If Tomorrow Comes (28 page)

“Slip under it,” she warned Jean Louis. “Careful.”

They crawled under the beam and found themselves in a dark hallway leading to Count de Matigny’s bedroom. Tracy flicked on the flashlight and led the way. Through the infrared goggles, Tracy saw another light beam, this one low across the threshold of the bedroom door. Gingerly, she jumped over it. Jean Louis was right behind her.

Tracy played her flashlight around the walls, and there were the paintings, impressive, awesome.

Promise to bring me the Leonardo
, Gunther had said.
And of course the jewelry
.

Tracy took down the picture, turned it over, and laid it on the floor. She carefully removed it from its frame, rolled up the vellum, and stored it in her shoulder bag. All that remained now was to get into the safe, which stood in a curtained alcove at the far end of the bedroom.

Tracy opened the curtains. Four infrared lights transversed the alcove, from the floor to the ceiling, crisscrossing one another. It was impossible to reach the safe without breaking one of the beams.

Jean Louis stared at the beams with dismay. “
Bon Dieu de merde!
We can’t get through those. They’re too low to crawl under and too high to jump over.”

“I want you to do just as I tell you,” Tracy said. She stepped in back of him and put her arms tightly around his waist. “Now, walk with me. Left foot first.”

Together, they took a step toward the beams, then another.

Jean Louis breathed, “
Alors!
We’re going into them!”

“Right.”

They moved directly into the center of the beams, where they converged, and Tracy stopped.

“Now, listen carefully,” she said. “I want you to walk over to the safe.”

“But the beams—”

“Don’t worry. It will be all right.” She fervently hoped she was right.

Hesitantly, Jean Louis stepped out of the infrared beams. All was quiet. He looked back at Tracy with large, frightened eyes. She was standing in the middle of the beams, her body heat keeping the sensors from sounding the alarm. Jean Louis hurried over to the safe. Tracy stood stock-still, aware that the instant she moved, the alarm would sound.

Out of the corner of one eye, Tracy could see Jean Louis as he removed some tools from his pack and began to work on the dial of the safe. Tracy stood motionless, taking slow, deep breaths. Time stopped. Jean Louis seemed to be taking forever. The calf of Tracy’s right leg began to ache, then went into spasm. Tracy gritted her teeth. She dared not move.

“How long?” she whispered.

“Ten, fifteen minutes.”

It seemed to Tracy she had been standing there a lifetime. The leg muscles in her left leg were beginning to cramp. She felt like screaming from the pain. She was pinned in the beams, frozen. She heard a click. The safe was open.

“
Magnifique! C’est la banque!
Do you wish everything?” Jean Louis asked.

“No papers. Only the jewels. Whatever cash is there is yours.”

“Merci.”

Tracy heard Jean Louis riffling through the safe, and a few moments later he was walking toward her.

“Formidable!”
he said. “But how do we get out of here without breaking the beam?”

“We don’t,” Tracy informed him.

He stared at her.
“What?”

“Stand in front of me.”

“But—”

“Do as I say.”

Panicky, Jean Louis stepped into the beam.

Tracy held her breath. Nothing happened. “All right. Now, very slowly, we’re going to back out of the room.”

“And then?” Jean Louis’s eyes looked enormous behind the goggles.

“Then, my friend, we run for it.”

Inch by inch, they backed through the beams toward the curtains, where the beams began. When they reached them, Tracy took a deep breath. “Right. When I say
now
, we go out the same way we came in.”

Jean Louis swallowed and nodded. Tracy could feel his small body tremble.

“Now!”

Tracy spun around and raced toward the door, Jean Louis after her. The instant they stepped out of the beams, the alarm sounded. The noise was deafening, shattering.

Tracy streaked to the attic and scurried up the hook ladder, Jean Louis close behind. They raced across the roof and clambered down the ivy, and the two of them sped across the grounds toward the wall where the second ladder was waiting. Moments later they reached the roof of the van and scurried down. Tracy leapt into the driver’s seat, Jean Louis at her side.

