by Nic Saint
He sighed, feeling self-pity rise in waves as he contemplated a fate that had landed him squarely in the soup.
Not only had the woman relieved him of a cool seven million, she’d also exposed a chink in his armor. The more he thought about what had happened, the more convinced he became that she must have discovered his secret through some sort of surveillance operation. And if she was on to him, who knew how many more were hip to his modus operandi. The prospect of a Scotland Yard sting operation had him shuffle nervously in his seat.
Any moment now, the boys and girls in blue could turn up and arrest him. It was imperative, therefore, that he offloaded the second score of this past week and lay low for a little while, until the hubbub surrounding his latest gambit had died down.
Pity, he now felt, that he’d left that note in the safe.
Vanity, he decided, had induced him to leave his calling card and reveal himself as The Shadow, the gentleman burglar who’d raided half a dozen safes in the English capital this year alone. It was time he removed himself from the scene. The idea of spending time in jail held little appeal to him.
He searched around for a sign of trouble, and when his eyes met not a single copper, he relaxed, but only marginally so. Holding up his hand once again, he twiddled his fingers at a passing waiter, only to be blithely ignored, other patrons receiving the man’s coveted attention. What was going on? Had he suddenly become invisible?
Once more, he checked his watch. Twenty minutes left. If the food on the plane wasn’t so appalling, he wouldn’t have minded so much. Usually, he flew first class, but after the run-in with the blonde last night, he’d changed his evening flight to an earlier one.
He sat back and resorted to staring before him with unseeing eyes.
“Is this seat taken?” a woman’s voice asked softly.
When he looked up, a gruff reply on the tip of his tongue, he was surprised to see a young woman hovering over him. His eyebrows jumped, and instinctively he held out a hand and drew back a chair.
“Please. By all means,” he intoned.
“Thank you,” she accepted with a pleasant lilt.
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he’d seen her before, but she looked so familiar he knew he must have made her acquaintance at some point in the not too distant past. She was very young, a teenager only, and exceedingly pretty, with an oval face, crowned with a shock of blond curls, dangling to slender shoulders. What fascinated him most were her large gray eyes, gazing at him with an expression of anticipation.
He didn’t know what he’d said or done, but this girl seemed to have a definite interest in engaging him in conversation, as her next words attested. “Service in this place is awful, don’t you think?”
“Usually it isn’t,” he said, “but today they must be understaffed, for I haven’t been able to interest them in my custom as of yet.”
She sighed. “Same thing here. I sat waiting over there by the window for the longest time and hoped perhaps I’d have a better chance if I moved closer to the bar.”
He shook his head sadly. “False hope, I'm afraid. This table is as much part of the no-go zone as yours was.”
“Mh, that’s too bad.” Her eyes shone with mirth as the corners of her mouth turned up at the edges. Her laughter sounded like tiny bells jingling, he thought.
“Are you waiting for your boarding call?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m flying to Moscow and had hoped to grab a bite to eat before boarding. Service on the plane is terrifically horrid.”
He laughed, surprised at the coincidence. “I was just going to say the same. I’m also on my way to Moscow and know from experience if I don’t eat something now, I’ll starve to death before we land.”
They shared a smile, kindred spirits facing the same predicament.
“Lousy service, lousy airline, it seems we have a lot in common, mister…”
“Spencer. Thomas Spencer. But everyone calls me Tom.”
“Hi, Tom,” she said agreeably. “I’m Jennifer, but my friends call me Jenn.”
She held out a delicate hand, and he pressed it, delighted at its softness. “Do you hail from Russia?” he inquired in an attempt to find out more about his fellow passenger in the short time allotted.
“No, I’m English. Just going over there on business,” she replied easily. “You?”
“Same here. Business trip, I’m afraid,” he acknowledged.
“I actually wanted to ask you something, Tom.”
