A Magnificent Crime (33 page)

I entered the Louvre sculpture courtyard in my floor-length, peach chiffon ball gown, my hair a news anchor helmet circa 1989. Not my style, not by a long shot, but that was the point.

My stomach flipped and spun like pizza dough being tossed into the air. This was it. This was go time. No excuses, no backing out.

I touched the back of my gown at my waistband, where I had tucked the tarot card. It made me breathe infinitesimally easier.

The chamber orchestra filled the vast, airy space with lush string music. Through the glass ceiling high above, the sky glowed a dusky purple. The room vibrated with people in Alexander McQueen and Marchesa, Harry Winston and Tiffany. Gardenias and Chanel No. 5 gave the evening a blue-blooded fragrance.

The centerpiece, of course, was the Hope Diamond. It rested in a display case up onstage. But I couldn't get a good look. There was no getting close to it before the ceremony.

But that was okay. If all went according to plan, I'd have an up close and personal experience very soon.

First, I had one little errand to take care of. I needed to stash my change of disguise. Rule number one of every professional thief: always have more than one getaway option. Gladys had “ordered” a security guard's uniform in the Louvre's system last week—my size, complete with badge and walkie-talkie. I just needed to retrieve it and stow it somewhere that was easily accessible.

Because all the security staff were out on the job, it was a piece of cake for me to slip into the security locker room, find my uniform in its shrink-wrapped package, and grab it. I snuck down the corridor and stashed it in the utility closet in the Sully wing, stuffed behind a mop and bucket. I took a pack of cigarettes out of my purse and tucked it underneath the uniform; it might come in handy later, for verisimilitude.

I returned to my assigned table in the ballroom and focused on making pleasant small talk with my tablemates, playing the role of a wealthy widow.

I glanced over at Ethan and Madeleine's table, hoping to see him charming her utterly. But her body language didn't say she was exactly
taken
with him.

I frowned. This sort of thing was usually a waltz for him, but Madeleine was looking rather . . .
wintry.

Ethan's skills in this department were substantial, I reassured myself. He just needed a little more time. At that, my thoughts on Ethan's skills spiraled away. Had he been using those skills on
me?
Had he been working me like a target? Was it a game for him?

I shook my head, rattling it back to focus. What the hell was I doing? The last thing I had time for at this particular moment was thinking about my love life.

I glanced at the security guards with their semiautomatics. My stomach did a double pike with a half twist. I touched the edge of my Kevlar vest, tucked under the layers of chiffon. Touching it softened the edge of my anxiety.

The ceremony was scheduled to take place while we were served dinner. The first course came out—endive salad. But I barely tasted it as my mind was so singularly focused on the task ahead of me.

I continued polite conversation on autopilot and nibbled my salad.

And then, up onstage, they announced the first winner: Sophie DeHavilland. A wisp of a woman with a thin ribbon of long silvery blond hair stood and floated to the stage. She was guided by security guards to the side, where a black velvet curtain swallowed her up as she stepped backstage. My gut twisted. That was where I'd be going soon.

Jack cooled his heels in the security director's office, trying to crush the urge to pace. Appearing impatient would send the wrong message, but this was taking too long. He clenched and unclenched his fists. On the far side of the room was a bank of CCTV screens, which he surreptitiously studied.

He watched as the first winner, an elfish-looking woman with white-blond hair, made her way backstage. And then he watched as a security guard frisked her.

Fuck.
That was unexpected. Were they going to do that to all the winners? What were they going to do if they found the fake Hope on Cat?

“Did you two know they were going to frisk the winners?” he said quietly. Jack kept his gaze fastened on the screen. They were doing a pretty thorough job, to his eye.

There was a pause. “Are you serious?” Cat hissed.

“Oh, shit,” Ethan said.

“Okay, well, is everything else in place? Has Reilly been taken out yet?” Cat asked.

“No,” Jack said. “Not yet. I'm just waiting in the security director's office now.”

“Ethan, have you got Madeleine? Can you get her out of there?” Cat asked.

There was silence, and then a mumbled “Not quite. Working on it.”

Jack looked at the CCTV image showing the front of the stage. The undercover guard placed there was holding steady; there was no sign of the drug Ethan had given him taking effect yet.

Was
anything
going according to plan?

Then Cat spoke again. “Wait a sec, Jack. Did you just say you were in Severin's office? The security director?”

Jack looked at the plaque on the inner door. “Yes, Pierre Severin. Why?”

There was silence for a moment. And then, “Any chance you could get his left thumbprint?”

“What?”

“I can't explain right now. Just get the thumbprint, if you can.”

