House of Thieves (32 page)

“
You
robbed all those places?
You
stole the Blue Pharaoh Diamond?”

“Yes,” Cross said calmly.

Julia stood before her father, her mouth open in disbelief, her eyes fixed on the scarlet-and-green rug in the center of the parlor. Cross knew the words “this can't be true” were ringing through her mind.

George and Helen sat on the settee, while Nolan stood by the fireplace. The room was silent, save for the cheering of the crowds outside.

“You're a criminal?”

“Yes.”

“And I've helped him. So that makes me a criminal as well,” Helen said.

Julia turned to her mother, stunned. Her beauty and poise seemed so at odds with the word, with the very idea of a criminal. “But why would you do such a thing?”

“To save me,” George said gravely. “To keep me from getting killed for not paying my gambling debts.” He stood and took a few steps toward his sister but stopped.

“I had no choice, Julia,” Cross said.

Julia looked at her brother with withering disdain. “This is all about your gambling? Our lives are in jeopardy because of you? You've destroyed our family for a pack of cards!”

Agitated, she began to pace in circles around the parlor table. Then without warning, she ran to George and began to beat her fists on his chest. Gently, Nolan pulled her away and helped settle her in an armchair. Julia was sobbing uncontrollably. Through her tears, she spat out her words into the room.

“Our prim and proper society family isn't what it seems, is it? We're all just hiding in secret worlds where we escaped to be happy, away from that harsh Knickerbocker code. A code we had to obey even if we didn't believe in it. But we all decided that we didn't want to let it govern every second of our lives. For just a little while, we wanted to be free of it. What would Aunt Caroline say about us?”

Cross chuckled drily. “She'd drop dead from a heart attack.”

Revealing his life of crime to Julia was humiliating. At the same time, he was proud of her perceptiveness. She showed remarkable insight, especially for a seventeen-year-old.

“My father, mother, both my brothers—and me—we all lead double lives. We all fled the emotionally repressive world of our birth. Who could imagine such a thing?” Julia gave a wan smile, shaking her head.

George knelt in front of his sister. “You can't understand, Julia. I'm so ashamed of what I've done, but I can't help myself. I tried to repay the debt.” George had tears in his eyes. “Over and over, I tried to pay it.”

Julia swallowed her sobs and looked her brother squarely in the eyes. “I was at Cantwell's the day you lost ten thousand dollars. I saw you at the Yellow Dragon too, and at O'Malley's.”

George looked at his sister in shock.

“You could've walked away so easily every time,” Julia said, great scorn in her voice.

“That's what you don't understand. I couldn't. A sickness has hold of me.”

“What absolute nonsense.”

“I know it seems so, but until you've stood in my shoes, you can't understand what it's like. I'm
compelled
to do it. Like a sorcerer's spell.” George went to the window and stood, silhouetted against the pane. “There's no sense trying to explain it,” he said unhappily.

“You sicken me, George. It's one thing to destroy yourself. It's quite another to destroy your entire family! Because of you, we're all going to die, just like Uncle Robert. Charlie is only ten years old!”

“No one's going to die,” Cross said in a commanding voice. It was more of an order than a statement. “Not if we work together.”

• • •

“Oh my goodness, I'm so clumsy. Please forgive me.”

A light but steady rain was falling, and the pier at Twenty-Third Street was clogged with black umbrellas. A short, elegantly dressed gentleman tipped his top hat to Julia and smiled.

“It's so crowded here,” Julia said breathlessly.

“No problem at all, miss. What miserable weather for the unveiling.”

“It's awful—so damp and cold. I should be home in front of a big fire in my parlor, drinking hot chocolate,” Julia said, batting her eyelashes.

“I wish I was home right now, but I was invited and must go,” the man said.

“Try to stay warm, then,” Julia said, waving and skipping away. She saw the disappointment on the man's face. Clearly, he wanted nothing more than to stay and talk to a pretty girl.

Making her way through the crowd, she met up with Nolan about ten yards away. “Got it?” she asked.

Nolan pulled a blue card from his coat pocket. “You're an expert stall,” he said and smiled at her proudly. Though the confrontation with her family had left Julia solemn, even sullen, the compliment brought a smile to her face.

“I've been trained by a master,” she said.

