It had probably been a futile gesture to make that last call to the police. In a city as old as Paris, antiquities were the norm, not the exception.
He jumped to his feet and strode toward the front door.
An explosion rocked the house!
For over a thousand years prayers had soared to the heavens from this sacred place of worship. First it had been a Christian basilica, then a Romanesque church before it became a monastery during the fifteenth century. During World War II it had been a haven for fugitives from the Third Reich, and such was its splendor, Hitler had contemplated dismantling it and having it transported to Berlin for the glory of the fatherland. The cathedral had survived war and pestilence and the passage of time.
It had not survived Brian Ledford.
The Cathedral of Saint-Antoine was only two blocks from the InterContinental Hotel, and Alex had been forced to abandon his taxi when he had come within a block of the disaster. Now, as he tried to push through the crowd, Alex’s throat tightened as he looked at the destruction. The famous tower was gone and the interior of the cathedral was a blackened, blazing inferno. Glittering shards of stained glass that had been created by the greatest artists of the Renaissance had been blown out to strew the street in front of him. He remembered the wonder on Caitlin’s face as she had looked up at the sun shining through those windows only a few weeks before.
“Step back.” A young gendarme, his face pale and eyes oddly bright, pushed the crowd surging forward against the ropes farther away from the burning building. “You can’t do anything. Let the firemen through.”
Three fire trucks were already at the disaster scene, and Alex heard a siren scream as another truck tore across the bridge toward the cathedral.
“It will do no good. It’s gone.” An old woman standing beside Alex looked at the burning church, her eyes as moistly bright as the young gendarme’s. “I had my first communion here. I stood right here in this spot for a requiem mass for General de Gaulle.” She fell silent, the tears running slowly down her face.
The rest of the people in the crowd were also silent as they watched with tense faces and moist eyes as the cathedral was inexorably engulfed in flame.
Ledford had chosen his target well if his purpose was to shock and anger the world. Alex was not even a Frenchman, and yet he felt with an aching keenness the loss of this bastion of tradition and splendor.
“Canaille,” the old woman muttered, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Godless bastards.”
Alex didn’t answer as he pushed through the silent crowd that stood watching while the walls of the Cathedral of Saint-Antoine burned to the ground.
10
The reflection of the flames cast a malignant glow into the night sky.
Caitlin stood at the window of the sitting room, gazing at that fiery illumination and listening to the wail of sirens as the fire trucks raced toward the disaster.
“They really did it this time.”
Caitlin turned. Standing in the doorway leading to the hall, Chelsea was still dressed in the white gown she had worn to the reception, her hair tousled, her face devoid of makeup.
Caitlin said, “I tried to call downstairs to the desk when I felt the explosion, but I couldn’t get through. What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. Jonathan’s calling someone at the embassy to try to find out. He sent me on ahead to tell you he’ll be right here.” Chelsea frowned in concern. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“No.”
“Then why the hell did Alex—”
“I think it would be better to wait until Jonathan gets here to talk about it.” Caitlin couldn’t go on lying to them, and God knows she didn’t want to confess twice to this deceit.
“You look like hell. It can’t be that bad.” Chelsea crossed the room to stand beside Caitlin at the window. She was silent a moment, her features lit by the red glow of the fire as she looked out into the darkness. “You didn’t ask what I was doing with Jonathan.”
“It’s none of my business. I went to your room after Alex called and saw your bed hadn’t been slept in.” Caitlin didn’t look at her. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“It’s a little late to try to hide anything from you now. Since we’re all going to be one big happy family until the launch, you probably would have found out anyway. Jonathan and I have been lovers for the last year.” Chelsea continued haltingly. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t discuss this with anyone. Jonathan has political aspirations, and it wouldn’t be good for his career.”
“As I said, it’s none of my business.”
“Thank you.” Chelsea was silent a moment. “He’s wonderful, you know.”
“I like Jonathan very much.”
“Everyone does. He really cares about people, and they sense it. Whenever I’m with him I feel—” She stopped and said softly, “He’s like a mountain that gives shelter and sustenance and beauty all at the same time.”
