A Magnificent Crime (38 page)

I had no way of climbing back out the ceiling. Scrambling a few feet up an elevator shaft was one thing; getting myself to the middle of a glass ceiling thirty feet above in an enormous gallery was another.

I was inside the Louvre, with the Hope on me. And most of the security systems were in place again. Much like wearing lip gloss with your hair down on a windy day, this was a bad plan.

What the hell was I going to do? I needed to be able to walk out.

And then it occurred to me: there was only one class of person who could do that at this time of night. A security officer.

And I had an officer's uniform stashed in this building, because that had been my backup plan for the gala. Could I get to the utility closet where I'd hidden the guard's uniform? Could it possibly still be there?

“Gladys, is the CCTV still out?”

“Still frozen, yes. I am the only one receiving the correct images. You're free to move about. Where are you going?”

“To fight my way out of here.”

I crept to the Richelieu wing, slipping silently through the hushed galleries and hallways, ever wary of encountering an unexpected security guard. Moonlight filtered in through the high leaded windows.

I reached the end of the Richelieu wing, the remote section containing the utility closet, and opened the closet door. The hinges gave a squeak, which sent a blast of adrenaline through my veins. I froze, waiting, but there was no sign I'd been heard. I clambered into the closet, reached back behind the mop and bucket, and—yes—the uniform was sitting there. I quickly pulled it on over my Lycra suit.

I experienced a moment of major doubt. Was this actually going to work? But I reminded myself there were more than a thousand security officers in the Louvre. There was no way any one individual could know them all.

Right?

I had to get moving. I had been good at covering my tracks thus far, but at any moment someone might discover there was an intruder. The hole in the ceiling, for one. The missing Hope, for another—if they happened to decide to take this moment to do an unscheduled spot check of the vault.

I exited the utility closet and quickly changed my gait. I was no longer a thief trying to stay hidden. I was a guard on patrol.

I managed to reach the atrium under the pyramid without encountering any guards, though, no small miracle. My heart was beating the rhythm of the headhunter tribe on
Gilligan's Island.
I tried not to think about what was zipped inside my suit, underneath this uniform. Equally, I tried to avoid thinking too deeply about what the real guards held themselves: semiautomatic weapons, handcuffs, nightsticks, and so on.

I stepped onto the escalator and rode it to the top of the pyramid entrance, and there two guards came into view.
Good, just two.
The rest of the team, I imagined, was still in the Denon wing, investigating Ethan's break-in.

I was hoping for a minimum of interaction. But I knew I wouldn't be able to get away with no interaction at all. I prepared myself for my most flawless French ever. “Evening, gentlemen,” I said. “Just popping out for my break.” I held up the pack of cigarettes I'd stashed in the pocket.

The first one, the taller of the two, looked at me with an expression as soft and warm as a sledgehammer. The other repositioned his hands on his AR-15.

“I haven't seen you before,” said the taller one. He tilted his head like a bird of prey scrutinizing a field mouse.

“Yeah, I'm new. Just started last week. I was late for the start of shift tonight.” I knew the guards on night duty started their shift at midnight, and they all would have seen each other in the locker rooms of the central security offices.

I left my explanation at that. The rule about lying was that you needed to give just enough details to make a thing sound plausible, but not so much that it smacked of overcompensating.

There were a few moments of silence as they studied me. Those few moments stretched out and felt like three hours. My mouth was stone dry. I needed to break the stalemate.

“Got a light? Either of you?” I asked, holding up a cigarette.

The hard mask softened infinitesimally on the taller guard. He nodded and fished a matchbox from his pocket. The other guard stepped to the side, out of my way.

I thanked them and walked forward, sidestepping the metal detectors, and out through the glass doors of the pyramid, into the cool night air. All around me the palace walls of the Louvre reached toward the sky, and dead ahead was the archway leading into the Tuileries Garden.

