The Art of Seduction (30 page)

“But why?”

He didn't respond.

Suddenly, it dawned on her. “You're afraid…You're afraid of heights, aren't you?”

He shot her a furious glare. “Will you shut up and get out of here?”

“That's it! Juno Dargelos, the man in whose wake all Paris trembles, the scourge of decent citizens everywhere, is afraid of heights! No wonder he's so attracted to the Flying Princess of the Air!” She laughed uncontrollably. She laughed so hard that Hugo grabbed hold of her, afraid she might topple. “It's the funniest thing I've ever heard.”

“That does it,” Juno snapped out. “I'll show you who's afraid.”

Two soldiers charged toward him, intending to impale him with their out-thrust bayonets. Like a matador, he nimbly stepped aside and let them tumble into the wall behind him.

“Afraid, am I?”

He quickly ran up the steps and, without allowing himself to think about it, leapt onto the trampoline. But as he rose high into the air, he lost his balance and approached the wall heels over head. Hugo reached out and grabbed him. With Lisette's help, the flailing Dargelos was pulled onto the parapet.

At that moment, a volley of fire came from the courtyard. Bullets whizzed by them. Dargelos jerked back so sharply that they nearly lost their hold on him. As they straightened him, Lisette saw the blood seeping from the sleeve of his clerical robe.

In an instant, the dam broke and her heart gave way. She threw her arms around him. “Juno, my love! My poor, sweet, brave turtledove!”

I
n the port of Calais, Hank Thompson was enjoying a cigar as he lay stretched out in a deck chair on the fantail of the SS
Princess Alexandra.
Sitting nearby, Dimitri Orlaf looked at his pocket watch and shook his head. It had been a frustrating week for both men since the observatory fiasco, but Hank was displaying none of the emotional Russian's agitation. He drew on the cigar, rolled it in his fingers, and blew the smoke leisurely into the air. On the dock below them, the mercenaries they'd hired were sitting around playing cards, throwing dice, telling lewd stories, waiting to be called to action.

“How much longer are we going to sit here and do nothing?” Orlaf whined.

“What do you suggest we do?”

“How can you be so calm about it? If we don't get those paintings, we will both be ruined. I have already made arrangements for their disposal in Moscow and spent most of the original deposits. These are not people I can toy with. If I turn up empty-handed after all the promises I have made, my life won't be worth a single kopeck.”

“There's really nothing we can do, is there? The French have regular army troops on the Champ de Mars. Even if we had Dargelos's people, we wouldn't stand a chance against them.”

“So you are just going to give up?”

“No, I'm not giving up. The way I figure it, we still have a good shot at those pictures.”

“Bah! You make no sense.”

“There's nothing you and I can do because we don't have the necessary genius to surmount this situation. But Richard Garrett does. He wants those pictures bad, so somehow he's gonna get 'em. I'll stake everything I own on that fact.”

“
How
will he get them?”

“I don't know how. If I knew how, I'd get them myself. But young Garrett is the most gifted man in a pinch like this I've ever known. I can't even imagine how he'll do it. But he'll do it. I know my man. He'll get those pictures, and then we'll get 'em from him.”

“This is insanity!” Orlaf exploded. “How did I ever get involved with something like this?”

Hank just looked at him and smiled. “Relax. I told you, I know my man.”

He saw someone coming their way, a telegram delivery boy. “Monsieur Thompson?”

Hank took the telegram and said to Orlaf, “Give the boy a coin, Dimitri.” As the disgruntled Russian did so, Hank tore open the envelope. As he read it, he broke into a broad smile. “What did I tell you? Do I know my boy or what?”

“He stole the paintings?”

“Every single damn one of 'em. And he's got 'em on a train already.”

“Going where?”

“Cherbourg.”

“That's a hundred miles away!”

“It don't matter. We can intercept him.”

“You planned for this?”

“I didn't know which port they'd leave from, but I figured once he'd got those pictures, he'd have to vamoose from one of the northern ports. Hand me that map on the table there.”

As Hank unfolded the map of France, Orlaf asked him, “How do you know all this? Who sent you the telegram?”