He took her by the arm and ducked under her umbrella. Together, they wormed their way through the crowd. By the railing, they met Cross, Helen, and George. Looking around surreptitiously, Nolan quickly slipped Cross the blue invitation.

“Thanks, John. We're very grateful. Now we must be on our way,” Cross said, patting Nolan on the shoulder.

“Good luck, Mr. Cross. Be careful dealing with Kent. Even without his men, he's dangerous.” Cross saw the concern in the young man's face and was touched by it. “Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? I'd do it gladly,” Nolan added.

Shaking his head, Cross shook his hand, smiling.

Beside them, Julia grabbed the sleeve of George's black greatcoat. “I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it.”

“No, Julia. When people get angry with one another, they say exactly what they feel. Then, later, they say they didn't mean it because they feel guilty. You meant it…and you were right,” George said, hugging his sister and kissing her cheek.

Cross looked squarely into his daughter's face. He saw how worried she was. “I promise you, Julia, everything will be all right. I want to read a chapter of your book tonight. Have it ready for me, please.”

A gust of cold, damp air swept up the East River. Julia shivered and gave a weak wave, eyes fixed sadly on her parents and brother.

Bulling his way through the crowd, Cross led his wife and son to the gangplank, which was admitting passengers. It led up to a steamer that had been painted bright white with red trim for the special occasion. Its two funnels billowed forth thick, black smoke. Cross handed Helen the invitation. When they got to the foot of the gangplank, where a seaman was stationed, she waved it in front of his face.

“Here's my blue card. As you can see, I've brought an extra guest, my son. I hope you don't mind.” Helen gave the seaman her brightest, most charming smile.

“Ma'am, I ain't supposed to let but one guest on 'cause I—”

Helen moved closer, pouring on the charm. “It's just my son, and it's such a special day—you won't tell, will you?”

The seaman, who was no more than eighteen, broke into a shy smile and unhooked the chain barring the gangway.

As he watched the Crosses board, Nolan turned to Julia. “Your father's a brave man,” he said. “Not many fathers would have the courage to do what he's about to.”

Julia wrapped her arm around Nolan's waist and snuggled against him. Together, they watched the steamer cast off. The thought that she might never see her father, mother, or brother alive again lingered in Julia's mind, but with great determination, she drove it away.

• • •

Fully loaded, the
Indomitable
reached the tip of the Battery. Cross and George could see thousands of cheering people lining the sea wall. But a thick mist had settled over the bay, and the Statue of Liberty Enlightening the World could not be seen. There was only a ghostly procession of navy ships, tugboats, yachts, and steamers plying the lead-colored water and continuously blowing their steam whistles.

These ships comprised the two flotillas, which were sailing down the Hudson and East rivers through the constant drizzle and mist. To the east, Cross heard a blast of artillery fire from Governor's Island, which was apparently a signal for the naval men-of-war to fire a salute. This marked the entry of President Grover Cleveland's ship into the bay. The other vessels blew their whistles even more frantically, as if to make up for the fact that they didn't have cannons to fire. The deafening noise made Cross's ears ring, and he retreated to the stateroom, which was full of people and cigar smoke. Out of the tightly packed crowd came Helen, smiling nervously. Despite their strained circumstances, she looked ravishing in her long, navy-blue coat with white rabbit-fur collar and sleeves. The matching hat, adorned with a long feather, was particularly captivating. All the men stared, and all the women were jealous.

“Senator Evarts is giving a speech first. When he finishes, Bartholdi, the sculptor, will yank a cord to pull the veil from Liberty's face,” Helen said in a low voice. “Then President Cleveland will speak.”

The noise made it very hard to hear. Cross signaled that they should go out on deck. By the ship's rail, Helen continued. “Kent and the other guests are already on the grandstand, waiting for the president. They're on the seaward side of the pedestal. Remember, the unveiling happens the minute Evarts finishes his speech. That's our chance.”

“We must make sure we're the last to leave the ship. That will give us leave to work our way to the grandstand,” Cross said to George.

Helen gasped. Cross, in a panic, looked up and down the deck.

“No. Up there,” she pointed.

A V-shaped opening had formed in the heavy gray mist. Towering above them appeared the statue.

