Midnight Jewels

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Your connections in the Caribbean were drug related. It’s your field of expertise. You might have changed your face and your name and the kind of books you collect, but there’s no reason to think you’ve changed your way of doing business. You were a major link in the cocaine trade down in the Caribbean. Is that still your area of interest?”

  “You seem to know me very well, Falconer. How can that be? Where did you learn so much about me?”

  “I spent a lot of time researching you three years ago.”

  “I’m flattered. So, it was indeed you on the island that night.”

  “It was me.” Croft leaned back against the wall of the vault, his arms folded across his chest. He looked bored but patient now, as if all he had to do was wait and everything would be settled to his satisfaction. “So was it drugs again this time, Graves?”

  “Yes, Falconer. Drugs. Nothing so crass or commercial as heroin or cocaine, however. Those trades are already being monopolized by others and it would have been difficult to break in again without revealing my former identity. No, this time I was carving out a unique niche for myself in the more progressive drug market.”

  “The designer drug business. Wide-open territory for new entrepreneurs. Was the stuff you used on me the other night an example of one of your new products?”

  “Interesting stuff, wasn’t it? It needs refining, but it’s almost ready. Should be very popular with those who want to get very drunk without paying the price of a hangover the next day. When we used it on you we wanted you to become so drunk that you passed out when you fell into the pool.”

  “Making my death appear accidental.”

  “Precisely. The wonderful thing about these so-called designer drugs, as the media has labeled them, is that they’re pure laboratory creations. One does not require land for growing the basic product or vast armies of peasants for harvesting. They are the creations of technicians working with the best lab equipment. They are also infinitely variable. The molecular structure of a particular creation can be altered readily and presto, a whole new product is created. That flexibility makes it almost impossible for the authorities to track down the source. As soon as they’ve identified one drug it disappears from the market and another takes its place. They can’t even write laws fast enough to make the new product illegal.”

  Mercy stirred restlessly, wishing Gladstone would finish his gloating confrontation. She began prowling the vault again until she saw Croft eyeing her with faint disapproval.

  “I heard some of my followers claiming to have seen a specter that night of the fire,” Gladstone went on thoughtfully. “Several panicked, you know. Many of them ran into the flames in a stupid attempt to rescue me or die with me. Such fools. Most of them were so far gone on drugs and hysteria they didn’t know what they were doing. But I heard them shouting about a figure who kept appearing and disappearing in the shadows. They said you signaled them to join you.”

  “Some of them did join me,” Croft said.

  “What did you do with them?”

  “I sent them home.”

  “How noble and generous. Were you well paid for your work that night, Falconer? Just a businessman’s curiosity, you understand. I find myself wondering what sort of compensation a man in your unusual profession receives. It has just occurred to me that I will need a new chief of security after tonight. Miss Ascanius has not proven very useful in the final analysis. I should have known better than to rely on a beautiful woman, but I was initially impressed by her array of talents. She had acquired a great many skills, you see, in an effort to prove herself something more than just a lovely face. But in the end I’m afraid that was all she was. A pretty face. I shall now have to look elsewhere.”

  “Believe me, Gladstone, you couldn’t afford me.”

  “I was afraid you might take that attitude. Well, it was just a thought. One last question or two, Mr. Falconer, and then I really must be going. How did you find me this time?”

  Croft didn’t respond.

  Mercy remembered the microfilm she had mailed to herself and started to mention it to Croft in a whisper, but Gladstone was speaking again.

  “It was the book, wasn’t it? Not many people could have traced me with only that damned book as a lead. Most people wouldn’t have bothered to try because most people assumed I was dead. After three years who would have thought anyone would have noticed that book’s reappearance? Or worried about the buyer who wanted to obtain it? I was sure it was safe to go after it. So very sure, and I wanted it badly.”

  “Why?” Croft asked quietly. “What’s in that book that made you risk exposing your new identity?”

  “The key to a great deal of power, Mr. Falconer. Without it, I would have had to spend far more money and time acquiring that power. Now I will have a shortcut. I find I can never get quite enough power. Isn’t that strange? I have no trouble moderating my eating habits, drinking habits or my sexual needs. But when it comes to power I seem to be endlessly thirsty. Now that I have Valley back in my possession, I shall be able to try to satisfy that thirst.”

  “How did Valley escape the flames that night, Graves?”

  “Believe me, I have given the matter a great deal of thought. I certainly had no time to get it from the library. I had my hands full saving my own neck. I imagine that one of my followers was not, after all, quite as naively enthralled with me as I had assumed. It must have been someone close to me, someone who suspected the importance of that particular book.”

  “You can’t trust anyone these days, can you?” Croft murmured.

  “Unfortunately, one must always have assistants when one conducts business on a vast scale. One such individual must have kept his or her head long enough to grab Valley from the library the night everything fell apart on the island. He escaped with it. But once he had the book, he apparently could not figure out its secret and eventually it got sold. Ultimately it wound up in a trunk full of bargain books. Probably sold for a fraction of its value. And then Miss Pennington found it and advertised it. An amusing trick of fate, eh, Falconer?”

