Pink Panthers: The Greatest Thieves: Pink Panthers Trilogy, #1

Foreword

For the real Pink Panthers to be remembered, and for all of you the daring and the bold who smash and grab through life as well. To ensure that the legacy of the authentic Pink Panthers endures, and for all you fellow audacious individuals who fearlessly seize life through daring endeavors and swift actions.

Also, this story is a testament to the profound love that ignites our souls. It is dedicated to my queen, the beacon of my existence, who blessed our world with two radiant princesses. Through these three angels, I discovered that love holds the very essence of life itself—a force that transcends boundaries and propels us towards greatness.

In the depths of our collective memory, where legends are forged and passions burn, a resounding tale awaits. It is a tale of relentless audacity, woven by the enigmatic Pink Panthers gang, whose spirit resonates with those who seize life with tenacity, those who dare to chase their dreams against all odds. In the murky depths of the horror of war, the dissolving of country and family, where chaos and danger collide, a notorious gang emerges from the shadows of the criminal underworld. This gripping tale transcends mere crime narratives, delving deep into the twisted machinations of criminal cartels by personalizing its functioning, and showing the results of these bold events on its characters, without relieving them from responsibility as the consequences of their audacious actions reverberate through their very souls.

In the following pages, prepare to embark on a tumultuous journey. Brace your heart for the rousing adventures of the Pink Panthers, where triumph and tribulation dance in a ceaseless waltz. Let their exploits stir your spirit, for within their audacious exploits lies a reflection of your own hidden potential. May these words kindle a fire within you, an inferno of passion and determination. May they ignite the longing for something extraordinary, propelling you to grasp life with both hands and forge your destiny amidst the chaotic tapestry of existence.

Welcome, dear readers, to a world where dreams are born and legends are etched in the annals of time. Let the captivating tale of the Pink Panthers resonate within you, awakening the embers of hope, courage, and the relentless pursuit of a life well lived.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Within the pages of this novel lies a captivating exploration into the inner workings of criminal cartels, the harrowing horrors of war, and the heart-wrenching dissolution of both country and family. Through vivid storytelling, I endeavor to unveil the profound impact these tumultuous events have on individuals, weaving a tapestry that humanizes their experiences with warmth and humor, without absolving them of their responsibility.

This novel marks the inaugural installment of an enthralling trilogy, delving deep into the socio-historical context surrounding the birth, ascent, and eventual (albeit temporary) downfall of the renowned and formidable international robber group known as the Pink Panthers. Born amidst the tempest of war during the disintegration of the former Yugoslavia, their saga serves as a microcosm of a much larger narrative. With meticulous detail, I bring the Pink Panthers to life—characters who embody the essence of ambition and resilience. Their principles, their unique system of work, and the intricate organizational structure that binds them are meticulously portrayed. Through the lens of their audacious exploits, we witness their tactical prowess unfold as they orchestrate daring heists in the heartlands of Antwerp, London, Tokyo, Paris, Amsterdam, St. Tropez, and Dubai.

This narrative, though presented in a light and adventurous form, exposes the interplay between organized crime, social abnormalities, and the sinister machinations of those who ruthlessly manipulate and decimate the lives of the powerless, from individuals to entire nations. Against the backdrop of the diamond industry, we delve into the dark underbelly of this trade—from the relentless exploitation of impoverished third-world nations with rich diamond deposits to the incitement of bloody civil wars. We witness the sinister convergence of the diamond business with drug cartels, human trafficking, the vested interests of banks, corporate magnates, military-industrial complexes, and the intricate web of diplomatic and political maneuverings.

This first installment sets the stage for an enthralling journey, while the subsequent parts of the trilogy will unveil the fates of our central characters. Some will embark on a bittersweet quest for a semblance of normalcy, tragically comic in its essence, before returning to what they do best. Others will reinvent themselves, specializing in different forms of criminal activities. Brace yourself for the riveting twists and turns that lie ahead.

Now, dear reader, it is time to embark on this thrilling odyssey. Immerse yourself in the pages before you and experience the joy of discovery. Prepare to be enthralled as the vibrant world of the Pink Panthers unfolds, where adventure, suspense, and moral complexity intertwine in an intoxicating dance. So, let the journey begin—let us delve into the extraordinary and savor every moment of this literary expedition.

Preface

The first time the name Pink Panthers reached my ears, I dismissed it as just another band of renegades playing cat and mouse with society, dancing on the edge of danger. Little did I know that these audacious thieves had calculated every risk, turning their heists into a finely orchestrated equation. And let me tell you, the locations they chose sounded like they were ripped straight from the wildest dreams of Hollywood's finest. Paris, London, Amsterdam, and St. Tropez! These Panthers didn't settle for ordinary; they reveled in the extraordinary.

But it wasn't just their flair for the dramatic that captivated me. No, these Panther heists introduced mind-bending concepts that even the most brilliant minds in the movie business couldn't conjure. We're talking about masterful disguises as women, daring escapes on speedboats, and a flawless track record of zero casualties. That's what sets the Pink Panthers apart in the murky world of crime. With their boundless imagination and unyielding audacity, they left the entire world gasping for air, and damn it, they left me breathless too.

