If Tomorrow Comes (26 page)

He preened. “It is true. Women find Fornati very attractive.”

It was all Tracy could do to keep from bursting out laughing at the pompous little man. “I can understand that.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “Fornati likes you,” he said. “Fornati likes you very much. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a legal secretary. I saved up all my money for this trip. I hope to get an interesting position in Europe.”

His bulging eyes roved over her body. “You will have no problem, Fornati promises you. He is very nice to people who are very nice to him.”

“How wonderful of you,” Tracy said shyly.

He lowered his voice. “Perhaps we could discuss this later this evening in your cabin?”

“That might be embarrassing.”

“
Perchè?
Why?”

“You’re so famous. Everyone on the train probably knows who you are.”

“Naturally.”

“If they see you come to my cabin—well, you know, some people might misunderstand. Of course, if your cabin is near mine…What number are you in?”

“
E settanta
—seventy.” He looked at her hopefully.

Tracy sighed. “I’m in another car. Why don’t we meet in Venice?”

He beamed. “
Bene!
My wife, she stays in her room most
of the time. She cannot stand the sun on her face. Have you ever been to Venezia?”

“No.”

“Ah. You and I shall go to Torcello, a beautiful little island with a wonderful restaurant, the Locanda Cipriani. It is also a small hotel.” His eyes gleamed. “
Molto privato.
”

Tracy gave him a slow, understanding smile. “It sounds exciting.” She lowered her eyes, too overcome to say more.

Fornati leaned forward, squeezed her hand, and whispered wetly, “You do not know what excitement is yet,
cara.
”

Half an hour later Tracy was back in her cabin.

The
Orient Express
sped through the lonely night, past Paris and Dijon and Vallarbe, while the passengers slept. They had turned in their passports the evening before, and the border formalities would be handled by the conductors.

At 3:30 in the morning Tracy quietly left her compartment. The timing was critical. The train would cross the Swiss border and reach Lausanne at 5:21
A.M.
and was due to arrive in Milan, Italy, at 9:15
A.M.

Clad in pajamas and robe, and carrying a sponge bag, Tracy moved down the corridor, every sense alert, the familiar excitement making her pulse leap. There were no toilets in the cabins of the train, but there were some located at the end of each car. If Tracy was questioned, she was prepared to say that she was looking for the ladies’ room, but she encountered no one. The conductors and porters were taking advantage of the early-morning hours to catch up on their sleep.

Tracy reached Cabin E 70 without incident. She quietly tried the doorknob. The door was locked. Tracy opened the sponge bag and took out a metallic object and a small bottle with a syringe, and went to work.

Ten minutes later she was back in her cabin, and thirty minutes after that she was asleep, with the trace of a smile on her freshly scrubbed face.

At 7:00
A.M.
, two hours before the
Orient Express
was due to arrive in Milan, a series of piercing screams rang out. They
came from Cabin E 70, and they awakened the entire car. Passengers poked their heads out of their cabins to see what was happening. A conductor came hurrying along the car and entered E 70.

Silvana Luadi was in hysterics.
“Aiuto! Help!”
she screamed. “All my jewelry is gone! This miserable train is full of
ladri
—thieves!”

“Please calm down, madame,” the conductor begged. “The other—”

“Calm down!”
Her voice went up an octave. “How dare you tell me to calm down,
stupido maiale
! Someone has stolen more than a million dollars’ worth of my jewels!”

“How could this have happened?” Alberto Fornati demanded. “The door was locked—and Fornati is a light sleeper. If anyone had entered, I would have awakened instantly.”

The conductor sighed. He knew only too well how it had happened, because it had happened before. During the night someone had crept down the corridor and sprayed a syringe full of ether through the keyhole. The locks would have been child’s play for someone who knew what he was doing. The thief would have closed the door behind him, looted the room, and, having taken what he wanted, quietly crept back to his compartment while his victims were still unconscious. But there was one thing about this burglary that was different from the others. In the past the thefts had not been discovered until
after
the train had reached its destination, so the thieves had had a chance to escape. This was a different situation. No one had disembarked since the robbery, which meant that the jewelry still had to be on board.

“Don’t worry,” the conductor promised the Fornatis. “You’ll get your jewels back. The thief is still on this train.”

He hurried forward to telephone the police in Milan.

When the
Orient Express
pulled into the Milan terminal, twenty uniformed policemen and plainclothes detectives lined the station platform, with orders not to let any passengers or baggage off the train.

