Erica refused to be intimidated by the sly smile of William Boykin, who was watching them through the open glass partition. The more she saw of him, the more like a weasel he became.
“If you want my cooperation,” she snapped, “you’ll allow me to talk to the ambassador in private.”
“As long as we get what we want, you can have whatever you like, princess,” Boykin agreed.
A moment later an opaque glass slid down between the two compartments and Erica and the ambassador were alone. She located the intercom and turned it off, though after Boykin’s comment about the control panel, she couldn’t be certain that their conversation was blocked.
“Are you really all right, sir?”
“A bit weak, but I’m getting stronger.”
He might say he was recovering, but Erica could see the strain in his face. “What made you decide to come here?”
“I was worried about you. I couldn’t hide out inside some mountain while you’re risking your life. What have you and Preston learned?”
Erica could have told him about being pushed on the sidewalk and about their suite being searched, but there was no point in worrying him more. “So far, nothing. The only thing I’m certain of is that one of our kidnappers is Brighton Kilgore’s secretary, William Boykin.”
The ambassador was clearly surprised. “Kilgore’s secretary?”
“Do you think Mr. Kilgore is behind all this? Didn’t we have security reports run on the committee?”
“The report that came to me said he was a successful businessman and an avid art collector. There was no suggestion that he was engaged in anything illegal.”
“Then why is this happening?”
“Erica, I hate to say this, but I’m beginning to wonder if our benefactor, Mr. MacAllister, might be involved in it somehow. How else could these men know I was coming and be waiting for me when I stepped off the plane?”
That question stopped her for a moment. Conner had been rescued by Mac. Mac had been the one to investigate what had happened ten years ago and the ambassador had been in Mac’s care. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“Neither do I, really,” the ambassador admitted. “From the beginning it’s been the book, Erica. They expect me to convince you to turn it over to them.”
“But I don’t have it, I don’t even know what it is.” Erica said. “And I wouldn’t give it to them if I did.”
“Of course not. But if the committee could get hold of it, maybe we could make some sense of what’s happening here.”
“It’s all so hopeless,” she said. “I don’t believe it exists.”
Ambassador Collins shot a worried look over his shoulder at the men up front, then slipped across to the seat next to Erica. He leaned close and said in a low whisper, “I think it might exist, Erica. I know Bart had some secret he was hiding.”
Erica felt her gut clench. “A secret?”
“Yes. The night before you and Preston were to be married, Bart came to the embassy. He believed that someone was following him, asked all kinds of questions about what happened to Americans who broke German law. He seemed worried.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“I was just a junior staff member at the time, and the situation in West Berlin was volatile. Then Bart was killed and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make trouble for the boy. I tried to reach Preston, but he’d been sent back to the States. Then I was sent to Paris and I let it slide. Now I’ve put you in danger.”
Ambassador Collins let out a weary sigh, leaned his head against the seat back, and closed his eyes. He looked so pale. Maybe a drink would help. She quickly located a bottle of wine in the little bar and filled a glass for the ambassador.
“Here, drink this.” She forced the glass into his hand. “It will make you feel better.”
“No.” He pushed it away. “I’ll be fine. Really I will. I just need to rest for a moment. You drink it.”
Erica looked around helplessly. Somehow, possibly because of her, the man who’d come to her rescue ten years ago had been shot. She took a swallow of wine and said a silent prayer that Conner knew where they were.
She glanced at the partition separating them from their kidnappers, drained the glass, and under the cover of returning the bar to its proper position searched for a phone. There wasn’t one.
“Please,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to lower the side window. “You mustn’t hold yourself responsible. We simply have to find a way to convince them there is no book.”
“I don’t believe they’ll accept that, Erica. Think. Think hard. Don’t you ever remember Bart keeping a diary?”
“Never. What do they think the book is supposed to reveal?”
The ambassador sat up and took Erica’s hand. “I’ve been pondering that. What if Bart found something valuable, something he documented. But if he had, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would. He and I were partners. If Bart had—” But then she stopped. During the last weeks she hadn’t been with Bart. She’d fallen in love with Conner and nothing else had mattered.
