Jervis inspected the timber closely. After almost a minute, he pointed to one corner.

“There,” he said. “I can see the seam of the lid, barely. Nice work.”

Faroe wasn’t worried that the inspector had found the outline of part of the box. The whole thing would be installed in the bilge of his boat, which at the moment happened to be lacking a two-foot length of timber. Once Faroe was finished doctoring the oak, even someone who knew the trap was in the bilge would have one hell of a time finding it.

“Jewelry box, huh?” The inspector went over the board again carefully, looking for the catch with his sensitive fingertips. “This is about the only place the catch could be.”

“Yeah?”

Jervis poked at a round one-inch knot, the only imperfection in the tight-grained oak. Nothing moved. “Huh.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Faroe said. “You’ve X-rayed it. It’s empty.”

Jervis sucked air through his front teeth. “I should confiscate this and burn it.”

“Not a good idea. There’s this thing called illegal seizure.”

Silence stretched while the customs inspector rocked on the heels of his leather boots and watched Faroe’s body language.

“Get out of here,” Jervis said finally, jerking his head toward the door to America. “But you can fire your proctologist, because if I put your smart ass in the computer, you’ll get a body cavity search every time you cross a border anywhere.”

Faroe nodded. “Have a nice day.”

He picked up the timber and headed out the door. With long strides he headed to his car and an appointment with his safe-deposit box in Oceanside Federal Bank. If his luck held, by the time Steele found another only-you-can-do-this lure to dangle under his ex-employee’s nose, said ex-employee would be headed out to sea with several million in D-flawless diamonds tucked in the bilge.

Faroe had earned his retirement the hard way. He planned on enjoying it.