“Good God,” cried George. “It's incredible.”

Looking down at them was an enormous woman's head. She wore a spiked crown, and a portion of her raised arm and shoulder could be seen too. A tricolor veil hung from the crown, covering her eyes and nose and reminding Cross of veiled Arab women he'd seen in stereoscopic views of the Holy Land. The scale of the head was overwhelming. As a boy, Cross had read about the seven wonders of the ancient world. Among them was the Colossus of Rhodes, a gargantuan statue of a god straddling a harbor.
It
must
have
been
like
this
, Cross thought, mesmerized. They'd been erecting Liberty for a year; it had been finished in April, but it had been only a speck in the bay. Not until one got close up could its enormity be comprehended.

“I heard that the model was Bartholdi's mistress,” said George with a sly smile.

“It has to be at least a hundred and fifty feet tall,” Cross said. Hunt's pedestal, as tall as a four-story building, was beautiful in its own right, monumental without overpowering the statue. As the ship drew closer to Bedloe's Island, the presence of the copper-clad woman grew even more dramatic. All three Crosses stood, transfixed.

The
Indomitable
's engines rumbled into reverse, and it expertly nudged up alongside the pier on the south side of the island. Cheering broke out among the excited passengers, who started filing out onto the deck. The Crosses' attention snapped back to the task at hand. The passengers spilled down the gangplank like water rushing into a trough, and Helen joined them. Cross and George hung back. About a hundred yards away, on top of the star-shaped base of the statue and hard against the pedestal, they could see a large grandstand, filled to capacity. Beside it was an elevated platform draped with the American and French flags, where the main speakers would talk. Looming above was the pedestal and the colossus.

Despite the urgency of their situation, Cross couldn't take his eyes off the statue. The tricolor veil was soaked with rain and plastered to the woman's face, allowing her features to be seen distinctly. A cord attached to the veil threaded through one of the openings of the crown, and Cross saw three men looking out.

Cross and George stayed on the dock until the president and his party were almost to the grandstand. Cross had no idea where Helen might be. For the moment, it was unimportant. Exchanging looks with George, he and his son moved as one into the crowd.

They reached the left end of the structure and, for the first time, got a good look at the crowd. To Cross's disappointment, the guests were huddled under a sea of umbrellas, making it almost impossible to recognize individual faces.

“How the hell will we find him?” George whispered.

Cross was perplexed but said, “Follow me.”

He and George walked underneath the grandstand behind the speakers' platform. It was all an open-bleacher arrangement, they discovered.

“He'll be sitting in the back half,” said Cross. He took off his right glove and placed his hand on the pistol in his pocket. Nodding to one another, father and son split up. Each man slowly walked under the rows of seats, looking up at the backs of the spectators.

When the president was seated, the festivities began. The Reverend Dr. Richard Storrs delivered a mercifully short prayer. He was followed by the creator of the Suez Canal, the Frenchman Ferdinand de Lesseps, who also kept his comments to a minimum. Then the main speaker, Senator Evarts, took the stand. As he droned on, George and Cross kept searching for Kent. The rows were at least a hundred feet long. Up and down they went, peering up at the exposed lower backs of the spectators. Rain dripped down from everywhere. Finally George signaled to his father, pointing to a spot above him.

Cross followed his son's gaze and saw a polished ebony cane with a distinctive serpentine gold inlay coiling up its shaft. He looked at George and nodded.

“We have a few more minutes before the speech is over,” he whispered, still holding the pistol in his pocket.

Evarts was discussing the assistance rendered by France to America during the Revolution when he decided to take a pause. Two seconds later, a roar went up from the crowd. The senator turned and saw that, to his horror, the veil had been removed from Lady Liberty's face. Bartholdi, along with the builders of the statue, had thought the pause meant the long-winded speech was over. They had yanked the cord, pulling the veil off and up through the large openings in the brim of the crown. At the same time, ships in the bay blasted steam whistles and horns, and the men-of-war opened up continuous cannon fire with their big guns.

The din was even louder than before, more deafening than the eruption of an earthquake. Great columns of smoke rose from the ships, blending into the fog. The flames from their guns sent yellow and scarlet flashes into the dark gray mist.

