The Art of Seduction (29 page)

Emma nodded sympathetically. She was the one person capable of fully understanding Mason's dilemma. After all, hadn't Richard found a trio of Poussins more important than her? “What are you going to do?”

For a moment, Mason didn't answer. Then she looked at Emma, and said, “I'm going to force him to make a choice between me and my paintings.”

 

After digging all night, Richard pushed his shovel into the hole and, finally, mercifully, felt its resistance give way. As he pulled it back, a beam of light hit his face. They'd made it, and with no time to spare. He yelled back, “We've broken through. Get ready to move.”

He plunged the tool into the opening and moved it around until he heard it clang against a metallic object. Then he pulled the shovel back and jabbed it against the object with all his might, piercing it and unleashing an ominous hissing sound.

He yelled back, “The gas main is broken. Get the hell out of here!”

Grabbing his kerosene lamp, he crawled back down the cramped tunnel to the larger catacomb shaft. But as he stepped through, he dropped the lamp. It shattered and a rivulet of lighted kerosene streamed onto the stone floor.

Swiftly, he turned and raced down the larger tunnel. But he couldn't quite escape the exploding gas behind him. A wave of hot air picked him off the floor and hurtled him down the corridor.

F
ather Gaston arrived at Santé Prison in southern Paris promptly at eight
A.M
., two hours before the execution was secretly scheduled to take place. As he was escorted through the prison gate, he noted that the institution was an armed camp. The encircling streets of Montparnasse were lined with soldiers and the inner courtyard, where the guillotine was already in place, was filled with another platoon standing in tight formation with bayonets affixed to their rifles.

“See that white grandstand by the guillotine, Father?” his accompanying turnkey pointed out. “That's for the President of France. The warden received word late last night that his excellency may be gracing the execution with his presence.”

Father Gaston took the large wooden crucifix dangling from his neck and kissed it. “God's will be done,” he muttered.

When they reached the second-floor cell block where the condemned woman was living out her final hours, the guard said, “I'm sorry, Father, but I must search you.”

“Search me? I'm here to receive the woman's final confession.”

“Everyone must be searched. The orders are most explicit. The pope himself, if he happens to show up.”

The priest sighed. “Very well.”

Embarrassed, the guard patted him down. “That's fine, Father. Again, I'm very sorry.”

“You are forgiven, my son.”

“I'm afraid I will have to be with you when you hear the confession.”

“But I cannot allow that!” the priest protested.

“Again, apologies, Father, but these are my orders.”

“Very well. It goes against tradition, but I suppose we all must live with our orders.”

As their footsteps echoed down the cold, bleak walkway, the priest inquired, “The condemned. How is she?”

“Defiant to the end, Father. She may spit in your face.”

“The poor misguided child.”

“She's so beautiful, Father. It seems tragic that she must lose her head.”

“The devil seems to have a penchant for the beautiful, my son.”

“True, Father. So true.”

The guard put the key in the lock, gave it a turn, and pulled the heavy door open. Lisette sat on the bare cot, her legs folded beneath her, staring at the wall. Her blond hair was hanging loose and was slightly disheveled. She was barefoot, her shoes lying discarded beneath the cot.

“I am here to grant you final absolution,” the priest announced.

Without looking up at him, Lisette said, “Save your breath. I have nothing to confess.”

“Look at me, child. Look into my eyes.”

She did. Amusement flickered in her eyes. “So you think you can save me, do you, Father?”

“That is God's promise to the world.”

After a moment, she gave a surly shrug. “
Et bien.
Why not?” Then she stood and dropped down on her knees. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

 

When the explosion rocked the earth beneath him, Duval was standing twenty feet in front of the Caldwell Pavilion, up early and issuing more last-minute instructions to his eager assistant. Both men were thrown to the ground by the impact. As Duval rose to his feet, jarred, he struggled to figure out what had happened. Then it occurred to him. The one thing he'd never considered. They were tunneling
underneath
the pavilion! Using the catacombs to get as close as possible, then digging the rest of the way. Brilliant! Why hadn't he thought of it? But what had happened? Obviously, they'd struck a gas main. Bad luck for them…

But before his thoughts could go any further, he heard the scream: “Fire!” Smoke was funneling out from under the pavilion door. His two men who were stationed inside came running out, coughing.

