34 - The Queen's Jewels (8 page)

“I spoke with one of the young officers this afternoon. We’re in for some rougher weather tomorrow.”

We passed the table where Michael was now sitting with the blonde and her friend. I thought I could make my escape without engaging in another conversation with him, but that wasn’t to be. Harry and I were almost out of the Queens Room when Michael hustled over. “Are you leaving?” he asked, pulling on my arm.

“Yes, Wendell,” said Harry.

“I’d like a word with Jessica if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Harry replied. “Have a pleasant evening. See you both tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“Did you find out anything from Kim?” Haggerty asked me once Harry was gone.

“Of course not. We only had one dance. Besides, Michael, I told you I’m not up to getting involved in whatever investigation you’re conducting. You and that pretty lady seemed to be hitting it off quite nicely. Why don’t you ask her to dance again?”

“Nothing like a few spins around the floor to establish rapport. But she’ll be here tomorrow. Have a nightcap with me, Jessica?”

“Not tonight, Michael.”

He grinned. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, indulge me, Jessica, for old times’ sake. Let’s spend a few minutes on the deck, take in some sea air.”

“No, I—”

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. “I’ll fill you in on some very juicy information concerning the robbery of that famous diamond and the murder of its owner. Ten minutes—I promise. Then you can head for your cabin. Deal?”

It was no use trying to resist Michael Haggerty. He was very convincing, and to tell the truth, I
was
mildly curious about what he knew of the diamond theft in London and the killing of its owner—maybe a bit more than mildly.

Had Seth Hazlitt been privy to our conversation, he would have shaken his head and given me a long-suffering sigh. He would have said he’d known immediately that I would agree to hear Haggerty’s story. My inquisitiveness when it comes to crime is deeply embedded in my psyche, often to my chagrin. I have no idea where it comes from. Had my mother and father possessed that curiosity gene and passed it along to their daughter? Was there something in my DNA, or a section of my brain that released some hormone whenever a crime had been committed in my sphere? Or was it environmental? Had my years in New York City sharpened my need to know about crime and criminals? No, I was exactly the same in Cabot Cove long before I’d moved temporarily to an apartment in Manhattan. Perhaps writing so many murder-mystery novels triggered my fascination with crime from real life to the page—or the other way around. Whatever the answer, it was impossible for me to walk away from Michael Haggerty’s tantalizing promise.

We took the elevator up to Deck Seven and stepped out to the deck that skirted the
Queen Mary 2
, where in the daytime joggers and walkers alike take their exercise, and where strollers try to keep out of their way. The ship was making good time, causing a stiff breeze to slap our faces and toss our hair. A few other intrepid people were on the deck, too. I spotted the Kensingtons, who leaned over the railing, peering down into the churning seas below. Richard picked up Marcia and pretended he was going to throw her overboard. She screamed, just as he’d expected, and when he let her down, they laughed and hugged each other. It was nice to see some affection between them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Jessica?” Haggerty said as we walked toward the stern of the ship, the wind at our backs.

“Very.”

“Are you chilly?”

“No, not at all, but I am curious.”

“As I knew you would be.” He laughed. “I found just the right bait for this fish.”

“You did,” I said. “Here’s a question: Why are you involved with the theft of the Heart of India and the murder of its owner? You’re an intelligence officer. This is a police matter.”

“You are absolutely right, Jessica. It is a police matter. But
if
rumors are true that its owner was using proceeds from his business dealings to fund terrorist groups around the world, it very much becomes a matter for MI6 and other intelligence agencies.”

“‘If’ is a very big word, Michael. My understanding is that that charge has never been proved. No one’s been able to find a solid link from Walter Yang to the terrorist organizations. It could all be gossip and innuendo. I find it hard to believe that your agency would get you involved on so slim a pretext.”

Michael cocked his head. “Ah, you’re too smart for me, Jessica. But evidence seems to be mounting that makes it more of a plausible charge. I would tell you more, but my oath of secrecy means I must keep mum.” He put his index finger to his lips and smiled.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll let you off the hook for now. Now get back to your dancing partner, and let me get a good night’s rest.”