Destiny had a wicked sense of humor because it brought me face-to-face with Nebojsa, a man on the other side of the globe, both of us entangled in the vast web of the internet. His words piqued my curiosity, luring me into the shadows of their glorious adventures. I craved the knowledge, yearned to uncover the intricacies of their exploits—the triumphs, the missteps, the heart-pounding moments. As I delved into the pages of this very book you hold in your hands, I became one with the fears, doubts, and eventual triumphs of our intrepid protagonists.

Yes, I found myself eagerly anticipating that post-heist celebration, yearning for a glass of bubbly to toast their success. I shed tears alongside them, digging deep into the recesses of my own memories, empathizing with the times life had brought them to their knees. I won't lie to you—I laughed, I cried, and I chewed my damn nails to the quick, eagerly anticipating each turn of the page. And let me tell you, my friends, I emerged from this editing journey a richer soul, armed with a trove of knowledge I never thought possible to acquire.

In this age of the almighty internet, true treasures are hard to come by. And this book, my friends, is a rarity. It's a tantalizing feast for the senses, an unparalleled joyride through the annals of crime. So buckle up, my fellow thrill-seekers, and prepare to immerse yourselves in a world that exists at the crossroads of fact and fiction. The Pink Panthers await, ready to steal not just jewels, but your very hearts.

Editor,

Zoran Cickaj

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

With heartfelt gratitude, I extend my deepest appreciation to all those who have stood by my side, be it supporters or even those who held a contrasting perspective. Your collective energy has been an unwavering source of motivation, propelling me to persist and never surrender.

I would like to express my sincere thanks to my esteemed editor, Zoran Cickaj, whose keen eye and insightful guidance elevated this book to unforeseen heights. Your expertise and dedication have left an indelible mark on these pages, and I am forever grateful.

To Zana Sajic, your unwavering support and meticulous attention to logistical details have been invaluable. Without your steadfast assistance, navigating the intricacies of this journey would have been infinitely more challenging.

A special note of appreciation goes to Dijana Sajic for her remarkable editing and translation prowess, seamlessly capturing the essence of the original Serbian text and weaving it into the fabric of the English language. Your exceptional talent has bridged the linguistic divide, allowing this story to resonate with an even wider audience.

Lastly, I extend my gratitude to DzinicDesign for their artistry in crafting a cover page that surpasses my wildest imagination. Your creative vision and attention to detail have bestowed upon this book an allure that captivates the eye and invites exploration.

To each one of you who has played a part, big or small, in the creation of this literary work, I offer my humble thanks. It is your contributions that have transformed this endeavor into a reality far beyond my own imaginings.

Chapter 1

Memories - Panthers’ calling

Lost

May 2007

A piercing, bone-chilling scream shattered the eerie silence of the night, rending the fabric of Victor's consciousness. He jolted upright from his crude field bed, disoriented and unsure of his surroundings. The biting desert air clawed at his skin, while the swaying walls of the military tent whispered malevolent secrets in his ear. Panic gripped his heart as he groped for a magazine on the nightstand, its presence offering a false sense of security in the face of impending terror.

His eyes darted across the room, fixating on a mouse feverishly scavenging through the decaying remnants of food tangled within the thick, matted beard of the corpulent man lying on the adjacent bed. Without hesitation, Victor lunged forward, wielding the makeshift weapon like a deranged madman, its pages crackling with a frenzied desperation. The strike was swift and brutal, propelling the tiny creature across the vacant bed before it collided with the unforgiving canvas of the tent. Momentarily stunned, the resilient rodent regained its footing, its beady eyes gleaming with an unnatural malevolence as it scurried away, vanishing through the narrow gap between the ground and the tent.

But the grotesque scene was far from over. Victor's rage intensified as he surveyed the grotesque spectacle before him—a grotesque fusion of French fries and chicken bones strewn haphazardly around the corpulent man's bloated frame. The man, still dazed by the rodent encounter, flailed his hands wildly, attempting to free himself from the culinary entanglement that clung to his greasy beard. It was a comical display, reminiscent of the twisted humor found in the darkest corners of the Benny Hill Show.

Did I not explicitly warn you about the vermin infestation? Did I not caution against bringing food into the sanctity of this tent? The hushed yet menacing tone of Victor's voice sliced through the air like a blade, carrying with it a foreboding that surpassed the most blood-curdling shrieks of a predator in the night.

The corpulent man stammered, his voice trembling with fear, unable to meet Victor's piercing gaze. Yes, yes, you told me, I know... but you see, I have trouble falling asleep. I'm plagued by restless nights.

Then read a book, count the stars if you must. Your feeble excuses hold no weight. Do you honestly believe that consuming copious amounts of junk food is the key to slumber? Is that your twisted theory? Victor's eyes narrowed, exuding a venomous mix of disdain and fury.