I forced myself to walk casually, to stroll away and light my cigarette. I needed to know they weren't watching me. I could tell through my peripheral vision that they hadn't turned away yet. But surely I would get boring soon. And once I did, I'd be off like a jackrabbit.

What if they changed their minds? What if the supervisor came back from his break and denounced me before I got out of view?

I kept strolling, heart thundering. And then they turned their gaze away from me and continued their conversation.

In an instant, I sprinted away. I stayed close to the shadows and moved as fast as my legs would spin. I felt the weight of the Hope cradled into my body.

A thrill ran through me—I was escaping with the Hope Diamond. The actual Hope Diamond. A bubbly, giggly sensation threatened to burst out of me.

I quashed it immediately. There was no reason to celebrate just yet. I was nowhere near the edge of the woods.

In the streets of Paris just outside the Louvre, I ducked down an alley and found the dark, quiet alcove where I'd stashed a change of clothes. I pulled on a dark hoodie and jeans and tucked the Hope in one pocket and the tarot card in another—a silly urge, but at that moment I was thankful for every bit of protection I could get. Then I sent a message to Faulkner on the encrypted line he'd given me.

My phone vibrated seconds later.

“I have it,” was all I said when I picked up the call.

“Good,” he replied. “Meet me at the Seine, underneath the Pont Alexandre III. Left Bank, right down by the river.”

“I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Good. And, Catherine, as a show of good faith, it will only be me there. But it also has to be only you.”

I hesitated a second. And then I said, “Agreed.”

I disconnected and started walking.

As I walked, I flicked on my micro earpiece again. “I'm on my way to rendezvous with Faulkner,” I said quietly, hoping Ethan and Jack were both still on the line. “And I'm going alone.”

“Just wait a little,” Ethan said. “I've shaken the cops, but I'm on the other side of the city. Just gimme a few minutes. I want to be there, Montgomery.”

“So do I, Cat. You do
not
want to meet him alone,” Jack said, his voice lowered to a barely audible volume. “I'm still with Hendrickx, but I may be able to slip off in a minute or so.”

“It's okay, both of you,” I said. “I can do this. And it will be over in a matter of minutes. You don't need to come.”

“Like hell I don't,” Ethan said. “I'm seeing this through. Besides, I don't trust Faulkner.”

“It kills me, but I have to say I agree with Ethan,” Jack said.

I appreciated their concern. I really did. But I'd promised to come alone. And more than that, I just couldn't wait. I had to get this thing off me.

“I'll send you a message when it's all done.” I clicked off my earpiece, pulled up my hood, and headed across the bridge.

On the other side of the river, I hopped a cab.

Climbing into the backseat, I quickly scanned for the CCTV camera I knew was here somewhere. There, I spotted it—just below the headrest right in front of me. I surreptitiously blocked it out with a piece of chewing gum.

The cab sped along the Seine toward the Pont Alexandre III. I sat in the back, admiring the glimmering lights of Paris that flashed by, and tried to prepare for the one last step I had to take.

Then a brighter flash and a siren went flying by opposite us, in the direction of the Louvre. Had the theft been discovered? I swallowed. Then I heard more sirens. And more flashing lights zipped past at top speed.

Yes. It had to be the Louvre. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Okay, time to get out of this cab. I did not relish being confined to a car in which I was not in control. Drivers received police bulletins on their feeds all the time, and I did not want to be in the car of some hero cabbie. I called forward to the driver and told him I had changed my mind, and could he please let me out right here?

He looked at me in the rearview mirror and narrowed his eyes just slightly.

Do not be memorable here, Cat. Be casual. Don't do anything weird that's going to be reported to a supervisor later.

The cabdriver shrugged in the classic French form and pulled over. I stuffed some euros into his hand and leaped out into the cool night air.

The rest of the journey would be on foot. Which was fine, since it wasn't too far away at this point. I walked briskly through the empty streets. Very few people were up at this hour—not even the street sweepers were out yet. It would still be another hour or two before the bakeries started warming up their ovens.