Erica suddenly felt as if thousands of spiders were crawling over her skin. The truth was, she didn’t know. She drew in a raspy breath, facing the final truth.
“No, at the end I was with Conner. Bart continued his research alone. I knew he was working hard, but if he discovered something, he never told me.”
“What about Preston?” Ambassador Collins asked. “When Bart left my office that night, he was going to talk with his brother. Did you see Bart the night before the wedding?”
“Yes. He came to my apartment, but when he learned that Conner had already gone back to the base, he left. He said he had something to do the next morning and he’d see me at the church. I never saw Bart again.”
“When those men kidnapped you and took your notes and Bart’s portfolio, there was no book or you would have seen it.” He cut his eyes in her direction. “And you didn’t.”
“No. But if it was a private diary, it could have been there and I wouldn’t have recognized it for what it was.”
“Maybe.”
Clearly her employer was skeptical. “Why, after all these years, are people suddenly looking for this book?”
“Because of Kilgore’s statue. It was listed as one of the stolen pieces and suddenly it turns up.”
The night before still weighed heavily on Erica’s mind. “Why do you suppose Kilgore showed us the statue? If it was stolen, wouldn’t he want that kept quiet?”
“He and Ernst thought it might draw out the. thief. If he thought he could sell others with no reprisal, the culprit might contact Kilgore.”
“So why doesn’t Mr. Kilgore tell the committee where the statue came from? Then we’ll know who has the book.”
The ambassador glanced uneasily at the divider, then checked the intercom again to make certain it was off. “We know where he got it. That soldier of fortune he hired located it for him—the man called Shadow.”
Erica couldn’t help letting out a sound of disbelief. “A soldier of fortune? I don’t believe it. And where did this man called Shadow get it?”
“This isn’t the first piece that has turned up. It’s just the first one we’ve been able to trace. According to Brighton, Shadow located the statue and offered it to him. When it turned out to be authentic, Ernst figured that somebody, maybe Bart’s brother, maybe you, gave Bart’s diary to Shadow.”
Erica was stunned. They actually thought that she or Conner had Bart’s book and therefore the treasure. “Then why not kidnap Conner?”
The ambassador pursed his lips in thought before finally answering. “Conner is a powerful man with powerful friends. Perhaps they needed some land of leverage to force him to cooperate. You provided it.”
Erica was beginning to feel very tired. It was becoming hard to concentrate. “I don’t understand.”
“Since you and Conner are together again, they’re going to hold you hostage until they get what they want.”
“But they’ve kidnapped you too. Why?”
“I suppose they think I know too much.”
“So they’re going to swap me for Bart’s book?” Erica didn’t know whether to laugh or let the ambassador know she was scared to death. “Well, I know Conner Preston, and he isn’t going to deal with criminals. They’ve made a big mistake.”
“I hope you’re wrong, Erica. I’m old. I don’t matter anymore, but you’re the daughter I never had. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
She was touched. This man who’d taken her in had risked his own life to protect her. Now, he’d placed himself in danger again. “Don’t be silly. Conner will find us.”
The ambassador patted Erica’s arm in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture but seemed instead to border on desperation. “Once the book is produced, they’ll let you—us go.”
“And what will happen then?” Erica was suddenly suspicious of the lack of interest shown by Boykin and the driver.
“The committee will discover where the treasures are stored. Mr. Ernst claims the art for Germany, who will return it to its rightful owners and Brighton collects a portion of the artwork as his finder’s fee. And maybe, after this is all over, I’ll get a new post as my reward for finding the treasure.”
Erica didn’t have the heart to tell her employer that no matter the outcome, she didn’t believe he’d get a post of any importance. None of this would have happened if she and Conner hadn’t decided to use their relationship as a ploy to reach the criminals. No, she corrected herself, Conner had come up with the plan to force her attacker’s hand. She had to get to Conner and ask him about Shadow’s part in the sale of the statue. Conner would tell her the truth. Conner didn’t lie.
Outside the limo, the sky was growing darker. The impending bad weather seemed at hand. There’d be no bonfires welcoming Santa tonight. A sudden slash of water against the window announced the arrival of the rain.