“Is that why you agreed to the endorsement?”
Chelsea nodded slowly. “There was no question about my doing it the moment Alex mentioned Jonathan’s name. It gave Jonathan and me the perfect opportunity to see each other that avoided suspicion. Alex was very clever.”
“Alex knew about your affair with Jonathan?”
“He had to know. He played us both too well.”
Yes, he had played them all well. “How did he find out?”
Chelsea shrugged. “I have no idea. Jonathan says he has connections.”
And all those research agencies he used so prodigiously, Caitlin thought. “He found out what you wanted and gave it to you.”
“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
“It’s Alex’s way of putting it,” she said, her tone bittersweet.
“Alex has a habit of being—” Chelsea snapped her fingers. “I forgot something. I was so worried, I just tossed . . .” She hurried to grab a box from the table beside the door and bring it back to Caitlin. “It was outside in the hall in front of the door. Your name’s on the card.”
The box was open and the card was tucked beneath the red bow in the folds of a fine blue cashmere neck scarf.
Caitlin stared down at the scarf, and for the first time since Alex’s call, the terror became real to her. Alex had told her about those other scarves Ledford had left, but this one was different. More delicate.
It was a woman’s scarf.
“It’s Saint-Antoine,” Jonathan said as he entered the suite a few minutes later.
Caitlin’s eyes widened in horror. “No,” she whispered.
“Yes.” Jonathan nodded grimly as he closed the door. “Enough explosives were planted in the cathedral to totally destroy it. They don’t expect anything much to be left but rubble. It was the Black Medina. The police received an anonymous call several minutes before the explosion.”
Caitlin’s hand clenched on the velvet drape. “I hope they castrate the sons of bitches when they catch them.”
Chelsea looked at her in surprise. “I’ve never seen you so venomous.”
“It’s Saint-Antoine.” Caitlin looked back at the livid portion of the sky. “It means something. It’s as bad as if they’d blown up Notre-Dame. You Americans don’t understand. Here in Europe our history and culture are everything. We live with it. It’s part of the foundation of our lives. What if someone blew up your Lincoln Memorial?”
Chelsea’s hand gently touched Caitlin’s shoulder. “Perhaps the embassy’s wrong.”
“I visited there only a few weeks ago. I wanted to show Alex the—” She broke off as she looked down at the scarf on the table beside her. Ledford had done this monstrous thing. “Madness.”
Her whole life seemed tainted with ugliness. Why would anyone blow up anything so beautiful as Saint-Antoine? Why would a man want to kill a woman he had never met?
“Alex was very concerned for your safety when he called, Caitlin.” Jonathan spoke very gently, but his expression was relentless
ly determined. “Isn’t there something you’d like to tell us?”
Fifteen minutes later Caitlin opened the door to Alex’s knock. “I’ve told them everything, Alex.”
Alex stiffened warily and then moved forward into the suite. “Good, that saves me from doing it.” He closed the door, locked it, and turned to face them. “Have you checked on the Wind Dancer, Andreas?”
“It’s safe. Peter just telephoned me. He’d gone down to the vault himself. The guards reported the alarms went off when the blast shook the building, but when they went into the safe the Wind Dancer was still there.”
Alex went still. “Call him back. Those alarms shouldn’t have been triggered by the explosion. I went over the vault mechanism myself when I heard you were going to place the statue in the safe there.”
“Peter said he saw the Wind Dancer.”
“Call him back. Tell him to check again,” Alex said.
Jonathan gazed at him in silence for a moment before he crossed to the phone and dialed a number. “Peter? Do me a favor and check on the statue again. Yes, I know you’ve already done it. Do it again and call me back.” He hung up the phone and turned to face Alex. “It’s a waste of time. It seems the statue wasn’t the target.” He paused. “Tonight. There won’t be an opportunity after tomorrow morning. I’m sending Peter back to the compound with the statue.”
“I thought you would.”
“And I’m calling the police to tell them about your friend Ledford.”