I was walking west in the Seventh Arrondissement and every so often caught glimpses of the Eiffel Tower through gaps in the tall, patrician buildings of creamy stone.

Then I heard another siren a few blocks away, coming closer. I pressed myself against a building wall as it passed. The sound changed pitch as the vehicle moved farther away, passing me by.

At last, I arrived at Pont Alexandre III, a beautiful ceremonial bridge with ornate lampposts and a single graceful arch. Even the long row of shining lampposts did little, though, to chase away the moody fog that hovered down by the Seine.

I spotted Faulkner sitting on a park bench at the river's edge with his back to the pathway, unconcerned about any dangers that lurked there. I wondered what that would be like—to be so sure of your own untouchability.

I scanned the area for others. I couldn't see anyone else, but I wanted to be sure. I descended the curving staircase to the river's edge, but I stayed concealed, deep in the shadows. It was creepy down here by the shifting waters of the Seine; all the hairs on my arms prickled upward.

I knew there was no CCTV down here, which was both good and bad. I began to have second thoughts about not waiting for Jack and Ethan, not letting them accompany me here.

“How close are you guys?” I whispered, flicking on my earpiece.

“I'll be there in fifteen,” Ethan said.

“About seven,” Jack said.

I chewed a fingernail. It was too long. I couldn't wait. This close to the Louvre was not a good place to be; my every fiber wanted to get out of here. So, I was on my own.

I stepped out of the shadows.

I walked slowly toward Faulkner, and he turned his head.

“You have it?” he asked. “With you?” I could see he was trying to control his emotions. I could see the gleeful boy in him trying to get out.

I desperately wanted to hand the Hope over and get it out of my possession as fast as possible. And then get out of there. Alive, ideally.

But one thing I knew for sure: I was not giving up this diamond until I had his word it was over. That I would be released from his demands.

“You get nothing until you promise you will not harm my family,” I said.

Faulkner stared at me. He blinked. “Of course. They are safe.”

“And this is over now, with this. Once I give you the Hope, we're done. We're square. Yes?”

He smiled. “It is over.” He held his hands out in a gesture of goodwill. “All right? And now?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the diamond. It filled my fist and felt cold in my hand. The chain of white diamonds clicked faintly as I held the necklace out. “Here.”

His eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

I wondered if he knew how much of an illusion it was to possess a diamond. Jewels were here before us and will outlast us all. You can hold them in your hand, you can possess them for a while, but they will be here when you're gone.

Even still, Faulkner's adoration of this stone was evident. And, in a strange way, I felt like I was doing the right thing because of that. Faulkner was a monster in many ways, but at least he respected the sanctity of the diamond. I knew it would be safe with him. He stood to face me and reached forward.

Suddenly, without warning, a shot rang out. Faulkner's face went blank. And he fell backward into the Seine with a robust splash. I knew instantly he was dead.

I dove to the ground reflexively, clutching the Hope tightly to my chest. I needed to get somewhere safe; I was so exposed.

And then out of the shadows of the bridge Reilly emerged, a Walther P99 leading the way. Just behind him, Madeleine appeared, also carrying a handgun. The pair walked slowly toward me.

“Stand up,” Reilly said in a chillingly calm tone.

My brain was churning as I stood, still gripping the diamond. I knew the only reason they hadn't shot me yet was that they were concerned that if I followed Faulkner into the river, they would lose the Hope.

So to survive, I needed to do two things: hold tightly to the Hope and stay close to the river.

“Well, well,” Madeleine said. “You
are
surprising, Cat Montgomery. I would love to hear how you got out of the catacombs. But I think that might have to wait.”

The options ripped through my mind. I could run. And get shot in the back. I could jump into the Seine and swim away. But there was nowhere to go. They would just follow me downriver, shoot me at their leisure when I eventually climbed out.

I needed a weapon. Or a distraction.