“Now, Dimitri, you don't think I'd venture into an operation like this without having a scout in the enemy camp, do you?”

Orlaf brightened. “A spy?”

“And a damn good one. One of Dargelos's inner circle. A fellow with some mighty inventive ideas, as you'll see.”

“What are we going to do, then?”

Hank squinted at the map showing the rail lines crisscrossing the country and found the route from Paris to Cherbourg. “What we're gonna do, my friend, is use our own train to cut him off right here—where the line south from Calais intersects the Paris-to-Cherbourg track. In this big valley here, just before the town of Bernay.” He stabbed the butt of his cigar at a spot on the map.

“Cut him off? What do you mean? Block the tracks?”

“Damn right.”

“What good will that do? If he has enough speed, he can plow right through you. Railroad box cars are just made of wood and only loosely attached to one another.”

“Maybe, partner, but the box cars on the train we're gonna take will be different.”

“Different? How?”

“These boxcars are gonna be packed tight, floor to ceiling, with the fireworks that have just been taken off the ship. They were due to head out for Paris this afternoon, but we're gonna borrow them for a while. The cars will be clearly marked as dangerous explosives. And he sure as shootin' ain't gonna pile into that.”

Orlaf could see the beauty of it, but he still didn't like the idea. “What if you guess wrong about him? We will be sitting on top of a mountain of explosives!”

“I haven't guessed wrong. I told you, I know my man. When the chips are down, he's not gonna do anything to hurt ole Hank. And he sure ain't gonna do anything to hurt those paintings.”

 

From the locomotive of the Paris-to-Cherbourg Express, Richard, no longer dressed as Buffalo Bill, leaned his head as far out as he could and looked behind them. Another train was definitely in pursuit—he could see the telltale plume of smoke in the distance—but it was at least a mile behind them. If he kept at full steam, the pursuers would never be able to catch them. “Keep shoveling that coal, lads,” he called to two of Dargelos's Apaches, still dressed as Apache Indians.

When word of Lisette's early execution had reached them via Dargelos's network inside Santé Prison, they'd only had hours to put together their daring plan. The easiest part had been using that inside resource to place the trampoline in the courtyard of the prison and substitute Dargelos and Hugo for the priest and executioner. It also hadn't been difficult to use Emma's friendship with Buffalo Bill—forged in her saloon days—to arrange to borrow the wagons and costumes needed for the snatching of the paintings. But the rest of it…deliberately starting the fire under the pavilion…getting out of the tunnel and into costume and face-to-face with Duval within minutes…dislodging the inspector's men from the wagons and racing across Paris in time to catch the high-flying Lisette and her rescuers…and getting to Gare Montparnasse in time to commandeer the Cherbourg Express…
that
had been no easy task.

Richard went back to the first passenger car. It was crammed with paintings. Lisette was binding Dargelos's arm with a bandage she'd torn from the dress Mason had brought along for her to change into. “How is the patient?” Richard asked.

“The bullet just grazed him,” Mason said. “He'll be fine.”

“Fine?” scoffed Lisette. “Look how he suffers. My poor Juno, who wanted to give his life for me.”

Basking in her attention, the gangster said to Richard, “Did you see me up there? I flew through the air.”

Richard smiled. “You looked like a bird. Make that a hawk.”

Dargelos thought a moment, then suggested, “How about an eagle?”

“Just so. An eagle.”

Dargelos beamed.

“Juno and I need to have a conversation about what we're going to do once we get to Cherbourg,” Richard said.

Lisette smoothed Dargelos's brow with a tender hand. “I'll go. But I won't be far away. If you need me,
mon chou,
you just call me and I will fly to your side, my brave eagle.” She bent and kissed him soundly before standing. As Mason moved with her to the back of the car, she saw the delighted smile on Dargelos's face.

“She loves me,” he told Richard.

The two women sat down on one of the plush first-class seats. It was the first time they'd been alone for ages. So much had happened. Mason turned to Lisette and put her hands on her shoulders. “You are the best friend anyone has ever had.”

