The Stolen Chalicel (38 page)

Finally, he had to face the truth. It was obvious.
Holly and Sinclair were involved in the art-theft ring!

Once the suspicion formed, the shock of it was intense. Why the hell else would they be in Venice? This was where the stolen art was being shipped. And most of the objects were Egyptian, Holly’s specialty. She would know what to steal and where to sell everything for the best profit.
She was a thief!
Nothing else made any sense.

Carter looked back at the theater steps, and she was gone. Latecomers were rushing into the opera house. He had missed the opportunity to confront her.

Well, that was probably for the best. What would he say? Should he call the authorities? Did he have the guts?

He drained his café espresso to the dregs. The unmelted sugar on the bottom of the cup dripped onto his tongue. He placed the cup in the saucer and thought about it some more. It wouldn’t be fair to blow the whistle on Holly. Not yet. He had to be sure before he accused her of anything. And there was only one way to find out the truth.

Carter threw a ten-euro note on the café table and got up, his chair scraping the pavement. A man walking by gave him a hard stare. Carter ignored him. He was going to go to the palazzo in the Dorsoduro district—Calle Minelli, the address that was listed on the packing slip. If Holly showed up there, he would know the truth.

La Fenice Opera House

T
HE CROWD WAS
milling around the pink marble entrance hall with excitement. Crystal chandeliers glowed, programs were handed out, and everyone was beautifully dressed in their evening clothes. Couples were greeting one another with air kisses and exclamations of delight. There were very few tourists in the off-season and everyone was speaking Italian.

Sinclair found himself thinking that under other circumstances this performance would have been great fun. He loved opera. But tonight the cacophony of social interaction was getting on his nerves.

He and Holly should probably loiter in the lobby until they saw Lady X. But time was dragging and she wasn’t there yet.

He steered Holly over to read the huge poster—
Aida,
by Giuseppe Verdi. Leave it to Lady Xandra Sommerset for the dramatic gesture—an opera with a storyline that involved ancient Egypt.
Aida
originally opened in Cairo in 1871, to great acclaim. But it was right here, at La Fenice, that it made an
official
debut a few years later—and became an international hit.

He looked over at Holly. She was staring blankly at the performance announcement, her eyes fixed. To most people, she would appear calm, but he knew better.

“Let’s get rid of our coats, shall we?” he asked.

They joined a line of people. Sinclair handed his topcoat and Holly’s cape to the coat check woman; then, with great trepidation, he passed
over the blue plastic shopping bag containing the book and the ransom money.

“Would you please put this bag on a separate claim ticket?” he asked.

The coat attendant took the bag from him and put it in the rack above. His eyes involuntarily followed the plastic bag. It was a four-million-dollar package. She handed him the red plastic disk. Number 27.

It went into his right-hand pocket. The plan was simple. All he had to do was slip the claim ticket to Lady X. At the end of the first act, Lady X would collect the book from the coat check and leave the building. At a nearby location, she and Moustaffa would make sure that the money was the agreed-upon amount and in the proper form.

Then, during the second intermission, Moustaffa would bring Cordelia to the opera house. He would rendezvous with Sinclair and Holly in the upstairs supper salon. If all went well, Cordelia would be released.

Sinclair took Holly’s hand and noticed that her fingers were warmer. He bent over and whispered in her ear.

“Wish me luck.”

Her blue eyes looked up into his. They were frightened.

“Good luck, John,” she said. She couldn’t even manage a smile.

“Come on, Hols, we can’t stand here all night. Let’s go face the music.”

He gave her a wink and drew her up the red-carpeted steps to the main floor of the theater. The seats were beginning to fill up. He looked down at the tickets in his hand. Orchestra level, as Lady X had instructed. Programs in hand, he looked around at the famous opera hall.

La Fenice was a legend. Its name translated as “The Phoenix”—a mythical bird that rose up from the ashes. Twice in the theater’s long, glorious history, the building had burned to the ground. Each time, it had been rebuilt to the original design, most recently in 2003. Standing here tonight, the opera house was as splendid as ever.

Tier after tier of boxes rose all the way to the ceiling—gold and pastel rococo ornamentation on the walls and rose velvet chairs. It was a noble setting in every sense. One could imagine aristocratic Venetian ladies, dressed in silks and satins, gossiping behind their lace fans.

Sinclair took his eyes off the architecture and scanned the sea of empty orchestra seats.

“No sign of her.”

“She’ll come,” Holly replied. “I know she will.”

Hotel Danieli

A
HALF-MOON HAD RISEN
above the lagoon, creating a shimmering magic. The fog had dissipated along the quay. Gondolas, secured for the night, were bowing and dipping in the dark water.

No one in the third-floor banquet room was looking out the window. Inside, three MI6 officers were hunkered over a video monitor. They were able to see the interior of the opera house through a pin camera in their agent’s lapel. As he walked around, they could see who was entering the theater. Sinclair and Holly were visible on the left-hand side of the screen.

“I see them, but where’s Cordelia?” Jim Gardiner asked, crowding in behind the intelligence agents. “Shouldn’t she be there by now?”

“No, sir,” an agent replied politely. “Ms. Stapleton is supposed to arrive after the second act, during intermission. So I’d say you have about an hour and twenty minutes to wait.”

Gardiner started to walk up and down the room nervously. He was well aware that pacing drew attention to his limp, but he needed to keep his nerves in check. From time to time, he glanced over at VerPlanck and gave him a forced smile.

The American tycoon sat on the far side of the room, hands on his knees, looking wan and nervous. Finally, Gardiner went over to him and sat down on a cut-velvet settee.

