by Gayle Lynds
He did have invitations to the celebration at Arbor Knoll, and he reluctantly agreed to give two to Sam and Julia, provide a habit for Julia and a priest's suit for Sam, and to take them in with him. He called ahead to the Redmond estate to give the names of the "two members of his staff" he was bringing, as the Secret Service required on all the invitations. He would keep silent about the two accused criminals—Austrian and Keeline—and pray they were as innocent as Father Michael swore, and that he was doing right.
2:52 PM
While the monsignor and Father Michael were closeted, Julia and Sam waited uneasily in the sitting room. Sam paced, and Julia played the Mozart Sonata no. 8 in A Minor in her mind. She listened closely to the opening theme with its majesty and pulsing chords. Her spirit soared with the second movement and its sweet, restrained passion. And finally there was the Presto and its darkness . . . its striking oscillations between bleak resignation and victorious defiance.
Defiance, not resignation. Triumph.
Creighton was responsible for her mother's death.
She felt the sonata's darkness overtake her. Defiance. Her mother had defied her family and made a good life of her own. Julia wasn't resigned to her mother's death. She'd never be resigned. With the swelling music, energy coursed through her. She wouldn't let Creighton kill her grandfather. She'd destroy him first.
3:03 PM
Father Michael returned carrying the invitations and two bundles of clothing. "The clothes are large, as you asked. I believe they will serve your purposes."
Julia stood up and reached for the nun's habit.
Father Michael laid a hand on it. "Are you sure you wish to do this? I doubt your grandfather would want you to risk your life for him."
"He's right," Sam said instantly. "I think you should stay here, Julia. Let me go in alone. I know—"
She turned on Sam. "Where does it say you're in charge? I know the house and grounds and my uncles. You've got expertise, but I've got knowledge. We make this decision together."
Sam was taken aback. Then he nodded. "You're right."
"Then let's—"
But Sam's gray eyes turned steely in his dark, makeup-streaked face. "That doesn't mean the situation's as simple as you say. Your family's almost sure to recognize you sooner or later. The servants know you, too. Why expose yourself and maybe ruin any chance we have of stopping Creighton and helping Lyle? Besides, it'll be safer for me if you're not along. That's simple logic. I'm trained. You're not."
"No," she said flatly. "You're in as much danger of being spotted as I am. Your face's been plastered next to mine in all the newspapers and on all the newscasts. Two of us have a better chance to succeed than one. We'll just have to do a very good job disguising ourselves."
Father Michael studied them, their jutting jaws, their flinty gazes. They were standing toe-to-toe in their ragged street clothes and makeup-darkened faces like two boxers in a ring. He admired their audacity and bravery, but he worried for them.
He said, "With reluctance, I must admit I suspect she is right, Sam."
Her voice was composed. "You've never even seen Arbor Knoll, Sam. It's huge. Buildings all over the place. Not to mention the main house. It's got fifty rooms alone. And then there are the grounds. Sixty acres of them."
Sam shook his head stubbornly. "I'm going to do this alone. You have no idea what you're getting into."
"Maybe I don't." She was amazed at how calm she felt, how in charge of herself, how ready to go into danger. "But I still have the advantage of knowing Arbor Knoll inside and out. I know what my uncles and the rest of my family look like and will do, and you don't." Her voice softened, and for a moment she could feel herself in his arms again. The violent darkness faded. But she had no choice. "Darling, I'm going whether it's with you or alone."
Sam sighed. This was just like Irini. She'd insisted, too. And she'd been killed. But he also knew Julia wasn't Irini. That whatever his responsibility had been, whether it'd been his failure to force his protection on Irini or simply an act of cruel fate, he couldn't go on living as if her death was on an endlessly repeating reel. If he was to have any hope of a future outside its shadow, he had to respect Julia. She must make her own decisions. She was willing to accept the consequences. What right did he have to try to live her life for her?
He gave a grim smile. "I can't believe anyone ever thought you were a wimp."
