11 Harrowhouse (11 page)

On the twenty-fifth, Chesser called Antwerp.

Wildenstein told him the diamond was ready.

“How does it look?”

“Fine,” replied Wildenstein.

“How many carats did it finish at?”

“Come see and get it.”

That same afternoon, Maren's new Ferrari was delivered. It was a convertible, deep blue in color, with a boldly designed body and enough horses under the hood to qualify for the Grand Prix circuit. She wanted to drive it immediately and Chesser knew it was hopeless to try to dissuade her. He thought she might at least take it slowly until she'd gotten the feel of the powerful car. But no. She started with a snapping getaway and put the machine through an excruciating test run over the narrow, unpredictable country roads. She handled the Ferrari as though it had always been hers, and when Chesser warned that she ought not put such a strain on the engine until it was properly broken in, she pointed to a temporary sticker on the windshield which stated that the car had already been run the prerequisite distance. Chesser, unable to think of another excuse, could only make sure their safety belts were fastened and pray nothing was coming around the blind curves.

CHAPTER 8

E
VERYTHING WAS
coming together nicely. Chesser could pick up the diamond in Antwerp, then go on to London and The System for his next sight. They had notified him by cable that his next appointment at 11 Harrowhouse Street was scheduled for Monday, June first, promptly at ten
A.M.
Underline promptly. While in London, Chesser planned, as promised, to let Watts have a look at the diamond before delivering it to Massey.

Maren's first suggestion was that they use the Fokker-28. The private jet belonging to the estate had been in repair but now it was ready to go. The pilots were always on stand-by. But her second thought, and the one that stuck, was to drive her new Ferrari 365 GTB. That would be more personal, she said, more leisurely. Chesser didn't agree but he consented when Maren assured him that she'd let him do some of the driving.

The decision to drive meant a change of plans. Instead of Antwerp-London-Massey, it was now much more convenient to make it Antwerp-Massey-London. That excluded Watts, but Chesser rationalized that perhaps Watts had expressed interest in seeing the diamond only out of politeness. Anyway, he'd explain to Watts when he was at The System.

The only problem was having to call Massey. Chesser had thought he wouldn't call until he'd seen the diamond and was absolutely sure it was right. Massey didn't expect delivery for at least another two weeks, but Chesser was anxious to get the deal over and done with. Out of courtesy, he had to let Massey know when to expect him.

He called.

Massey sounded pleased to hear from him. “You've seen the diamond?”

“Of course,” lied Chesser.

“How is it?”

“Fine,” said Chesser, borrowing from Wildenstein.

“How big?”

“Over a hundred carats.” Chesser hoped it was.

“Then you'll be here the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes. We're driving.”

“By we I assume you're bringing your Maren along?”

“She'll be with me.”

“Good. It's only an hour or so from Lydd to here. Have you ever driven southern England?”

“No.”

“It's a nice drive.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

“See you Wednesday.”

“Wednesday.”

That's one hell of a great client, thought Chesser, as he dropped the phone receiver back into place.

From Chantilly to Antwerp is only about two hundred miles. However, until recently it was a long day's drive, an obstacle course of small towns. Maddening. But now the Auto Route du Nord is completed all the way to Lille, and from there on it's good Belgian highway. Another convenience is the speed limit. There is none. Only the rule that slower vehicles must remain in the right lane, leaving the left clear for those with the power.

So, once Maren got the Ferrari into high, she just stomped the accelerator to the floor and blasted everything out of the way with her horn. At first she enjoyed it but then she got bored and wished there were some corners to amuse her. When Chesser glanced over and saw the speed indicator at two hundred kilometers per hour, he had to fight against his impulse to tell her to go slower. After a while he became accustomed to the motion, and when a stubborn Peugeot blocked the way, slowing them to a mere one fifty kph's, Chesser felt they were crawling along.

