Midnight Jewels (46 page)

"You are very astute, Miss Pennington. More so than I would have assumed at this point. You're quite right. My artist colony was to be the start of a very useful power base. I made the mistake of having my followers too close to me last time. Ultimately that was a weakness. It enabled one lone man to invade my sanctuary. He was able to use the sheer numbers of people around me as camouflage. This time I deliberately ensured that my naive assistants, as I call them, were kept at a distance. They knew nothing of then-real purpose. They had no idea of how useful they were to me. They assumed they were simply transporting their art supplies and luggage to various points around the country
and the world. As for controlling them, well, artists may be an independent lot, but they have their weak points, just like everyone else. You saw them and talked to them the other night. They see me as their patron. I fund their creative efforts and most of all I make them feel special, unique, the chosen few standing at the leading edge of the art world."

"What were you getting in return?" Croft asked as he edged the metal upright several inches to one side. There was a faint clicking sound from behind the bookshelf. He shot a quick glance at Mercy who was crouched beside him.

"I had a rather interesting project developing, Falconer. A project that will now have to be temporarily terminated because of your interference. Thanks to my forethought
this time around, however, it can soon be restarted in another location. It involved sending my proteges all over the world in search of artistic inspiration. They loved the travel, of course. It was a tremendous creative influence on them. And here and there in their travels they would make small side trips to see acquaintances of mine, fellow art patrons. Such side trips were favors to me. Paintings were often exchanged I within this worldwide community of people who were involved with art."

"What were these traveling artists really transporting for you, Gladstone?" Croft took his hand away from the metal shelving and shook his head firmly at Mercy when she impatiently started to push against it. He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "Not yet. If we open his escape hatch now Gladstone might get a signal telling him the security's been breached. Wait."

Mercy stifled a groan but obeyed.

"What do you mink my artist friends were doing?" Gladstone sounded genially amused. "Take a guess, Falconer."

"Your connections in the Caribbean were drug related. It's your field of expertise. You might have changed your face and your name and the kind of books you collect, but there's
no reason to think you've changed your way of doing business. You were a major link in the cocaine trade down in the Caribbean. Is that still your area of interest?"

"You seem to know me very well, Falconer. How can that be? Where did you learn so much about me?"

"I spent a lot of time researching you three years ago."

"I'm flattered. So, it was indeed you on the island that night."

"It was me." Croft leaned back against the wall of the vault, his arms folded across his chest. He looked bored but patient now, as if all he had to do was wait and everything would be settled to his satisfaction. "So was it drugs again this time, Graves?"

"Yes, Falconer. Drugs. Nothing so crass or commercial as heroin or cocaine, however. Those trades are already being monopolized by others and it would have been difficult to break in again without revealing my former identity. No,
this time I was carving out a unique niche for myself in the more progressive drug market."

"The designer drug business. Wide open territory for new entrepreneurs. Was the stuff you used on me the other night an example of one of your new products?"

"Interesting stuff, wasn't it? It needs refining, but it's almost ready. Should be very popular with those who want to get very drunk without paying the price of a hangover the next day. When we used it on you we wanted you to become so drunk that you passed out when you fell into the pool."

"Making my death appear accidental."

"Precisely. The wonderful thing about these so-called designer drugs, as the media has labeled them, is that they're pure laboratory creations. One does not require land for growing the basic product or vast armies of peasants for harvesting. They are the creations of technicians working with the best lab equipment. They are also infinitely variable. The molecular structure of a particular creation can be
altered readily and presto, a whole new product is created. That flexibility makes it almost impossible for the authorities to track down the source. As soon as they've identified one drug it disappears from the market and another takes its place. They can't even write laws fast enough to make the new product illegal."

Mercy stirred restlessly, wishing Gladstone would finish his gloating confrontation. She began prowling the vault again until she saw Croft eying her with faint disapproval.

