Requisition For: A Thief ~ Book 1 ~: A Diamond for the Taking, page 1
REQUISITION FOR:
A THIEF
~ BOOK 1 ~
A DIAMOND FOR THE TAKING
J. A. Devereaux
Third Edition
Copyright © 2013 J. A. Devereaux.
www.jadevereaux.com
Email: judy@jadevereaux.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the author.
Front/Back Cover Designs & Series Title Design © 2013 Stephen Devereaux Digital Enhancement by Jessii Terra—Terra’s Timeless Treasures Photography
ISBN-13: 9781484023761
ISBN-10: 1484023765
This book is a work of fiction. References to real events, establishments, organizations, or locales are used only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons—living, dead, or other fictional characters—is unintended and/or coincidental.
DEDICATION
TO KATY METZGER
My first writing mentor, editor, and encourager who reminded me to “write to my passion” and fanned a smoldering coal back into a roaring flame—my daughter.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To those who have read some or all of the initial drafts—Katy Metzger, Robyn & Don Henise, Jo Ann Walker, Dr. Elton Higgs, Wendy Machnik, Amanda Rainer, Laura Keehn, Mark Devereaux—thank you all so very much for the hours of commitment and suggestions.
Hugs and special thanks to Jessii Terra and Steve Devereaux for everything involved in creating and enhancing the book covers. You two are awesome, and I love you so much!
A warm thank you to my editor, Patricia Woodside, for your professional, comprehensive edits, your patient teaching and suggestions, your enthusiasm for Thief, and your encouragement and belief in my story…and me.
Sincerest appreciation to my brothers, Attorneys Ron and Frank Machnik, for your tireless answers to my endless legal questions, and to Eastern District of Michigan Assistant U.S. Attorney (AUSA) Karen Reynolds for the compilation of pertinent information on matters of federal law.
Hugs and love to my son, Steve, for the timely suggestion which led to the final plotline, and to my nephew, Justin Machnik, for the invaluable instruction in Mixed Martial Arts.
All my love and appreciation to my husband and kids for your patience and encouragement through this extraordinary adventure.
QUICK REFERENCE GUIDE
ODNI – Office of the Director of National Intelligence
DNI – Director of National Intelligence
CID – FBI Criminal Investigative Division
CTD – FBI Counterterrorism Division
IIN – International Intelligence Network
IC – Intelligence Community – A cooperative federation of U.S. intelligence agencies:
• INDEPENDENT AGENCIES
o Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)
o Strategic Intelligence Response Unit (SIRU)*
• UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
o Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA)
o National Security Agency (NSA)
o National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA)
o National Reconnaissance Office (NRO)
o Air Force Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance Agency (AFISRA)
o Army Intelligence and Security Command (INSCOM)
o Marine Corps Intelligence Activity (MCIA)
o Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI)
• UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF ENERGY
o Office of Intelligence and Counterintelligence (OICI)
• UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY
o Office of Intelligence and Analysis (I&A)
o Coast Guard Intelligence (CGI)
• UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE
o Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI)
o Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA)
o Office of National Security Intelligence (ONSI)
• UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF STATE
o Bureau of Intelligence and Research (INR)
• UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF TREASURY
o Office of Terrorism and Financial Intelligence (TFI)
*Fictional
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
FROM THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 2ND – 2:30 AM – NEW YORK CITY
“Federal agents!”
Gregg Hadyn scrambled on all fours through the air vent as armed FBI agents, U.S. marshals, and local police burst into the exhibition room of the American Natural Art Museum. Sweat trickled down his temples and the back of his neck, saturating the collar of his tactical-gear jumpsuit. Senses sharp, excitement tingling through him like millions of fine-pointed needles, he gazed back undetected through the screen.
He slid the Marquis diamond from inside his glove, taking a few dangerous seconds to marvel at his glistening prize before slipping it into the zippered pouch of his utility belt. After placing his lifting/lowering harness, laser imaging scope, and laser analyzer and transmitter into the athletic bag he’d left in the air shaft upon his arrival, he shouldered the bag and moved through the cramped space with stealth and efficiency.
At the intersection of this and two other shafts, a right turn would take him back to the women’s restroom where he’d infiltrated the ventilation system for the heist. That was where he’d planned to exit too. Not anymore. With the FBI and police instigating a methodical search, the alternate escape route became his preferred strategy. He maintained his current course, leading to the back of the museum.
As he continued his trek, the insolent voice he’d heard earlier barked out another command. “Check the women’s bathroom.”