  “There are no tricks of fate, only patterns that eventually form complete Circles.”

  “You are an interesting man, Falconer. I would like to have spent more time discussing your unique brand of philosophy. But I don’t have that luxury. I believe enough time has been spent on this little question and answer session. I must be going. I trust the two of you will enjoy your lingering demise within the vault. It will take a bit longer that way, of course. The air conditioning system will filter out some of the smoke for a while before it is overwhelmed. But if you get impatient to get it over with more quickly, feel free to open the vault door and step outside.”

  “Where you or Isobel can put bullets in our brains?” Croft asked.

  Gladstone chuckled, that rich, charming, charismatic laugh that never failed to captivate. “I’ve told you, Falconer, no bullets. No, I’m going to use the method you demonstrated so ably three years ago. See how much you enjoy being caught in the middle of a firestorm. It is a rare thrill, believe me. A man who has apparently made a career of living on the edge, as you have, might find it an interesting way to conclude that career.”

  “You’re going to set fire to this place just to get rid of us?” Croft demanded. “Seems a little extreme.”

  “Not really. Not when you consider the implications. Last time you were working for someone, Falconer. You would have had no reason to come after me otherwise. You are, in effect, a mercenary I have no option but to assume you are again working for someone. The government, perhaps. This is undoubtedly just another assignment for you. Getting rid of you will not get rid of whoever sent you. I must assume and plan for the worst possible case. I have done so. I must destroy everything once more in order to convince whoever sent you that the trail has once again come to a dead end. While we waited for your arrival tonight, Isobel and I
packed some of my more valuable treasures. And I still have my bank account in Switzerland, of course. My labs around the world are still functioning and will go into a holding pattern until I contact them once more in a new guise. This time I am prepared for catastrophe, Falconer. I learned that from you.”

  Then there was silence. Croft watched the intercom closely for a minute as if he could detect Gladstone’s presence or lack of it outside the vault. A few shuffling movements and a scratching noise came through the grill. Then there was a dull thud. After that there was more silence.

  “I think he’s gone,” Croft said, moving away from the wall.

  “What did he mean about the firestorm?” Mercy stopped her pacing and walked over to the movable shelf.

  “He’s probably got some system rigged up to totally destroy this place. He won’t want to leave any evidence at all this time around.”

  “What was that awful thud we just heard?” Mercy asked anxiously.

  A muffled explosion outside the vault prevented further inquiries. She spun around, staring at the solidly shut door. There was a second, smaller explosion seconds later. Then silence. “Croft, let’s see if that shelving really is an exit. Now Please.”

  He nodded and set his hand to the section of shelving. Mercy glanced once more at the vault door.

  “Croft?”

  “Hmm?” He was working quickly now.

  “I think I just realized what that thud might have been.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Croft muttered.

  “It was Isobel, wasn’t it?”

  “Tell yourself it was just Graves being clumsy,” Croft advised.

  “We’ve got to see if she’s out there,” Mercy said urgently.

  “Are you nuts? It sounds like World War III is starting out there.”

  “But, Croft—”

  “Oh, hell. And here I was thinking we were on a roll.” But Croft had risen and was already unbolting the vault. “Nothing’s gone right in this operation so far, why should it get any better now?” Cautiously he pushed open the vault door. “One quick look and that’s all.”

  Α blast of heat and long banners of smoke were waiting on the other side of the vault. The tropical garden was a wall of flame. Mercy stared out through the narrow crack in the doorway.

  “My God,” she whispered in awe.

  “Gladstone is a thorough man.” Croft started to pull the heavy door shut again.

  “Wait,” Mercy yelped. “There she is on the floor. It’s Isobel. I can see her.”

  Croft followed Mercy’s gaze. “He said she hadn’t proven especially useful. I’m inclined to agree.”

  “Wait, she might still be alive. We’ve got to check. It will only take a second. She’s lying right outside the door.” Mercy was trying to push past him.

  “Mercy, we don’t have time for doing Isobel any favors. She’s probably dead.”

  “He wouldn’t have shot her. He said no bullets, remember? He probably just knocked her out or something. The thud we heard was her body falling. Open the door.” Mercy shoved hard against the steel panel.

  Croft hesitated briefly and then swore and opened the door a few inches. The heat was getting intense but Mercy knew it was the smoke that was most dangerous at this stage. She held the hem of her shirt over her nose and took one step outside the vault. She grabbed Isobel’s leg and started to tug. Then Croft was beside her, effortlessly yanking the unconscious woman into the vault.

  As soon as Isobel was inside, Croft slammed the door shut and quickly bent over Isobel. Mercy crouched beside him.

  “Is she alive?” Mercy demanded.

  “She’s alive.”

  “Then we’ll have to take her with us.”

  Croft sighed. “I know.” He got to his feet. “Let’s see what’s on the other side of that shelving.”

  He slid the metal upright to one side. There was an oiled, mechanical sound behind the shelving and suddenly half the wall swung silently inward. A yawning black tunnel stretched out in front of them. Cold but clean-smelling air was filtering through the tunnel into the vault.