"I heard some of my followers claiming to have seen a specter that night of the fire," Gladstone went on thoughtfully. "Several panicked, you know. Many of them ran into the flames in a stupid attempt to rescue me or die with me. Such fools. Most of them were so far gone on drugs and hysteria they didn't know what they were doing. But I heard them shouting about a figure who kept appearing and disappearing in the shadows. They said you signaled them to join you."

"Some of them did join me," Croft said.

"What did you do with them?"

"I sent them home."

"How noble and generous. Were you well paid for your work that night, Falconer? Just a businessman's curiosity, you understand. I find myself wondering what sort of compensation a man in your unusual profession receives. It has just occurred to me that I will need a new chief of security after tonight. Miss Ascanius has not proven very useful in the final analysis. I should have known better than to rely on a beautiful woman, but I was initially impressed by her array of talents. She had acquired a great many skills, you see, in an effort to prove herself something more than just a lovely face. But in the end I'm afraid that was all she was. A pretty face. I shall now have to look elsewhere."

"Believe me, Gladstone, you couldn't afford me."

"I was afraid you might take that attitude. Well, it was just
a thought. One last question or two, Mr. Falconer, and then I really must be going. How did you find me
this time?"

Croft didn't respond.

Mercy remembered the microfilm she had mailed to herself and started to mention it to Croft in a whisper, but Gladstone was speaking again.

"It was the book, wasn't it? Not many people could have traced me with only that damned book as a lead. Most people wouldn't have bothered to try because most people assumed I was dead. After three years who would have thought anyone would have noticed
that book's reappearance? Or worried about the buyer who wanted to obtain it? I was sure it was safe to go after it. So very sure, and I wanted it badly."

"Why?" Croft asked quietly. "What's in that book that made you risk exposing your new identity?"

"The key to a great deal of power, Mr. Falconer. Without it, I would have had to spend far more money and time acquiring that power. Now I will have a shortcut. I find I can never get quite enough power. Isn't
that strange? I have no trouble moderating my eating habits, drinking habits or my sexual needs. But when it comes to power I seem to be endlessly thirsty. Now that I have
Valley
back in my possession, I shall be able to try to satisfy that thirst."

"How did
Valley
escape the flames that night, Graves?"

"Believe me, I have given the matter a great deal of thought. I certainly had no time to get it from the library. I had my hands full saving my own neck. I imagine that one of my followers was not, after all, quite as naively enthralled with me as I had assumed. It must have been someone close to me, someone who suspected the importance of that particular book."

"You can't trust anyone these days, can you?" Croft murmured.

"Unfortunately, one must always have assistants when one
conducts business on a vast scale. One such individual must have kept his or her head long enough to grab
Valley
from the library the night everything fell apart on the island. He escaped with it. But once he had the book, he apparently could not figure out its secret and eventually it got sold. Ultimately it wound up in a trunk full of bargain books. Probably sold for a fraction of its value. And then Miss Pennington found it and advertised it. An amusing trick of fate, eh, Falconer?"

"There are no tricks of fate, only patterns that eventually form complete Circles."

"You are an interesting man, Falconer. I would like to have spent more time discussing your unique brand of philosophy. But I don't have that luxury. I believe enough time has been spent on this little question and answer session. I must be going. I trust the two of you will enjoy your lingering demise within the vault. It will take a bit longer
that way, of course. The air conditioning system will filter out some of the smoke for a while before it is overwhelmed. But if you get impatient to get it over with more quickly, feel free to open the vault door and step outside."

"Where you or Isobel can put bullets in our brains?" Croft asked.

Gladstone chuckled, that rich, charming, charismatic laugh that never failed to captivate. "I've told you, Falconer, no bullets. No, I'm going to use the method you demonstrated so ably three years ago. See how much you enjoy being caught in the middle of a firestorm. It is a rare thrill, believe me. A man who has apparently made a career of living on the edge, as you have, might find it an interesting way to conclude that career."

"You're going to set fire to this place just to get rid of us?" Croft demanded. "Seems a little extreme."