Her eyelids grew heavy. She could hardly keep them open. What was happening? Erica gazed at Ambassador Collins in bewilderment. There was a humming in her ears that grew louder. Then she understood. Her blurred vision was not from confusion or lack of sleep. The wine had been drugged. As she slid into darkness she heard herself protesting, “They’re wrong about all this. There is no book.”
Shadow was in his element. Clad in black from his black boots to his ski mask, he turned the rental car down Kilgore’s drive. If he’d been able to set his time, he would have waited for night, but he was afraid to delay. Whoever was behind Erica’s abduction had made the choice.
The day had turned dark and gray with a fine mist blowing in from the river. Now the storm was arriving in full force. Thick, heavy clouds hung low, as if they were reaching for the ground. Long ago he’d learned to make use of whatever he was provided with. He’d use the storm.
Conner parked the car. Slipping through the trees toward the castle in the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve day was not what he’d envisioned when he’d arranged for Erica’s Christmas tree. He cursed himself for not protecting her better.
When he’d learned what happened, Conner’s usual icy demeanor had deserted him. All he could think about was Erica, They’d warned her three times, now they’d acted. And he’d let it happen.
He should have been ready. This wasn’t the first kidnapping, nor was it the first demand for information. Erica had claimed that she missed their wedding because she’d been taken by Green Berets who were searching for the reference material she and Bart had compiled for their project. Could Bart have made other notes without her knowledge?
In retrospect, Conner regretted neglecting Bart. Once he and Erica had fallen in love, nothing else in their lives had been important. He’d convinced Erica to leave their project to Bart. Over Bart’s objections she’d ignored her studies and research and spent all her time with Conner. He hated to admit it, but looking back, Bart had been preoccupied. He’d tried to talk to Conner, the night before the ceremony, but Conner had been out celebrating with his unit and put Bart off until after the wedding.
Then there had been no wedding.
Behind him, thunder rolled across the river. The storm was almost over them. The lights inside the casde were coming on. A sharp bolt of lightning split the sky, forcing Conner to duck behind the magnolia tree.
The mist turned into rain as he slid from one tree to the next, and Conner felt his adrenaline flare. From the sophisticated persona of Conner Preston, he became the man who could walk through a room filled with people and not be seen.
This was where he excelled. Impossible missions had been his specialty as a Green Beret. In the military he’d learned to go anywhere. He became a legend. Afterward, he’d continued to hone his skills. Stopping for a moment, he took in a slow, measured breath.
Conner was gone. Shadow was here.
Moments later Shadow spotted the limo. At the rear of the house he looked through the kitchen window and saw Mrs. Kilgore in deep conversation with a woman he decided was the cook. Soundlessly, he moved toward the door, feeling the intensity of white-hot anger that told him he was right.
The back door was unlocked. In a moment he was inside the service entrance, and when the cook followed Mrs. Kilgore into another room, Shadow found the castle’s power box. Another second and he’d disabled the electricity and the castle plunged into darkness.
He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Now, where to start? They—whoever “they” were—wouldn’t hold Erica in an area that was too accessible.
If Erica was in the castle, Brighton Kilgore had to be involved. The ambassador’s name doodled on the notepad along with the possibility of his presence was still a puzzle. Nothing made sense.
But there was no doubt in his mind that all this was a rase designed to force someone, either Conner Preston or Shadow, to do what they’d been unable to do.
Find the book.
Keeping a sharp ear to pinpoint the location of Kilgore’s guests, Shadow was able to avoid them. With cautious use of his pocket flashlight, he made his way through the castle, from one room to another, searching, studying the layout of the structure. Finally, only two places remained unexamined: the locked gallery and the basement, or, as Brighton had referred to it, the dungeon.
He glanced at the luminous hand on his watch. Five o’clock. Time was running out. The basement, then the gallery. He headed back toward the servants’ quarters and the steps that led down. There were several voices arguing about the cause of the power failure. He heard Mrs. Kilgore send Boykin for her husband while Joseph checked the fuse box.
