MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (24 page)

“Whose fucking
orders? I can’t even have a drink at my own party?” she yelled. People nearby
were turning to stare.

Veronica gripped the
president’s daughter by the shoulder and said softly, “Come with me, Cynthia.
We’re going to have a little talk…” Before she could go any further, the lights
went out, plunging the ballroom into darkness.

Like a blind man,
John grasped for Veronica, his hands brushing up uselessly against the tightly
packed bodies of panicked guests. He called her name, but in the chaos of
voices, he was just one more babble of confused sound.

Then he heard her
through the crashing chairs and women’s screams. “Let go!”

John pushed his way
toward her voice but he wasn’t making it too far. Just as he was about to lose
his temper, he heard a hum and saw the security lights snap on as bright as the
afternoon sun.

The stunned guests
instinctively stepped back to reveal Dornal Zagen dressed as a secret service
agent. He and Veronica were in the midst of a violent tug of war for the Hope
Diamond. The blue gem glittered on its icy chain between the white-knuckled
fists of Veronica and the thief. The Austrian was gritting his teeth and John
could see his temples pounding as Veronica held fast with every ounce of
willpower she had. At their feet a wire clipper lay on the floor, evidently
used to cut the necklace from Veronica’s throat.

Like the flash of a
camera, John took it all in. Then he sprang forward along with about fifteen
secret service men.

Dornal froze.
Something had gone wrong. The lights had come up much too early. Cursing, he
wrenched the Hope out of Veronica’s bleeding fingers.

John and the secret
service men had almost reached him when the thief swung back his arm and threw
the cursed diamond as far across the room as he could.

Stunned, the security
men stopped in their tracks. The jewel caught the light and sparked like
stardust over the outstretched fingers of the party guests until it landed on
the down escalator that connected the rotunda with the lobby on the first floor.

A riot broke out as
everyone from DC matrons to secret service men pounced, falling over themselves
on the moving escalator like the Marx brothers in one of their classic movies.

In the chaos, no one
noticed Zagen clamp his iron fist over Veronica’s mouth as he dragged her
toward the side exit. No one except John.

He could see the
terror in Veronica’s eyes.

“Put the knife down!”
ordered Quinn, who, catching on, had crept up from another direction.

But Zagen ignored the
FBI man and stared at John with hatred.

“Put the goddamn
knife down!!” screamed Quinn.

“I’m going now,” said
Dornal, his voice frosty like Alpine air as he began to back away.

Not this time;
John leveled his Glock at Zagen’s face. He
heard Quinn’s panicked voice like a fly buzzing around him, telling him not to
shoot. The chances of hitting Veronica were too great.

John met her eyes.
She dropped her chin slightly. He got the signal.

Veronica smoothly
lowered her hand and grabbed Zagen’s balls,
hard
,
digging in with her long nails. Taking advantage of the Austrian’s momentary
surprise, she ducked just as John squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the shot
echoed off the marble floors and pillars. Everyone froze in shock as the room
went silent.

He’d missed.

Just above Zagen’s
massive right shoulder, a bullet hole pocked the white marble column.

Cursing, the Austrian
grabbed hold of Veronica even more fiercely than before and raised his knife to
slice her throat open.

The women screamed
and Veronica closed her eyes.

John felt the world
slow down into a nauseating surreal moment. He had seen plenty of death in his
career at the FBI, to the point where he’d become numb to it. But now, to watch
Veronica’s throat slit in front of him and be powerless to stop it was too
much. In a moment of pure madness, he flung his gun aside and went for Dornal.
There were no thoughts, no plans, just tunnel vision with the Austrian and
Veronica at the end of it.

He realized later he
must have yelled or made some sort of desperate sound, which startled even the
cool Austrian enough to flick his eyes up for a moment and see John coming at
him like a rabid animal. All it took was the flick of those eyes.

Before anyone
understood what had happened, the convict’s arms went limp, freeing a surprised
Veronica. His pale face turned ashy blue and his gray shark eyes rolled back in
their sockets before he collapsed into John’s arms. Astonished, John looked
down at the back of the Austrian’s head. It took a moment for him to register
what he was looking at. Someone had shoved a cake cutter deep into Dornal
Zagen’s brainstem.

John staggered under
the weight of the Austrian’s body, but even as he struggled to hold the
convict, he caught a glimpse of an older woman with gray hair slipping down a dark
corridor and out of sight.

As the security men
recovered from their surprise, John found himself surrounded by helpful hands.

Quinn stepped
forward, pointing down the hall where the old lady had just escaped. “Get down
there!” he urged his men.

But John, dumping
Zagen’s body in the helpful hands, leapt forward. “No! I saw the killer. He was
dressed as a security guard, too. He ran behind the crowd to that exit over
there.” John indicated a fire exit in the corner of the room.

Quinn turned a
squinty-eyed look of distrust on John. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! You’re losing
valuable time!” insisted John.

Quinn shifted
nervously on his feet and then made his decision. “All right, let’s go!” His
men took off toward the exit John had indicated.

All around them, a
firestorm of flashbulbs went off and the cacophony of voices swirled. Through
it all he saw Veronica crying quietly with her back against a pillar; one
slender hand wrapped protectively around her naked throat.

John cut through the
crowd, put his arm around her waist, and began to lead her out of the ballroom.
“Come on,” he said, gently walking her past the gaping onlookers.

“As soon as the
lights went out, I grabbed it,” she said, looking pale and shaken. “I didn’t
even feel him cut it off my neck. Suddenly, it was just loose in my hands and
he was pulling it away.” Her usually soft white palms were cut and bleeding.