Well, yes, when I'm nervous... I get hungry... and I can't sleep when I'm hungry, he stuttered, not knowing where to look. The corpulent man squirmed under Victor's unrelenting glare, desperately seeking solace in his greasy, swollen face. A stray chip clung to the tip of his beard, an irresistible temptation that he snatched and devoured with the voracity of a famished pelican seizing its prey.

No one forbids you from eating, Victor sneered, disgust contorting his features. But keep it outside this tent because the food attracts the rodents... and clean up this wretched mess behind you.

With a final contemptuous gaze, Victor turned away, exiting the confines of the tent. The cool night air enveloped him, a balm for his frayed nerves. As the suffocating silence settled around him, the impenetrable darkness seemed to loom with malicious intent. His gaze drifted skyward, drawn to the expanse of the Arabian Desert's night sky, its canopy adorned with an army of glittering stars. Countless clusters of celestial gems winked at each other, their ethereal glow hinting at a hidden malevolence.

Victor, transfixed by this celestial spectacle, fumbled for a pack of cigarettes nestled in his pocket. As he ignited one with trembling hands, his gaze never wavered from the heavens. The smoke curled around his thoughts, shrouding his mind in a haze that allowed the ghosts of his past to stir. Memories of the harrowing events that had led him to this forsaken outpost on the outskirts of desert clawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to consume him entirely.

To the desolate heart of the Baghdad desert, where darkness prowled and unspeakable, thrilling adventures awaited.

Little boys’ play

1984

In the enchanting realm of childhood mischief, where imagination reigns and adventure beckons, Jolly was hailed as the unruly ringleader. Fearless and spirited, he commanded a band of mischievous street urchins, infamous for their capers that had the neighborhood shaking its head in dismay.

As the fruit trees burst into bloom each spring, this merry gang posed a headache for the locals, plucking budding treasures from their branches. Despite having an abundance of food and fruit at home, proudly displayed in the living room, the allure of pilfering fruits from the neighbors held a certain charm that surpassed any lavish offerings found within the confines of Jolly's own abode. And so, on one fateful day during a school recess, Jolly and his comrades conspired to lay siege to old Adjia's cherry orchard.

We've looted everything except his sacred orchard! That old Adjia is a formidable adversary, ready to strike back with all his might, Jolly proclaimed, his eyes gleaming with desire. And those cherries, my friends, grow riper and sweeter with each passing day.

But the house is nestled in a dead-end street, one of the boys lamented, attempting to justify their previous failures. We have no other way to access the orchard. Every time we venture near his abode, that cantankerous old man detects us and gives us a good thrashing.

Why not approach the orchard from a different direction? came a voice from the group, drawing the attention of all. The speaker was a slender, brown-haired boy who had recently joined their merry band and remained quiet during their classes.

There is no path behind the orchard; only a steep slope leading to the hospital wall, another boy replied dismissively.

Undeterred, the brown-haired boy snapped a twig from a nearby tree, joining the group and kneeling upon the freshly disturbed earth where a young sapling sprouted. With deft movements, he sketched a plan that Jolly instantly recognized as old Adjia's dwelling and its surroundings.

If we traverse the courtyard adjacent to the electricity distribution facility, we can reach the fence of the neighboring house from the street above, and by clinging to that fence, we can access the back of Adjia's yard without detection, the brown-haired boy declared, his confidence radiating like a mischievous grin.

It just might work, Jolly mused, eyeing the rough diagram. But the old man is either in his shed or dining room, both providing a clear view of the orchard. He always catches us whenever we attempt to trespass.

But there's a time when he's neither in the shed nor the dining room, the brown-haired boy interjected, his smile never fading.

When?! the others chimed in excitedly, their anticipation palpable.

Sunday evening, precisely at eight o'clock. That's when the entire family gathers in the living room to watch their beloved TV series, the brown-haired boy revealed, smugness lacing his words.

How do you know that?

I know because my parents were invited for a welcome visit when we first moved here. We happened to be there on a Sunday evening, and the series had just begun when we arrived. His wife said they never miss a single episode. I yawned with boredom in their yard until nine, when the old man finally emerged after the show concluded.

Well, if you were already in the yard, why didn't you help yourself to the cherries?! the blond boy exclaimed, unable to contain his curiosity.

A wide grin spread across the brown-haired boy's face. You've never tasted anything as sweet and succulent in your life.

Laughter erupted among the boys as they each savored the thought of those delectable cherries melting in their mouths.

Then let’s meet in the street above the electric facility at half-past seven this Sunday, Jolly declared, gaining unanimous agreement from his comrades.

As the school bell pierced the air, signaling the end of recess, they dispersed, their minds abuzz with thoughts of the impending adventure.

Come Sunday evening, like clockwork, the eager band of young rascals congregated in the street at precisely half-past seven. Quietly and cautiously, they descended to old Adjia's orchard, utilizing the fences surrounding the electricity distribution facility and the adjacent house. With nimble steps, they arrived at the orchard fence. Jolly, assuming his role as the indomitable leader, hopped over first, swiftly making his way to the shed to ensure its emptiness. He motioned for the others to join him, and with a mere three strides, he was already perched upon a tree branch, gleefully plucking cherries.