"Thank you. That's a nice compliment."
Father Michael nodded. "I think you will be best together. Now, what more do you need?"
Sam explained, and as the priest disappeared upstairs, Julia and Sam carried their new clothes into the foyer to wait. Soon the priest was back with three small pillows and cotton balls. He took Julia and Sam to the room where the altar boys changed and left them alone.
3:10 PM
Sam grumbled, "You shouldn't be doing this. I can handle it."
Julia clasped his worried face in her hands. She loved his eyes. They were such a deep gray, almost as if they were wells. And his chin fascinated her. How could any chin be so square? She pulled his face down and kissed the crease between his brows, and suddenly she was in his arms.
They kissed again and again and held each other.
At last she wrenched away. "We have to hurry. Grandpa could be inside Arbor Knoll already."
"Always thinking of others." He smiled.
"It does put a crimp on things."
They used the restroom to scrub the makeup from their faces and hands. Sam showed her how to slip cotton into her cheeks along her gums to distort her appearance. Sam tucked a pillow in front to enlarge his belly, and Julia tied the two other pillows to her back and front. Now their bodies were wider, almost ponderous. Julia's long, flowing habit was black with a white-and-black hood. Sam wore the traditional black suit with the white clerical collar. He slipped his Browning back inside his shoulder holster. Julia found a large pocket in the folds of her black skirt, and she lowered her stolen Beretta inside.
They left quickly through the side door of the rectory. The monsignor waited in the parish's beige Buick. He drove them to where they had left their Mustang.
"I need to make a phone call from a pay phone," Sam told him as he got out.
The monsignor directed him to the nearest public phone, and followed them as they drove to it. Once there, Sam dialed his colleague at Charles University in Prague to see whether he'd uncovered anything about Jiřís ledger sheets, the ones that supposedly named Douglas Powers as a predator of little boys.
Sam's face was unreadable, a brittle mask, when at last he slipped back behind the Mustang's wheel.
Julia instantly knew something was wrong. "Did your friend find anything?"
Sam turned on the car's motor. His words were furious: "He's dead. Another car accident. Just like Jiří's. There seems to be an epidemic in Prague these days."
"Creighton." The way she said the name, it was a vow.
Sam gunned the Mustang and followed the parish Buick toward Arbor Knoll.
3:12 PM
Inside the rectory, Father Michael sat alone after he had seen the two cars leave the grounds. He worried for them, but he knew he had to have faith in the rightness of their goals.
Moments later, the doorbell rang again. He went to answer it. As he opened the door, a nun arrived at his side. On the stoop stood a hard-looking woman in a business suit. Behind her two men waited silently.
"Father Michael," the woman said coolly, "we have much to discuss."
The priest's heart seemed to stop.
55
3:42 PM
ARBOR KNOLL
Vince was at the bar in the pub picking up a glass of his favorite Johnnie Walker Blue Label whiskey when his private, scrambled cell phone vibrated against his chest. He grabbed the glass and left quickly, his pulse racing. He hurried into Creighton's office and closed the door. He answered the call. He was right. It was Maya Stern.
She said, "They were at the church."
"And—" he prompted, excited.
"They were gone when I arrived—"
Vince's chest contracted into an airless fist.
"—The priest admitted Lyle Redmond had been there. He said Redmond had left, and he didn't know exactly where to—"
"What about Julia and Keeline?"
"He wouldn't discuss them or even admit they'd been there. Then he closed the door in my face." Her voice twisted with rage. "I could've killed the priest, but there was a nun standing right there. I would've had to shoot her, too. And you said—"
"You handled it right." They needed no bloodbath at their church to raise questions now.
Maya Stern disliked restrictions. "I can make the priest talk. I can go back—"
"No." Vince grimaced. "I want you out here. Now."
