by Kim Foster
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.
Chapter 56
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.