"Not really. Not when you consider the implications. Last time you were working for someone, Falconer. You would
have had no reason to come after me otherwise. You are, in effect, a mercenary. I have no option but to assume you are again working for someone. The government, perhaps. This is undoubtedly just another assignment for you. Getting rid of you will not get rid of whoever sent you. I must assume and plan for the worst possible case. I have done so. I must destroy everything once more in order to convince whoever sent you that the trail has once again come to a dead end. While we waited for your arrival tonight, Isobel and I packed some of my more valuable treasures. And I still have my bank account in Switzerland, of course. My labs around the world are still functioning and will go into a holding pattern until I contact them once more in a new guise. This time I am prepared for catastrophe, Falconer. I learned
that from you."

Then there was silence. Croft watched the intercom closely for a minute as if he could detect Gladstone's presence or lack of it outside the vault. A few shuffling movements and a scratching noise came through the grill. Then there was a dull thud. After that there was more silence.

"I think he's gone," Croft said, moving away from the wall.

"What did he mean about the firestorm?" Mercy stopped her pacing and walked over to the movable shelf.

"He's probably got some system rigged up to totally destroy this place. He won't want to leave any evidence at all
this time around."

"What was that awful thud we just heard?" Mercy asked anxiously.

A muffled explosion outside the vault prevented further inquiries. She spun around, staring at the solidly shut door. There was a second, smaller explosion seconds later. Then silence. "Croft, let's see if that shelving really is an exit. Now. Please."

He nodded and set his hand to the section of shelving.

Mercy glanced once mote at the vault door. "Croft?"

"Hmm?" He was working quickly now.

"I think I just realized what that thud might have been."

"I was afraid of that," Croft muttered.

"It was Isobel, wasn't it?"

"Tell yourself it was just Graves being clumsy," Croft advised.

"We've got to see if she's out there,!" Mercy said urgently.

"Are you nuts? It sounds like World War in is starting out there."

"But, Croft—"

"Oh, hell. And here I was thinking we were on a roll." But Croft had risen and was already unbolting the vault. "Nothing's gone right in this operation so far, why should it get any better now?" Cautiously he pushed open the vault door. "One quick look and that's all."

A blast of heat and long banners of smoke were waiting on the other side of the vault. Hie tropical garden was a wall of flame. Mercy stared out through the narrow crack in the doorway.

"My God," she whispered in awe.

"Gladstone is a thorough man." Croft started to. pull the heavy door shut again.

"Wait," Mercy yelped. "There she is on the floor. It's Isobel. I can see her."

Croft followed Mercy's gaze. "He said she hadn't proven especially useful. I'm inclined to agree."

"Wait, she might still be alive. We've got to check. It will only take a second. She's lying right outside the door." Mercy was trying to push past him.

"Mercy, we don't have time for doing Isobel any favors. She's probably dead."

"He wouldn't have shot her. He said no bullets, remember? He probably just knocked her out or something.
The thud we heard was her body falling. Open the door." Mercy shoved hard against the steel panel.

Croft hesitated briefly and then swore and opened the door a few inches. The heat was getting intense but Mercy knew it was the smoke that was most dangerous at this stage. She held the hem of her shirt over her nose and took one step outside the vault. She grabbed Isobel's leg and started to tug. Then Croft was beside her, effortlessly yanking the unconscious woman into the vault.

As soon as Isobel was inside, Croft slammed the door shut and quickly bent over Isobel. Mercy crouched beside him.

"Is she alive?" Mercy demanded.

"She's alive."

"Then we'll have to take her with us."

Croft sighed. "I know." He got to his feet. "Let's see what's on the other side of that shelving."

He slid the metal upright to one side. There was an oiled, mechanical sound behind the shelving and suddenly half the wall swung silently inward. A yawning black tunnel stretched out in front of them. Cold but clean smelling air was filtering through the tunnel into the vault.