Luigi Ricci, the inspector in charge, was taken directly to the Fornati compartment.

If anything, Silvana Luadi’s hysteria had increased. “Every bit of jewelry I owned was in that jewel case,” she screamed. “And none of it was insured!”

The inspector examined the empty jewel case. “You are sure you put your jewels in there last night, signora?”

“Of
course
I am sure. I put them there every night.” Her luminous eyes, which had thrilled millions of adoring fans, pooled over with large tears, and Inspector Ricci was ready to slay dragons for her.

He walked over to the compartment door, bent down, and sniffed the keyhole. He could detect the lingering odor of ether. There had been a robbery, and he intended to catch the unfeeling bandit.

Inspector Ricci straightened up and said, “Do not worry, signora. There is no way the jewels can be removed from this train. We will catch the thief, and your gems will be returned to you.”

Inspector Ricci had every reason to be confident. The trap was tightly sealed, and there was no possibility for the culprit to get away.

One by one, the detectives escorted the passengers to a station waiting room that had been roped off, and they were expertly body searched. The passengers, many of them people of prominence, were outraged by this indignity.

“I’m sorry,” Inspector Ricci explained to each of them, “but a million-dollar theft is a very serious business.”

As each passenger was led from the train, detectives turned their cabins upside down. Every inch of space was examined. This was a splendid opportunity for Inspector Ricci, and he intended to make the most of it. When he recovered the stolen jewels, it would mean a promotion and a raise. His imagination became inflamed. Silvana Luadi would be so grateful to him that she would probably invite him to…He gave orders with renewed vigor.

There was a knock at Tracy’s cabin door and a detective entered. “Excuse me, signorina. There has been a robbery. It is necessary to search all passengers. If you will come with me, please…”

“A robbery?” Her voice was shocked. “On this train?”

“I fear so, signorina.”

When Tracy stepped out of her compartment, two detectives moved in, opened her suitcases, and began carefully sifting through the contents.

At the end of four hours the search had turned up several packets of marijuana, five ounces of cocaine, a knife, and an illegal gun. There was no sign of the missing jewelry.

Inspector Ricci could not believe it. “Have you searched the entire train?” he demanded of his lieutenant.

“Inspector, we have searched every inch. We have examined the engine, the dining rooms, the bar, the toilets, the compartments. We have searched the passengers and crew and examined every piece of luggage. I can swear to you that the jewelry is not on board this train. Perhaps the lady imagined the theft.”

But Inspector Ricci knew better. He had spoken to the waiters, and they had confirmed that Silvana Luadi had indeed worn a dazzling display of jewelry at dinner the evening before.

A representative of the
Orient Express
had flown to Milan. “You cannot detain this train any longer,” he insisted. “We are already far behind schedule.”

Inspector Ricci was defeated. He had no excuse for holding the train any further. There was nothing more he could do. The only explanation he could think of was that somehow, during the night, the thief had tossed the jewels off the train to a waiting confederate. But could it have happened that way? The timing would have been impossible. The thief could not have known in advance when the corridor would be clear, when a conductor or passenger might be prowling about, what time the train would be at some deserted assignation point. This was a mystery beyond the inspector’s power to solve.

“Let the train go on,” he ordered.

He stood watching helplessly as the
Orient Express
slowly pulled out of the station. With it went his promotion, his raise, and a blissful orgy with Silvana Luadi.

The sole topic of conversation in the breakfast car was the robbery.

“It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in years,” confessed a prim teacher at a girls’ school. She fingered a small gold necklace with a tiny diamond chip. “I’m lucky they didn’t take this.”

“Very,” Tracy gravely agreed.

When Alberto Fornati walked into the dining car, he caught sight of Tracy and hurried over to her. “You know what happened, of course. But did you know it was Fornati’s wife who was robbed?”

“No!”

“Yes! My life was in great danger. A gang of thieves crept into my cabin and chloroformed me. Fornati could have been murdered in his sleep.”

“How terrible.”

“
È una bella fregatura!
Now I shall have to replace all of Silvana’s jewelry. It’s going to cost me a fortune.”

“The police didn’t find the jewels?”

“No, but Fornati knows how the thieves got rid of them.”

“Really! How?”

He looked around and lowered his voice. “An accomplice was waiting at one of the stations we passed during the night. The
ladri
threw the jewels out of the train, and—
ecco
—it was done.”

