The Gold Pawn

by L. A. Chandlar

  He stood erect, took a deep breath feeling the trim and elegant clothing on his body. His hat dipped down over one eye, he clasped a beautifully crafted bag in one hand, a London Daily in the other. He nodded smartly to the others around him, sensing the tension of excitement in the air as he prepared to board the behemoth aircraft in front of him.

  For a few moments, all thoughts of the case blew out of his mind just as the wind blew the flags and ropes around. It would take only fifty hours, give or take ten hours depending on the wind, to cross the Atlantic, a marvel of time and technology. It made his head spin that they could do it that quickly. But that meant that those brief hours were all he had to collect the information that he needed. And once he boarded this craft, he was bound to it until they docked in Lakehurst, New Jersey. His approach would have to be stealthy and cunning, because there was virtually no escape if he was discovered.

  He looked around at the other high-end travelers surrounding him, giddy with expectation. Millionaires, mostly. Across the smoky room where everyone was getting their last easily smoked cigarette for two days, he spotted the two men he would slowly approach. He kept a smug stance and hoped that his carefully placed statements would make their way over to those two, getting him the meeting he craved.

  The boarding call came over the loudspeakers of the waiting area. He made his way across the field and deliberately, confidently, walked toward the cavernous hangar that held his transportation to America: the Hindenburg.

  CHAPTER 48

  Time flew up until the ball. I found a pair of shoes that needed to be worn with the dress. Work was busy and frenzied as we were coming up to the holidays. I saw Finn only once that week for a quick lunch as he’d been just as busy with his work. There hadn’t been any activity from our other sources of concern: Venetti was utterly silent, Hambro remained missing, Donagan and Eliza hadn’t made a peep, even the guy Finn took into custody at the library was completely quiet not wanting to say one word in obvious fear for his life. We were all getting a little edgy, feeling like there was a buildup to something coming down the pike.

  The morning of the Rockefeller ball finally dawned. And I was grouchy. Annoyed in the extreme. I made my way down the stairs and to the kitchen counter, still grumping to myself as I dumped a load of sugar into my tea along with the milk.

  “Good morning, Lane. Why all the grousing?” rasped Mr. Kirkland with a sardonic look on his face, turning to lean casually up against the counter.

  “Oh, just my book,” I replied, with a great, loathing, despicable emphasis on the word book.

  “What terrible wrong did this novel commit?” he inquired, while taking a big swig of his strong coffee, his other hand absently patting Ripley’s head.

  “Thwarted love. Bah!”

  He was still chuckling as I left the kitchen, toast in hand.

  I got ready for the day and went about doing my errands. I picked up my tailored dress, bought a new lipstick, and took a little breather by taking a walk out by the river despite the freezing temperature. I needed some space to collect my thoughts and consider different pieces of the mystery. I went over the elements to the evening that Fio and the girls and I had discussed yesterday in Fio’s office.

  The goal of the ball was not to get close to the bigwigs of this supposed meeting or poker game happening sometime soon, but to the ones slightly below them, the ones who might know of the meeting, but perhaps not directly involved themselves. Just to overhear what was going on, maybe get a feel of what was happening. Finn, Pete, and several of their trusted undercover cops would also be in attendance and would help direct any of us toward possible targets while keeping an eye on all of us. Fio would have to maintain his own mayoral role, which bothered him to no end. Being a romantic, he wanted desperately to be able to go undercover. But it was a virtual impossibility. He was too famous and his physical characteristics would be inconceivable to disguise, which brought a smile to my face.

  In order to have more freedom to mill about at the ball Valerie, Roxy, and I would go along with Fiorello and a few other office staff. We would go as a group so that each of us could meet, mingle, and dance without looking like we were already a couple with a particular person. Although I approved of this approach in theory, and had no problem dancing with other people, I wasn’t fond of seeing Finn dance with anyone else. I knew just how good he looked in a suit, not to mention a tuxedo. Girls would be practically swooning over him. Thwarted love. Bah!