“No!”
“He’s a damned mass murderer,” Jonathan said. “You don’t have the right to keep his identity from them.”
“Do you think they’d be able to catch him because they learned his name?” Alex asked. “I’ve been trying to find him for almost four months and haven’t been able to get near him.”
“They have means at their command that you don’t.”
“And I have means at my command that they don’t,” Alex said. “As long as Ledford thinks the game is between the two of us, I have a chance to get him.”
“And he has a chance to get Caitlin,” Chelsea said. “Jesus, can’t you see she’s scared to death?”
He didn’t want to see it. He had been avoiding looking at Caitlin since the first moment he had walked into the room. “Calling the police wouldn’t stop him. Don’t you see? He was with the CIA, dammit. He has contacts and sources all over Europe. They wouldn’t be able to keep her safe.”
“And you can?” Chelsea asked sarcastically. “This entire floor was supposed to be secured, but he still managed to leave his little surprise package.”
He went still. “What pack—” His gaze fell on the scarf on the table. “Christ,” he whispered.
“My name was on the card,” Caitlin said. “He knows who I am.”
She was frightened, and who the hell could blame her? He wanted to touch her, to reach out in comfort, but he knew she would not accept it. “I never meant this to happen, Caitlin. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“You miscalculated,” she said dully. “What a pity when you planned everything so—”
A loud knock on the door interrupted her. “Jonathan! For God’s sake, open the door.”
“That’s Peter.” Jonathan crossed the room, unlocked the door, and threw it open.
Peter strode into the room, his baby-fine hair mussed and his face pale. “They’ve got it, Jonathan. I could have sworn—God, I’m sorry. I should have known—should have stayed there myself.”
“The Wind Dancer?” Jonathan went rigid, his gaze fastened on Peter in disbelief. “They’ve got the Wind Dancer?”
Peter slammed the door. “I swear I looked inside the safe myself, but it was dim and I—”
“What are you talking about?”
“A duplicate. When the alarm went off we thought the explosion of the cathedral caused it. Every car and burglar alarm within three blocks of the cathedral went off too. It shook the entire hotel and—” Peter stopped and took a breath. “One of the guards ran out into the lobby to call me and see if the statue should be moved and the other stayed at the vault. That’s when they must have taken the Wind Dancer and left the duplicate.”
“How, with the other guard on duty?”
“He disappeared after I left the vault after checking on the Wind Dancer the first time. Ledford must have gotten to him somehow.”
“What duplicate?” Jonathan demanded incredulously. “There’s no duplicate close enough to the Wind Dancer to fool you.”
“Yes, there is.”
At Caitlin’s words they all turned to look at her.
“There’s one copy that’s good enough if the statues aren’t side by side.” Caitlin’s trembling hand rose to rub her lower lip. “A statue created by Mario Desedero, a Venetian artist. I saw it once when I was working on my paper on the Wind Dancer. In dim light very few people would be able to tell them apart.”
“I didn’t even know there was a copy,” Chelsea said.
“Jean Marc Andreas commissioned its creation in the eighteenth century. It’s now in the private collection of Alfred Connaught, an English industrialist who lives at Kilane Downs in Yorkshire.”
“Christ, I knew that,” Peter said miserably. “It was in your paper, Caitlin. Why didn’t I remember—”
“But what’s it doing here?” Chelsea interrupted.
“It would be much easier for Ledford to steal a copy than the real thing,” Alex said. “Perhaps someone should check on the health and well-being of Mr. Connaught.”
“Jesus,” Chelsea murmured.
Jonathan shook his head dazedly. “It’s gone. I can’t believe it.” He lifted his head and glared at Alex. “You bastard, that statue has been in my family since the beginning of—shouldn’t—” He broke off and drew a deep breath, obviously trying to regain control. “I can’t believe it’s gone.”
“I’ll get it back,” Alex said.
“How? You haven’t done too well to date even finding Ledford.”
“It’s my fault the Wind Dancer was stolen. I’ll find Ledford and I’ll get it back.”