He laughed gently and looked around to ensure that we were alone. “I think I might have fallen in love. She is very beautiful, and a wonderful dancer, I might add.”

“You’ve always had a discerning eye when it comes to beautiful women, Michael.”

“Which is why I spotted you in a crowd the first moment I saw you.”

“You’ve also always been an inveterate flatterer.”

He shrugged. “Part of my job description. Unlike that inaccurate old cliché, flattery will often get you far. And please call me Wendell. Too easy to have a slipup in public if you call me Michael in private.”

“You’re changing the subject,
Wendell
.”

“That I am, or at least I tried. But here’s the gist of it. Did you know, Jessica, that there were three jewel robberies in London last night?”

“No. Oh, yes, I learned about one of them. Three?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think they’re connected in some way to the theft of the Heart of India?”

“I think that it’s a distinct possibility.”

“Is that the juicy information you promised me?”

He shrugged. “You know the constraints of my business. Haven’t I answered all your questions, Jessica?”

“Not at all; you keep evading them. But what strikes me is that I’m here on this lovely ocean liner, a band playing, superb meals being served, round-the-clock entertainment, even a planetarium on board, and more than twenty-five hundred happy people I could be enjoying myself with. Instead, I meet up with an undercover intelligence agent”— Michael tipped his head to the side and grinned—“and his quarry, a man who might be a killer, financing terrorism. It’s not what I bargained for when I agreed to lecture.”

“But you have to admit, Jessica, that it’s more interesting than spending six days putting together a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, or taking a class in napkin folding.”

“There are many more attractions on the ship than that,” I said. “Time for me to head to my cabin. I have a lecture to give at eleven in the morning.”

“I’ll be there, of course, applauding your efforts.”

As we parted at the elevator that would take me up to Deck Eleven, I asked, “What about that Israeli agent, Uri, who followed us? Is he on board, too?”

“I haven’t seen him, but if he is, he’ll surface soon enough. He’s not especially skilled at keeping a low profile. Oh, by the way, we’ll be joined tomorrow at dinner by my new friend. Her name is Jennifer Kahn. Her traveling companion is Ms. Kiki Largent. That sour young honeymooning couple has requested a table for two, much more romantic than sitting with those of us on the wrong side of fifty. Sleep tight, dear lady. See you at breakfast.”

 

H
arry was alone at the table when I arrived at the Princess Grill for breakfast. He was dressed in a bright blue and green shirt worn loose over white slacks. He looked none the worse for wear after his night in the casino.

“Enjoy a restful night?” he asked, rising as the maître d’ pulled out my chair.

“As a matter of fact, I did. You?”

“I always sleep well at sea,” he said, sitting again. “Did you notice? The swells are getting heavier.”

The young officer’s weather prediction had been accurate. The glasslike surface of the Atlantic from the previous day had been replaced by deep swells; a howling wind kicked up frothy whitecaps. The captain had announced over the ship’s PA that areas of the decks would be closed until the weather improved.

“Looks like it could become a Force Eight,” Harry said.

“Meaning?”

“Force Eight on the Beaufort scale. Admiral Beaufort created the scale to standardize the reporting of weather conditions. It’s been adjusted over the years, but Force Eight generally means a wind speed of between thirty and forty knots, and swells of three to four fathoms. A fathom is six feet.”

“It doesn’t feel that bad,” I said.

“That’s because you’re on a state-of-the-art ship, Jessica. She’s got four big stabilizers that extend to counteract any rolling motion. On some of the freighters I’ve served on, a sea like this would have us bouncing around like a cork. This lovely lady just plows through it.”

I noticed that Harry had barely touched his breakfast, and wondered if it was because he’d had a losing night at the craps table. I asked.

“To the contrary, Jessica. I walked away with over four hundred dollars.” He lowered his voice. “It would have been a thousand had you been at my side.”

I laughed. “Seems to me you don’t need anyone to serve as a lucky charm.”

“It never hurts to help luck along.” He chuckled. “Celebrated my winnings in the nightclub. They have a disc jockey. It’s called a disco, I suppose. The music is terribly loud, but at my age, my hearing isn’t what it used to be anyway. I admit that I enjoyed it.”