  CHAPTER 49

  Finn had been working endlessly this week to set up undercover agents for the ball and to get Miles all set on the Hindenburg flight. He’d gotten that idea after his military friends got him a ride on a dirigible from Europe when he had been frantically racing to Michigan. He hoped against hope that Miles would find out more information about the gold pawns and the impending poker game. They were all pretty sure at this point that the game was some kind of major move on either Donagan’s or Tucker’s part. Finn also had one final backup plan for the ball that he set up just that morning. He had a chance meeting with someone he hadn’t seen in quite a while, someone he bumped into.

  A slow, easy smile had spread across his face when he had come up with the idea of that one last precaution. It was a long shot, but he had a feeling it was a stroke of genius. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, but given Fio, Lane, Kirkland . . . Jesus, he had never known a group of people more inclined to get into trouble. He was going to need an army just to keep watch over them all.

  Finn was dressed in his tux and already at the bar getting a martini—light on the vermouth, two olives—before most people arrived for the ball. He was feeling antsy. He hadn’t had near enough time with Lane the past week, which always made him feel less like himself. It was a strange and surprisingly welcome emotion to him. The ballroom at the Plaza was massive and glittering in silver and black with elegant, understated touches of red, green, and blue holiday colors. He prepared himself for what he needed to accomplish that night, running through the people he knew would be there, the ones the girls were going to try to target.

  Just then, a few friendly hellos made their way through his deep concentration.

  “Hey there, Roarke. Scott. Pete.”

  “Hiya, Finn.”

  “Hey, Finn. Everything all set?” asked Roarke with his dimples showing, but no smile emanating from his mouth. Finn guessed he was feeling just as apprehensive.

  “Yes. As good as we can do,” replied Finn, finishing off the last swig of briny gin. They had made as many proactive plans as possible, securing the area, talking with everyone about who was coming to the event, and what kind of information to go after. Now? It was in Fate’s hands. He felt that this was their only avenue to get ahead on information. With all the unwanted interest in Lane lately, people obviously wanted to get their hands on that gold pawn or possibly the silver gun. Whatever it was, Lane was involved yet again. And, as much as he hated it, they needed her involvement to have any hope of getting her out of harm’s way. Plus, he figured, it was just safer having her close by. Luckily, this scheme wasn’t as dangerous as the one in August that involved him shooting her. He shuddered as he remembered pulling that goddamn trigger.

  Just as he was going over in his mind, one last time, how the events of the evening would go down, she walked in.

  There was a hubbub in the main doorway as a large number of people arrived at once: Fiorello’s entourage. They were a stunning group. Of course, Fio was bellowing hearty hellos already and he vaguely saw a smashing blue dress on Valerie and a silvery black dress on Roxy. But Lane . . . She took his breath away. Her dress was cranberry red, sleeveless with a deep square neckline, long and flowing with a low back. Her dark hair was pulled up with one long, curling strand coming down along the side of her lovely face. She had on a black choker with a brilliant Art Deco diamond brooch on the front and a simple diamond bracelet over her elbow-length gloves. She caught his eye and her smile lit up her face even more. Sure, the others lo
oked amazing, too. But Lane . . . She was his. And he was all hers. No doubt about it.

  The girls were whisked away and began their mingling. He heard a chuckle coming from behind him. He turned and Roarke was snickering at his obviously besotted expression.

  “Shut up, Roarke,” said Finn with a deep grin. More chuckles all around.

  The rest of the evening went as planned, everyone dancing and talking with a lot of people. He had a hard time concentrating on his own role as he made sure to keep an eye on Lane. For professional purposes, of course. The most humorous moment, and his most favorite, was when he had been dancing with a buxom blond gal. He couldn’t even remember her name, but at one point he looked down at her and she was stroking his chest as they danced, saying how much she loved his tux. He felt flattered that she liked his tux. Then he looked up and over and caught Lane’s eye. Her glittering orbs were absolutely brimming over with jealous anger. He almost laughed at the look on her face that truly was shooting him daggers. Of course, she was dancing with her own handsome beau, but that didn’t seem to count.