I could feel the edges of despair start to creep in. There was no way out of this. Reilly was coming closer, the gun in his right hand. His left hand was out for me to hand the Hope to him.

But I knew the second I did that, he would shoot me.

Madeleine was standing behind Reilly, her Smith & Wesson trained on me.

“Looks like the Hope Diamond is going to be a curse for you, after all, Catherine Montgomery,” Madeleine said. “Just like all the others. Thank you for playing along. So nice of you to help my cause. Your body will be found, and you will be known as the thief of the Hope. They'll try to find the diamond on the bottom of the Seine— fruitlessly. It's perfect, really. Another mysterious, grisly death for someone who touched the Hope Diamond. I couldn't have planned it better myself. My buyers will be thrilled to have a piece of that.”

My gaze shifted between Madeleine and Reilly. This was going to come down to a physical fight. My heart hammered. I knew I could take Madeleine, but I wasn't sure I could win a physical confrontation with Reilly.

Suddenly, a figure dressed entirely in black leaped down from the side of the staircase, taking Madeleine down.

Reilly turned, and that was my moment.

I lunged forward, dropping the Hope, and struck the hand holding the gun, cracking the back of his wrist. I kicked hard into the side of Reilly's knee. As Reilly fell, the gun fired before it flew from his hand and the bullet shot harmlessly across the water. The gun skittered across the ground. Reilly was up in a second, though, charging at me.

I dodged his advance, coming up beside him and kicking him off kilter. He recovered and spun, grabbing me in a choke hold. I dropped instantly, throwing him off balance. Then I lunged, tripped him, and pushed him forward. He went straight into the Seine.

I ran to Reilly's gun, grabbed it and the Hope, which was lying beside it, and straightened. A glance over my shoulder told me the figure in black had Madeleine subdued on the ground, handcuffed. The stranger turned to look at me, and I saw who it was.

It was the fortune-teller, Esmerelda, from Montmartre. She looked completely different, but nonetheless recognizable by her curly hair, now tied back, and the faint linear scar on her left cheek.

My mouth opened with bewilderment. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, breathing heavily. Movement by the river caught my attention. Reilly had reached the edge; he'd be climbing out any second.

“I'm French secret service,” she said quickly. “I've called for backup. Should be here imminently—”

And she was right. Just as Reilly put his hands on the riverbank to climb out, agents descended, weapons trained on all of us. Hendrickx was leading the way.

It was over. But not just for Reilly and Madeleine—for me, also. There was nowhere for me to go. Images of French prisons erupted in my head.

Madeleine's crystalline voice rang out. “But what on earth are you arresting
me
for? I'm just retrieving the Hope from this thief!” She pointed at me.

All eyes went to me, standing there, clutching the Hope as it burned a hole in my palm like a brand. There was silence.

At that moment, I could see Jack running down the cobblestone ramp that led down to the riverbank. He had just arrived. But what would he be able to do? He had no authority here.

And then the fortune-teller stepped forward between me and the line of fire.

“Not her,” she said. “She's with me.”

Hendrickx stepped forward. “What are you talking about?” He was flushed, and his eyes narrowed with anger.

“Madeleine York and Sean Reilly are the true culprits,” Esmerelda said. “They killed a man, for one thing.” Her head indicated the area on the Seine where Faulkner's body was floating. A police boat was already there, moving closer, getting ready to fish him out. “They're behind this whole thing. Madeleine just
thanked
Agent Montgomery for stealing it for her.”

Hendrickx guffawed. “
Agent
Montgomery?”

“She has been working with me on this case,” Esmerelda said. “She's a secret service asset.”

Hendrickx narrowed his eyes. “This is something I'm meant to believe?”

And then Jack cleared his throat. “She's right. This was all a plan to smoke out Madeleine and Reilly,” he said, picking up the thread. “If we didn't do it this way, they would have found another way to steal the Hope, and then it would have been lost forever. Hendrickx,
this
is the Gargoyle.” He pointed at Madeleine. “I can show you all the evidence you need.”