The first winner was onstage now, and they were removing the Hope Diamond from its display case and carefully placing it around her neck. Jack watched, mesmerized.

They took her photograph while she smiled and glowed, and the Hope sparkled about her throat. In the security office, Jack shifted in the uncomfortable chair.

Where was the goddamned director? He had to get Reilly out of there.

After two brief minutes, the chief curator removed the Hope from the first winner's neck and returned it to its display case. The elfin woman made her way offstage. And then they called the second winner's name.

Cat was going to have to back out, Jack thought.

But just as he was about to say this, Jack heard Ethan excuse himself from his table to get a drink and then, more urgently, say, “Montgomery, you can't go through with it. You have to get out of here. They can't find you with the replica.”

There was no response.

Jack said “Cat? He's right.”

Cat's voice came through quietly. “I understand your concern, you two, but I can't back out. Maybe they won't feel my sleeve.” Jack knew that was where she'd stashed the Hope replica.

“Even if they don't feel your sleeve, what about your earpiece?” said Ethan, his voice tight with concern. “And the Kevlar? They'll feel that. Don't you think they'll think it's suspicious?”

Cat was wearing a flak jacket? That was out of character. Jack felt a ripple of discomfort. There was a lot he didn't know about Cat's emotional state right now.

Jack watched on-screen as the second winner made her way to the stage. She was an older woman with steely gray hair in a short, asymmetric cut. She looked every inch Parisian glamour, old money. The only thing missing was a tiny dog at her side.

Jack glanced at the clock, which loomed large in the room. They had only a few minutes to sort this out.

On another screen he saw the guard frisking the second winner. Jack squeezed his fists.

At last, a man emerged from the inner security office. He wore a suit, had a tiny mustache, and smelled heavily of cologne. He approached Jack and introduced himself in heavily accented French as Pierre Severin, director of security. He then said, “So who is your suspect?”

Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his secure folder of images. He found the photograph of Reilly and handed Severin the phone. “He was over by the piano . . . there.” Jack pointed at the CCTV screens. “Right there.”

The director held Jack's phone and studied the photograph of Reilly. He inspected Jack's badge. Then he peered at the CCTV screens and back at the phone.

Jack looked down at Severin's hands as he held his phone. Severin was enlarging the image with his right hand, holding the device in his left. Most importantly, his left thumb rested on the smooth acrylic case.

While Jack had been waiting for Severin, he'd surreptitiously wiped his phone completely clean.

He had the thumbprint. Whatever use it was to Cat.

Jack flicked his glance to the main stage. They were just removing the Hope from the Parisian woman's neck. How had that happened so fast?

Severin grunted and said, “We need to speak to this man.” He then got on the radio and dispatched his guards to collect Reilly. Jack watched on the screens as the guards moved surprisingly quickly to approach Reilly and asked him to come away quietly. He was then hastily, discreetly, marched away.

Next thing he knew, the emcee was announcing the name of the third and final winner. “And the final winner of tonight's honor, Christiane Beaulieu.” Jack knew that to be Cat's alias for tonight. His stomach clenched. He watched Cat as she stood, smiling and blushing, and then started to walk backstage.

Shit.
She was going through with it.

Jack needed to do something to help her. “I'm going to have to leave,” he said quickly to the director of security. “As you know, I have no jurisdiction here, and my supervisors would be truly pissed if I broke that mandate and was involved in questioning a suspect.”

The director narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “You're right. Thank you.” He handed Jack his phone.

Jack casually strolled out. And then, as soon as he was out of sight, he broke into a run. He had a very sketchy plan. “Slow down, Cat,” he hissed into the receiver. “Take your time getting there.” He sprinted all the way to the main stage.

Ethan slugged back more of his drink. He was trying everything he could think of to woo Madeleine. But she was proving to be an incredibly tough nut to crack. If he couldn't get Madeleine out of there, it could ruin the whole thing.

He reached for the bottle of wine on the table and filled her glass, then his. “One of the things I like best about a fine wine is how it gets better with age,” Ethan said smoothly. “More sophisticated, more layered, more interesting.” He gave Madeleine a glance that was laced with meaning. “But maybe that's just me. Perhaps you prefer your wine on the young side—vigorous and bold?”

He got nothing back. Madeleine met his gaze, sipped her wine, and looked away.

Then the emcee onstage called out, “And the final winner of tonight's honor, Christiane Beaulieu!”

Ethan tightened his fists. He had to do it now, with his very next line.