Without wasting a moment, Victor and the rest scrambled up the tree with feline grace. The smallest boy among them was tasked with keeping watch, ensuring the old man didn't venture out from the dining room. The temptation proved too great, and the boys, consumed by the allure of the luscious fruit, not only indulged in mouthfuls of juicy cherries but also tucked them into their shirts for safekeeping. Lost in the ecstasy of the moment, the guard boy started to enjoy the cherries himself and failed to notice the approach of the old man as he emerged from the dining room during a television commercial break, heading to the restroom. He flung open the door abruptly, catching the guard-boy unawares.

The old man! Run! the alarm was raised, sending a surge of adrenaline through their veins. Swift as the wind, the boys descended from the tree in a blur of motion. Victor couldn't help but steal a glance at the old man, his hand gripping an axe tightly. More determined than ever, he yearned to outpace the wind itself. Just as Jolly surged ahead, the axe whizzed past Victor's head, lodging itself in the tree. Had he been a mere second slower, it would have found its mark. Heart pounding, fueled by pure adrenaline, Victor raced up the narrow, hilly path they had traversed earlier. He overtook Jolly, and as they climbed the uphill trail one after the other, the sound of dislodged stones reached his ears. He turned his head and spotted Jolly struggling, his foot slipping against the hospital wall. Reacting swiftly, Victor reached out, grasping Jolly's arm and thigh, pulling him back from the precipice and into safety.

Breathless and weary, they finally arrived at the safety of their neighborhood on the other side of the hill, erupting into uncontrollable laughter, fueled by the residual rush of adrenaline. They collapsed onto the steps of a building at the corner of two streets, feeling a sense of security envelop them.

Once Victor caught his breath, his gaze sought out the designated guard.

So, why didn't you keep watch over the old man?! Victor admonished, his voice laced with frustration.

All eyes turned to the guard.

I did...I mean, I tried, the blond boy stammered.

I saw you didn't! We faced an axe-wielding old man thanks to you! Victor bellowed.

Jolly set aside the cherries he had intended to devour, embracing Victor. Come now, let's calm down. All is well, and that's what truly matters. We have our cherries, more than enough, and the old man can only fume over it, Jolly's genuine laughter proved highly contagious.

The unease dissipated like a gust of wind, and together, they commenced their cherry feast. Words became superfluous, drowned out by the rhythmic sound of their smacking lips and the gratifying crunch of cherry pits.

2004

Why didn't you station someone as a lookout in front of the store?

Jolly chuckled at Victor's question about the guard, reminiscing about their youthful exploits twenty years ago. Sitting on the balcony of Victor's café, Jolly savored the beauty of the springtime, basking in the melodious chirping of birds in the tree canopies that shaded the balcony.

There were three of us assigned to the operation, Jolly began, shifting his attention back to the conversation with Victor. Nesho and I carried out the robbery, while Milan handled logistics, securing lodging, and other arrangements. He waited for us in a side alley on a Piaggio scooter he had purchased in Isleworth, west London.

So, Milan didn't directly participate in the robbery? Victor inquired.

No, we needed him to transport the loot afterwards. Once the handover was complete, Nesho and I would continue on foot, each heading in a different direction. I would make my way towards Hyde Park, while Nesho would go towards Buckingham Palace. Our plan was to rendezvous with Milan at the apartment in Bayswater, Jolly explained, pausing briefly as he waited for the waitress to serve them another round of coffee. When she moved away, he continued, The day before the heist, I walked down that same street, and there was no security guard outside. I calculated that two men would suffice, with a third person to transport the stolen goods. The next day, after the robbery, we would all have gone our separate ways. The plan was for Nesho to take a flight from Luton to Zurich, and for me to board a train to Paris after handing over the loot at a predetermined location.

Victor interjected, trying to understand the details, Wait, so you didn't take the loot with you but handed it over immediately?

Right after the robbery, I disposed of the clothes I wore that day and left the loot at the designated location, Jolly confirmed.

So, you left London empty-handed? Victor questioned.

Yes, once the handover was complete, my connection to the robbery was severed. As far as I was concerned, the job was done, Jolly replied.

Curious for more details, Victor inquired, And how did it go inside? Did you just rush in, smash everything, and grab the loot?

It's not that straightforward, Jolly grinned, sipping his coffee. Nesho entered the Graff jewelry store first, wearing an Elvis wig that stood out quite spectacularly on his head. Luckily, this wasn't unusual in London, as many celebrities liked to disguise themselves to avoid excessive attention. Given the constant rain forecast for that week, it provided ideal cover to conceal a revolver in an umbrella he carried. Our initial objective was to put the salespeople at ease, so they would show us the jewelry they had on offer. The day before the robbery, Nesho had arranged to view a twelve-carat diamond ring worth $450,000. He pretended to find it too extravagant, asking if they had something smaller. This was the signal for action. He then pulled out a chromed Magnum .357, threatening everyone in the shop and ordering them to lie on the floor. Meanwhile, I took out a hammer and a larger bag from my small Hermes bag. I targeted specific showcases with the hammer, smashing them, and collected forty-seven pieces of diamond jewelry. It was all done in an instant, and we sprinted out onto the street together. However, out of nowhere, a security guard appeared and lunged at Nesho, attempting to disarm him.

