Sidney Sheldon - If Tomorrow Comes

Rendell stared at it in awe. “Brilliant!”

“It was Miss Whitney's idea,” the hunchback admitted. “She asked whether it would be possible to cover up the original artist's signature with a fake signature and then cover that with the original name.”

“He figured out how it could be done,” Tracy smiled.

Porretta said modestly, “It was ridiculously simple. Took fewer than two minutes. The trick was in the paints I used. First, I covered Goya's signature with a layer of super-refined white French polish, to protect it. Then, over that I painted Lucas's name with a quick-drying acrylic-based paint. On top of that I painted in Goya's name with an oil-based paint with a light picture varnish. When the top signature was removed, Lucas's name appeared. If they had gone further, they would have discovered that Goya's original signature was hidden underneath. But of course, they didn't.”

Tracy handed each man a fat envelope and said, “I want to thank you both.”

“Anytime you need an art expert,” Henri Rendell winked.

Porretta asked, “How do you plan to carry the painting out of the country?”

“I'm having a messenger collect it here. Wait for him.” She shook the hands of both men and walked out.

On her way back to the Ritz, Tracy was filled with a sense of exhilaration. Everything is a matter of psychology, she thought. From the beginning she had seen that it would be impossible to steal the painting from the Prado, so she had had to trick them, to put them in a frame of mind where they wanted to get rid of it. Tracy visualized Jeff Stevens's face when he learned how he had been outwitted, and she laughed aloud.

She waited in her hotel suite for the messenger, and when he arrived, Tracy telephoned Cesar Porretta.

“The messenger is here now,” Tracy said. “I'm sending him over to pick up the painting. See that he —”

“What? What are you talking about?” Porretta screamed. “Your messenger picked up the painting half an hour ago.”

Paris

WEDNESDAY, JULY 9 — NOON

In a private office off the Rue Matignon, Gunther Hartog said, “I understand how you feel about what happened in Madrid, Tracy, but Jeff Stevens got there first.”

“No,” Tracy corrected him bitterly. “I got there first. He got there last.”

“But Jeff delivered it. The Puerto is already on its way to my client.”

After all her planning and scheming, Jeff Stevens had outwitted her. He had sat back and let her do the work and take all the risks, and at the last moment he had calmly walked off with the prize. How he must have been laughing at her all the time! You're a very special lady, Tracy. She could not bear the waves of humiliation that washed over her when she thought of the night of the flamenco dancing. My God, what a fool I almost made of myself.

“I never thought I could kill anyone,” Tracy told Gunther, “but I could happily slaughter Jeff Stevens.”

Gunther said mildly, “Oh, dear. Not in this room, I hope. He's on his way here.”

“He's what?” Tracy jumped to her feet.

“I told you I have a proposition for you. It will require a partner. In my opinion, he is the only one who —”

“I'd rather starve first!” Tracy snapped. “Jeff Stevens is the most contemptible —”

“Ah, did I hear my name mentioned?” He stood in the doorway, beaming. “Tracy, darling, you look even more stunning than usual. Gunther, my friend, how are you?”

The two men shook hands. Tracy stood there, filled with a cold fury.

Jeff looked at her and sighed. “You're probably upset with me.”

“Upset! I — ” She could not find the words.

“Tracy, if I may say so, I thought your plan was brilliant. I mean it. Really brilliant. You made only one little mistake. Never trust a Swiss with a missing index finger.”

She took deep breaths, trying to control herself. She turned to Gunther. “I'll talk to you later, Gunther.”

“Tracy —”

“No. Whatever it is, I want no part of it. Not if he's involved.”

Gunther said, “Would you at least listen to it?”

“There's no point. I —”

“In three days De Beers is shipping a four-million-dollar packet of diamonds from Paris to Amsterdam on an Air France cargo plane. I have a client who's eager to acquire those stones.”

“Why don't you hijack them on the way to the airport? Your friend here is an expert on hijacking.” She could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

By God, she's magnificent when she's angry, Jeff thought.

Gunther said, “The diamonds are too well guarded. We're going to hijack the diamonds during the flight.”

Tracy looked at him in surprise. “During the flight? In a cargo plane?”

“We need someone small enough to hide inside one of the containers. When the plane is in the air, all that person has to do is step out of the crate, open the De Beers container, remove the package of diamonds, replace the package with a duplicate, which will have been prepared, and get back in the other crate.”

“And I'm small enough to fit in a crate.”

Gunther said, “It's much more than that, Tracy. We need someone who's bright and has nerve.”

Tracy stood there, thinking. “I tike the plan, Gunther. What I don't like is the idea of working with him. This person is a crook.”

Jeff grinned. “Aren't we all, dear heart? Gunther is offering us a million dollars if we can pull this off.”

Tracy stared at Gunther. “A million dollars?”

He nodded. “Half a million for each of you.”

“The reason it can work,” Jeff explained, “is that I have a contact at the loading dock at the airport. He'll help us set it up. He can be trusted.”

“Unlike you,” Tracy retorted. “Good-bye, Gunther.”

She sailed out of the room.

Gunther looked after her. “She's really upset with you about Madrid, Jeff. I'm afraid she's not going to do this.”

“You're wrong,” Jeff said cheerfully. “I know Tracy. She won't be able to resist it.”

“The pallets are sealed before they are loaded onto the plane,” Ramon Vauban was explaining. The speaker was a young Frenchman, with an old face that had nothing to do with his years and black, dead eyes. He was a dispatcher with Air France Cargo, and the key to the success of the plan.

Vauban, Tracy, Jeff, and Gunther were seated at a rail-side table on the Bateau Mouche, the sightseeing boat that cruises the Seine, circling Paris.

“If the pallet is sealed,” Tracy asked, her voice crisp, “how do I get into it?”

“For last-minute shipments,” Vauban replied, “the company uses what we call soft pallets, large wooden crates with canvas on one side, fastened down only with rope. For security reasons, valuable cargo like diamonds always arrives at the last minute so it is the last to go on and the first to come off.”

Tracy said, “So the diamonds would be in a soft pallet?”

“That is correct, mademoiselle. As would you. I would arrange for the container with you in it to be placed next to the pallet with the diamonds. All you have to do when the plane is in flight is cut the ropes, open the pallet with the diamonds, exchange a box identical to theirs, get back in your container, and close it up again.”

Gunther added, “When the plane lands in Amsterdam, the guards will pick up the substitute box of diamonds and deliver it to the diamond cutters. By the time they discover the substitution, we'll have you on an airplane out of the country. Believe me, nothing can go wrong.”

A sentence that chilled Tracy's heart. “Wouldn't I freeze to death up there?” she asked.

Vauban smiled. “Mademoiselle, these days, cargo planes are heated. They often carry livestock and pets. No, you will be quite comfortable. A little cramped, perhaps, but otherwise fine.”