report. The gardaí will assume his security
system successfully deterred the thief.”
“What about your note?”
“Gardaí won’t know it was written tonight and Malone will play it off.”
“You sound sure of yourself,” Peterson commented.
“Aye. I bought my wife’s bracelet from him.”
“You’ve worked with him before.” The agent sounded confident.
Steele ignored the comment while he used his flashlight and loupe to examine the rock. He turned it this
way and that. He borrowed Murphy’s pocket knife and scraped at a tiny bit of the rock.
“What the hell are you doing?” Peterson demanded.
“Taking a good look at the merchandise. At the moment, I own it. Personal funds remember? No way
for O’Callaghan to track the money back to Interpol.” He poked at it again with the knife and a little bit
of rock fell away. With lightning fast reflexes, he caught the small piece and wrapped it in a bit of silk.
“Would you look at that,” he whistled under his breath. “Malone’s going to be furious if he hears about
this.”
Murphy leaned over the back of the seat. “What’s that?”
“Remember he said no one wanted to cut it because of the flaws?”
“Yes.”
“A cutter won’t pick at it as I just did. It’s too risky. But I don’t have anything to lose. Look there.”
He handed the flashlight and loupe to Murphy.
“What am I looking for?”
“It’s clear. It’s flawless. No blemishes at all. There’s at least a caret’s worth that can be cut from that.
That’s more than enough for O’Callaghan to get the money he needs.”
“You said these go for around a million a caret?”
“American dollars, yes.”
Murphy let out his own low whistle and then had another thought. “Remington? What did you mean
you didn’t have anything to lose? If you cracked that diamond, you wouldn’t be able to get your money
back from Malone.”
“I never planned on it. You think Laura’s life isn’t worth that amount to me?”
“Of course, but--”
Steele interrupted him. “The way I figure it, Murphy, one of three things could happen. One, the
diamond is flawed and we go with our original plan. If it’s not, either the diamond can be salvaged from
this operation and Laura gets a pretty little trinket on our next anniversary, or I can fence the bloody thing
for whatever I can get and have enough money to protect Laura for a fair amount of time.”
“But once O’Callaghan gets his hands on it, it’s all over.”
“Whoever said he was going to get his filthy fingers on it? The first rule of negotiation is making sure
you have something the other man wants. Besides, that isn’t part of his plan. He told me that stealing
the diamond was only the first step.”
“What’s the second?”
“What do you think?” Steele prompted.
Murphy was quick. “Getting the diamond to the buyer.”
“In a nutshell. I don’t get paid until I make the delivery and the diamond is verified. The buyer will give
me my percentage and wire the rest to O’Callaghan. If the bastard still had Laura, he would have held
her hostage until I made the delivery.”
“What’s to keep you from getting killed in the process?”
“Nothing. It’s in O’Callaghan’s best interest at this point to see Laura and me dead. We know too
much.”
“So what kept you alive in the past?”
“The mere hope that the parties involved liked my services well enough to hire me again one day. I
never said it was an easy life, Murphy, just an exciting one.”
Peterson ventured just one question. “Steele, where did you learn all this?”
“My father, of course.” Remington stared out the window at the hundreds of stars in the midnight sky.
As the gardaí cleared out, Malone found the note.
He spent the rest of the night doing inventory again. In the morning, he deposited the check.
It was nearly five in the morning when the trio returned to the safe house. Remington slid into the bed
beside Laura, waking her by nuzzling the back of her neck. His long, talented fingers unbuttoned her
pajama top without shifting the ruched silk and slid underneath to caress a soft breast.
Laura smiled in the darkness and rolled to him, pleased to discover he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She
tangled her fingers in his chest hair. “I take it your midnight foray was successful?” She shivered while
he plucked her nipple.
“Naturally. Mick O’Leary was only a shadow in the night.” He kissed her throat.
“I suppose I’ll have to think up a suitable reward.” She trailed fingers down his body, discovering the
rest of him was deliciously naked as well.
“Well, we can’t exactly have all this adrenaline go to waste now, can we?” He lowered his lips to hers
and covered her body with his.
Later in the afternoon, Murphy watched Remington glue the tiny fragment of rock back into place, using
the loupe, a pair of tweezers, and a tiny bit of wire. “Seems like a lot of work.”
