“Diplomatic reasons. Ab
ove your pay grade,” Szabo said.
“And if we’re backup, how we gonna get a chance at this guy, Lieutenant?” Tremaine added. “Like you said, we got to have a few words with him before the cops take him away.”
“We’ll get our chance, I’ll make sure of that,” Szabo said reassuringly, even though he wasn’t entirely sure about that himself.
“Just saying,” Snyder said. “Our country, and we let a hostile foreign power take point?” He shook his head. “That ain’t right.”
“And we cut the backup alarm system?” Tremaine said. “Don’t much like that.”
“We’re the backup,” Szabo said. “And we’re better than any battery-powered high-tech gadget. Goddamn it, I want to get my hands on this guy just as bad as you do.”
“Yeah, but, Lieutenant—” Taylor said.
“For Christ’s sake, quit whining,” Szabo cut him off. “Shurgin was right. We got to lure this guy in, or he’ll get spooked and run. And that means cut the alarms—all the alarms. That just makes sense.”
“Shit,” Snyder grumbled. “I never did like sense.”
“That’s why you never made it past PO3,” Taylor said.
“Fuck you,” Snyder replied.
“All right,” Szabo said. They’d arrived at the exhibition. “Take perimeter positions and stay awake. Okay, Taylor?”
“Fuck you very much, sir,” Taylor responded, saluting smartly.
Szabo watched the men move off into position. But goddamn it, they’re right, he thought. There’s something wrong about Shurgin. But there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do about it for now. He shrugged it off and took his place near the exhibit hall’s door.
* * *
—
Afew minutes later, Szabo heard a clatter of feet and turned to see Special Agent Shurgin coming out of the door that led upstairs. He closed the door and approached Szabo.
“Lieutenant,” Shurgin said as he neared. “Is your team in place?”
“They’re deploying now,” Szabo said.
“The Iranians are in position on the roof,” Shurgin said. “And also at key points on the second floor.”
Shurgin made no further comment and didn’t move on; he just stood there looking thoughtful.
Szabo looked at him, and his doubts grew. His gut told him something was off about this guy. Tremaine thought so, too. Szabo was not a subtle man, and he needed to know if Shurgin was legit. So if he was going to find out, he would just come out with it, face-to-face.
Now or never, Szabo thought. “Special Agent Shurgin,” Szabo said carefully.
“You don’t trust me,” Shurgin said abruptly. “Your men don’t, either.”
Szabo hesitated, taken aback. But then he nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “We don’t.”
Shurgin looked right, down the hall toward the back of the museum. “I tell you what, Lieutenant,” he said. “Pretend you do trust me, just for a little longer. Until midnight.”
“Why should I?”
“Because then you’ll have proof,” Shurgin said. He turned his hugely magnified eyes on Szabo. “If a thief comes at midnight,” he said, “and he’s French, I am legit and you were right to follow my lead. If a French thief doesn’t come, I’m something else. And then . . . ?” The ghost of a smile flitted across Shurgin’s face, then vanished. “I’m right here.” He blinked. “Deal?”
Szabo thought about it. The man made sense. And it was only a little longer. If midnight came and went with no French thief, no deal, and Shurgin would have some very serious questions to answer. In the meantime, Szabo was right here with his eyes on the guy and his team around him. No risk.