  “We won’t be able to see a thing,” Mercy said quietly. “Even your night vision can’t be this good.”

  Croft went down on one knee beside Isobel and quickly searched the pockets of her jumpsuit. “Luckily for us, Isobel is ever the prepared pilot. She’s got a small flashlight on her.”

  Isobel groaned at that moment and coughed. Croft scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “I’ll carry her and go first. Stay right behind me, Mercy.”

  “Believe me, I’m not going to be dragging my feet.”

  “Good.”

  “Remind me to tell you about the microfilm when we get out of here.”

  “What microfilm?” He aimed the flashlight down the long, rocky tunnel.

  At least there was something he hadn’t already figured out, Mercy thought. “Croft, you don’t know what a lift it gives me to catch you off balance occasionally.”

  “What do you mean occasionally? You seem to do it on a regular basis.”

  “I only do it for your own good,” Mercy explained with deep sincerity.

  Chapter 20

  The trip through the upward sloping tunnel was uneventful. He had guessed right, Croft decided as he emerged on a hillside overlooking the estate. Gladstone had provided himself with a reliable escape route. There was always a certain satisfaction when the logical analysis of an opponent’s actions proved correct.

  The darkness that was waiting outside the tunnel was alive with the leaping flames of fire that were consuming Gladstone’s mansion. The roar of the blaze filled the night.

  “Good God,” Mercy breathed as she emerged beside him and stood gazing down at the inferno that was destroying the house. “I can’t believe we were trapped in there just a few minutes ago. How did the fire get so big so fast?”

  Croft dumped Isobel carelessly down onto the ground. “He must have used explosives to start it. Did a good job of setting them, too. There won’t be anything left in another few hours.”

  “The dogs,” Mercy whispered, suddenly remembering the animals.

  “I set them free hours ago.”

  Isobel stirred and opened her eyes. She coughed wretchedly, trying to clear her lungs of the smoke she had inhaled after Gladstone had left her to die. “I’m the one who did a good job setting the explosives.”

  Croft glanced at her. “Gladstone has a nice way of showing his appreciation.”

  Her dark eyes blazed with a bitter fury. “That bastard. He blamed it all on me. He was the one who insisted on getting the book back. If he hadn’t been so eager to get hold of it, you would never have found us.”

  “Don’t count on it.” The sound of helicopter rotor blades whipping into life brought Croft’s attention back to the scene below.

  “He’s getting away.” Mercy was incensed. “He can’t do that. We can’t let him escape now. Not after everything we’ve been through because of him.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Croft said softly.

  Isobel raised herself up on one elbow to stare down into the compound. “So that’s why he insisted on having me give him flying lessons several months ago. He said it was for safety reasons. I should have known he didn’t care about anyone’s safety except his own.”

  “A typical drug trade employer,” Croft remarked. “The attitude goes with the territory. Everything and everyone is expendable.”

  “He has the lives of a cat,” Isobel whispered angrily. “He told me once he always survives. He was right.”

  “Not this time,” Croft said quietly. He looked at Mercy. “Stay here with Isobel.”

  She looked up at him anxiously. “Where are you going?” Even as she asked the question Croft saw the realization dawn in her eyes. “No, wait,
Croft. He’ll be armed. You can’t stop him alone. We’ll find him again. He won’t be able to hide from you.”

  He touched her dirt-smudged cheek. “He’s not going to get away. I’m going to finish it this time. Understand?”

  She closed her eyes. When she opened them again her gaze was as clear as ever. “Yes.”

  “I love you, Mercy.”

  “I love you. Be careful.”

  “I will.” He turned and moved quickly down the incline. The helicopter was just starting to lift off the ground. Gladstone hadn’t seen Croft yet. He was concentrating on his flying.

  Croft reached the compound wall and swung himself up onto the top of the stone barricade just as the copter rose a couple of feet, shuddered and suddenly settled back down onto the landing pad.

  Gladstone must have just taken a look at the fuel gauge and realized there was almost nothing left in the tank, Croft thought in satisfaction. Gladstone would know now that his first escape route had been cut off.

  In that moment Gladstone looked through the glass bubble that surrounded him and saw Croft hunkering casually on the wall. The glare of the flames from the house revealed Falconer, who smiled like a dark ghost in silent, predatory anticipation.

  Shock and stunned fury turned Gladstone’s patrician face into a mask of hatred and fear. Croft dropped lightly down from the top of the wall. He broke into a run, heading for the crippled helicopter.

  Gladstone scrambled frantically around inside the cockpit as the rotors whined to a halt. Then he found what he was seeking. He leaped out of the confines of the helicopter clutching a small pistol in both hands. The paper-wrapped package containing Valley fell to the ground at his feet. He ignored it as he brought the nose of the gun up, aiming at Croft.

  But it was too late. Croft was already too close. He put out a hand in an almost casual movement that was so fast Gladstone didn’t have time to register it. The weapon went flying into the darkness.

  “You goddamn bastard,” Gladstone screamed. Instinctively he stepped back out of range. “Stay away from me, you son of a bitch. Stay away, damn it! What are you? Some kind of ghost? You’re supposed to be dead.”