Cross was dumbfounded by the explosion of sound. It was supposed to provide cover for his pistol shot, but he was completely caught off guard. Pulling out his weapon, he fumbled and dropped it on the wet grass. He tried to pick it up but dropped it again. When he finally gained control, he hurriedly raised the pistol to take aim at Kent's back. But the crowd had gone wild with excitement and was rising to its feet. As Cross pulled the trigger, Kent stood too. The bullet whistled through the right leg of Kent's dark gray trousers and ripped a hole in the umbrella of a man directly in front of him. Though the report was drowned out by the racket, Kent instantly realized what had happened. He looked down and, through the grandstand, saw Cross and George gaping up at him. Then he bolted to the left.

Cross gave his son a panicked look and ran in the same direction, trying to catch a glimpse of the fleeing figure. Dropping his umbrella, Kent shoved past the people in his row. At the end of the grandstand, he jumped, taking a long fall to the sodden grass.

Just twenty feet ahead, Cross saw a figure drop to the ground, roll, and take off running, his top hat falling from his head. The speed with which Kent could run surprised him. In a second, the man had disappeared around the corner of the pedestal. Cross had no idea where he was headed; the island was basically barren, and the only wooded area was hundreds of yards away.

George shot past his father, just glimpsing Kent's leg as it flashed around the northeastern corner of the pedestal. He followed and saw Kent slip in the entry on the north side. Panting, George waited for his father to catch up.

“He's gone inside,” he said to Cross, who was also gasping for breath, his chest heaving like a bellows.

“There're entries on all four sides of the pedestal. He'll probably try to go out another one and make a break for the pier,” Cross said.

“We have to go in and see,” said George.

They entered the base, but Kent was nowhere to be seen. Three men in cutaway coats and top hats came down a stairway and walked past with quizzical looks on their faces.

“He could be down here, hiding. You look around. I'll take the stairs. Meet me on the upper level,” Cross said. George ran off, and Cross began to climb. The pedestal contained one straight-run iron stair with intermediate landings. At each one, Cross had to stop and catch his breath. Finally, he came to the spiral stair in the statue itself and pulled out his pistol.

As he climbed, he observed its inner structure: it reminded Cross of a huge oil derrick supporting an intricate iron armature. The spiral stairway was dimly lit with electric bulbs that cast spooky shadows on the copper folds of the statue's toga.

He must have traversed more than a hundred steps before he realized the climb was a waste of time. Natural light was filtering down to him from above, however, and his curiosity got the better of him. Instead of turning back, Cross continued on. The closer he got to the top, the more light flooded the stair. He was a dozen steps from the platform on the crown. It was a relief to enter a bright, wide-open space after going around and around in the cramped dark. He could rest there before going down. Perhaps he might even spot Kent, running to the pier.

When he finally reached the iron-plate platform, his eyes were immediately drawn to the big, windowless openings that lined the brim of the statue's crown. As the dark gray mist swirled in front of them, damp wind blew through the five-foot-high gaps with unexpected force. Cross ran up the last few steps of the spiral stair, rushed to one of them, and leaned out. It was an exhilarating feeling to be up so high and feel the cold breeze on his face. The bay was still enveloped in a pea soup of fog, but he could see the ceremony going on directly below him. The people looked like ants. Cross braced his arms on the sides of the opening and stretched his body out as far as it could go. The sensation was incredible.

“So good to see you again, Mr. Cross. I understand that we have business to discuss,” said a voice from the shadows.

Cross was so startled that he cried out. He felt like he might faint and pitch through the opening.

Kent stepped into the light. Dressed in a black sable coat, he was twirling his cane and smiling. “I see that you've come today to dissolve our partnership. What a coincidence. I had the same idea.” He drew the long, thin saber from his cane and started walking toward Cross, who staggered away from the opening. “I'll be sorry to see you go,” he added. “We've had a very lucrative run.”

Before Cross could reach for his pistol, Kent lunged forward and stabbed him in his left shoulder. He moved with the finesse of a Prussian swordsman. Cross watched in amazement as blood trickled onto the front of his greatcoat. He stumbled backward and fell to the platform on top of the wet tricolor that had been yanked off the statue.

“That's a very handsome coat you have on. I didn't realize it was so thick,” Kent said. He raised the blade with both hands above his head, ready for the final thrust. Cross looked at him, accepting the inevitable.

