Sidney Sheldon - If Tomorrow Comes

The air was suddenly charged with electricity.

Inspector van Duren spoke rapidly into the walkie-talkie. “Attention, all units. The fish are in the net. Let them swim in.”

A gray armored truck moved to the entrance of the bank and stopped. As Cooper and Van Duren watched, two men wearing the uniforms of security guards got out of the truck and walked into the bank.

“Where is she? Where's Tracy Whitney?” Daniel Cooper spoke aloud.

“It doesn't matter,” Inspector van Duren assured him. “She won't be far from the gold.”

And even if she is, Daniel Cooper thought, it's not important. The tapes are going to convict her.

Nervous employees helped the two uniformed men load the gold bullion from the vault onto dollies and wheel them out to the armored truck. Cooper and Van Duren watched the distant figures from the roof across the street.

The loading took eight minutes. When the back of the truck was locked, and the two men started to climb into the front seat, Inspector van Duren yelled into his walkie-talkie, “Vlug! Pas op! All units close in! Close in!”

Pandemonium erupted. The janitor, the news vendor, the workers in overalls, and a swarm of other detectives raced to the armored truck and surrounded it, guns drawn. The street was cordoned off from all traffic in either direction.

Inspector van Duren turned to Daniel Cooper and grinned. “Is this red-handed enough for you? Let's wrap it up.”

It's over at last, Cooper thought.

They hurried down to the street. The two uniformed men were facing the wall, hands raised, surrounded by a circle of armed detectives. Daniel Cooper and Inspector van Duren pushed their way through.

Van Duren said, “You can turn around now. You're under arrest.”

The two men, ashen-faced, turned to face the group. Daniel Cooper and Inspector van Duren stared at them in shock. They were total strangers.

“Who — who are you?” Inspector van Duren demanded.

“We — we're the guards for the security company,” one of them stammered. “Don't shoot. Please don't shoot.”

Inspector van Duren turned to Cooper. “Their plan went wrong.” His voice held a note of hysteria. “They called it off.”

There was a green bile in the pit of Daniel Cooper's stomach, and it slowly began to rise up into his chest and throat, so that when he could finally speak, his voice was choked. “No. Nothing went wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They were never after the gold. This whole setup was a decoy.”

“That's impossible! I mean, the truck, the barge, the uniforms — we have photographs….”

“Don't you understand? They knew it. They knew we were on to them all the time!”

Inspector van Duren's face went white. “Oh my God! Zijn ze? — where are they?”

On Paulus Potter Straat in Coster, Tracy and Jeff were approaching the Nederlands Diamond-Cutting Factory. Jeff wore a beard and mustache, and had altered the shape of his cheeks and nose with foam sponges. He was dressed in a sport outfit and carried a rucksack. Tracy wore a black wig, a maternity dress and padding, heavy makeup, and dark sunglasses. She carried a large briefcase and a round package wrapped in brown paper. The two of them entered the reception room and joined a busload of tourists listening to a guide. “…and now, if you will follow me, ladies and gentlemen, you will see our diamond cutters at work and have an opportunity to purchase some of our fine diamonds.”

With the guide leading the way, the crowd entered the doors that led inside the factory. Tracy moved along with them, while Jeff lingered behind. When the others had gone, Jeff turned and hurried down a flight of stairs that led to a basement. He opened his rucksack and took out a pair of oil-stained coveralls and a small box of tools. He donned the coveralls, walked over to the fuse box, and looked at his watch.

Upstairs, Tracy stayed with the group as it moved from room to room while the guide showed them the various processes that went into making polished gems out of raw diamonds. From time to time Tracy glanced at her watch. The tour was five minutes behind schedule. She wished the guide would move faster.

At last, as the tour ended, they reached the display room. The guide walked over to the roped-off pedestal.

“In this glass case,” he announced proudly, “is the Lucullan diamond, one of the most valuable diamonds in the world. It was once purchased by a famous stage actor for his movie-star wife. It is valued at ten million dollars and is protected by the most modern —”

The lights went out. Instantly, an alarm sounded and steel shutters slammed down in front of the windows and doors, sealing all the exits. Some of the tourists began to scream.

“Please!” the guide shouted above the noise. “There is no need for concern. It is a simple electrical failure. In a moment the emergency generator will —” The lights came on again.

“You see?” the guide reassured them. “There is nothing to worry about.”

A German tourist in lederhosen pointed to the steel shutters. “What are those?”

“A safety precaution,” the guide explained. He took out an odd-shaped key, inserted it in a slot in the wall, and turned it. The steel shutters over the doors and windows retracted. The telephone on the desk rang, and the guide picked it up.

“Hendrik, here. Thank you, Captain. No, everything is fine. It was a false alarm. Probably an electrical short. I will have it checked out at once. Yes, sir.” He replaced the receiver and turned to the group. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. With something as valuable as this stone, one can't be too careful. Now, for those of you who would like to purchase some of our very fine diamonds —”

The lights went out again. The alarm bell rang, and the steel shutters slammed down once more.

A woman in the crowd cried, “Let's get out of here, Harry.”

“Will you just shut up, Diane?” her husband growled.

In the basement downstairs, Jeff stood in front of the fuse box, listening to the cries of the tourists upstairs. He waited a few moments, then reconnected the switch. The lights upstairs flickered on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the guide yelled over the uproar. “It is just a technical difficulty.” He took out the key again and inserted it into the wall slot. The steel shutters rose.

The telephone rang. The guide hurried over and picked it up. “Hendrik, here. No, Captain. Yes. We will have it fixed as quickly as possible. Thank you.”

A door to the room opened and Jeff came in, carrying the tool case, his worker's cap pushed back on his head.

He singled out the guide.

“What's the problem? Someone reported trouble with the electrical circuits.”

“The lights keep flashing off and on,” the guide explained. “See if you can fix it quickly, please.” He turned to the tourists, a forced smile on his lips. “Why don't we step over here where you can select some fine diamonds at very reasonable prices?”

The group of tourists began to move toward the showcases. Jeff, unobserved in the press of the crowd, slipped a small cylindrical object from his overalls, pulled the pin, and tossed the device behind the pedestal that held the Lucullan diamond. The contrivance began to emit smoke and sparks.

Jeff called out to the guide, “Hey! There's your problem. There's a short in the wire under the floor.”

A woman tourist screamed, “Fire!”

“Please, everybody!” the guide yelled. “No need to panic. Just keep calm.” He turned to Jeff and hissed, .“Fix it! Fix it!”

“No problem,” Jeff said easily. He moved toward the velvet ropes around the pedestal.

“Nee!” the guard called. “You can't go near that!”