He severed the connection and went looking for Creighton. He had news, and it wasn't all bad. As Creighton had said, Lyle Redmond could've escaped the nursing home for only one reason—to confront his sons and control his fortune again. In the Redmond family, it was the only motive that made sense. And now they knew for certain he was in Oyster Bay. Yes, the old man would have to come here. And Julia and Keeline—trailing the Amber Room and the old man—would follow.
3:43 PM
Even under the intense strain of arriving at the gates of Arbor Knoll behind the monsignor, Julia was suddenly aware of her sight. She was home at Arbor Knoll, and the thought of being able to see it again shook her after so many years. It was here her vision had vanished. Here she'd been told her father was dead. And ever since then she'd returned only reluctantly.
But Arbor Knoll was the center, the gathering place, the historic heart of the Redmond family, where everyone else was drawn in good times and bad. Where her mother had grown up under the indulgence of a father who treated his sons far differently—ruling them with a clenched fist. Because of his sexism he'd expected nothing from Marguerite but her love, and that had rebounded in her favor.
In their Catholic garb, Julia and Sam were acutely aware of the two guns and webbed holster hidden deep in the folds of Julia's traditional nun's habit. They'd decided the least likely to be searched was a nun. At the front gate's kiosk, they waited in the Mustang behind Monsignor O'Connell's Buick. They watched him point back at them and talk to the agents. Then it was their turn.
They showed the invitations. The Secret Service agents took them, and while one scrutinized the engraved cards closely and checked their names off the list, the second peered into the car, inspecting for anything suspicious. He took the keys to open the trunk. Finally he returned and nodded for them to pass. They were sweating under their heavy clothes. Fortunately security was less tight for a candidate, even one now certain to be the next president, than for a sitting president.
Once past the kiosk, Julia gave Sam his Browning, and he drove up the hill. Julia described for Sam the two matching guesthouses, the matching child's house built at one-third size, the Palladian-style teahouse, the twelve-car garage, the helicopter pad, the tennis courts and swimming pool. Plus, of course, old Lyle's prized redwood-sided retreat.
As they approached the compound, she watched Sam's face and saw his astonishment at how much obvious wealth the old man had accumulated. Her words hadn't been enough. Until he'd seen the scope and majesty of it, he hadn't been able to fully comprehend it.
He whistled. "It's a palace. The old man's loaded. And that's one of my greatest understatements."
"He bought Arbor Knoll to make sure everybody figured that out."
"Yeah, and all the Nazi plunder on the walls just clinches it. My bet is he was a collector not of art but of power."
Her stomach tightened as they rolled into the drive-in courtyard with its low brick walls, dark-green junipers, and line of cars circling to stop at the massive front doors of the Mediterranean Revival mansion. When it was their turn, they stepped out, and a valet drove the car away.
She wanted to take Sam's hand. Instead, they exchanged a long look of support and encouragement, and they walked sedately toward the door in their disguises as a portly Catholic nun and a priest with a weight problem.
Julia still felt as if eyes were watching.
The sounds of the party floated out through the open doors. She could feel the heat of many bodies. She reminded herself to pay attention to her heightened senses. She'd need all of them now. Casually her gaze swept the courtyard, looking for her grandfather. . . and for Creighton.
The marble foyer and the other elegant public rooms were jammed with celebrating guests. The noise and confusion assaulted Julia's senses, and for a moment she wanted to back away, to run from it all, flee to her piano and life on the concert tour. But she wouldn't quit now. She couldn't.
Everyone seemed to be drinking champagne. She and Sam joined them. They picked up flutes and separated into the crowd, searching. Little had changed. She glanced at the masterpieces on the wall and wondered which had been part of her grandfather's booty.
She turned away and moved down the hall. She checked the great dining room, now filled with large round tables decorated with gold candlesticks and mounds of red, white, and blue flowers. The scent of the flowers carried toward her, fragrant but with a hint of stale chemicals. Then she saw the cardinal watching her. Her stomach knotted. His Eminence had baptized her, but, more than that, he'd officiated at her father's funeral and her cousin Matt's wedding.