“If the buyer is convinced the stone is flawed, he won’t want it and our story will ring true. If he thinks
there’s even the slightest chance of cutting a stone from it, we haven’t a prayer. When I’m done here,
he’ll be convinced the stone is entirely riddled with flaws,” Steele absent-mindedly replied.
“But if it’s flawed, the buyer won’t take it in the first place.”
“I’m still working on that part.”
When he was finished, he placed a call to O’Callaghan.
Steele here. I have the diamond.
Yes, I heard about the ruckus at Eiré Tower last night. I trust you left no evidence.
Don’t insult me now.
Of course not. Meet me in Cork at nine tonight at Gleason’s Bar. I want to see the goods.
While the overnight team slept, Laura spent the day with Mildred as the ex-IRS agent sifted through
computer systems and files, compiling evidence along the way. Buchanan’s team of computer geeks
took copious notes and added their own expertise to the effort. One by one, they filled in the pieces of
the puzzle of information required to close down the Dublin Six.
James and Laura picked apart her idea of the hit man over dinner. Laura mused, “If O’Callaghan wants
to hire an assassin to take out Carlisle, then he can’t use any of the traditional resources of the Six, right?”
Buchanan tapped his fingers on the table. “Well, now, Mrs. Steele, that’s bloody brilliant. We know
most of the ‘freelance’ hit men in the area. It’s just a matter of figuring out who is available.”
“How do we intercept the call?”
“I’ve already got a team tapping into the phone lines of the castle. If we have some idea of whom he
might contact, we can have an agent pretend to be the assassin.”
Buchanan stopped Steele as he shrugged on his black leather coat that evening. “We've got agents in
place, covering your back. What’s your plan?”
“To stay alive.” Remington gave Laura a quick hug and captured her face for a sizzling kiss that had the
rest of the room’s occupants looking away.
“Be careful, Mr. Steele. I’ll be waiting.”
“Of course. Just remember, I’m the kind of man who enjoys impossible challenges.”
O’Callaghan was waiting in a small booth in the front corner of the bar. Remington waived away the
offered drink and sat across from the portly man. In the dim light, the man’s face was shadowed and
harsh. “Good evening, Steele. How’s your wife this evening?”
“Perfectly well, thank you for asking.” His tones were icily polite, giving away nothing.
O’Callaghan waved his cigarette, wafting smoke into Steele’s eyes. “I’d like to see what I’m paying you
for.” Without flinching, Steele unwrapped the stone and placed it on the table. “My, my. What a lovely
thing to see.” O’Callaghan picked up the stone and examined it with a loupe as if he knew what he was
looking at.
Steele inwardly smirked. O’Callaghan doesn’t know a damn thing about gems. Only a bloody idiot
doesn’t bother having his own expert on hand.
“Well, Steele, you’ve delivered on the first part of your task. The second is to call this number.” He slid
a piece of paper across the table. “Set up an exchange. Your contact will pay you however you prefer.
If you double-cross me and substitute an inferior stone, the contact has orders to take care of you
personally.”
“How do I know the contact doesn’t have those orders anyway?”
“Steele, my boy, that wouldn’t be good for business.”
“Neither was abusing my wife, but that didn’t seem to stop you,” Steele said politely.
“Set up the exchange any way you like. I don’t care how you do it. Do it by Saturday. And Steele,” the
man shot him a dirty look before sipping his drink, “I know where the meet is to take place. Don’t get
any funny ideas about going home before then.”
Remington nodded, rising from the table. He took care to appear defeated as he walked out of the bar.
It only took him two blocks to lose Peterson and another two to find a cab.
From a pay phone on the edge of the city, Steele punched in the contact’s number. The phone was
answered on the first ring by a melodious female voice. “Hello?”
“Hello, Felicia.”
Chapter 22 -- Old Lovers
Laura found Remington in the tiny walled garden spilling out of the rear of the house. She had rolled
over that morning to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Curious, she wandered around the quiet
house until she found him sitting on the patio, staring thoughtfully at the brightening sky and nibbling on a
thumbnail.
She took the time to prepare his favorite tea while watching him through the window. She closed her
robe before opening the door to the chill air. “I thought you didn’t like mornings.”
He slanted unreadable eyes at her. “Just ones that start too early. Catching them on the backside of a
delightful evening is something else entirely.”
“Since last evening wasn’t that delightful, it must be something else altogether. Care to talk about it?”
she asked while she dropped a kiss in his hair.