  It wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan, but screw the plan. He finished the dance with the blonde and made his way over to Lane.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked with a large grin.

  “Of course,” she replied with a quick smile of pleasure.

  He took her into his arms, something he had been envisioning all evening. He held her much closer than the other gals. The silkiness of her dress against her lithe body was sexy and just as sweet as he had thought it would be.

  She looked up into his face with a wide smile, almost laughing. “So,” she said with a cocked eyebrow, “Blondie seemed to enjoy you quite thoroughly.”

  “She liked my tux,” said Finn happily.

  “Hah! She didn’t like your tux. She liked what was underneath the tux,” she said with a droll smirk.

  “Love, you look . . . incredible.”

  “You clean up pretty nice yourself, Finn.”

  He smiled down at her, listening to the music, feeling her body against his. He wanted to take that gorgeous dress off, one little bit at a time, and he imagined her lying down on his bed, naked and beautiful and all his.

  “What are you thinking about, Finn?”

  “Oh, ah . . .”

  She took a deep breath, smiled, and put her head on his shoulder. “Mm hm . . .”

  CHAPTER 50

  Miles was fully ensconced on board the Hindenburg, slightly apprehensive, well, actually, quite apprehensive about traveling over the ocean in an oversize balloon. A balloon full of flammable gas, for Christ’s sake. Before boarding from the zeppelin hangar, they had been instructed and warned about the dangers of carrying matches aboard. Then they climbed a retractable stairway into the bottom of the craft. Hundreds of citizens of Frankfurt crowded around the ship shouting farewells, enthusiastically waving flags while a band played patriotic German music. When ready to launch, two hundred men from the ground crew firmly grasped the cables as if they were merely holding a Thanksgiving Parade balloon, and walked the floating giant out to the field. At the captain’s command, the cables were thrown off and the ship that was as tall as a thirteen-story building and about four city blocks long, gently, peacefully, silently, lifted off.

  Miles made the most of the short amount of time eating in the grand dining room, listening to the piano at night, and talking into the wee hours with the other passengers. Word had indeed gotten around about who he was and his desire for a high-stakes game in New York. Being a “reclusive, eccentric millionaire,” just any game would not do. After years of being off duty, slightly out of his mind to boot, Miles was more than a little excited to see the ease of assuming an identity and a mission coming back so quickly. It was gratifying to mold and create in this way. Like an actor, but with an intense goal and deadly consequences.

  Some passengers never slept, but he got a few hours of shut-eye in his own modest room, just like all the others, that held a small bed, a washbasin with hot and cold water, a tiny desk, a closet, and an electric light. The room on board that most intrigued him in a ghastly way was the smoking room. He understood that everyone smoked, but he was dubious in the extreme, flying half a mile over the ocean in the midst of sixteen enormous hydrogen gasbags that were highly inflammable . . . that perhaps one could do without a smoke in light of the extraordinary risk? Apparently not. So, the smoking room was specially crafted. You walked through an air-locked entrance, kind of like a revolving door, where the pressure was higher inside than outside to prevent gas from entering. The ash receivers were automatically closed airtight to extinguish lighted butts. He went ahead and smoked his own cigarette or two, albeit with great unease and positively no enjoyment.

  At one moment, alone on deck where he looked out the slanted windows, he felt the great romance of this ship in flight. But juxtaposed against that notion was another that was the exact opposite. Not that long ago, zeppelins just like this were sitting over London dropping bombs. And he was underneath, dodging those goddamn bombs. It was a terrible and surreal feeling. It was a long time ago . . . No, actually. It wasn’t that long ago at all.

  In the final hours of the flight, he at last got word of someone desiring a meeting with him over drinks. He had known that it would require great patience and a nonchalance that bespoke an intended indifference to the game to acquire the needed information. He let it be known with elegant subtlety that his presence would be greatly desired at any important game and if they didn’t care for his money, somebody else more important would.

