A Magnificent Crime (34 page)

I couldn't believe it. Bitterness flooded my veins. This was a massive fail.

The fake was a good one. Very good. Not quite as good as the one I'd swapped it for, however, the one we'd procured in Bangkok. But only a trained eye would recognize the difference. And my eye was very trained. Now that I looked carefully, though, it was obvious from the degree of reflection, the quality of the sparkles and the interior fire. It lacked luster. It lacked that magical quality. The white diamonds that collared it were fake, too. The whole thing was a replica.

I couldn't help thinking, if I had been of clearer mind up onstage, would I have noticed earlier and saved myself this whole heartache and risk?

I was out of time. I clutched onto the cold metal bar inside the toilet stall for support.
Faulkner.
I couldn't let him find out. Not yet. I needed time—enough to make an escape.

But what about everyone else he'd threatened? Would he really go through with the punishment?

My mind was a churning fury of gears and pistons. One question pressed forward. Where the hell was the real Hope Diamond?

I immediately thought of Madeleine and Reilly. Had they already snatched it, replacing it with this fake?

No, that made no sense whatsoever. Madeleine's plan depended on a very public theft. She needed the world to know the Hope had been stolen. Taking it subtly and replacing it with a fake did not suit that plan at all.

Was it possible this had been the jewel in the Louvre all along? And I was only now noticing it was a fake? No, there was no way. I would have recognized it. When I came to see the Hope in the Louvre that first day, that was the real one. I was sure of it. This was a replacement. So where was the real one?

And then I remembered something:
the underground vault.

That was where Lafayette had said they stored the Hope at night. Maybe they'd kept it there for the gala, too, using a replica during the high-risk time of the gala, when strangers, members of the general public, would be wearing it?

Could it possibly mean . . . Was the real Hope still in the vault downstairs?

“Cat, you there?” came Jack's voice in my ear.

I had forgotten Jack and Ethan; they were waiting for me to give them a report. I exhaled and closed my eyes and said, “You're not going to believe this.”

“What?” Ethan said.

“It's not real.”

“What's not real?” Jack said.

“The Hope.”

A suspended silence hung on the line. Then Ethan said, “Are you sure, Montgomery?”

“I'm sure.”

Ethan swore in response.

“What now?” Jack asked.

“Now I need to get out of here. After that, I don't know. I can't even think about it yet. I'll meet you guys in the ballroom.”

I tucked the fake Hope into my bodice and slipped into the corridor, making my way back to the ballroom. Rows of looming carved columns cast eerie shadows in the darkened hallway. Nobody else was here as I walked. My shoes echoed eerily on the marble, and the skin at the back of my neck prickled.

And then a cold blade went to my throat.

“Hello, princess,” a familiar voice hissed in my ear. “You seem to be lost.”

 

Jack heard the voice through his earpiece, then a muffled shout from Cat, then nothing. He immediately bolted into action. Cold terror surged through his body when he heard a loud crackle on the line, then nothing more from Cat or the man. He started running to the Richelieu wing.

“Barlow! Do you see her?” Ethan was hollering through the line. “Do you see her? Can you get to her?”

“No! I'm on my way, but I can't see anything yet,” Jack barked. “
Respond,
Cat. Are you there?” But there was nothing from her. The line was dead. He refused to consider the possibility that Cat was in the same state. He just kept moving forward. “Jones, who the hell was that?” he demanded. “Do you know?”

But there was almost nothing from Ethan—some heavy breathing only. He was on the move, too.

Jack sprinted through the dark corridor, his heart pounding in his ears. He was not concerned that he had left the party so abruptly. Not concerned about the Hope Diamond. One thing alone concerned him right then: getting to Cat.

He rounded the corner at a sprint to the Richelieu wing. On the floor he spotted something. One of Cat's shoes. And beside it, a crushed earpiece. But there was no sign of them otherwise.

She'd been taken.

Jack spun on the spot, trying to judge which way they'd gone. Then he heard shouting in his earpiece. It was Ethan.