He lifted his eyebrows, “But of course. As they say: shoot.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “This business of yours wouldn’t by any chance have something to do with the diamond you stole last night, would it?”
As his jaw dropped, the memory of where he’d seen this girl before suddenly crashed into his consciousness. Of course. Lord Crocket’s reception. She was the one who’d been staring at him from across the room. The only pretty face for miles around. And Lord and Lady Crocket’s daughter.
“I saw you, you know,” she continued casually as if they were chatting about the weather. His throat had suddenly gone bone-dry and his hands clammy and cold. “I watched you break into my father’s study and steal Mummy’s diamond. I was watching you from the smoking room.”
She planted her elbows on the table with her chin on her hands. “Thomas Spencer, aka The Shadow. Prime Thief of Britain.”
“I-I-I—” he stuttered, his eyes drifting across the room, half expecting a half dozen bobbies to come charging in. Denial, he suddenly thought. Always the best defense. Wasn’t it Joan Collins who’d said that? He gave her his best noncommittal face and flicked an imaginary mote of dust from his coat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear. I really don’t.”
Jenn smiled. “Sure you do. And you know what? It’s fine. You don’t need to deny or confirm anything. I’m not a cop. I’m just a student. Let’s say, a student of crime. And I want you to teach me everything there is to know about your line of business, Tom.” Her eyes suddenly widened with a holy fire. “I want you to teach me how to crack a safe!”
His eyebrows shot up into his dark fringe. “What?” he asked in a low voice.
She nodded eagerly. “Yep. I’m bored to tears in this Podunk town of London, and I want some excitement in my life. I want you to be my teacher, Tom. I want to become a first-class burglar, just like you.”
He stared at the teenager as if she’d just popped up out of a trap. “You must be crazy.”
“That may be so,” she agreed with a shrug, “but I’m also a witness to a crime.” She stabbed her finger at the lapel of his overcoat. “Your crime, Tom. And if I tell Daddy what you did, you’ll go away for a very long time, I promise you. Daddy knows his magistrates. Heck, he and the Prime Minister are like this.” She displayed entwined fingers. He knew she wasn’t kidding. Lord Crocket and Prime Minister Geoffrey Cunningham were Oxford chums.
“What do you want?” he said hoarsely.
She displayed a cheeky grin. The grin of a girl who’s used to getting what she wants. “Like I said. I want to be a burglar, and I want you to be my teacher. If you’re the Prime Thief of Britain, consider me your deputy.” She offered her hand. “Deal?”
He eyed her for the longest time, wondering whether he should throttle her or give in to her outrageous demands. Then, considering he was as good as dead if he refused, he let his shoulders slump and took her offered hand.
“Deal,” he muttered, knowing full well he was making a deal with the devil.
“Super, Tom!” she squealed, then suddenly jumped up and pressed a peck on his cheek.
Oh, boy. What kind of mess had he landed himself in this time?
Then he noticed Jenn’s expectant gaze. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she exclaimed.
“My plane?” he tried valiantly.
She laughed, but this time he didn’t hear bells ringing but the rattling of chains. “Good one, Tom. I’m afraid your Moscow fl
ight has been canceled. Let’s go.” She held out a hand, and when he took it, it wasn’t the softness he admired, but the firmness of her grip as she pulled him to his feet.
“Where are we going?” he asked wearily as she steered him from the Goose & Gander.
“Back to The Rialto, of course.” She winked. “Best to start from scratch, and I have it on good authority there’s no easier safe to crack than a hotel safe.”
Great, he thought. Not only was this brat going to make his life a living hell, she was going to have an attitude about it as well.
CHAPTER 4
Thomas leaned against the doorjamb as he studied the small form of the young woman he’d taken under his wing. She had talent, he decided as he watched her work her magic on the hotel safe.
A modest contraption, it stood concealed in the bedroom closet, and she’d had to kneel down to reach it. Her tongue sticking out, the stethoscope firmly attached to her ears, she twisted the dial left, then right, then left again, anxiously awaiting the liberating click that would indicate the safe had finally yielded to her deft touch.
