THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

theft.
    That should have brought her to heel.
    But the bitch had stolen the coins instead.
    He still couldn’t believe it.
    His cell phone played a piece of music with dire notes, meaning the caller was unknown. The only person he’d given this number to who didn’t already have a ringtone was Angelina. Had she come to her senses?
    Grinning, he answered, “Lorde.”
    “Listen very carefully as I do not repeat myself,” a decidedly male voice ordered.
    Mason cut in, “Who the hell is this?”
    “You can call me Czarion. Have you found the coins yet?”
    Shock didn’t begin to describe Mason’s first reaction. His second one was to yank the phone away and check ... no caller ID. His next move was to pull it back and say, “What coins?”
    A lofty sigh came across the lines then Czarion said, “I don’t have time for this. You stole eight St. Gaulden’s Double Eagle coins, one of which is a 1933. You intended to trade them to a German for a panel from the Amber Room.”
    Mason sat down in his chair. Hard. It couldn’t be the FBI. They didn’t call up and discuss a felony when they could just raid the compound.
    “Since we both know that you had the coins, let’s move this along. For someone as adept at art theft as you are, Mr. Lorde, I would have thought you’d do a better job of protecting those coins.”
    Criticizing Mason generally ended with bloodshed. The insult pissed him off enough that he regained his footing. “What’s your interest in the coins?”
    “Better. Now we can deal with the business part of this call. You will locate those coins within five days and be prepared to deliver them to me when you do.”
    “Why would I do that?”
    “Because if you don’t, you’ll pay a hefty price starting with your operation.”
    Mason wouldn’t be paying the price. This idiot would. Just as soon as Mason located him. “Threatening my operation could be bad for your health. Interfering with it would be painful and deadly.”
    “You should realize by now that you’re dealing with someone far out of your league.”
    The ego of some men amazed Mason. He leaned back in his chair, amused by someone stupid enough to threaten him. This guy obviously had no idea of the depth of Mason’s resources and how quickly he’d stomp a pest. “Maybe you should enlighten me on just how far out of my league you are so I can show proper respect.”
    When the line remained silent for a moment, Mason gloated.
    Czarion spoke again. “You own forty-three locations, which include distinctive properties in New York, Atlanta, Raleigh, Dallas, and Los Angeles. Twelve are warehouses where you store both legal and illegal inventory...”  Czarion spouted a list of items that no person should have access to besides Mason. “During your trip to Palm Beach eight days ago, you completed a trade with the Russian broker Valkimir. I was surprised to learn of the Degas and Ming vase in your New York vault as both had belonged to a sheik I’d believed had better security. That should remove any doubt on your part as to the vulnerability of your operation.”
    Son of a bitch! Mason stood, clutching the phone so hard his hand shook. Who was this guy and how could he know that much?
    He calmed himself. Losing control lost battles and he intended to win this one. He wanted this asshole’s head in jar to put in his office. “What do you want?”
    “At the risk of repeating myself, the coins.”
    “Are you after the Amber Room panel?”  Mason had acquired the gold coins specifically to trade for an eighteenth century artifact from the room sculpted of amber, considered by many to be the eighth wonder of the world. King Fredrich Wilhelm I had gifted it to Tsar Peter the Great who had once admired the room. The Tsar had moved it to Königsberg Castle, the one the damned Russians had destroyed during World War II.
    They’d torched the castle after the room had been looted.
    Czarion said, “I’ve already told you what I want. I’ll contact you in five days, on Monday, unless you retrieve the coins sooner, which I’ll know. If you fail to meet my deadline, I’ll destroy one of your properties, regardless of who or what is nearby. And there will be clear evidence pointing the finger at you for the body count. I’ll continue to destroy one property each day until you fulfill your part of this agreement ... that is until you run out of possessions. And then I will kill you.”
    After years of dealing with liars, Mason knew