Oblivious of danger, Boykin dashed past Shadow and down the steps. Shadow moved silently behind Kilgore’s secretary.
With his fingertips grazing the damp walls, Shadow was able to penetrate the absolute darkness in silence. He paused when he heard a door open at the end of the corridor.
“Mr. Kilgore,” Boykin began.
“What the hell’s happening up there?” Kilgore bellowed.
“Power’s out,” Boykin answered. “Must be the storm. Joseph’s working on it.”
As the men inside talked, Shadow felt the tingling sense of danger that always intensified when he was close to his target.
His cloak of fear, he called it. That added kick of intensity that made him invincible. It felt good. For the past ten years he’d felt alive only when he pushed himself to this point and beyond—until Erica had come back into his life.
“Are you sure it isn’t Shadow?” Erica asked. “You wanted him. This is his kind of danger.”
She was here. Careful, Dragon Lady, they’re pretty edgy.
Though he didn’t need it to see, he flicked on his flashlight, gave the door a shove, and stepped into the room. The man behind the door went down in a clatter.
Immediately the conversation stopped, the occupants of the room staring like wild animals frozen in fear. All they could see was the outline of a man dressed in black, a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
“Shadow!” Erica whispered. Like a scene in a B movie, she’d been tied to a chair. “You’re actually here.”
Shadow felt their fear. He flicked his light on the man he’d knocked down. “Hello, Kilgore. Sorry, didn’t mean to soil your trousers.” He turned back to the older man. “You must be Ambassador Collins. How are you, sir?”
“A little weak,” the man answered in a shaky voice. “These men kidnapped Erica and me. Thank God you’ve come.”
“We’re all here, aren’t we,” Shadow said. “Everybody except Ernst. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to arrange that. I’d like to know who. Do you know anything about this, Ambassador?”
“Certainly not. You really don’t think I had any part in this, do you?” Ambassador Collins’s voice was so tight now, he could hardly speak. “Erica? I came here to take care of you.”
“I know,” she answered. “This is silly, Shadow. The ambassador has been like a father to me. He took me in when I was released from the hospital. I wouldn’t have made it without him.”
Conner shot a sharp glance at Erica. That was the second time he’d heard about an illness. Had Erica been hurt somehow and her condition concealed?
He badly wanted to touch her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay, but there was no time now. Kilgore was slowly edging his way toward the door.
“I wouldn’t do that, Kilgore,” Shadow threatened, swinging his light to the man. “I’m ready to listen to what you have to say, unless you’d rather explain this to the police.”
Kilgore flinched. “No—no police. The publicity would completely ruin me.”
Shadow’s light didn’t waver. “Why’d you have the ambassador shot? He could have died—like Bart.”
Kilgore began to babble. “He wasn’t supposed to be hurt. Nobody was. It was meant to be a warning. We just wanted the book and we had to make sure you understood that. If we get—”
“Once and for all,” Erica interrupted. “He doesn’t have the book.”
“Suppose you got the book,” Shadow offered almost in a whisper. “What then?”
“I think I can answer that,” the ambassador said. “With the book, they’d learn Bart’s secret. They believe he found the location of the hidden art treasures.”
“So this is all about greed,” Conner said.
“Of course not,” Kilgore spoke up. “Restoration of the stolen treasures. We’d have the undying gratitude of the United Nations and all the countries who lost their art.”
Shadow rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Pure altruism,” he drawled. “I don’t think I believe that. What’s in it for you and Mr. Ernst?”
“Well,” Kilgore admitted, “we figured that there would be a finder’s fee, I’d claim that—in treasure. And Ernst would finally gain respect and prestige for returning the treasures.”
“Something for everyone,” Shadow said softly.
“Stop stalling,” Kilgore said. “You promised the book. Where is it?”
“Believe me, gentlemen,” Shadow replied. “I would give it to you if I had it. But I don’t—not yet. Now, untie Ms. Fallon. We’re leaving.”
“I don’t think so,” a familiar voice said.
Karl Ernst stepped inside the room, coming to a stop behind Conner.
“This is a gun you feel against your backbone,” Ernst threatened.