As the van raced down the side road, Tracy saw a dark sedan parked under a grove of trees. For an instant the headlights of the van lit the interior of the car Behind the wheel sat Jeff Stevens. At his side was a large Doberman. Tracy laughed aloud and blew a kiss to Jeff as the van sped away.

From the distance came the wail of approaching police sirens.

Biarritz, on the southwestern coast of France, has lost much of its turn-of-the-century glamour. The once-famed Casino Bellevue is closed for badly needed repairs, while the Casino Municipal on Rue Mazagran is now a run-down building housing small shops and a dancing school. The old villas on the hills have taken on a look of shabby gentility.

Still, in high season, from July to September, the wealthy and titled of Europe continue to flock to Biarritz to enjoy the gambling and the sun and their memories. Those who do not have their own châteaus stay at the luxurious Hôtel du Palais, at 1 Avenue Impératrice. The former summer residence of Napoleon III, the hotel is situated on a promontory over the Atlantic Ocean, in one of nature’s most spectacular settings: a lighthouse on one side, flanked by huge jagged rocks looming out of the gray ocean like prehistoric monsters, and the boardwalk on the other side.

On an afternoon in late August the French Baroness Marguerite de Chantilly swept into the lobby of the Hôtel du Palais. The baroness was an elegant young woman with a sleek cap of ash-blond hair. She wore a green-and-white silk Givency
dress that set off a figure that made the women turn and watch her enviously, and the men gape.

The baroness walked up to the concierge.
“Ma clé, s’il vous plaît,”
she said. She had a charming French accent.

“Certainly, Baroness.” He handed Tracy her key and several telephone messages.

As Tracy walked toward the elevator, a bespectacled, rum-pled-looking man turned abruptly away from the vitrine displaying Hermes scarves and crashed into her, knocking the purse from her hand.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry.” He picked up her purse and handed it to her. “Please forgive me.” He spoke with a Middle European accent.

The Baroness Marguerite de Chantilly gave him an imperious nod and moved on.

An attendant ushered her into the elevator and let her off at the third floor. Tracy had chosen Suite 312, having learned that often the selection of the hotel accommodations was as important as the hotel its If. In Capri, it was Bungalow 522 in the Quisisana. In Majorca, it was the Royal Suite of Son Vida, overlooking the mountains and the distant bay. In New York, it was Tower Suite 4717 at The Helmsley Palace Hotel, and in Amsterdam, Room 325 at the Amstel, where one was lulled to sleep by the soothing lapping of the canal waters.

Suite 312 at the Hôtel du Palais had a panoramic view of both the ocean and the city. From every window Tracy could watch the waves crashing against the timeless rocks protruding from the sea like drowning figures. Directly below her window was an enormous kidney-shaped swimming pool, its bright blue water clashing with the gray of the ocean, and next to it a large terrace with umbrellas to ward off the summer sun. The walls of the suite were upholstered in blue-and-white silk damask, with marble baseboards, and the rugs and curtains were the color of faded sweetheart roses. The wood of the doors and shutters was stained with the soft patina of time.

When Tracy had locked the door behind her, she took off the tight-fitting blond wig and massaged her scalp. The baroness persona was one of her best. There were hundreds of titles to choose from in
Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage
and
Almanach de Gotha
. There were ladies and duchesses and princesses and baronesses and countesses by the score from two dozen countries, and the books were invaluable to Tracy, for they gave family histories dating back centuries, with the names of fathers and mothers and children, schools and houses, and addresses of family residences. It was a simple matter to select a prominent family and become a distant cousin—particularly a
wealthy
distant cousin. People were so impressed by titles and money.

Tracy thought of the stranger who had bumped into her in the hotel lobby and smiled. It had begun.

At 8:00 that evening the Baroness Marguerite de Chantilly was seated in the hotel’s bar when the man who had collided with her earlier approached her table.

“Excuse me,” he said diffidently, “but I must apologize again for my inexcusable clumsiness this afternoon.”

Tracy gave him a gracious smile. “That’s quite all right. It was an accident.”

“You are most kind.” He hesitated. “I would feel much better if you would permit me to buy you a drink.”

“
Oui
. If you wish.”

He slid into a chair opposite her. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Adolf Zuckerman.”