Caitlin moved to stand before Jonathan. “I’m so sorry, Jonathan.” Her eyes were bright with tears. “I can’t tell you how terrible I feel about this. I promise you that we’ll find it for you.”
“We?” Alex shook his head. “Not you. You’re a target.”
“And where should I go to hide?” Caitlin whirled to face him, her eyes suddenly glittering with anger as well as tears. “Do you think I’d lead that monster to Vasaro? I let you do this. I could have stopped Jonathan from bringing the statue to Paris. All I would have had to do was pick up the phone.” She drew a trembling breath. “But I didn’t do it. I wanted the Wind Dancer here so badly that I took the chance.”
“No one’s blaming you, Caitlin,” Chelsea said. “We know how desperate you were to make the perfume—”
“Then you should blame me. I’m just as guilty as Alex. Perhaps more guilty. It was all like a dream come true. The Wind Dancer . . . I love Vasaro so much, I wanted the perfume to succeed so badly, I couldn’t bring myself to—” Caitlin had to stop as her voice broke. She swallowed and continued. “I told you that I wouldn’t let Jonathan be hurt by this, Alex.”
Alex turned to Jonathan. “The game’s changed. Ledford has the Wind Dancer and he’ll do anything to keep it. It’s an obsession with him.”
“Listen to him,” Caitlin said with a bitter smile. “Alex is an expert on obsessions.”
“She’s right. Ledford is an obsession with me, but that’s what you need. I’m your only chance. Tell the police anything about Ledford and we lose the only edge we have.”
“You told me yourself that you don’t have any clues,” Jonathan said.
“I have a man working on Ledford’s background. He may find something we can use.” Jonathan looked unconvinced, and Alex could hardly blame him. “And if we can’t find Ledford, maybe we could go after his partner. Ledford mentioned he didn’t go after the stat
ue at the reception tonight because his associate objected. The logical reason for him to object would be if he was attending the party.”
“You’re reaching for straws.”
Alex couldn’t deny it. “At least I have straws to reach for. Give me twenty-four hours to get a lead.”
Jonathan hesitated and then shrugged. “Twenty-four hours. No more.”
Alex turned to Caitlin. “You sent out the invitations. I’ll need the guest list.”
She went over to the desk across the room, opened the middle drawer, and drew out the papers. She brought them to Alex and handed them to him. “Can I help?”
“Not with this part of it.” He met her gaze. “But I’ll be better able to concentrate if I know you’re safe.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going home to Vasaro.”
“We’ll talk about that later. I’m not sure where the safest place would be for you.” He turned and moved toward the door. “Stay with her until I come back, Jonathan. I’m going to arrange for two guards outside in the hall and move into the suite next door.” He glanced over his shoulder at Caitlin as he opened the door. “For God’s sake, stay here in the suite.”
“Don’t worry.” Caitlin didn’t look at him. “I want to live. I have no intention of letting that maniac kill me.”
“I won’t let him touch you.” Alex closed the door of the suite behind him and strode down the hall toward the elevators.
It was after six in the morning and daylight was pouring through the window of the sitting room when Alex unlocked the door of his suite next door to Caitlin’s.
Lord, he was tired.
Alex flexed his shoulders to rid himself of tension and then moved toward the desk across the sitting room and dropped into the chair. He couldn’t rest yet. He took the guest list Caitlin had given him out of the pocket of his tuxedo and stared at it, trying to ignore the lethargy keeping him from thinking.
Twenty-four hours.
He began to go over the shorter list he had made. It was a column of distinguished names. At the end of an hour he had underlined only two possibilities; Raoul Dalpré, head of Interpol, and Benjamin Carter, English billionaire and art connoisseur. Dalpré had been surprisingly ineffectual in pursuing the art thieves, and Carter was known as a fanatic collector with underworld connections who was not above purchasing stolen art objects. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. His choices were flimsy at best and wouldn’t be enough to convince Andreas. He would have to think about them, try to place them in the picture, but he was too tired just then.
Reap the Wind Page 24