Remington took comfort in her light caress. His sensitive hearing had picked up the sounds of someone
in the kitchen, and her scent wafted on the morning breeze moments before she kissed him and handed
him his cup. “Aye. I think I do. Can I ramble on a bit? I’m still sorting it all out.”
“Of course.” She curled up in the chair next to him and sipped her own tea, pleased that Remington was
willing to trust her. Glib as he was, it was still rare for him to spill his thoughts outright to her.
“Daniel would have been terribly ashamed of me for my slip last night. Three years ago, I would never
have allowed Peterson to pull a trick like that on me. Nor you.” He waggled a finger at her.
“Me?”
“I know what you did with the drinks at the table.”
“Ah, I’d wondered if you’d noticed. Peterson picked up on it. That’s why he tried the French bit with
you.”
“How long have you known?” Remington shot a look at her.
“I noticed it, oh, a year or so ago. Remember when we went to dinner with the Jacobs? We were
looking into Marc’s inheritance from his mother and the broker was a little shady.” She pulled her wrap
a little tighter against the cold.
“Ah, yes, the little weasel who thought he deserved his share.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, during dinner we drank wine, of course, but afterwards you ordered a gin and
tonic. I know for a fact no one else picked up on it, but after a while I realized you were in your
'Richard Blaine’ persona. It was something in the way you flattened your accent and your mannerisms.
You have a way of flicking your fingers that you only do as Blaine.” She sipped her tea. “Once we
finished dinner, you dropped the character altogether. Since then, I've only seen you do it one other
time--when we were out with Murphy and Kate last New Year’s Eve.”
“Was that when we were three sheets to the wind?” Remington hoped not.
“Unfortunately, yes. We were drinking Amaretto sours and I saw you slip into Paul Fabrini. As least I
assumed that’s who it was. You became--how do I describe it--very Old World European. You became
quite protective of me, and your manners, while always exquisite, were absolutely impeccable that night.
I do seem to remember a very torrid night of lovemaking afterwards, but that may have been the
holiday.”
Remington cursed under his breath but motioned for Laura to continue. “Rei, I know that no one else
noticed. I think you pulled Fabrini out more than once when you first came into the agency. I’m sure
Murphy thinks that's how you are most of the time. She wrinkled her brow, trying to understand.
“What is the link between the role and the drinks?”
Remington rubbed his temple before answering. “That’s how Daniel trained me. I developed different
characters and linked them to a particular cocktail. By the time I was twenty, I had ten or twelve
different personas I could assume simply by thinking of what that person would drink.”
“Did you ever get confused if you were in one character and someone served you something different?”
“No. I always found a reason to put down the drink or switch to something else. Club soda was usually
a good choice in that situation.”
“But since I was the one serving you, you automatically trusted me and thought nothing of it.”
“Essentially, yes. Old habits kicked in. That was a dirty trick, Laura. I don’t like it. And I don’t like
that Peterson picked up on it and you confirmed it for him.”
“I’m sorry, Remington.” Laura was contrite. She was so infernally proud of his abilities and impressed
that Peterson noticed. “I didn’t think about the fact I was giving away your secrets.”
“Peterson doesn’t like me, Laura. I’ve been a bloody pain in the ass to him for a decade. Now his boss
has patted him on the head and told him that I’m to help him catch a few bad boys and be forgiven for all
I’ve done. I’d be bloody well pissed, too.”
“Is that why the trick with the languages made you so angry?”
“No, that’s another subject entirely. Are you sure you want to hear this?” Remington shifted and put his
tea cup on the table.
“Hmmm. From the sound of that, maybe not, but fire away.”
“I owe my whole existence to Daniel, Laura. He found me picking pockets in the streets. I had a flop
with a few boys in an old warehouse. It was terribly cold in the winters, and we had only the blankets
we stole from someone’s laundry. In the summer, it was sweaty and steamy. For the three years after I
escaped the Darveys, I ran wild on the streets of London. I fought for my bit of turf just to show others
I wouldn’t be beaten.”
“As a child, I learned to be whomever the people I stayed with wanted me to be. Quiet, boisterous,
angry, sad--it didn’t matter. I learned to adopt accents and demeanors the way some children learn their
letters. On the street, I perfected the ability to blend. I wasn’t a bad pickpocket and had a fair shot at
winkling a bit of money out of a mark. My mates taught me to pick locks and hotwire cars. I did a fair
share of the former, a bit of the latter, and you know the rest. It wasn’t much of a life, but at least it was
one I chose, until Daniel found me.”