“This is killing me,” Gardiner groused. “I wish they’d get on with it.”

His irritated tone hid the emotion that was churning inside. He
often used gruffness to counter his tender heart. As a business lawyer, it wouldn’t do to let people know he was the biggest softie in the world. Especially VerPlanck, who was a client.

“You and Cordelia are very close, aren’t you?” VerPlanck asked.

“Yes.” Gardiner nodded. “I was the family estate lawyer.”

“Orphaned, was she?”

“Yes, that poor kid lost both parents when she was twelve. She had nothing but a bank account. And even
that
wasn’t really very much.”

“So you were her guardian?” VerPlanck ascertained.

“Oh, more than that,” Gardiner said with a sigh. “Cordelia and I, well, we’ve been through thick and thin together.”

“I’m sure you made quite a difference in her life.”

“I would have adopted her, if they had allowed it. But laws were different back then. Same-sex couples were not even allowed to think about it.”

“Pity,” VerPlanck said.

“Nah.” Gardiner shook his head. “Didn’t matter. I loved her. What do I care what they call it on paper.”

“She’s a lucky girl,” VerPlanck said. “To have someone like you.”

“Well, now she’s a lucky girl to have found someone like
Sinclair,
” Gardiner amended. “That man would lay down his
life
for her.”

“Then she is twice blessed,” VerPlanck said, and continued to stare at the monitor. A bright pink dress glowed on the screen. Holly was walking through the lobby and into the theater.

La Fenice Opera House

S
INCLAIR STOOD IN
the aisle, next to row number E, seat 1. The seats were filling up, people stepping around him, as he lingered.

“John?” Holly asked, her blue eyes questioning. “What next?”

“We may as well sit down,” he decided. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take the outside seat.”

They settled in and started looking through the program. It was a pointless exercise. The words on the page were not registering in his brain, and all his senses were hyper-aware, waiting for something to happen. He could tell that Holly was strung as taut as a violin string.
Where was Lady X
?

Four people approached his row. They had seats in the middle. He stepped out to let the couples by, glancing at each of the women as they brushed past him. Neither of them even remotely resembled Lady X.

The theater was almost full. Five minutes until the curtain. His nerves were so raw that sitting still was an effort. He fought with himself not to check his watch again.

Then he heard a commotion from behind. Cries of
“Xandra darling!”
rang out. He turned quickly to look. Lady X had just arrived and was greeting her friends in Italian at the back of the theater.

Of course!
How could he be so dim? She was an international celebrity; there would be no low-key arrival for
her.
Dressed in a silver fox cape over a jade green dress, she was flamboyantly elegant. Absolutely
stealing
the show. People in the parterre boxes were pointing at her and observing her through their opera glasses.

Her progress was slow as she made her way down the aisle to the front section. Sinclair turned his eyes back to his program, but he could hear her coming up behind him. Then she stopped right next to his seat. He continued to read, wondering what was required next. Surely
she
would be the one to make the overture to him.

As he kept his eyes lowered, he could smell her heavy perfume, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her pointed black stilettos in the aisle right next to him. So he casually looked up, as if just noticing her standing there. She was staring straight at him.

“Oh, is this my row?” she asked. “I’m not sure . . . If it is, I believe you are in my seat.”

“I’m . . . excuse me,” Sinclair said, getting to his feet and going along with the charade. He pulled his stub out of his pocket and showed it to her.

She made a scene over searching for her ticket. Lady X wore snug gray leather gloves to her elbow, which made her fingers clumsy as she searched through the contents of her minuscule evening bag. An usher rushed over to intervene.

“Madame, may I assist?”

“Here it is. I’m afraid I forgot my reading glasses. Is this my row?” she said, handing her ticket to the usher

“Madame, you are in row F, seat 1,” the man explained, pointing to the seat directly behind Sinclair.

“Oh, how
silly
of me,” Lady X apologized. “I couldn’t read it properly. I don’t ever seem to be able to remember my glasses. . . .”

“Perfectly all right,” Sinclair said. He was trying figure out what was required of him. He needed to slip the plastic coat check disk to her. But he couldn’t just hand it to her, could he?

He needn’t have worried about the mechanics. Lady X was well ahead of him. She put the opera ticket stub into her satin bag and let the tiny purse slip out of her hands. It hit the floor and spilled the contents into the aisle.

“Oh, dear . . . how
clumsy
of me,” she said, smiling at Sinclair. He
looked down. A lipstick, lace handkerchief, pocket mirror, and small leather billfold were scattered on the red carpet. She didn’t move to pick any of it up. He understood immediately.

“Allow me,” he said, bending down and gathering up her articles and restoring her bag to her with a slight bow. Now, inside her satin clutch, was disk 27 from the coat check.

They both took their seats, Lady X sitting directly behind him. He didn’t turn around again but stared straight ahead.

Was that all there was to it?
His heart was beating so hard he could almost hear it. He kept his eyes on the red velvet curtain.

“Did she get it?” Holly asked under her breath.

He gave her a silent nod as the lights dimmed and the orchestra struck up the familiar overture.

An hour later, Sinclair was still worrying and the opera was dragging on. He had barely registered a note. After the first act, Lady X had left. Now, during the second act, her seat had remained empty. All was going as planned. Lady X had presumably picked up the book with the ransom and was long gone.

During the next intermission, Moustaffa was supposed to meet them and return Cordelia. Intermissions for opera and ballet in Europe were slightly longer than in the States, much more of a social event. There was enough time for people to eat small plates of food and drink champagne between acts. La Fenice had several elaborate supper rooms on the upper floor.