Following the air duct to its end, Gregg perused the outside area below through another screened vent. Feds and cops swarmed the place. The red, white, and blue lights of their vehicles flashed at different intervals in the pitch-black night like an orchestrated light show, practically blinding him. He receded into the dark shadows, so as not to be seen, and sat back to wait. The brashed-voiced man commanded the officers to search the air duct.
Timing. The timing had to be just right.
Less than a minute later, a light shone into the screened opening from the outside. A police officer on a ladder tapped the screen and yelled, “He couldn’t have come this way. This thing’s bolted on from this side.” The officer continued up the ladder to the roof.
Gregg heard several pairs of feet above his head. Cops. Cops and feds scaling from all sides of the building. In a couple of minutes, the stomping abated. The officer backed down the ladder and pulled it away from the building.
Now.
Moving quickly, Gregg flipped off his shoes, removed his gloves and utility belt, and stripped off the sleek, black jumpsuit. Not much room to maneuver. No matter. Stuffing those items into the bag, he slithered into a police uniform complete with badge and inched back toward the exhibition room. One thought coursed through his mind. He had to ward off anyone getting into this ventilation system. As he approached the intersection of the three shafts, he saw a man attempting to climb into the exhibition room vent—the very vent through which he had escaped.
Light from the exhibition room pouring into the shaft, Gregg identified the man as an NYPD officer. “Shaft’s secure to the outside,” he yelled.
The officer peered in. “You come in from the outside vent?”
He sounded young.
“Yeah. It’s all clear here,” Gregg replied.
“Okay, thanks.” The officer retreated.
Gregg inched backward. A few feet from the outside vent, he shimmied up a narrow access panel to the roof. With every heartbeat pumping an adrenaline overdose into his veins, he slammed his hands hard against the rooftop lid he’d made invisible to the outside by sealing it lightly with tar earlier in the week. Sticky and stubbornly unyielding, the half inch plywood gave way after another slam. He peeked o
After lying low until all chatter around the building dissipated, he attached a claw hook to the roof’s ledge and dropped the connected knotted rope down the back of the two-story museum. With trained, cat-like agility, Gregg lowered himself to the ground. Wearing his bag like a backpack, he stuck close to the building until he reached the corner. He glanced around the edge and exhaled. The agents, marshals, and officers had abandoned their search.
He spun 180 degrees and bolted away from the museum into the dark, shadowy cover of the starless night.
2
Gregg hugged the steering wheel of his rented SUV parked three streets behind the museum. The rush of adrenaline easing, he laughed. That was fun, but how did the feds know I was there?
No time to ponder that. He needed to vacate the area. He replaced the police shirt with a light-colored sweater and a winter parka, and made the short drive back to his hotel.
After handing his keys and a generous tip to the valet, Gregg strolled through the front doors, the duffel housing a five million dollar diamond slung over his shoulder with casual abandon. The concierge and front counter clerk greeted him, their eyes filled with unspoken questions, as he passed.
“Gentlemen.” He dipped his head in acknowledgement and glanced at his satellite-accurate, custom-made watch. Three a.m., same as the time on the five international clocks behind their heads. Let them wonder what he’d been up to at this ungodly hour.
In his suite, he unloaded his bag, removing the exquisite diamond from the utility belt. Holding it up to the light, he examined it thoroughly with his magnifying lens. The 3-inch long, 1/2-inch wide, 1-inch thick diamond dazzled in his hand as he confirmed its authenticity.
A Marquis cut, the 84-carat, colorless and nearly flawless gem belonged to a private collector participating in the diamond extravaganza tour currently in New York City. He chose to steal this diamond tonight partially to throw off the authorities. They expected a theft attempt elsewhere—the 800-carat Targhetti Diamond of India on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the festival’s main attraction. But his main reason for stealing this diamond was his dislike for its owner. Desmond Montiel, a multimillionaire, attained his wealth at the expense of those less fortunate. The despicable man preyed on the poor and defenseless.
Even if the feds guessed he wouldn’t steal the Targhetti Diamond, they couldn’t have known which of the other twenty-four stones displayed around the city he would go after. So how did they get onto me?
He thought back over his surveillance of the past week. Everything by the book. He’d seen no indication anyone suspected him.
Somebody knew, though, and the more he thought about it, Gregg knew who—Derek Clayton, his old friend-turned-rival.
He placed the diamond back in its pouch, then tapped a contact on his smartphone. On the third ring, a familiar voice answered.
“Hadyn?”
“Hey, Cal.”
“Did you get it?”
“I did.”
“Kind of a ruckus going on over there. I’m watching it live on the news.”