As the blade commenced its downward arc, Cross bent his head, but then from the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of arms grab Kent's ankles and yank them out from under him. He fell flat on his face on top of Cross, who twisted his body to see George's head sticking out of the spiral stairway opening at the level of the platform. It almost looked like a decapitated head sitting on the floor. George clambered up the rest of the iron steps, but at the last instant, he stumbled, giving Kent time to stand up and raise the blade. As George advanced, Kent slashed him on the forehead, just above his left eyebrow. Stunned, George brought his hand to his forehead. His palm came away red.

Seeing the blood on his hand had the effect of setting a match to kerosene. George exploded with rage. He charged Kent, ramming his shoulder into his midsection as if he were tackling a football runner. Kent didn't have time to raise the blade again, and the sheer force of George's rush slammed into him, sending Kent's body out one of the tall openings that surrounded the crown. At the last second, George grabbed the side of the opening, preventing himself from falling out.

In shock, he watched as Kent plummeted through the air. Screaming, the criminal mastermind flailed his arms and legs wildly in panic until his body slammed down onto the statue's left shoulder, where the sculpted copper clasp fastened the woman's outer cloak.

Cross ran up to the adjacent opening and leaned out. Kent's lifeless body rested faceup on the shoulder of the statue. He lay with his head pointing downward, precariously perched on the raised clasp. The fall had plainly broken his back and neck. Kent's eyes stared sightlessly into the cloudy sky. The body slid a few inches downward, but the large metal fold of the cloak stopped it from falling any further.

Cold rainy wind sprayed their faces. Cross leaned farther out and saw that Kent's body was positioned directly above the ceremony. Someone, probably President Cleveland, was speaking at the podium. The steam whistles of the boats in the bay could still be heard in the distance.

Cross pulled his son back through the opening. Blood was dripping into George's eye and running down his cheek.

“We have to get down from here, George. If Kent slides off and falls on top of the guests, people are going to come running up here. They'll be asking questions we don't want to answer.”

George pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. Looking down, he saw Kent's body slide a few more inches on the wet, slippery copper.

“Let's get the hell out of here,” he said.

They began a mad dash down the spiral stair, their heavy footsteps echoing off the inside face of the copper cladding. Cross was dizzy from going around and around so many times. When he got to the bottom, he had to pause and steady himself. George grabbed him by the sleeve and led him down the stair in the pedestal. At every step, they expected to meet policemen or soldiers coming up the stairs. But there was no one.

When they finally reached ground level, Cross thought his lungs were going to explode like overfilled balloons. When George tried to drag him along, he shook him off.

“We have to get back to the pier,” George yelled. He took hold of the collar of his father's coat and yanked him along. In less than a minute, they were outside the pedestal's north entry. Still, there was no one about. They made a wide circle to the south, avoiding the ongoing ceremony by walking out of sight below the base, keeping their eyes glued to the left shoulder of the statue. Cross could have sworn that the body had moved again.

When they approached the pier, they were surprised to find Helen waiting. In all the excitement, they'd forgotten about her. She beckoned to them, and they ran down the pier to meet her.

“There's a private launch leaving right now. I told them my husband took ill, and they said they'd give us a ride back to Manhattan,” she said in a commanding voice.

As one, George and Cross embraced her.

“It's over, Helen. Everything will be all right,” Cross whispered. He was sobbing.

Helen looked into her husband's eyes and caressed his cheek. He smiled at her.

“You were so brave, my dear,” he said tenderly. He took her in his arms and hugged her. Then she turned and gave George a long, tight hug too.

The launch slowly chugged across the water, threading its way through the maze of steamers, yachts, tugboats, and navy vessels in the foggy bay. Huddled together on a bench in the little foredeck, Cross wrapped his arms around Helen and held her close, nuzzling her sweet-smelling hair. After a few minutes, he rose and approached the pilot at the wheel of the launch.

“May I use your spyglass?” he asked.

“Of course, sir. That Liberty statue is a grand sight, isn't she?” asked the pilot, a rotund and swarthy Italian.

“She is indeed,” Cross said.

Through the glass, he saw that Kent's lifeless body still lay on the shoulder of the statue.