Tracy said admiringly, “How clever of you to figure that out.”

“
Sì
.” He raised his brows meaningfully. “You will not forget our little tryst in Venezia?”

“How could I?” Tracy smiled.

He squeezed her arm hard. “Fornati is looking forward to it. Now I must go console Silvana. She is hysterical.”

When the
Orient Express
arrived at the Santa Lucia station in Venice, Tracy was among the first passengers to disembark. She had her luggage taken directly to the airport and was on the next plane to London with Silvana Luadi’s jewelry.

Gunther Hartog was going to be pleased.

The seven-story headquarters building of Interpol, the International Criminal Police Organization, is at 26 Rue Armen-gaud, in the hills of St. Cloud, about six miles west of Paris, discreetly hidden behind a high green fence and white stone walls. The gate at the street entrance is locked twenty-four hours a day, and visitors are admitted only after being scrutinized through a closed-circuit television system. Inside the building, at the head of the stairs at each floor, are white iron gates which are locked at night, and every floor is equipped with a separate alarm system and closed-circuit television.

The extraordinary security is mandatory, for within this building are kept the world’s most elaborate dossiers with files on two and a half million criminals. Interpol is a clearinghouse of information for 126 police forces in 78 countries, and coordinates the worldwide activities of police forces in dealing with swindlers, counterfeiters, narcotics smugglers, robbers, and murderers. It disseminates up-to-the-second information by an updated bulletin called a
circulation;
by radio, phototelegraphy, and early-bird satellite. The Paris headquarters is
manned by former detectives from the Sûreté Nationale or the Paris Préfecture.

On an early May morning a conference was under way in the office of Inspector André Trignant, in charge of Interpol headquarters. The office was comfortable and simply furnished, and the view was breathtaking. In the far distance to the east, the Eiffel Tower loomed, and in another direction the white dome of the Sacré Coeur in Montmartre was clearly visible. The inspector was in his mid-forties, an attractive, authoritative figure, with an intelligent face, dark hair, and shrewd brown eyes behind black horn-rimmed glasses. Seated in the office with him were detectives from England, Belgium, France, and Italy.

“Gentlemen,” Inspector Trignant said, “I have received urgent requests from each of your countries for information about the rash of crimes that has recently sprung up all over Europe. Half a dozen countries have been hit by an epidemic of ingenious swindles and burglaries, in which there are several similarities. The victims are of unsavory reputation, there is never violence involved, and the perpetrator is always a female. We have reached the conclusion that we are facing an international gang of women. We have identi-kit pictures based on the descriptions by victims and random witnesses. As you will see, none of the women in the pictures is alike. Some are blond, some brunet. They have variously been reported as being English, French, Spanish, Italian, American—or Texan.”

Inspector Trignant pressed a switch, and a series of pictures began to appear on the wall screen. “Here you see an identi-kit sketch of a brunet with short hair.” He pressed the button again. “Here is a young blonde with a shag cut.…Here is another blonde with a perm…a brunet with a pageboy…Here is an older woman with a French twist…a young woman with blond streaks…an older woman with a
coup sauvage
. He turned off the projector. “We have no idea who the gang’s leader is or where their headquarters is located. They never leave any clues behind, and they vanish like smoke rings. Sooner or later we will catch one of them,
and when we do, we shall get them all. In the meantime, gentlemen, until one of you can furnish us with some specific information, I am afraid we are at a dead end…”

When Daniel Cooper’s plane landed in Paris, he was met at Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport by one of Inspector Trig-nant’s assistants, and driven to the Prince de Galles, next door to its more illustrious sister hotel, the George V.

“It is arranged for you to meet Inspector Trignant tomorrow,” his escort told Cooper. “I will pick you up at eight-fifteen.”

Daniel Cooper had not been looking forward to the trip to Europe. He intended to finish his assignment as quickly as possible and return home. He knew about the fleshpots of Paris, and he had no intention of becoming involved.

He checked into his room and went directly into the bathroom. To his surprise, the bathtub was satisfactory. In fact, he admitted to himself, it was much larger than the one at home. He ran the bath water and went into the bedroom to unpack. Near the bottom of his suitcase was the small locked box, safe between his extra suit and his underwear. He picked up the box and held it in his hands, staring at it, and it seemed to pulse with a life of its own. He carried it into the bathroom and placed it on the sink. With the tiny key dangling from his key ring, he unlocked the box and opened it, and the words screamed up at him from the yellowed newspaper clipping.