“Jack! She's here. He's taken her to the courtyard!”

Jack covered his ear to hear better. “Where? Jones, where are you?”

“In the Cour Carrée, the square courtyard! The west wing—”

Jack sprinted like a cheetah to get to that spot. He knew exactly where Ethan meant. It was a fully enclosed, large courtyard at the back of the Louvre, where few people went. He could hear Ethan gasping for breath. And then something that sounded unbelievably loud, like a motor.

Jack burst into the courtyard just in time to see a helicopter lifting off the ground.

 

The instant Ethan heard the voice, he'd known exactly who it was. Sean Reilly. Thief, probable murderer, all-round son of a bitch.

He'd started running immediately. But not to where Cat had been. Instead, he'd cut a course to where he figured Reilly would take her. Ethan knew her approximate location in the Richelieu wing, and he figured Reilly would want to get her out of the building and away to a more secure location. This was the fastest route out of the building. It was smart. It would take Louvre security a few minutes to lock on this location and mobilize people back here.

The chopper was still on the ground as Ethan emerged from the building. He raced for it, not stopping to think. What was he going to do? Jump in? Hang on?

He saw Cat inside through the windows. She was sitting very still, with a knife against her throat. He barked into his receiver, “Jack! She's here. He's taken her to the courtyard!”

Ethan was a full-throttle locomotive. He had to get to her across the courtyard. He ignored the erupting terror of what would happen to her and focused on his determination to stop it.

The sound of the helicopter was deafening, the wind like a hurricane as he got closer. But as he sprinted, muscles burning, the helicopter lifted up. Panic clutched Ethan's throat.

Ethan looked around frantically. Cars were parked on the far side of the courtyard, valet parking for the most exclusive clients at the gala. He would need something that moved fast. He jumped into the first one in line, a black Aston Martin.

He hot-wired it in a second, trying to keep an eye on the helicopter. The engine came alive with a vibrating roar. He pressed his foot to the floor.

He knew it was ridiculous. How was he going to keep track of a helicopter and drive at the same time? Then Jack exploded into the courtyard. Ethan steered the car to him, swinging open the door.

“Get in!” Ethan barked. Jack didn't ask questions as he leaped in the passenger's side.

“Keep your eye on that helicopter,” Ethan said. They flew underneath the archway leading out of the courtyard and into the streets.

“Jones, there's no way we can follow a helicopter in a car. Not even this one.”

“We have to try,” Ethan said. He despised the fact that his voice cracked just then. Who the hell had he become? “Even if we just see what direction they take her in.”

Jack kept a firm eye on the helicopter, and Ethan drove like a madman. He did his best to keep up as Jack snarled directions.

“Faster!” yelled Jack. “You're losing them.”

Ethan gamely swerved through traffic. But after a few seconds, he knew it was going to be futile. There was no way they could keep pace with a helicopter in Paris traffic. In a matter of seconds the helicopter was too far away to catch. After several more seconds it was out of sight entirely.

They had lost her.

Ethan's chest crushed with defeat. He pulled the car over, into a bus pullout beside the Seine, and both men climbed out. They stared into the sky in the direction the chopper had disappeared.

Ethan needed to think. Where could they have taken her?

“Who was it? Who grabbed her?” Jack demanded.

“It was Reilly.” Ethan rubbed his face. “I recognized the voice. Then I saw him in the helicopter.”

Jack stared at Ethan with bewilderment. “I thought I'd dealt with him. He was supposed to be detained by security.”

“I guess he got out of it somehow,
Jack,
” Ethan said with a cutting tone. “He must have doubled back.”

Jack was clearly frustrated; he looked like he might bite through sheet metal. “Why did they
take
her, exactly?” Jack demanded. “Why not just seize the Hope? Knock her out or—” Jack stopped abruptly, and Ethan gave him a sharp look. There would be no mention made of anyone killing Cat.

Jack nodded, both men in silent agreement over this. Ethan raked a hand through his hair, thinking hard.

Jack interrupted his thoughts. “So how did you get this car, Jones?”