  He walked over to the gentlemen at the bar and ordered a bourbon, straight up. “Hello, gentlemen. Miles Havalaar, at your service.”

  His patience, tact, and timing paid off. After only a few minutes, he secured the time and place of the big game.

  CHAPTER 51

  Despite the working nature of the night, the ball was just plain enchanting. My red dress was a dream, fitting perfectly after the tailor took it in around the waist (and of course the bosom, darn it). It was a timeless piece that felt sumptuous. My dance with Finn was sweet and unexpected as I had thought we were going to have to stay away from each other. He looked sensational. I noticed more than one girl completely unable to keep their eyes off him. One blonde in particular. I had to fight off the urge to trip her whenever I happened to be in her vicinity.

  We slowly gathered names of people who were most likely in town for the big game. I kept getting the feeling that the main event was soon, maybe even tomorrow. But nothing concrete surfaced. Around eleven, I was just starting to get a little tired when I thought I’d hit the ladies’ room to freshen up. I left the dance floor, admiring the majestic room and the beautiful forms of my friends. Roxy looked wonderful in her sleek silvery black with her shining head of short blond waves and Val was a delight in her silky, watery blue dress. I noticed with a smile that there were several men who were keeping their eyes on them. And not just for professional purposes.

  Just as I was coming out of the powder room, I glimpsed Fio racing toward the door with the childlike look of glee on his face, which could only mean one thing: He had heard of a fire happening and he wanted desperately to go and “help out.”

  “Fio!” I yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Oh hey, Lane. I just got word that there’s a big fire in one of the abandoned factories. I thought I’d go check it out on my way home.” He said all this in top speed while bouncing on his toes in great anticipation. He was mumbling under his breath about the fact that he was vexed that he didn’t have his fireman’s coat with him.

  “Have fun!” I yelled to him as he raced out the door. Then I had second thoughts about him running around unchaperoned and went out the door after him.

  “Hey, Fio! Wait a minute!” I yelled to him. He was jogging down the block, looking for a taxi. I started to laugh and called out to him again, taking a few quick steps after him.

  Just then a van pulled up to a scre
eching halt right next to Fio.

  “Fio!” I screamed. Men in black pulled his stunned form into the back of the van. I looked wildly about, and just opened my mouth to scream for help when a hard hand wrapped around my mouth and a harder arm wrapped around my body.

  “Well,” purred a deep voice right in my ear, his hot breath scalding my face. “This is an unexpected pleasure. And don’t you look and feel ravishing. I think you’ll just have to come with me.”

  I fought the nausea rising in my throat, keeping my eyes wide open, taking in any piece of helpful information I could. No one saw me. No one knew we had gone outside. I felt a tear of fear and desperation come to my eyes. Donagan had me completely and utterly bound up in his arms. Struggle was vain and useless, but I still tried. It only made him laugh harder, giving him more opportunity to enjoy the moment and grope me further.

  I finally stopped at the point where he cheerily threatened to strike me. He took me to a different car, one where another big goon was waiting in the back, ready to keep me still by the persuasive revolver in his hand.

  I kept my eye on the van where they had Fio. We followed it. I tried to look like I was crying and not keeping track of where we were in hopes that they wouldn’t put a hood over my head. We were staying in Manhattan. I had wondered if we would go out to the establishment that had been Eliza’s in Queens. But no. We pulled up to a factory-like building downtown on the west side. It was a lonely spot. I caught out of the corner of my eye that they were pulling Fio out of the van, and he was alive and well, walking on his own accord. They had gagged him—no surprise there.

  At this point, Donagan was fully occupied. Eliza had met him as he got out of the car. She was gesticulating wildly, obviously not pleased with something. Then he grabbed her and kissed her with something near aggression. But her own violent nature seemed to take that in stride like it was an ugly kind of foreplay.