“After I lifted Daniel’s wallet, it took him weeks to track me down and have a simple conversation. He
promised to show me how to be a real thief, but I didn’t dare trust him. That winter, blankets appeared
at my flop, along with food or medicine when we needed it, and one time a book of poetry. It took me a
couple of months to work out how Daniel was sneaking in and out without setting off our traps. When I
figured it out, I found Daniel and asked him to teach me. And he did. Thank God I had some schooling
or I would have been hopelessly lost.”
That raised Laura’s brows. Remington caught it and gave her a wry smile. “Love, school was better
than home. I was warm, got a bit to eat and was so good that even the nuns couldn’t find a reason to
punish me. It was funny actually. I wanted Daniel to teach me to be a better thief, and instead, he hired
tutors for me. I had no idea why I was learning to draw and was reading about art history, geometries
and languages. I’d ask, but he would just laugh and tell me I needed to catch up with my peers. At the
time, we lived everywhere--from nasty little flats to elegant apartments--depending on his latest scam, but
we always had a tutor along.”
“Daniel figured out that I had good recall and insisted that I memorize everything. I wasn’t allowed to
write anything down. I remember conjugating French verbs while practicing how to lift jewelry from
Daniel and reciting my history lessons while learning to crack a safe. We had some spectacular fights
about that. Well, that and everything else, anyway.” He rubbed his chin. “Now I understand he was
training my memory.”
“I think I get why movie quotes stick in your head,” Laura commented.
Remington snorted, “I spent a lot of time in movie theaters, both before he picked me up, and later
when I’d get pissed at him--which was quite often.” He sipped his tea again before continuing. “When I
was sixteen or thereabouts, he placed me at Eton as a Sixth Form Scholar. I have no idea how he got me
in, but I worked harder in those two years than I ever have in my life. I had a private tutor the entire
time. If I wasn’t studying, I was playing sports.” He caught Laura’s nod. “Yes, that’s where I learned
marksmanship, polo, archery and all that. The other boys hated me. Most of them were the sons of
British upper class or had been there since they were thirteen or so. I came in for the last two years and
there was a great deal of resentment because of it.”
“What did you do?”
“What I always did. I fought when necessary, blended in, learned to joke with the chums and put on my
best British accent. By the time I left, most of them thought I was the younger son of an Earl or Marquis
somewhere.”
“Where was Daniel while you were at Eton?”
“Oh, around. He picked me up during all the breaks, and on the odd free weekend, and taught me real
pickpocket work. We spent the summer between my Eton years trolling around France, running low-
level scams and working on my characters.”
“When I graduated, I was terribly angry with Daniel for stashing me away for so long and I bolted. I felt
as if he’d been training me to be his little trick pony. When I left, I did anything and everything for a
while. Circuses are a great way to hide out and even Daniel couldn’t find me there, but it wasn’t long
before I tired of that life and I hopped another freighter. Did a fair turn as a smuggler--I think I told you
about that one. When the tanker sank, I hooked up with another captain and made my way to South
America.
“The Kilkenney Kid.” Laura referred to his nickname during that time. “That’s where you learned
Spanish.”
“Not at first. I ran a few cons, lifted a few wallets, but mostly I used my fists to keep myself afloat.
Then I hooked up with Barney. You know that story. What I didn’t tell you is that after he left me high
and dry, I called Daniel. Ironically, after Eton, I discovered I had a taste for the better life, and I hadn’t
found it in my wanderings. I began to think perhaps Daniel had the right idea.” Remington sipped his tea
while he reflected.
“He never asked me where I’d been. He wired me money and I met him in Greece. We began conning
our way from Italy to Ireland Along the way, I developed a fair reputation as a thief.” Remington
smiled sadly. “Those were fun times with Daniel. Hard, frustrating, but fun nonetheless.”
“Do you miss it?” Laura asked curiously.
“I suppose I miss the challenge. The cons were fun, and I loved the thrill of executing a perfect heist. I
don’t miss the wretched motels, sleeping in doorways, bad food or no food at all, and not knowing where
I was going to be the next day. I can say that I left that all behind by the time I got to Monte Carlo and
the Riviera.”
He smiled in reflection. “Now that, Laura, was living the real 'high life.' Swank hotels, fabulous food,
and the smoldering atmosphere--I loved every second of it. I still didn’t know who or what I would be
the next day, but good Lord, we lived like kings.”