“Finally, the last Musketeer,” Shadow said. “I wondered when you’d show up.”
Erica felt the undercurrent of fear in the room. Brighton Kilgore was no match for Shadow, but Karl Ernst was another story. She began to struggle.
The ambassador cleared his throat. “Stop this. I won’t have Erica hurt.”
“And she won’t be,” Karl promised, “if she and her rescuer cooperate. All we—I want is to locate the treasures. And one way or another, I intend to have it, even if I have to kill all of you.”
“That would be foolish, wouldn’t it?” Shadow asked. “Without us you’ll be back where you were when you killed Bart.”
“We thought we had his records. All we had to do was silence Bart and Ms. Fallon.”
“Bart died because of your greed. Be glad I’m here,” Shadow said, “instead of Preston. He’d tear your head off.”
Ernst wasn’t going to be swayed. “The book, I’ll take it now.” He moved toward Erica’s side.
“Drop your gun, Shadow, unless you need another warning.”
Ernst pointed his weapon directly at Erica, its shiny finish reflecting the light and underscoring the menace.
Shadow flipped on the safety and dropped the Beretta.
Erica struggled to free herself.
“You knew then, didn’t you, Ernst?” Conner asked. “You knew that Bart had found something. That’s why the men you hired demanded Erica’s notes and Bart’s portfolio. You thought they’d tell you what you wanted. And you killed Bart?”
“He wasn’t supposed to die.”
Shadow drew on every ounce of his self-control to keep from breaking Ernst’s pudgy neck. “You killed Bart and kidnapped Erica expecting to learn something she didn’t even know?”
He shrugged. “Bart wasn’t supposed to die. Too bad. By the time we gave your bride sodium Pentothal and found out that she never knew what Bart had found, it was too late. I’d given up hope of ever finding it.”
“And then Mr. Kilgore’s statue turned up,” Erica said, “and it started again.”
“You thought you had another chance,” Shadow said. “Where’d you get the statue, Kilgore?”
“You should know, Shadow. You’re the one who sold it to me.”
That came from out of nowhere. “And where’d I get it?”
“From Conner Preston,” Ernst replied.
Silence cut through the room like a shaft of ice. Shadow couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice. “You think I bought it from Conner Preston?”
Something wasn’t right here. He still couldn’t be certain who the players were, but one thing he couldn’t chance was the possibility that Erica would be hurt.
“How can you be certain it came from me, Kilgore?”
“You called me,” he explained. “You said you had it and you were willing to make a deal. I wanted to meet in person, but you refused. You sent the statue by special messenger. Karl authenticated it on the spot and I paid your man.”
Karl kicked Conner’s gun away. “Let’s quit dancing around the truth, Mr. Conner Preston. The others are fools. I’ve known all along that Preston and Shadow are one and the same. Bart bragged to me about your special skills, the ones that earned you the name Shadow.”
Erica couldn’t hold back a cry of dismay. Shadow was about to be unmasked. She couldn’t let that happen because he’d come to help her. Frantically she searched for a way to protect the man she loved. “What? You’re all crazy. Conner isn’t Shadow. And Shadow never found the statue.”
The ambassador came to Erica’s side. “Then you must tell them, Erica. Who found the Virgin?”
Shadow took a step toward Erica, then stopped as Ernst raised his gun, pointing it directly at Erica’s head. “I don’t think you want to do that, Preston.”
“I can’t let you take the blame for something you didn’t do,” she said desperately.
All the men were staring at Erica in disbelief.
“Then tell them,” the ambassador urged.
“All right,” she said with a gulp. “I’ll tell you the truth. I found the Virgin. I sold it to Mr. Kilgore.”
“But it was a man who called me, Erica.”
“It was a friend. I paid him to deliver the message and the statue.”
“Impossible,” Ernst sputtered. “You couldn’t have known where it was. We gave you truth serum. You would have given us the location.”
Ernst cocked the hammer on his gun. “I don’t believe you. You’re protecting somebody, but so long as you have what I want, I don’t suppose it matters.”