Behind them, he could see the flames themselves.

Mon Dieu! The paintings!

He shouted at the sergeant who led the nearest platoon of soldiers, “Get in there! Save the paintings before it's too late!”

Reluctantly, the men trooped inside and began to pull the paintings from the walls and carry them from the burning edifice. As they did, Duval's assistant rushed up to him. “What do we do with them? We can't just leave them sitting out here exposed and vulnerable.”

Duval saw that he was right. The fairground was already crowded with workers setting up for the day ahead. They'd all gravitated toward the explosion and were now watching the burning building. Some had run for buckets and were gathering water from nearby fountains. Who knew what criminal elements might be hiding among the gathering crowd?

What to do?

Improvise.

He looked around and saw the line of wagons from Buffalo Bill Cody's Wild West Show. To Daniel, he barked, “Commandeer those wagons. We'll load them up with paintings and take them to the Prefecture.”

Duval could hear the bells of the fire department rushing to the scene. He watched anxiously as the pictures were hauled out. “Careful with that one, you idiot!” he yelled at one of the men dragging a large canvas on the ground behind him as he tried to balance another.

When they were securely loaded in the three wagons, the inspector ordered, “Get these to my office as fast as you can.”

“Like hell you will!” A man and woman were rushing through the crowd toward him. The man had long grey hair and beard and wore buckskins with two pistols strapped to his waist. The woman with him was dressed as a cowgirl and carried a Winchester rifle. “Where do you think you're going with my wagons?” he demanded.

Daniel, standing beside Duval, half whispered in his ear, “That's Buffalo Bill, sir, the famous American cowboy. That must be Annie Oakley with him.”

“In the name of France, I am seizing your wagons.”

“In the name of America, I say the hell you are!”

Reddening, Duval retorted, “I must get these priceless paintings to safety at once.”

“I don't care what you must do, you're not going to rustle my wagons.”

“Don't be a fool. Your wagons will be returned. I am just borrowing them for a few hours.”

“And I say you are not. I have a performance to give this morning and most of the equipment I need is still in those wagons.”

The vein in Duval's temple was bulging. “Please get out of the way. I do not have time for this. If I have to arrest you, I will.”

“And who's going to be doing the arresting? You?”

“Yes. And if you're so foolish to resist, all I have to do is give the word and those soldiers over there will shoot you down.”

“That might be so, but before they can get a shot off, I guarantee that you two varmints will have breathed your last breath. You take the little fellow, Annie. I'll get the boss man.”

“Sure thing, Bill.” The woman raised her rifle.

“Sir!” Daniel pulled on Duval's sleeve. “They can do it! I read in Ned Buntline's ‘Scouts of the Plains'”—

“Shut up, you idiot!” Duval flared. Then, trying a different approach, he moderated his tone. “I implore you, Monsieur Cody, France needs your help in this moment of crisis.”

The buckskinned man shrugged, and said, “Well, if you put it that way, of course we'll be neighborly. But I want my own teamsters on those wagons. These here are the best mustangs in the West, and I don't want any of your fancy city boys treating them like pack mules. You gotta know just how to handle them.” To his own men, a group dressed as cowboys and Indians who'd been gathering around him, he said, “Hop on board, boys, and take these pictures wherever the man wants them to go.”

“I need to put one of my men with each of the drivers,” Duval said.

“You do that. Come on, Annie, we're going, too.” To Duval, he offered, “Want to tag along?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot,” Duval said. “I have a disaster on my hands here. I will have dignitaries from all over the world showing up to find a smoldering ruin.”

Duval and Daniel watched the convoy move out. As it rumbled from the fairgrounds, one of his detectives stepped forward with a quizzical look on his face. “The Indians, sir. One of my men said he recognized one of them. He said he's an Apache.”