“You don't wanna know.”

Ethan looked sideways at the FBI agent, who clearly knew it was stolen and didn't seem to care. Surprising.

“Okay, what now?” Ethan asked. “Any ideas where they would've gone?”

Jack worked his hands, cracking his knuckles. “None.”

They both stood staring off in the distance, in the direction in which the helicopter had disappeared, somewhere over the Left Bank.

“Fuck,” Jack spat, echoing Ethan's thoughts exactly.

Okay, breathe. Stay calm, Cat.
I had to keep my head. Being dragged out of the Louvre and stuffed into a helicopter had been terrifying and bewildering. As the helicopter's churning blades roared in my ears, I frantically tried to get my bearings. I needed to figure out which way we were going and, more importantly, find an opportunity to get away.

My stomach swooped as the pilot dipped the helicopter to the side in a tight turn. The world tilted, and I struggled to stay oriented.

My arms were tied behind my back with a rough rope. I strained and tested it. There was no give whatsoever. I had attempted to get out of the knife hold Reilly had pulled on me in the Louvre, but he had anticipated my moves. It was the rare person who did that. Men tended to underestimate me when they attacked me. Something that happened with alarming frequency.

I knew they weren't going to kill me right away. Otherwise Reilly would have done that in the Louvre when he had a blade against my throat. But what did they want with me? What did they need me for?

After several minutes the pilot brought us down for a landing in a broad parking lot. Reilly and another man—bigger, stronger—hustled me out with rough hands, and I almost lost my balance stepping down. Falling would be bad with my hands behind my back: my face would be the cushion for my fall. I recruited every muscle I had in an effort to stay on my feet.

They pulled me upright and forced me to walk forward. I tried to look around and get my bearings, but this was a part of Paris I didn't recognize. It was a quieter arrondissement, farther out from the city center.

Then came the window of opportunity. Reilly paused to answer his bleeping phone. The big man still held me, but I had to try.

I made a play. Executing an arm loop maneuver in a brief flash, I kicked back into the big man's left knee and he dropped. I took two steps, seeing freedom . . . and then Reilly caught me with a lunge and a grab of my elbow.

Disappointment tasted bitter in my mouth. A worse sensation immediately followed, however, as Reilly delivered a sharp blow to my nose.

Stars exploded in my vision. It wasn't a hard enough smash to break the nasal bones, just enough to make my nose bleed like a stab wound. They did not offer me a Kleenex.

Next thing I knew, they had opened a hatch in the ground and were stuffing me into it. I was forced down a rickety iron ladder into the darkness.

Even through the blood pooling in my nose, I could smell the foul odors of sewage and mildew. The air was cold and clammy, like fingers on your skin. Apart from the eerie sounds of drips echoing in the darkness, it was quiet and muffled down here, in contrast to the upper world. The only source of light came from the headlamps Reilly and his assistant wore.

I jumped down and found myself in a tunnel. And then it dawned on me. I knew where we were.

The catacombs.

Underneath Paris lay miles and miles of uncharted passageways. They dated back hundreds of years, and only a small portion of them was open to the public. Entry to all the other passageways and underground caverns was forbidden. Which meant they were the subject of many rumors and secrets.

They forced me to start walking. Within moments I realized how much of a problem this was going to be: this was a one-way journey. I was not going to find my way out of this maze.

Be smart, Cat.
I needed a plan.

How did Theseus escape the labyrinth? How did Hansel and Gretel find their way out of the forest? Well, they each had outside help. Ariadne gave Theseus a thread to help him get out. Hansel and Gretel had those damn bread crumbs.

Memo to self:

 

Bring bread crumbs on next abduction experience.

 

And then I had a thought.
My nosebleed.
Blood was still dripping from my nose, running down my face. I leaned forward, letting blood drop on the ground. I breathed heavily through my nose to get more blood flowing. Blood could be my bread crumbs. Now I just needed a chance to escape.

We walked for a long time through endless twists, turns, and forks in the path. Sometimes the pathways were paved with dirt, sometimes gravel. At one point we trod on ancient cobblestones, worn and forgotten.