For the second time in his life, Conner felt real fear. For the second time someone he loved was standing up to a man with a gun. What in hell was Erica doing, claiming to have what Ernst wanted? There was no way she could have found the treasure. In trying to protect him, she was putting herself in danger.
It was the scene at the little church all over again. If he didn’t stop her, they’d both end up dead. But any sudden move could result in the same thing. Better to keep the man talking.
“Don’t try it, Ernst,” Shadow said calmly. “Erica is making all this up to save Preston.”
Ernst growled and moved back to Shadow. He jabbed his pistol hard against his back. “I’ve heard enough nonsense. I’m losing my patience.”
Erica tapped the legs of her chair up and down, struggling to free herself, drawing the light and the attention of all the onlookers. “You don’t understand, Professor. I know where the book is—or where it’s supposed to be.”
“Don’t do this, Erica,” Shadow snapped. “Ernst is too smart to buy your story.”
“Why would I lie? All he wants is the treasure.”
Ernst waited a second before answering. “Why would you lie? I can think of about eight million dollars or so. But you’re going to tell me now, aren’t you? Otherwise I’m going to start shooting people, beginning with Shadow.”
“Erica, that’s enough!” Shadow growled. “Nobody believes any of this. It’s too late for any more lies. You’re wrong, Kilgore. I never sold you the Virgin. As for you, Ernst, if Shadow didn’t find the treasure, neither did Preston. Here, Ambassador, you hold the light.”
Caught by surprise, Ernst allowed the official to take the light and shine it on the masked intruder.
With every eye riveted on him, Conner peeled the mask away. “You see, Ernst was right about one thing. Shadow and Conner Preston are one and the same. Somebody is counting on you to do the dirty work and you’re going to take the blame.”
“Don’t believe him,” Erica cried out. “He’s only trying to protect me.”
Kilgore turned to Ernst. “I told you kidnapping her wouldn’t work. I’m not going to jail for you or anybody else. Just give me my money back and you can have the statue. I don’t want any part of any of this now.”
“Shut up, you fool!” Ernst snapped. His temper was beginning to fray. At that moment the lights came on, blinding them all. Conner saw his chance and jabbed his elbow into Ernst’s arm.
The gun went off and Conner felt a slice of fire as a bullet ricocheted off the stone wall and creased his skull. For a minute he saw stars.
“No!” Erica screamed. “I’ll get the book. Just don’t hurt Conner.”
Ernst gestured with his gun. “I thought you would. Untie her, Kilgore.”
Once Erica was cut loose, she ran to Conner. “Is it bad?” she asked.
“No. It’s just a flesh wound. Now, let me handle this before somebody is really hurt.”
Erica gave him a disbelieving smile. “Somebody already is. Get me a phone, Mr. Kilgore.”
“Why do you need a phone?” Kilgore asked, sending a nervous look at Karl Ernst.
“Shadow has to call his assistant and make sure the book is where it’s supposed to be.”
“Erica—” Conner began, “I’m not—”
Ernst swung at the back of Conner’s head with the butt of his pistol and Conner collapsed.
Erica stood. “Give me the phone.”
From somewhere in the shadows Kilgore produced a cell phone and handed it to Erica. She punched in Mac’s number, saying a silent prayer that he would understand what she was telling him and go along with her ploy.
“Sterling,” Erica said, calmly speaking over Mac’s voice, “this is Erica. I’m calling for Shadow. He wants you to know that the wedding will take place at my home tomorrow, as we planned. Did you send the book to Tennessee?”
Erica nodded at Karl Ernst.
“Good. Charter a private plane for us. We’ll need to seat six passengers: the committee, Conner Preston, a doctor, and me. Conner’s been—”
“Enough!” Ernst roared, jerking the phone from Erica’s hand. “Sterling, you’d better not try anything funny. I’ve shot two men and I still have a full clip of bullets I won’t mind using.”
Karl listened for a moment, smiled, then with a flick of his thumb broke the connection and handed the phone back to Kilgore. “Let’s go. He says he’ll take care of everything. Apparently we’re going to a Christmas wedding. We’re already ten years late.”