BOY TESTIFIES IN MURDER TRIAL

Twelve-year-old Daniel Cooper today testified in the trial of Fred Zimmer, accused of the rape-murder of the young boy’s mother. According to his testimony, the boy returned home from school and saw Zimmer, a next-door neighbor, leaving the Cooper home with blood on his hands and face. When the boy entered his home, he discovered the body of his mother in the bathtub. She had been savagely stabbed to death. Zimmer confessed to being Mrs. Cooper’s lover, but denied that he had killed her.

The young boy has been placed in the care of an aunt.

Daniel Cooper’s trembling hands dropped the clipping back into the box and locked it. He looked around wildly. The walls and ceiling of the hotel bathroom were spattered with blood. He saw his mother’s naked body floating in the red water. He felt a wave of vertigo and clutched the sink. The screams inside him became gutteral moans, and he frantically tore off his clothes and sank down into the blood-warm bath.

“I must inform you, Mr. Cooper,” Inspector Trignant said, “that your position here is most unusual. You are not a member of any police force, and your presence here is unofficial. However, we have been requested by the police departments of several European countries to extend our cooperation.”

Daniel Cooper said nothing.

“As I understand it, you are an investigator for the International Insurance Protective Association, a consortium of insurance companies.”

“Some of our European clients have had heavy losses lately. I was told there are no clues.”

Inspector Trignant sighed. “I’m afraid that is the case. We know we are dealing with a gang of very clever women, but beyond that—”

“No information from informers?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“What do you mean, monsieur?”

It seemed so obvious to Cooper that he did not bother to keep the impatience out of his voice. “When a gang is involved, there’s always someone who talks too much, drinks too much, spends too much. It’s impossible for a large group of people to keep a secret. Would you mind giving me your files on this gang?”

The inspector started to refuse. He thought Daniel Cooper was one of the most physically unattractive men he had ever met. And certainly the most arrogant. He was going to be a
chierie
, “a pain in the ass”; but the inspector had been asked to cooperate fully.

Reluctantly, he said, “I will have copies made for you.” He
spoke into an intercom and gave the order. To make conversation, Inspector Trignant said, “An interesting report just crossed my desk. Some valuable jewels were stolen aboard the
Orient Express
while it—”

“I read about it. The thief made a fool of the Italian police.”

“No one has been able to figure out how the robbery was accomplished.”

“It’s obvious,” Daniel Cooper said rudely. “A matter of simple logic.”

Inspector Trignant looked over his glasses in surprise.
Mon Dieu, he has the manners of a pig
. He continued, coolly, “In this case, logic does not help. Every inch of that train was examined, and the employees, passengers, and all the luggage searched.”

“No,” Daniel Cooper contradicted.

This man is crazy
, Inspector Trignant decided. “No—
what?
”

“They didn’t search all the luggage.”

“And I tell you they did,” Inspector Trignant insisted. “I have seen the police report.”

“The woman from whom the jewels were stolen—Silvana Luadi?”

“Yes?”

“She had placed her jewels in an overnight case from which they were taken?”

“That is correct.”

“Did the police search Miss Luadi’s luggage?”

“Only her overnight case. She was the victim. Why should they search her luggage?”

“Because that’s logically the only place the thief could have hidden the jewels—in the bottom of one of her other suitcases. He probably had a duplicate case, and when all the luggage was piled on the platform at the Venice station, all he had to do was exchange suitcases and disappear.” Daniel Cooper rose. “If those reports are ready, I’ll be running along.”

Thirty minutes later, Inspector Trignant was speaking to Alberto Fornati in Venice.

“Monsieur,” the inspector said, “I was calling to inquire whether there happened to be any problem with your wife’s luggage when you arrived in Venice.”

“
Sì, sì,
” Fornati complained. “The idiot porter got her suitcase mixed up with someone else’s. When my wife opened her bag at the hotel, it contained nothing but a lot of old magazines. I reported it to the office of the
Orient Express
. Have they located my wife’s suitcase?” he asked hopefully.

“No, monsieur,” the inspector said. And he added silently to himself.
Nor would I expect it, if I were you
.

When he completed the telephone call, he sat back in his chair thinking,
This Daniel Cooper is très formidable
. Very formidable, indeed.