At last we arrived in a cavern. I went in first, followed by Reilly, while the other man stayed outside, presumably to guard the entrance. At first glance I thought the cavern was hewn from stone, the bedrock underneath Paris. As my vision focused, I saw that the walls were made of bones. Hundreds of human bones, skulls and femurs and ribs, stacked and jigsawed together like macabre interlocking bricks.

It was one of the ancient burial crypts of the catacombs. Every horror-movie torture scene was flashing before my eyes, and I shuddered, struggling to hold on to my nerves. A panic attack was just in the edges of my consciousness. It took everything in me to fight it.

I focused on the fire that burned on the floor of the cavern, a small campfire-esque heap of wood and charcoal surrounded by stones, flickering and smoking off to one side of the space.

And then someone moved in a corner of the dark cavern. A figure came forward, out of the shadows, dragging a metal chair and a length of rope.

As the person emerged into the circle of light cast by the headlamps, I saw her. Madeleine York.

Of course.

Reilly shoved me down onto the chair and tied me to it. Madeleine then reached into the bodice of my gown and ripped out the Hope Diamond. Her eyes flashed with victory. And then changed.

“It's a fake,” I said dully, verbalizing what she'd just realized.

“No!” Madeleine screamed, her face twisted with rage.

Reilly stayed silent, but his mouth went into a tight, thin line and his nostrils flared. He ripped my purse away and tore through it, dumping the contents. He looked up at Madeleine. “Nothing,” he said. “Where the hell is it?” he demanded, turning on me.

“How would I know? Obviously, I was sucked in by the fake just like you two were.” I was striving for a casual tone, but I was thinking as hard as I could. I needed a way out of here.

Madeleine, meanwhile, was composing herself with several deep breaths. “That ridiculous man, Severin,” she muttered. “He'd said he wanted to use a decoy and keep the real one in the vault. Never mind that nobody else agreed. He must have gone ahead and done it, anyway.” She straightened her shoulders, looked at me, and quietly said, “Well, we still have you.”

My mouth went dry. I didn't know what she meant by that, exactly, and I was truly hoping I would get out of here before I found out.

“I'm willing to extend a very generous offer to you, Catherine Montgomery. I'm giving you a choice. And a chance.
Join us.
”

It didn't sound much like a choice to me; it struck me more as a command.

“Why would I do that?” I said.

“Because if you don't, you'll die down here,” Reilly said with an unpleasant curve to his lip.

“This is your only chance, my dear,” Madeleine said. “If you do not join us, we have no further use for you. But you appear to be capable. And you have skills I can use. I would prefer if those did not go to waste.”

I looked at Madeleine carefully. There was something about the way she was speaking, the way she seemed to be . . .
recruiting
me. It was like she had a bigger operation than just she and Reilly working together. And this concept tickled my brain in an unpleasant way, but I wasn't entirely sure why. It was like there was something I was supposed to remember, but I couldn't just then.

“If you don't choose to join us, you'll be in good company, of course.” Madeleine glanced around the cavern and gestured, taking in the wall ornamentation.

I kept my gaze firmly away from the bones and skulls. “Why would you want me working for you?” I said.

“We could use your skills.”

“Why?” I had to keep her talking. I had to come up with a plan.

She shrugged. “I have the need for a reliable roster of thieves. Assassins, too, but I think it works well when people's skills are specialized.”

“Oh, assassins, right,” I said, subtly testing the ropes that tied me to the chair. “That's how you killed those people connected with the Hope.”

Instead of looking angry, Madeleine smiled with devilish delight. The hairs on my arms went up.

“The notoriety of the Hope has been declining ever since it landed in the Smithsonian's possession. People used to be truly afraid of the curse. In recent years, people have forgotten about it and just think of it as a curious but charming story. What we did changed all that.” She pulled her shoulders back and stood tall, seemingly proud of her accomplishment.

“Who is
we?
” I asked. “Just you two? Plus that guy outside, I guess? Or do you have a full-blown organization of some kind?”