“Marguerite de Chantilly.”

Zuckerman signaled the captain. “What are you drinking?” Zuckerman asked Tracy.

“Champagne. But perhaps—”

He raised a reassuring hand. “I can afford it. In fact, I am on the verge of being able to afford anything in the world.”

“Really?” Tracy gave him a small smile. “How nice for you.”

“Yes.”

Zuckerman ordered a bottle of Bollinger, then turned to Tracy. “The most extraordinary thing has happened to me. I really should not be discussing this with a stranger, but it is too exciting to keep to myself.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “To tell you the truth, I am a simple school-teacher—or I was, until recently. I teach history. It is most
enjoyable, you understand, but not too exciting.”

She listened, a look of polite interest on her face.

“That is to say, it was not exciting until a few months ago.”

“May I ask what happened a few months ago, Professor Zuckerman?”

“I was doing research on the Spanish Armada, looking for odd bits and pieces that might make the subject more interesting for my students, and in the archives of the local museum, I came across an old document that had somehow gotten mixed in with other papers. It gave the details of a secret expedition that Prince Philip sent out in 1588. One of the ships, loaded with gold bullion, was supposed to have sunk in a storm and vanished without a trace.”

Tracy looked at him thoughtfully. “
Supposed
to have sunk?”

“Exactly. But according to these records, the captain and crew deliberately sank the ship in a deserted cove, planning to come back later and retrieve the treasure, but they were attacked and killed by pirates before they could return. The document survived only because none of the sailors on the pirate ship could read or write. They did not know the significance of what they had.” His voice was trembling with excitement. “Now”—he lowered his voice and looked around to make sure it was safe to continue—”
I
have the document, with detailed instructions on how to get to the treasure.”

“What a fortunate discovery for you, Professor.” There was a note of admiration in her voice.

“That gold bullion is probably worth fifty million dollars today,” Zuckerman said. “All I have to do is bring it up.”

“What’s stopping you?”

He gave an embarrassed shrug. “Money. I must outfit a ship to bring the treasure to the surface.”

“I see. How much would that cost?”

“A hundred thousand dollars. I must confess, I did something extremely foolish. I took twenty thousand dollars—my life’s savings—and I came to Biarritz to gamble at the casino, hoping to win enough to…” His voice trailed off.

“And you lost it.”

He nodded. Tracy saw the glint of tears behind his spectacles.

The champagne arrived, and the captain popped the cork and poured the golden liquid into their glasses.

“Bonne chance,”
Tracy toasted.

“Thank you.”

They sipped their drinks in contemplative silence.

“Please forgive me for boring you with all this,” Zucker-man said. “I should not be telling a beautiful lady my troubles.”

“But I find your story fascinating,” she assured him. “You are sure the gold is there,
oui?
”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt. I have the original shipping orders and a map drawn by the captain, himself. I know the exact location of the treasure.”

She was studying him with a thoughtful expression on her face. “But you need a hundred thousand dollars?”

Zuckerman chuckled ruefully. “Yes. For a treasure worth fifty million.” He took another sip of his drink.

“
C’est possible…
” She stopped.

“What?”

“Have you considered taking in a partner?”

He looked at her in surprise. “A partner? No. I planned to do this alone. But of course now that I’ve lost my money…” His voice trailed off again.

“Professor Zuckerman, suppose I were to give you the hundred thousand dollars?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not, Baroness. I could not permit that. You might lose your money.”

“But if you’re sure the treasure is there—?”

“Oh, of that I am positive. But a hundred things could go wrong. There are no guarantees.”

“In life, there are few guarantees. Your problem is
très intéressant
. Perhaps if I help you solve it, it could be lucrative for both of us.”

“No, I could never forgive myself if by any
remote
chance you should lose your money.”

“I can afford it,” she assured him. “And I would stand to make a great deal on my investment,
n’est-ce pas?
”

“Of course, there
is
that side of it,” Zuckerman admitted. He sat there weighing the matter, obviously torn with doubts.
Finally, he said, “If that is what you wish, you will be a fifty-fifty partner.”

She smiled, pleased. “
D’accord
. I accept.”