They roared into Antwerp by early afternoon. On Kasteelpleinstraat they stopped long enough for Chesser to leave off his previous packet at his usual brokers. No haggling. He didn't even wait for payment, merely instructed the broker to credit his account. It didn't amount to much anyway, and Chesser was a bit self-conscious about that. From there they went on to Hoplandstraat and Wildenstein's shop. Maren again preferred to wait in the car.

While Wildenstein got the diamond from his safe, Chesser tried to read the old cutter's expression. It said nothing. Wildenstein might as well have been going into the cupboard for a piece of candy. He brought the stone to the Diamondlite and offered Chesser the use of his loupe. An encouraging personal gesture, thought Chesser, who was surprised that his own hand wasn't trembling as he held the stone.

Chesser sighted through the loupe and the diamond hit him with its blaze. He'd never seen such brilliance. Even the slightest movement caused the stone to shoot out dazzling flares of rainbow hues. Actually, the stone itself had no color. It was clear as water, as only the very best diamonds are. It was oval shaped, and Chesser saw the table and facets of its crown were in perfect relation to its total depth. Its pavilion, the lower part of the stone, was also perfect. He turned the stone slowly and appraised its most extreme outer edges. If there was a cutting error, that was where it would be most evident—on the girdle. He saw that the edges there were smooth and symmetrical, as they should be. Wildenstein had truly lived up to his reputation.

“A beautiful make,” complimented Chesser, referring in the jargon of the industry to the diamond's correct proportions, its finish and polish and the symmetry of its facets.

“One hundred and seven point forty carats,” said Wildenstein.

Chesser continued sighting into the stone, hoping he wouldn't see any spoiling inclusions. He didn't. “It looks flawless,” he said.

“It is,” said Wildenstein, matter-of-fact.

Chesser straightened, relaxed the muscles around his eye and dropped the loupe into his right hand. Over a hundred carats flawless, his mind shouted. He felt like doing a tap dance. He felt like hugging Wildenstein. He felt like kissing that beautiful bearded old man. He restrained himself, and told him, “Congratulations.”

Wildenstein accepted that with a nod. He took the diamond and dropped it into a small, soft, woolen drawstring sack. He pulled the strings tight and knotted them once. He handed it over to Chesser. Official fulfillment of his obligation. He also gave Chesser a little brown envelope containing fragments left over from the cutting.

Chesser was so enthused over the large stone he'd forgotten the fragments. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars worth.

“Thanks,” said Chesser, genuinely grateful.

They shook hands.

Wildenstein almost smiled. “Don't worry,” was again his only and final advice.

Maren had the motor running. Chesser thought of suggesting they have a relaxing lunch some place there in Antwerp, but Maren couldn't get out of that city fast enough. She didn't stop until the third small town, where Chesser went into an ordinary bistro and got some Brie and sausage sandwiches and a bottle of chilled Chablis. To go.

They chewed and gulped straight from the bottle and sang Bacharach songs all the way to Ghent. It was the same road they'd come north on and the shortest way was to keep going farther south on it. But Maren turned off and headed across Flanders toward the coast.

Then they were on a road that offered more curves and Maren was relieved by that. Up to now she'd felt like no more than an engineer on an express train, but now she could use the gears some and feel integrated with the car and its course. Even when she took a curve a bit too fast and the car fish-tailed precariously, Chesser didn't complain. He was so elated that danger seemed a suitable accompaniment. All he could think of was how he had it made.

He had, right there in his pocket, one of the world's great diamonds. He'd pulled off a deal worth seven hundred thousand dollars profit. He had The System in a position where now they'd have to respect him and come up with bigger packets. And he had Maren, with her long Viking hair in the wind and her dependable passion for him. Life was beautiful, big, capital letter
B
.

He took out the soft woolen sack and removed the diamond. Held it up, and it converted the sunlight into vivid, energetic glints. He called Maren's attention to it.

“Pretty,” was all she said, inside a quick smile, and handed him her sunglasses with a request that he clean them for her.