“A lot of questions from the one tied to a chair.” Madeleine's eyes flashed with annoyance. “But since you're curious, in fact, yes, I do happen to have something of an organization.”

I could tell she was understating this. She was a master puppeteer of some kind, and she was collecting people to work for her . . . like you'd recruit assets if you were running a spy ring....

Oh my God. Madeleine is the Gargoyle.
Could it possibly be true?

It was all I could do not to show my shock outwardly at this revelation. Jack had been looking for someone, a master engineer with his or her fingers in all kinds of illicit operations. He'd suspected Faulkner. But I now saw that it could be Madeleine York.

This was not a good development.

Madeleine sighed with impatience. “I should advise you, if you're having fantasies of escape, forget them. People have lost their way and died down here. What was that story I was telling you about, Reilly?” she asked pleasantly, looking up at him. “That guy who was missing down here for four years or something?”

Reilly nodded.

“They found him eventually. Dead just a few meters from the exit,” Madeleine said.

“This isn't like a labyrinth. It
is
a labyrinth,” Reilly said.

“Complete with Minotaur?” I asked, looking at Madeleine.

She shrugged. “There are maps. But, um, you don't have one of those, do you? I didn't think so.” Madeleine brushed some dust from her skirt. “Besides, it wouldn't do you any good if you were to escape. You must know by now that everyone is looking for you as the prime suspect in the Hope Diamond murders.”

I raised my chin, hoping I looked braver than I felt. The steady trickle of blood from my nose had slowed.

Madeleine smiled a small, tight smile. “A tidy little situation. When they find you, weeks from now probably, they'll assume you came down here to hide from the law. And that you got lost and died. They'll say you were a thief who planned to steal the diamond, that you tried to increase the notoriety of it beforehand by bumping off a few people, but all plans backfired. Case closed.”

“How does that help your cause about the Hope curse?” I jumped on this loophole.

She laughed. “Oh, the public will still believe the Hope curse exists. Now that it's been planted in their consciousness. They'll think you were another victim. And that's what matters.”

“And what about the Hope itself? The real one? What are you going to do?” I asked.

“We're still going to take it,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. “Everything's in place for the theft tomorrow, while it's in transit back to Washington.” She glanced at Reilly. “Am I correct?”

He nodded.

I shifted in the cold metal seat; it squeaked under my weight. Maybe I would be left alone to consider their offer. Maybe they'd go off for a bit to do some other nefarious work.

That's what they would do in the movies, anyway. But I didn't seem to have any such luck.

“So what's your answer?” Reilly was standing over me.

Madeleine narrowed her eyes, studying me closely. Then she turned to Reilly. “Get the girl some water. So she can speak.”

Reilly gave me a bottle of water and held it to my mouth. I drank it heartily as water dribbled down my chin and neck. I was so thirsty, and my tongue was so dry.

I swallowed. I knew as soon as I refused them, they would leave me down here to rot. But I was not going to be trapped in this labyrinth. As soon as I got the chance, I was going to get out of here.

Hope floated up like a bottle at sea as I thought of the drops of blood on the pathway. I had my bread crumbs. I'd be able to find my way out. Now I just needed to wait for them to leave me to wither and waste and die down here . . . and then I'd set to following the path.

They watched me. Then Madeleine said, “So, have you decided?”

I looked at them defiantly. “Thank you for your kind offer. But I'm going to have to decline.”

They stared at me a moment. Then Reilly nodded and Madeleine lifted her chin.

“Yes, that's just what we thought you'd say,” she said.

“Good call,” Reilly said to Madeleine, inclining his head to the water bottle, which lay discarded on the ground as he began packing up their gear.

“Yes, well, it was a bit of a wager,” Madeleine said, shrugging. “But we'd have been able to take care of the consequences had things gone the other way.”

It was like they were speaking in Armenian suddenly. I frowned with confusion. They were talking like I wasn't even there anymore.

And then the horrible truth sank in to me. I looked down at the water bottle.
Oh my God.

Poison.