“Their ruckus, not mine. Are we on for Monday? I really want to unload this one fast.”
“I’ll meet you where we discussed,” Cal answered.
“See you then.”
Picking up the TV remote, he flipped through the channels until he found a news station running footage of his theft. An unfamiliar face, probably the lead federal agent, straightened his tie for the impending interview. Gregg sat on the sofa to watch.
“What tipped you off to this robbery, Agent Baker?” the reporter asked. The dark-skinned, sexy little sweetheart didn’t look a day over sixteen. Her voice wavered, and her hand shook so violently, the agent had to steady the microphone.
“We got an anonymous call. We were sitting heaviest on the Targhetti Diamond display at the Met, but we have agents on all the museums participating in the festival. There was nothing suspicious, though. We only went in because of the call.”
An anonymous phone call. That’s low, Derek…even for you.
“And you’re sure this was a Gregg Hadyn robbery?” Miss Sexy-Sweet-Sixteen asked.
Baker held up the custom domino inscribed with Seventy-Two and business card Gregg had left on the empty display. The reporter lifted Baker’s hand so the camera could zoom in. They got a great closeup before Denny Garret, a former FBI agent Gregg knew all too well, yanked Baker’s hand away.
Master International Jewel Thief
Gregg Hadyn
The Diamond Whisperer
What’s Garret doing there? He’s not CID. He’s not even FBI anymore.
Garret had been the Assistant Director of the FBI’s Criminal Investigative Division since Gregg’s first heist. But Gregg knew, through regular hacking into the International Intelligence Network and FBI database, that Garret left the FBI over a year ago to head up a new intelligence community espionage team.
With Garret on the scene, a prideful certainty swept over Gregg. He’d outsmarted Garret again—no small feat considering Garret’s intelligence. But the former fed hadn’t been lead agent tonight. Too bad. The chase would have been a lot more interesting.
Sexy-Sweet-Sixteen ran up behind Garret. “Agent…?”
He did a half turn toward her. “It’s Director Garret.”
“Director, could you answer one more question?” she asked. “Why can’t the FBI catch this guy?”
Gregg paid no mind to the fatigue bearing down on him, his body’s inevitable response to its earlier adrenaline overload. This interview was history in the making. In all the years Garret served in the Bureau, he’d never responded to the press.
Garret faced the camera, his appearance disheveled. Gone was his identifying dark maroon tie, and his cheap, usually pristine suit looked like he’d slept in it. “The problem is two-fold,” he said. “If we’re ever going to catch him, it’ll be because he fails. If you want to see Gregg Hadyn fail, a jewel heist is the last place to look.”
Stunned, Gregg stared at the TV. Garret’s gaze pierced the camera lens, almost as if he were speaking directly to him. But he knew Garret’s words weren’t the compliment they appeared to be. Garret had laid down the gauntlet, and Gregg understood.
This was war.
3
11:00 AM – FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA
“Macklin…”
“Carly, did you get my text?” Denny Garret asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m coming from home, so I’ll pick you up. ETA…three minutes.”
Denny occasionally offered his newest team member a ride when they were both heading into the office from the suburbs of Fairfax, Virginia where she had an apartment and he owned a house. Riding in together made it easier to consult with her as he drew her into the fold.
Three minutes later, Special Operative Carly Macklin climbed into his jet black, government-issued SUV. Sensing and understanding her desire for an explanation about this impromptu Saturday morning meeting, and with only a half hour ride to SIRU headquarters, he suggested they skip the small talk.
She eagerly complied. “Just flew in from that Gregg Hadyn fiasco in New York?”
“Yep.”
“And this special meeting has something to do with that?”
He fixed his weary face on her. “Can’t get anything by you, can I?”
“Will you brief me, or do I have to wait for the meeting?”
“I’ll brief you, but not on what I’m covering in the meeting. It’s time you heard more of my Gregg Hadyn intel.”
“You’ve been chasing Hadyn for almost twelve years. How about telling me everything from the beginning?”
“You want the beginning?” His grip tightened on the wheel as he fought to control the inevitable twitch of excitement at the mere mention of the infamous jewel thief. “The first time I heard anything about Gregg Hadyn was on his fifteenth birthday—his first heist—exactly one year before he coined the phrase ‘The Diamond Whisperer’ and three years before anyone knew his name.”
Denny supplied Carly with the high points of the data he’d compiled on Hadyn. But his summary consisted only of facts, information extracted from his files. The real draw for Carly would lay in the conclusions he’d reached and the personality assessment he had developed from the nearly twelve-year long chase.