“I’m just glad you’re
all right. You saved your life by fighting back. Remind me to take you with me
next time I’m in a jam,” said John, smoothing back her hair.

She smiled, a bit of
color coming back into her cheeks. “You’re the one. I’ve never seen anyone look
like such a complete maniac as you did when you came charging at him, but who
do you think…,” she paused and turned slightly pale again.

“Maybe if you’re real
nice, I’ll tell you some day.”

“You know who killed
him?” she asked in a surprised whisper.

Before he could
respond, Kay Hopkins appeared at their side, bug-eyed and sweating. “Dear God,
Veronica, are you all right, honey?”

Veronica nodded.

“I can’t believe you
saved the diamond! You could have been killed!” she exclaimed.

“Where is the Hope?”
asked Veronica.

Kay opened her hand
to reveal the blue diamond winking up at them. “I have it right here. Secret
service managed to grab the necklace before it was smashed to pieces at the
bottom of the escalator.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t have
broken,” said Veronica, with a wan smile. “Diamonds are pretty tough.”

Kay’s brow puckered
at the sight of the torn skin on Veronica’s palms. “Look at your sweet little
hands! Come along, honey. Let’s get you and this diamond back to the salon.”
She put a motherly arm around Veronica’s shoulders as she led her and John,
trailed by a small army of secret service men, back to the Adam’s Parlor.

Veronica sat quietly
on the green silk settee as Georgette scurried forward with a first aid kit.

“Allow me,” said
John, taking the kit from Kay’s assistant. He pulled out a packet of gauze, a
few cotton balls and a small bottle of antiseptic. “This is going to sting,” he
warned before gently applying the antiseptic to the cuts on Veronica’s palms.

She grimaced a little
but didn’t pull away as he wrapped her hands in the gauze. “You look like the
mummy’s bride,” he joked.

She smiled, but he
could tell she was still shaken up from the drama in the ballroom.

The parlor was
filling up with excited, chattering women coming to return their borrowed
jewels, though the First Lady and her daughter had been whisked back to the
White House by secret service at the first sign of trouble. Josephine’s
imperial crown and Marie Antoinette’s earrings would have to wait until morning
to be returned, but the Hope was now locked safely away in the Smithsonian’s
vault.

“Well, you look
exhausted,” said John to Veronica. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

“That would be
heaven,” she agreed, “but won’t they need us here for questioning?”

“I’m sure as long as
we promise not to skip town, Quinn won’t object to us getting a little sleep.
For tonight, let’s just say you’re under my custody.”

She smiled. “I like
that idea.”

****

The wind was cool and
refreshing as the platinum convertible sped down Constitution Avenue. The stars
had come out and they twinkled sharply in the clear skies above. John and
Veronica had snuck out the back entrance of the museum, avoiding the mess of TV
cameras and news reporters who had arrived to cover the Ghost’s grand finale.

Veronica rested her
head against the seat with her eyes closed. “I’ll be so glad when this night is
over and I’m snuggled under the covers fast asleep.”

John’s cell phone
started vibrating. He saw Quinn’s number as the incoming caller and pushed the
answer button. “How’s it going down there?”

“Well, he’s dead as a
doornail!” announced Quinn.

“Did you find the
killer?”

“Not yet, but we’re dusting
down the murder weapon right now looking for prints.”

John knew they
wouldn’t find any.

“Guess what we did
discover, though, in Zagen’s pocket?” crowed the FBI man.

“What?”

“A friggin’ journal
and do you know what’s inside?”

“Dornal’s favorite Linzer
Torte recipe?” joked John, blinking his eyes to stay alert.

“Every heist. The
date, the time, even the rocks he stole. All our Ghost stories wrapped up in a
nice, neat little bow. It’s perfect.”

John’s eyes were open
now. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope. Can you
imagine? Freakin’ psycho, huh?”

John was incredulous.
“He carried a notebook of evidence against himself?”

“Yup.”

John digested this in
silence as he turned onto Maryland Avenue. Who would do something like that? It
was just plain stupid. Dornal Zagen may have been a lot of things, but stupid
wasn’t one of them. Of course the Austrian did have the kind of meticulous,
methodical mind that would keep an accurate accounting of his life. Everything
in its proper place. One more item checked off the list. Was it possible this
journal was part of some sort of obsessive-compulsive ritual?

“Hey, you there?”
asked Quinn.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m
here. I’m just trying to get used to the idea.”

“I know. A case like
this…well, it goes on for so long and then when it’s finished…you almost feel
disappointed.”

“It’s crazy,” agreed
John.

“Well, I’ve got a few
things to wrap up here, but then I’m going home for my first decent night’s
sleep in I don’t know how goddamn long. I can deal with the rest of the details
in the morning.”

“You do that, buddy,”
said John.

“Sayonara.”

They hung up. John
slipped the phone into his pocket and glanced over at Veronica. Her head was
still leaning back on the car seat and she was staring up at the stars flashing
by.

“So, that man was the
Ghost?” she asked.

John was still
shaking his head in amazement. “Looks like it.”

“Thank God that’s
over!” she said, before closing her eyes and drifting off.

When they reached the
Monticello, it was well past midnight. John was tempted to swoop Veronica up
from where she dozed, but she sleepily opened her eyes and stepped out on her
own.

They didn’t say much
on the elevator ride up to the fourth floor, but when they arrived at her door,
she turned to John and lightly kissed his lips. “Thank you for taking such good
care of me tonight.” She held up her bandaged palms.

“I’m just happy
you’re still in one piece.” He slipped his hands around her hips and moved in
closer, but she gently stepped away.