“But of course, imbecile,” Daniel scoffed. “Buffalo Bill uses real Indians in his show.”

“No, sir. Not Apache Indians.
Un Apache de Belleville.
An Apache of Juno Dargelos.”

Duval wheeled to his assistant and his face fell as the realization sank in. He turned toward the disappearing convoy. “Go after them,” he screamed. “Stop them. Shoot to kill!”

“But, sir, we have nothing to chase them with. And if we shoot, we might hit our own men.”

Duval realized he'd been completely outmaneuvered. For now.

But he wasn't out of this race. Not by a long shot.

To Daniel, he ordered, “Get my coach.”

 

Lisette, Father Gaston, and the captain of the guard walked across the courtyard to the cadence of a military drummer. Lisette's hair had been tied back at the base of her neck, and her hands were bound in front of her. As they walked, the priest read from the Bible he carried. The executioner—a huge, burly man with a black hood over his head—stood beside his horrific instrument, the guillotine. To one side of the raised platform on which he stood was the white dais on which the President of France was supposed to witness the swift retribution. But it was empty. Apparently, he'd changed his mind.

The trio marched up to the executioner. Ceremoniously, the captain of the guard said to him, “I hereby turn over custody of this prisoner to you. Let justice be done.”

The huge man nodded to him, then turned around, reached into his satchel, and removed a round black object with a fuse in it. From his pocket, he withdrew a match, which he struck against the heel of his boot, then lit the fuse. As the others watched in amazement, he hauled back and, with all his might, flung the burning object several hundred feet over the far wall toward the front entrance of the prison. It landed with a tremendous explosion.

That done, he removed his hood.

Hugo.

Before the platoon of dazed soldiers below him could recover their wits, he dived into them, knocking them over like so many tenpins. As the huge man proceeded to further immobilize the guards by picking them up and knocking their heads together, the priest—who was no priest at all, but Juno Dargelos—reached over, unsheathed the saber of the captain of the guard, and ran him through. Then, in a quick movement, he sliced the ropes that bound Lisette's hands.

“That white dais is a trampoline,” he told her. “If you can use it to jump to the top of the wall behind us, your friends will be along at any moment with some wagons. All you have to do is jump down to them. But you must hurry. Hugo's bomb has diverted the guards from the street along this side of the prison, but they'll soon return to their post.”

“What fun!” Lisette cried with a giggle. She descended the platform of the guillotine and ran over to climb the steps of the dais. Leaping onto the trampoline, she jumped twice to gain height, then executed a backward somersault into a standing position on the high prison wall. She glanced down to see the wagons of Buffalo Bill Cody's Wild West Show pulling up below her. She looked back at Dargelos. “They're here!”

Some of the soldiers who'd been neutralized by Hugo were regaining their senses and reaching for their weapons. Juno had grabbed the captain's pistol and was firing at them. “Go!” he screamed at her.

“What about you?”

“Never mind us. We'll hold them off here while you get away. Now go!”

But Lisette put her hands on her hips and gave him a pouty glare. “I'm not going anywhere without you.”

He fired again, dropping a man who was about to shoot at her. “Don't be stubborn. Go!”

“If you think I intend to have Hugo's death on my conscience, you're even more of a fool than I thought!”

Dargelos shot a steely glance at Hugo, who had his hands full with a couple of guards. “Hugo, join her.”

“But,
Patron—
”

“I said move!”

Hugo knocked the heads together, then, as ordered, rushed up the steps, jumped onto the trampoline, and made the wall in one bound.

“Now you,” Lisette yelled down.

“I'm not coming. I'm going to stay here and hold them off.” He raised his pistol and shot down another charging soldier. “They'll be coming back around from the front at any minute. Now get out of here.”

“So you can die like a hero for me? Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? For me to spend the rest of my life being the woman you sacrificed yourself for. Well, it's not going to happen, Juno. You get up here right this minute.”

“I told you, I'm not coming.”