The professor added quickly, “After expenses, of course.”

“
Naturellement
. How soon can we get started?”

“Immediately.” The professor was charged with a sudden vitality. “I have already found the boat I want to use. It has modern dredging equipment and a crew of four. Of course, we will have to give them a small percentage of whatever we bring up.”

“Bien sûr.”

“We should get started as quickly as possible, or we might lose the boat.”

“I can have the money for you in five days.”

“Wonderful!” Zuckerman exclaimed. “That will give me time to make all the preparations. Ah, this was a fortuitous meeting for both of us, was it not?”

“Oui. Sans doute.”

“To our adventure.” The professor raised his glass.

Tracy raised hers and toasted, “May it prove to be as profitable as I feel it will be.”

They clinked glasses. Tracy looked across the room and froze. At a table in the far corner was Jeff Stevens, watching her with an amused smile on his face. With him was an attractive woman ablaze with jewels.

Jeff nodded to Tracy, and she smiled, remembering how she had last seen him outside the De Matigny estate, with that silly dog beside him.
That was one for me
, Tracy thought happily.

“So, if you will excuse me,” Zuckerman was saying, “I have much to do. I will be in touch with you.” Tracy graciously extended her hand, and he kissed it and departed.

“I see your friend has deserted you, and I can’t imagine why. You look absolutely terrific as a blonde.”

Tracy glanced up. Jeff was standing beside her table. He sat down in the chair Adolf Zuckerman had occupied a few minutes earlier.

“Congratulations,” Jeff said. “The De Matigny caper was ingenious. Very neat.”

“Coming from you, that’s high praise, Jeff.”

“You’re costing me a lot of money, Tracy.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

He toyed with the glass in front of him. “What did Professor Zuckerman want?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“You might say that.”

“He…er…just wanted to have a drink.”

“And tell you all about his sunken treasure?”

Tracy was suddenly wary. “How do you know about that?”

Jeff looked at her in surprise. “Don’t tell me you
fell
for it? It’s the oldest con game in the world.”

“Not this time.”

“You mean you
believed
him?”

Tracy said stiffly, “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but the professor happens to have some inside information.”

Jeff shook his head in disbelief. “Tracy, he’s trying to take you. How much did he ask you to invest in his sunken treasure?”

“Never mind,” Tracy said primly. “It’s my money and my business.”

Jeff shrugged. “Right. Just don’t say old Jeff didn’t try to warn you.”

“It couldn’t be that you’re interested in that gold for yourself, could it?”

He threw up his hands in mock despair. “Why are you always so suspicious of me?”

“It’s simple,” Tracy replied. “I don’t trust you. Who was the woman you were with?” She instantly wished she could have withdrawn the question.

“Suzanne? A friend.”

“Rich, of course.”

Jeff gave her a lazy smile. “As a matter of fact, I think she does have a bit of money. If you’d like to join us for luncheon tomorrow, the chef on her two-hundred-fifty-foot yacht in the harbor makes a—”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your lunch. What are you selling her?”

“That’s personal.”

“I’m sure it is.” It came out harsher than she had intended.

Tracy studied him over the rim of her glass. He really was too damned attractive. He had clean, regular features, beautiful gray eyes with long lashes, and the heart of a snake. A very intelligent snake.

“Have you ever thought of going into a legitimate business?” Tracy asked. “You’d probably be very successful.”

Jeff looked shocked. “What? And give up all this? You must be joking!”

“Have you always been a con artist?”

“Con artist? I’m an
entrepreneur
,” he said reprovingly.

“How did you become a—an—entrepreneur?”

“I ran away from home when I was fourteen and joined a carnival.”

“At fourteen?” It was the first glimpse Tracy had had into what lay beneath the sophisticated, charming veneer.

“It was good for me—I learned to cope. When that wonderful war in Vietnam came along, I joined up as a Green Beret and got an advanced education. I think the main thing I learned was that that war was the biggest con of all. Compared to that, you and I are amateurs.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Do you like pelota?”

“If you’re selling it, no thank you.”

“It’s a game, a variation of jai alai. I have two tickets for tonight, and Suzanne can’t make it. Would you like to go?”