From her frustrated groan Thomas surmised the safe had decided to remain aloof under her fingers and defy her probing. A hotel safe might be an easy target according to Jenn, but for now still proved reluctant to play ball.
She muttered an oath and looked up at him with those appealing gray eyes she probably used on all men, young or old. On him, they had little effect. Between the attack last night and Jenn’s blackmail, his mood had taken a turn for the worse.
“It doesn’t work, Tom. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”
He stepped to the closet and knelt down beside her. He’d briefly explained to her the mechanics of opening a safe, but theory was only that: a set of abstract formulas. The proof was in the practice, and practice is what she lacked.
He wondered how long she would make him pay for what he’d done to her folks. He really needed to get to Moscow. Last night’s score wasn’t the only one his customer had requested. Iosif Kurchin, the wealthy oligarch who was anxiously awaiting both the Crocket diamond and the Duchess of Oxford’s bracelet, was not a patient man. He would be disappointed the Crocket diamond could not end up in his private collection, but there was still the bracelet.
Too bad the oligarch had this superstitious streak and insisted on having the transfer occur on Russian soil. If only he’d return to London, they could have this business wrapped up in no time. And it would save him the flight to Moscow.
He placed his hand atop Jenn’s and replaced her fingers on the dial.
“Simply start over.” he stated briefly.
“But I’ve started over a dozen times already,” she whined. “It just won’t open, Tom!” She sagged. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Maybe I’m the worst burglar that ever lived.”
“Maybe you are,” he agreed pleasantly. “But that doesn’t mean a thing. We all have to start somewhere, and if you truly aspire to greatness, you need to work on your skills until they are fully developed.”
“How was your first time?” she asked, taking his hand. “I bet you could open a safe before you were born. I bet you popped from the womb an accomplished burglar.”
He grimaced at the rather tacky way she was describing the miracle of birth. “I’m afraid I had just as much trouble as you, my dear. It took me long years of honing my skills before I became proficient at the game of breaking and entering into other people’s homes.”
He noticed she hadn’t removed her hand from his, and still had it placed in his palm. She was young, yes, but extremely eager. And not just to acquire his thieving skills.
Before matters could progress, he removed his hand and pointed to the dial. “Better start over, Jenn. The safe won’t open itself, you know.”
With a pout, she replaced the stethoscope and heaved a deep, revolted sigh. “Silly old safe.”
He eyed her keenly. She was very pretty, but still a teenager, probably never even been touched by a man. It wasn’t hard to resist her, not hard at all. Just the thought of Lord Crocket finding out about their deal was enough to repel him. He wouldn’t merely be spending the best years of his life in prison, the man might induce his friend the PM to reinstate the death penalty just for his sake.
He sat back on his haunches, watching her work. She had a deft touch, and more patience than most, he decided, and might well make it to opening the thing after all. With the utmost concentration, she worked the dial, listening intently to the sounds of the tumblers shifting, then falling into place. In absolute silence, he watched her work and felt a pang of concern that he was spoiling a young member of the aristocracy by turning her onto the path of criminality.
Then, with a shrug, he decided that since she’d asked for it, he might as well give in to her urgent request and make the most of it. Perhaps he could even use her on a job.
The safe clicked open, and when she turned the handle, he saw to his satisfaction that she was genuinely enthralled that a twiddle of her fingers had managed to open something that had hitherto remained elusive. The thrill of finding out what was hidden inside came next. When she found and opened the note, he was pleased to see the excitement flush her cheeks and suffuse them with the kind of pleasure he always experienced himself when working a safe.
“Congratulations on a job well done,” she read from the note. “Your first step to becoming Deputy Prime Thief of Britain has been achieved. Sincerely, your proud mentor.” On an impulse, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. When her embrace held, he felt the heat radiating from her body, and wondered briefly whether he shouldn’t take the celebration to a more carnal level. But then her tongue stole inside, and he decided he really shouldn’t go there.