It was a risky one, but he had to give it a try. He leaned in and said in a low voice, “There's a balcony off the Napoleon III apartments. I hear there's an incredible view of the pyramid right at sunset. Right now, in fact. I'm not sure it's allowed, going out there, but shall we try to sneak out and see it, anyway?”

This was probably coming on way too strong. He would be lucky if she didn't slap his face. But he had to try.

Madeleine turned slightly in her chair to glance at him over her shoulder. She gave him an appraising look. “Yes, Mr. Augustin, I believe we shall.”

It was all he could do not to fall off his chair with surprise. But he didn't miss a beat when standing and holding her hand as she rose. As Madeleine paused to retrieve her clutch, Ethan took a moment to watch Cat, to assess how she was doing.

And she did not look good. Not at all. There was full-blown panic in her eyes as she made her way to the stage.

Ethan placed his hand on Madeleine's lower back as they walked from the room. There was nothing more he could do for Cat at the moment. Although maybe this was the time to start praying.

 

The moment before they called me up onstage, I saw two security guards arrive and quietly take Reilly away. Jack must have done his part.

Then the emcee announced my name, and everything went into blur mode.

I glanced over and saw that Ethan had finally managed to capture Madeleine's attention. They were standing, heading out of the room.

I stood, trying to calm my quaking knees. What about the undercover agents? Were they still on point, or had Ethan and Jack managed to take care of them?

Then, as I approached the stage, a man just in front of the platform suddenly clutched his abdomen and dashed in the direction of the men's room.
Yes.
It was the undercover agent Ethan had furnished with our handcrafted cocktail. The superfast laxative had worked like a charm.

My way was clear. Of the dangers they could help me with, anyway. Now I just needed to do my bit.

There was applause as I walked up to the stage. Of course, I couldn't hear it over the rushing blood in my ears. I could tell only because I saw people's hands moving rapidly, clapping together.

A panic attack was brewing. I could feel it.

This was very bad. Anything less than laser focus wouldn't work.

“Babe, either you're doing your best impersonation of a housewife panicking under the spotlight . . . or you're starting to lose it,” Ethan said quietly in my ear. I could see he'd let Madeleine walk ahead of him a little, out of earshot. “Just breathe, Montgomery. Slow it down.”

I wobbled a little on my heels as I approached the steps to the stage. I touched the lower edge of my Kevlar vest. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself.

It helped fractionally.

In my ear, Jack hissed, “Slow down, Cat. Take your time. I need a few more seconds to get there. . . .”

I was able to calm myself just enough to see straight. But I was miles away from the person I usually was in these situations. And miles away from the person I wanted to be.

Somehow, I was just going to have to dig deep and do this. I commanded myself not to look at the guards. Or their Walther P99s.

I found myself walking backstage. Just a few feet away from me was the display case, laid open onstage. The Hope was there, staring at me. I experienced an irrational urge to just grab it and run. To dispense with all the pretense and the show and the sleight of hand plan . . . and just take it. It was like that sick, irrational urge to step off a cliff edge when you got too close.

Oh my God, I was losing it.

My breathing was loud, like a wind tunnel, and everything looked like a tight-focus, wobbly scene in a movie. I knew what I had to do. I tried hard to keep that in mind.

But first, I needed to figure out what to do about this frisking issue. I walked closer to the stage and saw that I was, essentially, walking into the embrace of a security officer.

Could I refuse it? Could I claim some kind of harassment thing? Just as I was formulating a plan, I heard the footsteps of someone coming briskly up the back steps. The security guard was about to start frisking me when Jack tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man,” Jack said in rough French. “FBI.” He flashed his badge. “We're working with Interpol, and we're taking over from here. You're on break as of now.” He held out a cigarette and lighter for the man. I had no idea if the guard smoked or if Jack knew this, either.

But the guard simply stared, not backing down.

“Check with your superiors,” Jack said impatiently. “I was just there, in the security office.”

The guard held his walkie-talkie to his mouth, keeping his gaze latched on Jack. “I have a Jack Barlow here, FBI or Interpol or something. . . .”

There was crackling on the line. And then, “Yeah, he was just up here. Talking with Severin about a suspect. What about him?”

The guard shrugged. He accepted the cigarette from Jack and said, “All yours,” indicating me. He walked away, and Jack stepped in. I tried to school the smile that was threatening to take over my face.

Jack's expression didn't crack. He was a pro, and he was all in. Just like I needed to be. And if I
could
get it together . . . well, I just might pull this off.

At that moment I was led out onstage.

Ethan's voice chimed in my ear. “Montgomery, I'm here,” he said. “Just for a minute. I left Madeleine on the balcony for a second. Hang in. You can do it.”