I smiled. “Somehow, Harry, you don’t strike me as the disco type.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve been to my share of them over the years. Anything to spice up life when you finally reach shore after battling boredom for weeks or months at sea.” He sat back, folded his hands on his stomach, and closed his eyes. He’d gone to a different place for those few moments, possibly back to one of his many experiences as a merchant seaman. When he opened his eyes, he shook his head and said matter-of-factly, “I hate growing old.”

“They say growing old isn’t for sissies,” I said.

“Yes, I’ve heard that. I had a dear friend, no longer with us, who was fond of saying that dying is the price we pay for living.”

He evidently read my face, which said I was concerned as to why he’d raised this topic. He offered a small smile and said, “Enough of this dreary gloom-and-doom talk, huh? What’s on your agenda today?”

“I have my lecture to give at eleven. Before that, I thought I’d take an hour and explore the ship. It’s so huge, I’m not even sure an hour will be enough. Later today—well, I might check out the spa.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan. Ah, here’s our antiques dealer,” Harry said as Michael Haggerty joined us.

“Everyone tip-top this morning?” Michael asked.

“Couldn’t be better, Wendell,” Harry said. He stood and said to me, “I’ll see you later at your lecture, Jessica. Have a good hike around the ship.”

“Nice shot of you,” Michael said, pointing to my picture on the cover of the
Daily Programme
. He opened it to see what was on tap that day, while I enjoyed a second cup of coffee. A schedule for the next day was left outside each cabin door the night before, and was chock-full of useful information. Michael put it down and glanced toward the empty table where the Kim party usually sat. “Late sleepers, huh?”

“Oh, look at the time. I need to get back to my cabin, Michael. I have things to do before I give my lecture. Excuse me.”

“Call me Wendell,” he said, looking around to make certain no one had overheard me. “Look, Jessica, before you go, I’m still counting on you to find out what you can from Kim.”

“We’re not discussing this anymore, Michael, ah, Wendell, whatever your name is.”

“Ignoring terrorism won’t make it go away, Jessica. If you ended up being instrumental in heading off funding for a terrorist organization, you’d have saved many lives, including Americans—
mostly
Americans.”

His treading on my patriotism was annoying, but as he knew it would, it touched a chord somewhere inside. However, it was a reminder I hadn’t needed. Before retiring the night before, I’d already gone over in my mind everything that had occurred over the past few days, thinking about the possible connections.

 

 

A rare blue diamond, the Heart of India, had been stolen. The legendary gem was said to bring its owner either great happiness or great tragedy. In the case of Walter Soon Yang, his happiness ended quickly, and the tragedy was his death at the hands of thieves who’d taken the prize he’d been so thrilled to have acquired. Yang was rumored to be connected to terrorist organizations. Was it true? And if so, who killed Yang? Jewel thieves? Terrorists?

I go to dinner at the home of my British publisher, who introduces me to Kim Chin-Hwa, a Korean businessman, who just happens to be a business partner of the murdered owner of the Heart of India. Mr. Kim tells me he is booked on the
Queen Mary 2
along with his beautiful girlfriend, Betty LeClair, a former Paris model, the pair accompanied by two formidable-looking young men. Employees? Relatives? Bodyguards?

Michael Haggerty, a former MI6 intelligence agent and old friend, now back in the intelligence game, also shows up at my publisher’s home, using an alias, Wendell Jones, antiques dealer. He tells me that he, too, will be joining me on the crossing to New York, and asks me to spy on Mr. Kim for him. We’re tailed by an Israeli intelligence agent. Why?

It was an odd confluence of events, to be sure, but what did it mean? Haggerty had always had a knack for attracting trouble. It was as if he was a magnet for the bad guys. He wanted me to get close to the victim’s partner in the hope that I’d pick up on something he said or did that might help the MI6 investigation. This man could be completely innocent and know nothing about either the theft or terrorists. He was a victim himself since he’d lost his good friend and partner. I refused Michael’s request. Now he was suggesting that if I continued to refuse, I’d be aiding and abetting terrorists.