“We?”
“Daniel and Felicia, among others, depending on whom or if I was running with anyone at the moment. I
did a great deal of work alone at the time, but someone would pop in and we’d have a bit if fun. Which
all leads me to my current predicament.”
He caught Laura’s shiver out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t misunderstand me, Laura. I have no
desire to be anyone other than your Remington Steele. Our life is more than I ever dreamed possible.”
He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. “But Daniel worked quite hard to teach
me certain skills and to take advantage of my natural abilities. I feel as if I’m letting him down by letting
them slip.”
Laura frowned again. “But you’re not slipping. Those same abilities have made you a very good
detective. You pay attention to details and you connect them together quite well. Plus, I’ve seen you
shift consciously into character after character dozens of times. I’m always been just a little bit jealous of
how easily you do it. That and the ability to get the information you need from the right people are
priceless in detective work. Do you know that most of the people I trained with at Havenhurst weren’t
half the investigators after a decade that you were after only a couple of years?”
“Laura, that’s due to an excellent teacher.”
“No, it’s not, Rei. That’s due to your brilliance and depth of experience. Face it; you have a nose for a
great con that eludes me time and again,” Laura assured him.
“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He fell silent for a long time. “It doesn’t change the fact that
I’ve been off my game enough to fall for a good trick.” Reluctantly he conceded, “Peterson did it
perfectly. He took advantage of a situation to find out a little more about me.” He mused, “He is
considered a good agent. That’s something at least. I’ll have to think about it some more.”
She stood up and held out a hand to Remington. “Can we do it in bed? It’s early and I’m freezing out
here.”
“I think we can manage that.”
Remington threw a couple of blocks of peat into the fireplace before snuggling under the covers with
Laura. She smiled and traced his cheek with her fingertip.
“I get it.”
“Get what?”
“You.”
“What do you mean?”
“Buchanan and Peterson are still the enemy. You’re holding your cards close to your chest until the very
last minute.”
“Laura, they are still Interpol and I feel itchy just being here. I’m not fooling myself. If they want to go
back on our agreement, they will, and I’ll be spending the rest of my life decorating a jail cell somewhere
in the cold part of France. The only reason I agreed to this is that I--good Lord, I hate to admit this--I
don’t think we can wiggle out of this one by ourselves. I think O’Callaghan’s deranged enough to send
an assassin to kill us both. We’re just not equipped to handle that much ... evil. If I’m holding my cards
close, it’s because if we do need to cut and run, I hope to have a few tricks that no one’s seen before.”
He was being brutally honest with her, and, despite the warm covers, Laura shivered again. Now she
wondered if they would ever get home.
Later that morning, Steele and Buchanan made arrangements to retrieve the diamond from Malone.
Rory agreed to sell the stone to Remington for £70,000. “I’m taking a loss on this for ye, Mick.”
“Aye, I’m sure you’ll add it to my bill for the bracelet,” Steele shot back.
Malone chortled, “I might. Just promise me something, mate.”
“What’s that?”
“If ye ever manage to cut a decent stone from the thing, don’t tell me about it.”
“No promises, mate. You’ll leave the stone where we agreed?”
“Aye, I’m not liking this, but I’ll trust ye. You’ve never done me wrong and I’m betting you’ll not start
now.”
“It’s good doing business with you, Malone. The money will be there in morning.”
Late that afternoon, Remington, Brian and Murphy made the four-hour drive to Dublin from Cork.
Around midnight, Brian waited in the car while Remington and Murphy disarmed the single alarm Malone
left working in his office.
Remington found the raw diamond wrapped in silk and out of sight on Malone’s chair in his office. The
package was sitting on a stack of papers. Steele tucked both of them into one jacket pocket and retrieved
a cashier’s check from another. He started to leave it on the desk but changed his mind. With a
mischievous grin he crossed to Malone’s office safe and, in seconds, spun the combination lock and
found the sequence to open it. He laid the check in the center of the strong box and closed the door.
On Malone’s desk, he found a note pad and sketched a quick message which he hid in the top desk
drawer. Murphy reset the security system on the way out. Steele left the door open a tiny crack. Sixty
seconds later, alarms blared. The trio vanished before the gardaí arrived.
Peterson drove while Murphy watched for anyone following them. “Damn Steele, you were right. Third
car back.”