With relief she saw a woman approach and distract him. But she was still alarmed. There were bishops and priests among the throng, too. How many of them knew Julia Austrian? On the other hand, their presence made it far less likely anyone would notice a solitary nun. The people here were so used to the clergy at their functions, her disguise was probably the best she could have. Just another nun, to be respected but uninteresting, part of the furniture of a Catholic celebration.
In the den she spotted more relatives. Creighton's wife, Alexis, was chatting with a group of women. Julia averted her face, but from her peripheral vision she could see Alexis momentarily stare at her, trying to place where she'd seen her, and not pleased with herself that she couldn't.
Filled with tension she couldn't seem to shake, Julia kept moving toward the wide staircase that curved up to the second and third floors. On the second, she walked swiftly along the hall. The bedrooms and sitting rooms spread out in two wings. She looked into all the open doors and checked her grandfather's old bedroom. Everything had a sense of abandonment, as if those who'd lived here had fled long ago.
She nodded calmly at servants and continued up to the third floor. She tried to keep her stride controlled and dignified, not like a frantic fugitive. She checked the powder rooms, the airy sunroom, and the long balcony that looked out over Arbor Knoll and the blue-green bay. She peered into the enormous ballroom, where musicians were setting up their instruments. Mirrors glimmered around the walls. Afternoon sunlight streamed in, its golden hues catching in the mirrors and reflecting back in blinding slants.
Still no sign of her grandfather or Creighton. This time as she thought of Creighton, her hand automatically went to the Beretta hidden in her pocket.
Furious that she'd found nothing, she stepped inside the elevator and rode it down. As soon as it touched the first floor, she stepped out.
And stopped.
Across from her on a tall wall hung a four-foot high painting of her grandmothers—Mary Redmond and Paige Austrian. They were sitting on pink velvet chairs, wearing long ball gowns and gorgeous jewelry. They were beautiful and elegant, and she felt warm memories of her grandmother Austrian wash over her until—
She stared, shocked. On one of Paige Austrian's fingers was Julia's alexandrite ring with its grass-green stone and the baguettes of diamonds and sapphires.
Instantly she looked away. But already a wave of dizziness rocked her. Inside her mind, that odd, sickly odor assaulted her. She found herself rubbing the ring finger on her right hand as she had in Orion's office. And with a speed that was startling, darkness
appeared on the horizon of her vision and billowed toward her. The darkness she knew too well. She was going blind again.
She couldn't go blind. She couldn't.
She had to stop it. Now.
3:58 PM
Sam had found no sign of old Lyle. Pretending to be looking for a fellow priest, and on the chance he was still in his brown habit, Sam had asked several guests. But all claimed not to have seen the Franciscan. He weaved once more through the throngs. Glasses clinked. Voices were gay with laughter. He forced himself to stay loose. He kept his gaze moving. He asked more people.
And then he realized he hadn't seen Julia in a long time.
Anxious, he made one more round. At last he stepped out into the front courtyard. Only a trickle of people were still arriving. His champagne flute in his hand, a casual smile on his cotton-distorted face, he ambled onto the walk that skirted the mansion, letting his enlarged stomach lead him. In the distant forest he saw armed Secret Service agents step out and check all around and then drift back into the thick, gloomy timber. The agents were doing their best to be discreet while still providing the protection they'd sworn to give.
For a moment he thought about going to them, telling them everything—
Creighton Redmond—former Supreme Court justice, Vietnam hero, and future president of the United States—had planned and executed the most cunning and deadly political plot ever conceived in the United States.
Not only was Douglas Powers no child molester, Creighton Redmond was a murderer—
Right. Not in a billion years would they believe him. He shook his head, wishing old Lyle had given them hard evidence. It would've made everything so much easier. Julia would be safe somewhere. So would Lyle.
Bushes to his right grew waist high, not high enough to block his view into the mansion's expansive windows. He stared in as he passed, but he could see neither Julia nor Lyle in the public rooms filled with guests. Where were they?