Wow, Victor remarked, captivated by the unfolding narrative.

As their struggle intensified, a shot rang out, and the bullet collided with the air conditioner mounted on the opposite wall. The impact caused the bullet to ricochet, hitting a woman across the street. She fell to the ground, screaming in pain as if she were being butchered. Running down the street, I caught a glimpse of this scene out of the corner of my eye. My heart raced, believing that my pursuer was right behind me. But when the gunshot sounded, I turned around only to realize that I was alone. The woman lay in agony on the street while the security guard wrestled with Nesho.

Why didn't you go back to help him? Victor asked.

Victor, that's something you only see in movies. In real life, there's no room for emotions or second chances. He was hired as a muscle, an armed force. My role was to break the display cases, collect the jewelry, and hand over the loot. I swiftly loaded it into Milan's backpack as soon as I reached the side street. He was waiting for me there, engine running, and the moment I closed his backpack, he vanished with full throttle. Everyone had their part to play without emotions or deviations from the plan, Jolly explained.

So, you and Milan got away, and this Nesho guy got caught, Victor concluded.

Milan was also arrested, Jolly corrected him.

Victor frowned. Wait, didn't you say...

Milan made an unforgivable mistake, Jolly interrupted. He took a diamond ring from the loot bag and gifted it to his fiancée. Naturally, she couldn't resist showing it off to a fellow waitress at work. It didn't take long before the story of a poor student of modern design flaunting a ring from her unemployed, visa-expired fiancé started spreading like wildfire.

The story must have reached the ears of snitches who tipped off the police.

"...leading to a raid on Milan's apartment within two days. They found the ring hidden in a face cream jar in the bathroom, just like in the movie. That's how he gained notoriety and earned us a nickname The Pink Panthers," Jolly said, still frustrated with Milan's foolishness.

Perhaps he thought he wasn't getting paid enough and wanted to make some extra cash on the side, Victor speculated, trying to understand Milan's perspective.

You're mistaken, my friend, I shook my head. You see, precious stones in the hands of ordinary people lose their value because we can't sell them for the same price. Moreover, the diamond business is a closed circuit. If he had tried to sell them, he would have been caught immediately. I always explain this to them before a robbery.

But there's always someone who thinks they can go solo, Victor remarked.

You got it. And there's another thing you need to understand. Diamonds are expensive because the big dealers have a monopoly on the market. By keeping the supply low, they artificially inflate the prices. Diamonds aren't really rare. A hundred years ago, they were much less valuable because they were found in more places than ever before. The traders invented the concept of rarity to drive up prices, Jolly explained.

Because when something is considered rare, its price automatically rises, Victor coolly added, his gaze piercing through the smoke-filled air.

Yes. These traders control all the mines and buy all the diamonds in the world and carry them to their extremely well-guarded storages where they are treated and locked up, Jolly explained, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and disdain. They concept of an engagement diamond ring originated in the diamond industry, and they are the ones who invented the motto 'if the ring did not cost an entire month’s pay, it means he doesn’t love you'. In the USA, this is worth two monthly salaries. Don’t think I’m trying to justify what I do, but if things were set up as they should really be, diamonds wouldn’t cost more than a few hundred dollars... and I’d have to rob something else.

Victor raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his perspective. His curiosity demanded satisfaction. Fascinating. And tell me, where do you find your collaborators? he inquired, his eyes scanning for answers.

I find them everywhere. A lot of them come on their own and offer their services to me. As soon as they see what kind of car I drive, how I live stress-free, always loaded with money, they literally come up to me and ask if there’s any work for them, Jolly revealed, a faint smirk dancing on his lips. After all, that’s how I met Nesho. He worked as a janitor at a hospital in Zurich for eleven years. He complained that he was sick of cleaning the Swiss shit.

Victor took a sip of his coffee, his interest piqued. And the other one?

Milan is a failed student whose visa has expired, he dares not going back home out of fear, as his father has mortgaged his shop to have his son educated in London looking up to some neighbor politicians, Jolly replied, a note of nonchalance lacing his voice.

Victor leaned in, a mix of concern and intrigue etched on his face. Aren't you afraid that they would sing if caught?

Jolly chuckled, swirling the ice in his whiskey glass. Honestly, what could they say about me? That they met a charming stranger whose real name they didn't know, who promised them a nice sum of money for the job they did, he explained, with a devilish glint in his eyes. The only thing they can sing to the cops is my fake name, Marko, and the phone number of a room in a Parisian suburb with a senile landlady that I have never returned to.

Victor nodded, contemplating the audacity of his carefully constructed plans. Why did you hit Graff exactly, why that jewelry store? he asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he took another sip, his whiskey adding fuel to his inquisitive nature.

