The Queen's Jewels

Chapter 12: Queen's Gambit

Federal Building. November 22, 2004. Monday afternoon.

Late in the afternoon, Jones joined Peter in his office. Tramonte had not left his hotel all day. A man had been photographed entering the hotel at two o'clock. The bug they'd placed at the reception desk picked up that he'd inquired about Tramonte's room number, and facial recognition software had been able to identify him.

"How much do we know about André Renard?" Peter asked.

"Cat burglar. Not well known here but Interpol has a thick file about him." Jones scanned through his printout. "Art, jewelry heists mainly. Nothing violent. He lived in Geneva between 1985 and 2004. Arrived in New York a few months ago."

"Is there any connection between him and Tramonte?"

"Nothing has turned up, but Tramonte was also in Geneva for two years beginning in 1987. They may have met then. Renard's supposedly an expert fencer.''

Peter raised a brow. "Are we talking blades or goods?"

Jones grinned. "Blades. I checked with the Chelsea Fencing Club where Neal hangs out as Gary Rydell, and Renard's a member."

What was Neal up to? He'd given tantalizing clues over lunch. Was Renard his contact at the club? If so, was he working with Neal or against him?

After Jones left, Peter checked Neal's tracking data. Still at Prentis. That tracking anklet had its advantages. He could easily get used to being able to find out where Neal was all the time. Picking up his phone, Peter placed the call. When Neal answered, he got straight to the point. "Do you trust a man named André Renard?"

There was silence on the other end as Peter could hear the wheels in Neal's mind turning. "Yes, I do," he finally said.

"You may be interested to learn he met with Tramonte this afternoon, or perhaps you're already aware?"

"Don't worry about André," Neal said, dodging his question. "He's the fencer I told you about and a friend."

"Just so you know, we're keeping Tramonte under close surveillance tonight."

"Thank you, Peter. That's very reassuring."

Peter sighed when he hung up the phone. He was glad one of them was reassured. Was it really necessary for Neal to not explain why? If this mess ever got resolved, he planned to sit Neal down and have a long discussion about the need to communicate. Vague references to movies simply didn't cut it.

He stood at the window, his hands on his hips. Last summer when Neal was flying around the country looking for Henry and Henry's father, Peter had insisted on phone check-ins at six- or three-hour intervals. Now he'd basically signed off on Neal going rogue.

For the past several days, he'd reined in his desire to supervise Neal more closely by lecturing himself that the unusual circumstances required the change. He told himself that if he pushed harder, he'd drive Neal away. But now Neal had alerted him that the hour was at hand for whatever scheme he'd cooked up to be put in motion, and Peter knew nothing about it.

He rubbed the side of his neck. It wasn't simply that he was concerned about Neal being foolhardy, which he undoubtedly was. The plain and simple truth was that he, Special Agent "By the Book" Peter Burke, wanted to be a part of that cockeyed scheme too.

At six o'clock as he prepared to leave, Diana poked her head in. "Got a call from Jones, boss. He took over surveillance from Travis on Tramonte. One guess on who just paid Tramonte a visit."

"Fowler."

"You got it."

Was this a result of Renard's visit? Fowler had been taken off the case. An act of desperation? Peter reached for his phone to let Neal know.