“Turn here,” Remington ordered.
Peterson complied.
“Take the next right and punch it.”
Brian opened up the Saab in the alley.
“Hard left and a right onto the freeway. Take the first exit and make a U-turn to get back on the
freeway. We should lose them.” Twenty minutes later, the little car darted out of town, alone on the
highway in the early hours of the morning.
Peterson glanced at Steele. “You knew O’Callaghan would have the place watched. You wanted it to
look like you were breaking in.”
“That’s the idea. Keep him thinking I’m following his orders.”
“What’s going to happen with Malone?”
“Nothing. He’ll be there by now. No theft, nothing to report. The gardaí will assume his security
system successfully deterred the thief.”
“What about your note?”
“Gardaí won’t know it was written tonight and Malone will play it off.”
“You sound sure of yourself,” Peterson commented.
“Aye. I bought my wife’s bracelet from him.”
“You’ve worked with him before.” The agent sounded confident.
Steele ignored the comment while he used his flashlight and loupe to examine the rock. He turned it this
way and that. He borrowed Murphy’s pocket knife and scraped at a tiny bit of the rock.
“What the hell are you doing?” Peterson demanded.
“Taking a good look at the merchandise. At the moment, I own it. Personal funds remember? No way
for O’Callaghan to track the money back to Interpol.” He poked at it again with the knife and a little bit
of rock fell away. With lightning fast reflexes, he caught the small piece and wrapped it in a bit of silk.
“Would you look at that,” he whistled under his breath. “Malone’s going to be furious if he hears about
this.”
Murphy leaned over the back of the seat. “What’s that?”
“Remember he said no one wanted to cut it because of the flaws?”
“Yes.”
“A cutter won’t pick at it as I just did. It’s too risky. But I don’t have anything to lose. Look there.”
He handed the flashlight and loupe to Murphy.
“What am I looking for?”
“It’s clear. It’s flawless. No blemishes at all. There’s at least a caret’s worth that can be cut from that.
That’s more than enough for O’Callaghan to get the money he needs.”
“You said these go for around a million a caret?”
“American dollars, yes.”
Murphy let out his own low whistle and then had another thought. “Remington? What did you mean
you didn’t have anything to lose? If you cracked that diamond, you wouldn’t be able to get your money
back from Malone.”
“I never planned on it. You think Laura’s life isn’t worth that amount to me?”
“Of course, but--”
Steele interrupted him. “The way I figure it, Murphy, one of three things could happen. One, the
diamond is flawed and we go with our original plan. If it’s not, either the diamond can be salvaged from
this operation and Laura gets a pretty little trinket on our next anniversary, or I can fence the bloody thing
for whatever I can get and have enough money to protect Laura for a fair amount of time.”
“But once O’Callaghan gets his hands on it, it’s all over.”
“Whoever said he was going to get his filthy fingers on it? The first rule of negotiation is making sure
you have something the other man wants. Besides, that isn’t part of his plan. He told me that stealing
the diamond was only the first step.”
“What’s the second?”
“What do you think?” Steele prompted.
Murphy was quick. “Getting the diamond to the buyer.”
“In a nutshell. I don’t get paid until I make the delivery and the diamond is verified. The buyer will give
me my percentage and wire the rest to O’Callaghan. If the bastard still had Laura, he would have held
her hostage until I made the delivery.”
“What’s to keep you from getting killed in the process?”
“Nothing. It’s in O’Callaghan’s best interest at this point to see Laura and me dead. We know too
much.”
“So what kept you alive in the past?”
“The mere hope that the parties involved liked my services well enough to hire me again one day. I
never said it was an easy life, Murphy, just an exciting one.”
Peterson ventured just one question. “Steele, where did you learn all this?”
“My father, of course.” Remington stared out the window at the hundreds of stars in the midnight sky.
As the gardaí cleared out, Malone found the note.
- I left the check in a safe place for you. Mick
He spent the rest of the night doing inventory again. In the morning, he deposited the check.
It was nearly five in the morning when the trio returned to the safe house. Remington slid into the bed
beside Laura, waking her by nuzzling the back of her neck. His long, talented fingers unbuttoned her
pajama top without shifting the ruched silk and slid underneath to caress a soft breast.
Laura smiled in the darkness and rolled to him, pleased to discover he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She
tangled her fingers in his chest hair. “I take it your midnight foray was successful?” She shivered while
he plucked her nipple.