For the sake of promotion, Jolly said with a mischievous smile, relishing the anticipation that filled the room.

What kind of promotion are you talking about? Victor inquired, a smirk forming on his lips, mirroring Jolly’s.

Many elite jewelers like Graff, Chopard, and Harry Winston are on this section of New Bond Street, just a few blocks north of Buckingham Palace, Jolly explained, his voice dripping with amusement. The instructions I received were to attack one of those three stores as they had just refilled their stocks, and hand over the booty at an agreed place after the job was done. Of those three, Graff is the most famous one, they even advertise that they sell the most beautiful diamonds in the world. And their client list will make you fall on your ass. Oprah Winfrey and David Beckham are regular customers.

Victor leaned back in his chair, a mixture of admiration and intrigue washing over him.

Nice, he murmured, a glimmer of excitement flickering in his eyes, as if envisioning himself in Jolly’s shoes. Little did he know, this was just the beginning. The heists, the thrill, the allure—Jolly had a grand plan, a symphony of chaos orchestrated with precision and purpose. And as they sat there, the café terrace shrouded in mystery and the scent of anticipation, Jolly couldn't help but wonder how Victor would fit into the symphony that was yet to unfold.

Jolly continued, his voice filled with excitement and a touch of recklessness. A few days before the job, I went to visit Graff, and the security seemed very weak to me. At the entrance, I was greeted by a security guard who didn't even bother asking if I had an appointment.

Victor raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. Did they ask to have a peek into the leather bag you're always carrying on your shoulder? he inquired, his gaze fixed on Jolly.

Jolly replied with a smirk, You must understand that extreme security measures cause discomfort in wealthy clients. So, the decision easily fell to Graff, and I'd rather have Chopard and Harry Winston done in Paris anyway. Their shops are far richer over there.

Victor leaned back, his eyes staring into the distance as he contemplated the intricate web of plans unfolding before him. The sunlight reflecting off the metallic black Mercedes 500SL parked outside caught his attention, a momentary distraction from the exhilarating conversation. He took a sip of his coffee, his mind racing with possibilities.

I knew something had changed in your business, Victor finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and caution. You used to come here in nice cars before, but something like this, such a beast has never been seen in this area. No news from you for many months, no courier to bring me those fancy clothes and suits, no new goods to move. I knew you were throwing yourself into something bigger, but... Victor chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. ...I'd never have thought of what you've just told me. I mean, this is a big deal, you're robbing jewelry worth millions of dollars. Only, I would still do some things differently.

A mischievous smile played on Jolly's lips as he leaned closer, eager to hear Victor's suggestions. For example? he prodded, his voice laced with anticipation.

Victor's eyes gleamed with a mix of wisdom and cunning. Let's say guns for the beginning, he began, his voice dripping with intensity. You could plan it in more detail without weapons. Use plastic guns that look like the real deal because your colleague will get at least ten-to-fifteen years of jail time for armed robbery. If he had a plastic toy instead, it would've been a completely different story. And, above all, a woman was injured during the robbery. Real fuck up, if you ask me.

Jolly's smirk faded, replaced by a contemplative expression. Yes, brother, but I want them to be scared and do what I tell them to, not to laugh at me, he replied, his voice filled with conviction.

Thoughts determine emotions and actions, Victor stated, his voice calm and measured, as if imparting profound wisdom.

Confusion flashed across Jolly's face as he tried to comprehend Victor's words. What? he asked, looking at him as if he had lost his mind.

Without uttering a single word, Victor stood up, his movements deliberate and calculated. He made his way to his car, a sense of purpose guiding his steps. From the trunk, he retrieved a gift bag, his actions shrouded in mystery.

Returning to the table, Victor swiftly reached into the bag and pulled out a revolver, pointing it directly at Jolly's face. Instinctively, Jolly moved away from the table, raising his hands in surrender as a rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins.

The terrace fell into an eerie silence, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

The sharp exclamation filled the air as Jolly recoiled, his eyes wide with alarm. Hey! Get it away from me! What the fuck? he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of fear and anger.

Thoughts determine actions, Victor, always composed, responded calmly, his voice carrying the weight of ancient wisdom. This powerful idea goes thousands of years back to Marcus Aurelius, who said that we are not disturbed by the things that happen to us, but by our own judgment of them. Our feelings depend on our thoughts. If I believe you are pointing a gun at my face, fear arises within me. But if I realize that it's just a water gun, the fear dissipates. Thoughts determine feelings. And my friend, you've just had an intense reaction over a plastic gun intended as a gift for my nephew.

Jolly couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He took a step back, glancing over Victor's shoulder, his curiosity piqued by an unexpected interruption. Turning his head, he spotted a man in a dark business suit approaching them.

Oh, Mr. Inspector. Welcome, Victor greeted the newcomer, his tone laced with sarcasm.

The inspector, holding his briefcase tightly as if guarding state secrets, reciprocated the greeting. Hello, Mr. Victor. Didn't we agree last time that you should remove the patio? You're operating this balcony bar lounge without the necessary permits, breaking the law. I'm afraid I'll have to issue another fine right now.

