Pirate

“Hard to say. Still working on it, as well as the rest of the coat of arms. It’s like a foreign language. Everything means something.”

“You know where to find us.” He disconnected.

“What now?” Remi asked.

“I say we find a decent pub, have lunch, and figure out our next plan of action.”

They started down the street and hadn’t gone more than a half a block when a Rolls-Royce pulled up alongside them. The rear passenger window rolled down, revealing a man with dark hair salted with gray at the temples. He smiled at them, though his dark eyes looked anything but friendly, Remi thought.

“You must be the Fargos.”

Sam took Remi’s hand, pulled her back, then stepped between her and the car. “Let me guess. Charles Avery?”

“Sorry to disappoint. Colin Fisk. It seems you and my employer are after the same little bauble. The original cipher wheel.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“By the way, my men survived their car accident yesterday.”

“Don’t recall asking,” Sam said.

“I take it you weren’t able to get tickets to the festivities tonight at the museum?”

Sam gave a casual shrug. “There’ll be other displays and other events.”

“A shame. As I will be there.”

Remi, curious, asked, “And how was it you managed to get tickets?”

“Connections. It’s all about who you know. It’s a not-to-be-missed event. Unless your name is Fargo. I understand you’re on the blacklist. Enjoy your stay in London. You’re at the Savoy, correct?”

“And where is it you’re staying?”

“Somewhere else.” He gave a cold smile again, then rolled up his window as the car took off.

Remi moved to Sam’s side, watching until the car was out of sight. “That was a bit unsettling,” she said.

“I’m sure that was the purpose.”

“How do you think he found out where we were staying? We’re not registered under our names.”

“Picked out the various five-star hotels and made a lucky guess?”

“Maybe we should have stayed someplace a little less refined.” She linked her arm through his. “Now, what were you saying about lunch and a battle plan? I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

They found a nearby pub and ordered fish-and-chips with mushy peas and a pint of Guinness each. Sam carried the beer to a table, where they could keep their backs to the wall and watch the windows and entrance — just in case.

He handed Remi a pint.

She took a sip of the dark, room-temperature brew, then leaned back in her seat, thinking about their encounter. “How is it,” she asked, “that Fisk, of all people, managed to get tickets and we couldn’t?”

“Because he’s willing to break the law.”

“We have to find a way in there.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Same,” she said as a waitress brought their lunch. They finished eating. Sam ordered another beer while Remi sat back, watching two women walk past their table on the way out, one of them saying, “Don’t know what you’re so upset about. Especially since your ex will be there. It’s just going to be a bunch of blighters singing happy birthday. I’m not going if that makes you feel any better. Unless you want to crash it?”

“Remi…? Did you hear anything I just said?”

She looked at Sam. “Sorry. No.”

“If you want to walk away from this, I’ll do it. We’ve cleared Bree’s name, and—”

“What? No. The last thing I want is to let a man like Charles Avery win.”

“It’s not a game.”

“He tried to kill us.”

“Remi—”

“We crash it.”

“What?”

“Those women who just left were discussing crashing a birthday party. We could do that.”

He waited for her to explain.

“How many fund-raisers have we been invited to over the years where someone didn’t show? And how many of those where someone who wasn’t

invited ended up attending?”

“Plenty.”

“Exactly. The worst that can happen? We’re turned away at the door. The best? We get in and find what we’re looking for.”

Thirty-two

From the backseat of their hired Mercedes, Sam watched the entrance where the luxury sedans dropped off the formally dressed guests, then departed. Slipping into a tightly controlled and heavily guarded event unnoticed wasn’t going to be easy. Liveried personnel stood at the doors checking invitations before allowing entry.

“Ideas?” he asked Remi.

“Waltz in like we own the place?”

“Don’t think that’s going to work. What we need is some sort of distraction. A bottleneck of some sort. Something creative…”

“The royals are always good for a distraction.”

“You happen to know any who are coming?” Sam asked as the Maybach pulled to a stop.

“It’s called A Royal Night at the Museum. Surely one or two will be attending.”

“Or it’s just a theme, which explains the liveried servants.”

A footman approached and opened their car door. A moment later, Sam and Remi stood waiting behind a number of other people near the entrance.