I looked out to see Ethan standing in the ballroom by the bar, gazing in my direction. Then I spotted Jack striding across the room, heading toward the restrooms, and I knew he was getting in position to pull the smoke alarm. Jack and Ethan were doing their part. Now it was my turn.

At that moment, I became dimly aware of the person holding up the Hope necklace. It glimmered in front of my dazed eyes. I fought to focus on it, but it was like one of those hypnotizing pocket watches in cartoons.

I felt for the replacement in my sleeve, and it was there, a hard lump in the folds of fabric. Everything was ready.

And then, suddenly, it was around my neck. Heavy and cold. Wait. The
real Hope Diamond
was around my neck. Panicky flashes of the curse spun through my head. I needed to get it together here. I could feel myself on the paper edge of a full-blown panic attack.

Escape,
was all I could think. I needed to escape. But I couldn't run now, not with the Hope. It was like a handcuff for my neck. A collar that dogs in training wear, one that administers electric shocks.

I posed for photographs and had no idea if I appeared happy or terrified.

“
Smile,
Montgomery,” Ethan said in my earpiece. “And breathe. You're almost there, kiddo. Just wait for the alarm and then do your thing. You got this.”

My hands went up and around the back of the necklace. I knew what I had to do. I knew how the clasp worked. I'd practiced a thousand times. I took a step away from the host so he wouldn't reach out for me or interfere with my swap. My heart was beating like it was going to explode.

And then Jack's voice sliced into my consciousness. “Cat, you ready? Here we go.”

The smoke alarm wailed with a sudden, unexpected piercing. Everyone looked up, around, and most importantly, away from me.

At that instant I pretended to stumble. My pashmina swept across my throat. My hands unclasped the necklace and let it drop down the front of my gown, concealed by the pashmina. The replica slid out of my sleeve, and I brought it up, clasping it at the back of my neck.

I stood up straight once more and swept the pashmina back and away. I gazed at the crowd as confusion about the smoke alarm settled and people turned back to the stage again. I scanned the faces. All it would take was for one person to have spotted the swap. Was anyone frowning with suspicion? With conviction or outrage? Had anyone seen what I'd done?

In my mind it was the clumsiest swap I'd ever done. The worst one since I'd started practicing. Worse than my first attempt. I was sure in a matter of seconds the guards would be upon me. It was over.

And then I heard Ethan say, “Perfection, Montgomery. Your best ever. Now, smile. You're almost done.”

Perfection?

The panic attack was still surging through my nerves. I wanted to vomit. There was a strong possibility I still would—all over the shoes of the emcee.

I felt the curator undo the clasp behind my neck, raise up the fake Hope necklace, and place it back in the display case.

“You got it, Montgomery. Now,
get off
that stage.”

“But go slow,” Jack added. I could see him strolling back to the table.

I had it. It was in my gown. The Hope Diamond. I could feel it, snug inside the bodice of my gown.

Someone turned off the smoke alarm, and everyone relaxed again.

On wobbly legs, I stepped toward the edge of the stage and walked down the stairs, still forcing a smile. I knew what was in my gown. I had visual images of it dropping straight through, falling to the floor by my feet, appearing under my ball gown. And me, caught red-handed and frozen, like a deer in headlights, as camera lightbulbs flashed.

Somehow I got off the stage and back to my table.

“Breathe, Cat,” Jack said.

The crowd's attention went back to the front of the ballroom as the emcee continued speaking, announcing dessert and dancing. And pointing out that the champagne bar was still open.

I think. It was all very Charlie Brown's teacher to my ears.

“Take three more breaths, Montgomery, and then get moving,” Ethan said.

If I didn't have these two coaching me through this, what would I have done?

I had the Hope. I had it. Still, there was a big part of this that felt like a failure. I was a shadow of my former self. The old Cat would have gone up there easily, totally under control. And more than that, she would have had fun.

Right then, I knew my career as a thief was over. I'd lost it. I couldn't do it anymore. I wanted to hide and cry and run.

And I would have done all those things. Except I still had to complete this job.

I took the three slow breaths Ethan had instructed me to take, then calmly stood and walked out of the ballroom and toward the restroom. I chose the restroom that was far away from the ballroom and down a long dark hallway, the Richelieu wing, well away from security or anybody else. And I was happy to have the walk to help settle me down.

Once there, safely locked inside a stall, I set to work. I needed to switch the location of the Hope, to put it somewhere more secure. I plucked the Hope from my bodice and stared at it a moment.

It was gorgeous. Sparkling. And . . .
Oh no.

What I held in my hand was a fake Hope Diamond.