Jolly's gaze fixed upon the inspector, his irritation mounting. The mere presence of such an individual stirred up anger within him.

So, if I remove the balcony, where will you sit while you write my sentence, my dear wretched inspector? Victor interjected, his laughter echoing in the air. Why don't you take a seat on the balcony? Ana will make you a coffee just the way you like it. Then you can comfortably write your report for your superior and impose that fine on me. Come on, find a spot in the corner of the balcony and don't bother us while I'm talking to my friend.

Mr. Victor, I hate to come here and issue these fines, but under Article 3, Paragraph 2...

Hey, just go down to the corner, sit down and stop being such a drag. Write whatever you want, Victor shouted, turning to his friend.

The inspector seemed taken aback by Victor's audacity but ultimately obliged, settling down at a distant table. Meanwhile, Victor retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the ice bucket, pouring another round for himself and Jolly. As they sipped their drinks, Jolly's gaze remained fixed on the businessman, his anger simmering just below the surface.

You know, Victor began, breaking the silence, the President's son wants this place. I've been plagued by these inspectors one after another. They've seized all the real estate around me, but they can't touch me.

Curiosity piqued, Jolly played with his glass, spinning it absentmindedly. Why not?

A wry smile formed on Victor's lips. I have a firm contract with the owner of this house, who fled to America during war. They want to push me out and build a skyscraper like everywhere else. Buildings are sprouting up like mushrooms, and parking spaces are becoming scarce.

Jolly's brow furrowed as he listened intently. That's why I brought all this up. You shouldn't be associated with these crooks, my friend. You've always been a man of the world, intelligent, Jolly remarked, his voice filled with concern. Gulping down his drink, Jolly's throat tightened, but he pressed on, his voice filled with determination. Remember that time when you came to visit me to pick up those Bogner goods? I wanted to bang that oil magnate's daughter, so we ended up at the winery near Trento, owned by her Free Mason father.

Victor chuckled. Not a Mason, but a Rotarian.

Ah, whatever, same shit, Jolly dismissed, pouring whiskey into their glasses. But while I was sweating bullets, staring at those fancy silverware sets and dishes on the table, you were relaxed, chatting with her family about worldly affairs. You've always stood out. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then continued, Well... so, it might be a good idea for you to leave this place... and... Jolly's voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.

And? Victor prompted, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

...and work with me, Jolly finally said, his voice filled with conviction. I need someone with your style, someone without a criminal record who can seamlessly transition from one job to another. Someone who can assist me with planning and reconnaissance, someone who isn't driven by greed, and most importantly... someone I can trust. And you possess all those qualities.

Victor arched an eyebrow, a wry smile forming on his lips. So, you want me to be non-greedy while engaging in diamond robberies? he remarked playfully.

Jolly chuckled, shaking his head. Not greedy in the sense that you won't act independently, like that fellow in London. If he had followed the plan and handed over the entire loot as instructed, without taking any jewelry for himself, he would never have been caught with any evidence. You see, this is a well-orchestrated operation. Once we have the target and the goal of the robbery, all we need to do is execute it. The loot is then left in a predetermined location, minimizing the risk.

Victor took a moment to digest Jolly's proposition, sipping his whiskey thoughtfully. I've always been a fence, handling the sale of goods. I've never been directly involved in actual robberies. My job is merely to move the merchandise and sell it later.

Jolly leaned closer, his gaze intense. But what did you do during the war, in the military and later for the UN?

Victor's eyes flickered with memories. In the military, I worked in computing and logistics planning. Later, for the UN, I served as a translator, but I also dealt with logistics and planning. Every six months, there would be a rotation of foreign officers, and I would be the one coordinating and organizing them.

Jolly's laughter filled the air. There you have it! You would be handling logistics and planning in our line of work as well. The same tasks, just for a different company... with a better salary, of course.

Victor joined in the laughter, the notion of a better salary striking a chord with him.

After my last job in Tokyo, they told me I would have complete freedom in organizing and executing operations, Jolly continued. I would be given a target, and from there, it's all up to me.

Intrigued, Victor inquired, And what was this job in Tokyo? Who did you work with?

Jolly's expression turned serious. I didn't work on it at all.

Why not? Victor pressed, curious about the missed opportunity.

Because they chose a raspberry grower from Arilje as their accomplice, Jolly explained, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. Can you imagine? And all because he wanted to bring along a mistress.

Victor raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his voice. Isn't it odd that the biggest jewel heist in Japan's history involved a raspberry grower from a small Serbian town?

Jolly nodded, agreement in his eyes. The idea of using anonymous individuals with no criminal records to cross borders easily doesn't outweigh my personal background checks and lack of experience. When I met them, something felt off, and I followed my instincts. I backed out.

You're right, Victor acknowledged. Sometimes it's better to pass on a job than take unnecessary risks, especially if it doesn't feel worthwhile.