“Naturally. Mick O’Leary was only a shadow in the night.” He kissed her throat.
“I suppose I’ll have to think up a suitable reward.” She trailed fingers down his body, discovering the
rest of him was deliciously naked as well.
“Well, we can’t exactly have all this adrenaline go to waste now, can we?” He lowered his lips to hers
and covered her body with his.
Later in the afternoon, Murphy watched Remington glue the tiny fragment of rock back into place, using
the loupe, a pair of tweezers, and a tiny bit of wire. “Seems like a lot of work.”
“If the buyer is convinced the stone is flawed, he won’t want it and our story will ring true. If he thinks
there’s even the slightest chance of cutting a stone from it, we haven’t a prayer. When I’m done here,
he’ll be convinced the stone is entirely riddled with flaws,” Steele absent-mindedly replied.
“But if it’s flawed, the buyer won’t take it in the first place.”
“I’m still working on that part.”
When he was finished, he placed a call to O’Callaghan.
Steele here. I have the diamond.
Yes, I heard about the ruckus at Eiré Tower last night. I trust you left no evidence.
Don’t insult me now.
Of course not. Meet me in Cork at nine tonight at Gleason’s Bar. I want to see the goods.
While the overnight team slept, Laura spent the day with Mildred as the ex-IRS agent sifted through
computer systems and files, compiling evidence along the way. Buchanan’s team of computer geeks
took copious notes and added their own expertise to the effort. One by one, they filled in the pieces of
the puzzle of information required to close down the Dublin Six.
James and Laura picked apart her idea of the hit man over dinner. Laura mused, “If O’Callaghan wants
to hire an assassin to take out Carlisle, then he can’t use any of the traditional resources of the Six, right?”
Buchanan tapped his fingers on the table. “Well, now, Mrs. Steele, that’s bloody brilliant. We know
most of the ‘freelance’ hit men in the area. It’s just a matter of figuring out who is available.”
“How do we intercept the call?”
“I’ve already got a team tapping into the phone lines of the castle. If we have some idea of whom he
might contact, we can have an agent pretend to be the assassin.”
Buchanan stopped Steele as he shrugged on his black leather coat that evening. “We've got agents in
place, covering your back. What’s your plan?”
“To stay alive.” Remington gave Laura a quick hug and captured her face for a sizzling kiss that had the
rest of the room’s occupants looking away.
“Be careful, Mr. Steele. I’ll be waiting.”
“Of course. Just remember, I’m the kind of man who enjoys impossible challenges.”
O’Callaghan was waiting in a small booth in the front corner of the bar. Remington waived away the
offered drink and sat across from the portly man. In the dim light, the man’s face was shadowed and
harsh. “Good evening, Steele. How’s your wife this evening?”
“Perfectly well, thank you for asking.” His tones were icily polite, giving away nothing.
O’Callaghan waved his cigarette, wafting smoke into Steele’s eyes. “I’d like to see what I’m paying you
for.” Without flinching, Steele unwrapped the stone and placed it on the table. “My, my. What a lovely
thing to see.” O’Callaghan picked up the stone and examined it with a loupe as if he knew what he was
looking at.
Steele inwardly smirked. O’Callaghan doesn’t know a damn thing about gems. Only a bloody idiot
doesn’t bother having his own expert on hand.
“Well, Steele, you’ve delivered on the first part of your task. The second is to call this number.” He slid
a piece of paper across the table. “Set up an exchange. Your contact will pay you however you prefer.
If you double-cross me and substitute an inferior stone, the contact has orders to take care of you
personally.”
“How do I know the contact doesn’t have those orders anyway?”
“Steele, my boy, that wouldn’t be good for business.”
“Neither was abusing my wife, but that didn’t seem to stop you,” Steele said politely.
“Set up the exchange any way you like. I don’t care how you do it. Do it by Saturday. And Steele,” the
man shot him a dirty look before sipping his drink, “I know where the meet is to take place. Don’t get
any funny ideas about going home before then.”
Remington nodded, rising from the table. He took care to appear defeated as he walked out of the bar.
It only took him two blocks to lose Peterson and another two to find a cab.
From a pay phone on the edge of the city, Steele punched in the contact’s number. The phone was
answered on the first ring by a melodious female voice. “Hello?”
“Hello, Felicia.”
Chapter 22 -- Old Lovers