I spotted Christine as soon as I came through the main door at MI5. Even after a shower, I still felt like a sticky, sweaty mess, and yet she managed to look like she’d stepped out of one of those period dramas the Brits loved so much.

As we headed down to the lab, she told me how she’d spotted a few things that looked off in Al-Farook’s videos. I was cautiously impressed, but also a little put-out. I had watched those videos hundreds, maybe thousands of times. Did she think I’d missed something? I tried to put my professional jealousy to one side—we were all on the same team, after all—but I couldn’t help but feel that she was questioning my abilities somehow.

Once we were down in the lab, I felt as though I was on firmer footing. My relationship with Warick had made me, if not an expert on diamonds, then at least smarter than the average Joe on the street. I could see from Christine’s expectant face that she was just waiting for me to make some amazing breakthrough in the case. I felt more than a little terrified that I was going to let her down.

As soon as I saw the burned diamonds from the two stores, I knew something was wrong. These were all too uniformly damaged—almost as if they had been burned on purpose. Even if the firebomb they had used had been extremely powerful, the temperatures would have been lowered by environmental factors; and not all the diamonds would have felt the full force of the blast, yet these looked like they had been…sort of pre-made.

I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I called Christine over to show her what I had found. As she drew closer, I couldn’t help but draw in her scent. It was beautiful—clean and pure, just like her. I told her so, and she blushed scarlet. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Damn near made me forget what I had to show her about the diamonds.

Something was wrong with this picture — somewhere there had to be diamonds only partially damaged by the firebomb. I asked the woman from the lab, who told me they’d pulled a pair of undamaged diamond studs off one of the burned bodies. That was impossible. If the bodies had been burned in the firebomb, then any diamonds they were wearing would have been at least partially affected.

She went and fetched them for me, and sure enough, they were in perfect condition.

“So how come you little guys managed to make it through OK?” I queried, to no one in particular. I was met with silence.

“This is all wrong,” I told Christine. “Those diamonds are almost too damaged; whereas these don’t have a mark on them. At first glance, I would say it was impossible they came from the same incident.” I sensed rather than heard the lab tech about to start protesting. “Obviously, I know that’s not the case, but the evidence is creating more questions than answers, and I don’t like it.”

Christine turned to her colleague. “I suggest we get a rush job on the analysis of all the diamonds pulled from the scene—damaged and otherwise,” she added, as she took the plastic bag containing the studs from my hand.

“I’d like Warick to take a look at these,” I said after a moment’s pause. Christine looked at me quizzically.

“You can’t take evidence from the lab. Not during an investigation.” Now she sounded like a schoolteacher.

“I could take photos?” I offered. “He’s a trustworthy source. And I don’t have to tell him any more than he needs to know.”

Still Christine hesitated. These Brits were such sticklers for formality. Me, I’d bend or break any of the rules to catch Al-Farook. Eventually, she nodded and I pulled out my phone and took a few snaps of the damaged diamonds.

Christine was looking at the undamaged diamond studs which she still held in her hand.

“Why diamonds?” she said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Why diamonds? I mean, it’s an odd target for an Islamic extremist. Not political, not likely to cause maximum panic amongst the public. Doesn’t really fit the profile for previous attacks.”

“Al-Farook always talks about the decadence of the west in his videos,” I countered. “Our analysts have come to the conclusion that he sees diamonds—jewelry—as some kind of symbol of that decadence.”

Christine didn’t look convinced, and I had some sympathy with her position. It had always seemed like a weak link to me, at best.

“But we don’t know that for certain, do we? And if his issue is with the ‘decadence’ of the west, then at any point he could switch from diamonds to, well, banks, or high-end fashion. Fancy bars and restaurants. Even movie theaters!”

I put my phone back in my pocket and watched Christine. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was a very brilliant agent. And what made her even more attractive was that she didn’t know she was either of those. You could tell from the way that she hid her face behind that bob of golden-red hair that she thought she wasn’t pretty, and the tentative way she spoke her ideas out loud told you everything you needed to know about her lack of confidence as an agent. That confidence would come with time, but as for the other thing, well, someone needed to show her just how pretty she was before she hid herself away forever.

“The lack of a clear motive—other than a hatred for the luxuries of western life—it’s one of the things that makes Al-Farook such an infuriating adversary,” I told her. “And, of course, it makes it almost impossible to predict where he’s going to attack next. To an extremist like him, the entire western world is a target.”

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair.

“I’ve been chasing this guy for well over two years and I’ve always been, not just one step behind but two or three. Always playing catch-up. He never makes a mistake.”

Christine came toward me and put her hand on my arm, raising those enormous blue eyes to meet mine.

“He will make a mistake, Jason,” she told me, with just a hint of a smile. “In fact, maybe he already has.”