Jolly took a drag from his cigarette, his voice laced with regret. Indeed. Besides, I've never worked in Asia. I prefer the option of escaping by car, bus, or train, which is why I operate in Europe. It feels safer. That doesn't mean I never will, but it wasn't on the table this time.

But they did a remarkable job, as far as I recall. The media was buzzing about the infamous necklace robbery, Victor remarked.

No one disputes the flawless execution of the heist. They arrived in Japan in late February 2004, two weeks prior to the robbery. The two lovebirds and my replacement, all armed with valid Czech and Croatian passports, traveled together. The organizer arrived a day earlier, arranging hotel rooms and providing cell phones for each member. On February 24, the raspberry grower paid a visit to a jeweler named Maki, the very jeweler he would rob ten days later. He asked to be shown the famous Comtesse de Vendome necklace, heavily secured in a glass case with an advanced alarm system.

And then? Victor prodded, eager to hear the details.

A few days later, the raspberry grower returned, this time accompanied by his mistress. They posed as tourists, engaging in sightseeing and even purchasing a necklace and a silver spoon. When the time came, on March 5, masked by wigs and sunglasses, the two of them entered the store. One of them engaged a salesman, pretending to be interested in purchasing gold items, while knowing that the salesman would have to fetch the goods from the storage room. Seizing the opportunity, the raspberry grower asked another salesman to take him to the second floor, claiming he wanted to see a specific necklace. As they climbed the stairs, he pulled out a sheet of paper and leaned over the glass display, pretending to write something down.

Victor nodded, following the narrative closely. Naturally, the salesman grew suspicious...

And when he leaned closer to read what was written, the raspberry grower struck him with a punch and sprayed tear gas in his face. He continued to assault the salesman, leading him to a nearby toilet. The last thing the salesman heard was the sound of breaking glass. When he regained consciousness, it was too late. The raspberry grower and his accomplice were already gone, taking with them a necklace worth $33 million.

But where did they slip up in the end? Victor inquired, sensing there was more to the story.

Jolly leaned in, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. When I spoke with the organizer, I made it clear that emotions have no place in this business. I don't involve any women or mistresses during the planning or execution. I stick to fast food, leaving no food remnants behind. I avoid drinking from glass cups. I strive to leave no trace, unlike our raspberry grower and his mistress, who shagged like rabbits in a hotel for ten days, leaving behind a trail of DNA evidence, Jolly explained, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. But that doesn't matter now. I am the sole manager of future operations. The organizers  have withdrawn and will only provide information about the target. Everything else falls under my jurisdiction.

The organizers... who are they? Victor asked, his voice filled with intrigue.

Jolly leaned back, a sly smile forming on his face. They are the organizers and investors. Their demand is that the preparation, logistics, execution, and speed of the heists be carried out with military discipline and precision. They require the perpetrators to have a clean record. We will have a budget of two hundred thousand dollars per job, plus ten percent of the estimated value of the loot, which we receive upon completing the work. Of course, we share the two hundred thousand with our assistants, but the ten percent of the booty belongs solely to you and me.

Victor processed the information, weighing the risks and potential rewards. What do you need from me, then?

I need your analytical skills and elegance. You know I'm accustomed to working at night, observing targets during the day, and executing our plans in the evening. The idea of daily reconnaissance of high-end jewelry stores filled with snobbish clientele makes me uneasy. And you... well, you need to get away from here. I didn't call you by chance. I've been contemplating this for some time, and I need your help.

But you can't work at night and observe targets during the day with these jobs, Victor observed, understanding the dilemma.

No, for instance, our next target is a diamond dealer's business fair in Paris. I have no idea how to pull off a heist in broad daylight, within a crowded business hall with thousands of people, Jolly admitted, leaning closer to Victor. Think about it. You don't have to give me an immediate answer.

Jolly finished his drink, got up from the table, and excused himself to go to the restroom. As he walked past the inspector, he leaned over and extinguished his cigarette on the inspector's form, causing the man to startle. The inspector, visibly shaken, looked up to meet Jolly's menacing gaze.

Please, continue, Jolly said, his smile sending shivers down the inspector's spine.

With an air of sinister satisfaction, Jolly left the burning cigarette butt on the paper and calmly made his way toward the restroom.

Childhood friends’ reunion

April 2004

The sunny corner of the terrace bar provided an ideal setting for their clandestine meeting. Victor, a seasoned smooth criminal with a sharp mind and impeccable taste, sat across the table from his childhood friend Jolly, a notorious mastermind of heists. Their eyes met, conveying a silent understanding of the dangerous path they were about to embark on.

What did you do to the poor inspector, man? Victor asked, his gaze fixed on Jolly as he returned from the restroom. There he is, running away like the wind.

Jolly waved his hand dismissively as he settled back into his seat. Who cares, he replied nonchalantly. Let's finish the drink, then I'm taking you to a party.

Curiosity piqued, Victor furrowed his brow. What party? he questioned, perplexed by his friend's sudden change of plans.

Well, I got invited to a baptism ceremony by some relatives, Jolly explained, a mischievous grin on his face. "Let's bring some excitement to