Gently disentangling her arms from his neck, he eased away from her. “Well, done, Jenn. Are you ready for your next assignment?”
He could see she was upset by his rejection, dismissal not something she was accustomed to, but the resilience of youth proved stronger than the disappointment, and when she smiled, he could see the enthusiasm return. “Am I ready for the real work already? Are we going to burgle a real safe now? Oh, Tom, please tell me I’m ready!”
He smiled, enjoying her youthful zeal. It reminded him of himself a decade ago, when the life of the burgling rogue had seemed so exciting and romantic. Now, a dozen years and over a hundred successful burglaries later, the novelty had worn off, and he’d grown weary of late, wondering whether he shouldn’t simply retire before his skills lost their edge, and he was caught by an irate homeowner with a penchant for firearms.
The fact that here now sat Jenn was proof to the fact that he had lost his touch. Five years ago, he would never have allowed himself to be caught by a mere slip of a girl. At least, she wasn’t one of his victims, but merely an enthusiastic, albeit emotionally unreliable, young woman.
“I think we might move on to the bigger work, yes, but first,” he added when her squeal of enthusiasm had rung through the room, “you need to practice some more, young lady. Next door is another safe, and you’re going to open that one as well.”
It was an attestation to her drive to conquer this new skill that she didn’t even protest, but willingly followed him into the other bedroom, and set to work on the second safe his suite had to offer.
He wondered how hotel management might feel if it knew he was using their safes merely for practicing purposes, but then they’d never know.
As he sat straddled on a chair and watched Jennifer work her newly acquired skills, he wondered not for the first time where all this would lead. And noted with a twinge of concern that the mood of gloom that had settled over him since last night hadn’t lifted. On the contrary, it was merely deepening.
CHAPTER 5
“Nothing but the best, Julian. Nothing but the best.” The elderly jeweler looked over the gem Thomas had brought into his shop, and clearly liked what he saw.
“The Duchess will be pleased,” Thomas said with stu
died nonchalance. He’d entered Gordon O’Halloran’s shop in Westfield as Julian Delay, his customary disguise of a wispy mustache and touches of gray at the temples sufficient to hide his identity.
Now that he unexpectedly found himself with some extra time on his hands, he’d figured he might as well have the bracelet he’d snatched from the Duchess of Oxford the week before examined by Gordon, whose services he occasionally used.
Even though O’Halloran was well aware of Tom’s identity, he accepted the cover story that he ran a consultancy firm, offering his services to a small cadre of super-rich clients. One of which was to have their jewelry brought in for a second opinion or reappraisal.
Thomas had found Gordon pleasant to work with, and, above all, exceedingly knowledgeable. If O’Halloran said a stone wasn’t worth a damn, he took the man’s word for it, and when he said the Cartier onyx and diamond panther bracelet now laying before him was worth one million pounds, he knew he wasn’t lying.
If only Jenn would stop fooling around, he could finally head to Moscow and deliver the bracelet to its new owner and pocket the cool mil.
“How do you manage to lay your hands on such precious gems, Julian?” Gordon asked as he studied the custom-made bracelet. Thomas knew the question was just the jeweler’s way of making conversation, as they both knew exactly what the deal was. It was all part of the game they enjoyed playing, and they’d been at it for years now.
“The advantages of being a confidante, I guess,” he said casually. “The Duchess asked me to have the trinket reappraised. For some reason, she seems to think the Duke might have sold off the original years ago and replaced it with a fake. This way, she’s making certain her husband hasn’t been playing fast and loose with her precious stones while still keeping him out of the loop.”
“Very clever,” remarked Gordon with a twinkle in his eye. “Very clever indeed.”
“A form of marriage counseling on my part, if you will,” Thomas added.