Lisette seemed genuinely surprised. “But you rescued
me.
”

Tears welled in Mason's eyes. “Lisette, you were willing to go to the guillotine for me. You didn't even consider telling them the truth to save yourself. You were willing to die before you'd say a word, for fear it might harm me. They could have tortured you for weeks, and you still wouldn't have given in. You're the most loyal, noble person I've ever known. No one has ever had a truer friend.”

Lisette shrugged, disguising her emotion as was her way. “It was nothing.”

“No,” Mason insisted, “it was very much something.” Overcome, she pulled her friend into her arms and held her. By the time she let her go, there were tears in Lisette's eyes as well.

She swiped them away, sniffing. “Don't make me cry. I still have an image to uphold. I can't let these men think I'm made of mush.”

Mason laughed and wiped her own tears away. “Speaking of which, I see you've made your peace with Juno.”

“I've decided to forgive him.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but Mason could see through it. “If he can risk so much for me, then I can be merciful.”

Lisette cast a loving glance at Dargelos. Mason watched her a moment, realizing she'd never seen her friend look so happy. “Now that you've decided to put it behind you, I'm dying to know. What did he do that was so unforgivable?”

“Not did.
Does.
”

Mason leaned closer. “What is it?”

Lisette cast a sly glance at Dargelos, as if trying to decide whether to divulge the awful truth.

“Come on, Lisette. You know I won't tell a soul.”

Another brief hesitation. Then Lisette put her finger to her lips, leaned close to Mason's ear, and whispered, “He slurps his soup!” She straightened in her seat, put her hands in her lap, and added, “There. I've said it.”

Mason's jaw dropped. “He—slurps—his—soup?”

Lisette shuddered. “It's so disgusting, I can't even think about it.”

“
That's
why you've rejected him all this time? Not because he's the most notorious gangster in Paris? But because he slurps his soup?”

Lisette peered at her as if she were daft. “Well, how would you like to sit across from a man for the rest of your life and listen to that horrible sound? Slurp, slurp, slurp. I'm going to have to buy cotton by the bale to stuff in my ears!”

Mason glared at her for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed. She laughed so hard her sides began to ache and tears streamed down her face. Finally, when she could catch her breath enough to speak, she said, “Just tell him not to do it!”

Lisette looked puzzled for a moment. “But men don't like bossy women.” She glanced over at him. Richard had finished his conversation and was returning to the locomotive. She turned back to Mason and winked. Then she squeezed Mason's hand, rose, and went to kneel by Dargelos's side.

Mason watched as the two of them put their heads together. She felt suddenly envious of the love that filled the room. As Richard left, her own situation came rushing back at her. Could he ever feel the totality of affection that Juno so obviously carried in his heart?

She would soon find out.

All at once, the enormity of what was about to happen hit her.

I hope I'm doing the right thing!

 

A half hour later, Mason looked out and saw from a passing sign that the town of Bernay was five kilometers away. The time had come.

She went to join Richard in the locomotive. The train was chugging its way up a steep hillside now, and he was helping the men shovel coal into the blazing furnace. As they came to the crest of the hill, she stepped to his side.

“It won't be long now,” he told her, laying down his shovel.

“No, it won't be long.”

As the train cleared the crest and started its downhill descent, Richard looked out and saw an unexpected sight. Below them, across a sweeping valley, on the track that crisscrossed their own, a locomotive with five cars was stopped, blocking their path.

Richard swore beneath his breath. “Duval must have telegraphed ahead.”

“What are we going to do?” Mason asked.

“The only thing we can. Build up as much speed as possible and go right through them. If we have enough momentum, we'll be able to stay on the tracks.”

Mason reached over and unhooked a pair of binoculars hanging from a peg. “Maybe you'd better take a closer look.”

He took the binoculars and put them to his eyes. Standing in the other locomotive, staring at him through another pair of binoculars, was Hank. And beside him, his partner Orlaf.

“Look at all of it,” she said.

He scanned the line of cars. Each of them was marked with a scull and crossbones and big red letters warning,
DANGER!HIGH EXPLOSIVES!

“You're really in a spot, aren't you?” she asked.

He swiveled, his eyes narrowing on her face.