“Barlow, you are on dangerous ground—” Hendrickx began.

“Maybe this will help,” Esmerelda interrupted. She produced a wire and a recording device, pulling them out of her vest. “Everything Madeleine York said in the past twenty-two minutes.”

After Hendrickx and his agents had packed Madeleine and Reilly into the police truck and gone off with the evidence, I remained by the river with Esmerelda and Jack. We would have to go to the station eventually to make our statements, but we would make our own way there.

I took a deep breath. I had completed the circle by handing the Hope back to the authorities. It would be safe now.

Esmerelda turned to me and Jack. “So, there's something else I need to tell you both. When I said secret service, that's just a part of what I do. The more complete truth is that I work for the DOA.”

Jack made a sound. “The Department of Antiquities?”

Esmerelda nodded.

I frowned, trying to figure out what on earth they were talking about. I felt like I'd missed an episode. That I'd gone to get popcorn partway through the movie and missed a bit. “Anyone care to explain what that is, exactly?”

Esmerelda looked at Jack with surprise. “You haven't told her?”

Jack glanced at me apologetically but let Esmerelda continue. “The Department of Antiquities is a covert organization that protects precious objects of historical significance.”

“Like the Hope Diamond?” I asked.

“Exactly. And . . . like the Aurora egg.”

I blinked. “The Fabergé that contains . . . the Gifts?” It was the Fabergé egg I'd been hunting last year. The one that had disappeared into the mists beneath Big Ben.

Jack cleared his throat. “Wesley Smith and I have been on the trail of that Fabergé for the past few weeks. We tracked it to Monaco, to a private villa owned by a member of the DOA. While you were in Bangkok, we made a play for it.”

“But it had already been taken by Caliga,” Esmerelda added.

I stared at them both. How had all this been happening without me being aware? “Why are you telling me everything now?”

“For one thing, you have a right to know the full truth,” Esmerelda said. “For another, there's something you both need to be aware of.”

I glanced at Jack, but he was watching her closely, waiting for what she would say next.

“Caliga has the egg now,” she said. “And, indeed, they have disturbing plans for it.”

I nodded. This I knew. I wasn't sure I believed any of the stuff that was said about the mysterious powers of the Gifts of the Magi. But it didn't matter, because the members of Caliga believed it, and they were prepared to do all kinds of unspeakable things in order to get at that power.

“However,” Esmerelda continued, “as they will soon find out, the Gifts contained within the egg are incomplete.”

Jack and I exchanged a look. “What do you mean?” I asked. “I saw all three—gold, frankincense, and myrrh. I tested them. I sent samples to the lab. They were dated to two thousand years ago.”

Esmerelda nodded. “Yes, you sent samples of the two you didn't recognize to the lab. Frankincense and myrrh. The third, the gold, you took at face value.”

Oh my God. She was right. I didn't specifically test the gold.

“The gold had been fashioned into a pelican,” Jack protested. “And a pelican is a symbol of Jesus, isn't it?”

“It is,” Esmerelda said, nodding. “And that's why the shape was chosen at a much later date, as a decoy.”

A decoy. I felt simultaneously foolish and impressed.

“The real gold had been separated from the frankincense and myrrh long ago,” she said. “Much farther back than the nineteenth century, when the Fabergé eggs were first made.”

“Do you know where the real gold is?” Jack asked her.

She shook her head. “Nobody does, not yet. But . . . if we can find it, we can stop Caliga. They can't do anything with the Gifts until they have all three.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. After what I'd just gone through, I could barely think about all this. I opened my eyes and glanced at Jack. He had a faraway look on his face.

“Anyway, I thought you two needed to know,” Esmerelda said. “We will be in touch . . .
soon.
”

At that, she left us and walked back up the ramp, disappearing into the shadows of Paris.