In a short while they reached the coast. They bypassed Ostend and headed down by the North Sea, back into France again, past Dunkirk and Calais. The day was going and the damp air was chilling, but neither wanted to have the car's top up. They reached Montreuil-sur-Mer just before dark. They stayed in the best room of an expensive inn. For dinner they had platters of shellfish taken that day from the sea, and warm, fresh bread, and butter. Also some local cider that tasted much more innocent than it was.

Afterward, they didn't make love. They fell asleep thinking about it.

The next morning they were early enough for the first air ferry from Le Touquet. But the ticket clerk at Aeroport Paris-Plage informed Chesser no space was available on that first plane. What about the next one? No, there was nothing until one thirty that afternoon. Nothing? Nothing.

Chesser reported that to Maren.

She asked, “Did you wave money at him?”

“Of course,” Chesser lied.

She thought a moment and then left him with the car. In less than ten minutes she returned with tickets for the first flight. She let Chesser believe she'd easily corrupted the French ticket clerk. Actually, she hadn't even tried. Just by chance she'd found a pair of English hippies who were going home with their Mini Cooper only because they'd run out of money. They were delighted to exchange their places on the first flight for Maren's five hundred francs.

So the Ferrari was run up the nose ramp and into the belly of the transport. Maren and Chesser were in the passenger section, which seated only a dozen. The bulky plane lifted off and its frame seemed to twist under the strain of the turn it made to head toward England.

Back in the airport, there was a telephone call being made from a public booth to The System. Person-to-person to Coglin.

“He got on the first ferry, somehow.”

“So why the hell aren't you on it?” Coglin wanted to know.

“There weren't any more places. He got on at the last minute.”

“You're saying you've lost him?”

“Looks that way.”

“Get a private plane and pick him up again on this side.”

“Too late for that.”

“Well, no doubt he's headed for London anyway. We'll get onto him here. Was there anyone with him?”

“Just the girl.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“All right, come home.”

“I take it you received the photos.”

“They're a bit overexposed,” said Coglin with a chuckle.

In half an hour Maren and Chesser were through British customs and the Ferrari had been cleared. Maren reluctantly surrendered the driver's seat to Chesser, who asked her to keep reminding him to drive on the left. Maren noticed that now they were traveling over the sort of roads she preferred; narrow, snaking, challenging. But she had promised Chesser he could drive some of the way. She thought maybe in a few miles she'd talk him out of it. She smoked and sulked and watched the countryside. She read aloud a sign that amused her because it announced the way to Fukham. She hummed parts of various songs. She got the
I Ching
from her satchel and, using the back of the book for a surface, tossed the three five-franc pieces she'd brought for that purpose. But two of the coins rolled off and fell between the seats. She wasn't in the mood to retrieve them.

“Let me drive now,” she said. “Please.”

Chesser let up on the accelerator. He downshifted.

There was a blinking amber light on a tripod in the middle of the road. A warning. With ordinary caution he steered around the next bend and a short straightaway presented itself.

Apparently the road was being repaired. A line of blinking amber lights on tripods blocked the left lane. There were two men in fluorescent orange coveralls. One was signaling the Ferrari to stop. The amber lights were strung out all the way to the next bend.

Chesser figured traffic was probably being allowed to flow alternately in the right lane. But he didn't see any cars coming. He glanced over to Maren.

She was hunched forward, the
I Ching
book in her lap. She was staring straight ahead, as though her eyes were fixed on something unusual.

It never occurred to Chesser that anything was wrong. He merely looked to see whatever it was that had Maren's total attention. It was then he felt the sharp pain on the back of his shoulder. Like a hornet sting. And, immediately, a strange warmth flushed up to his scalp and down to his toes.

He tried to speak.

That was the first thing he found he couldn't do. His mind sent words to his throat but his throat wouldn't open and his tongue wouldn't work. He tried to bring his hand to his mouth but his hand disobeyed completely, remaining where it was. He couldn't turn his head. He couldn't move his legs. He couldn't even blink. His entire body was immobilized.