Uncommon Criminals (20 page)

A
s the sun rose over the small city-state of Monaco that Friday morning, it seemed to bring the gaze of the whole world with it. The streets and beaches were strewn with news trucks and foreign correspondents, reporters looking for a story. The headlines spoke of the ballroom and emeralds, of curses being broken and a beautiful young woman holding on to a cable for dear life.

But for all the stories being beamed around the world on that clear morning, not one mentioned a helicopter hovering near the windows of the presidential suite at Monaco’s ritziest hotel. There was no talk of teens rappelling down the side of the building. No holes had been blasted through its side or rescue missions mounted involving stolen maid uniforms, room service carts, and acetylene torches.

No, no one had tried to steal Kat Bishop. And when the sun came up, there was nothing more than a room service tray and clean change of clothes to show that anyone had remembered she was there at all.

It was just as well, Kat realized; she’d never considered herself the kind of girl who wanted to be rescued.

Or so she thought until the door to her small room opened and Maggie said, “Let’s go.”

For all the hours that Kat had spent trying to find a way inside the Prince’s Palace, there was one she’d never considered: be a hostage. She made a mental note not to rule that out in the future as she sat beside Maggie in the backseat of a Bentley, waiting for the guards to wave them through the gates that, three days before, the Bagshaws had been debating about the best way to blow up.

It had never occurred to her what else she might have to destroy to find a way inside.

“Where’s Uncle Eddie?”

“His work here is finished, Katarina. He has other obligations.”

Kat nodded and turned back to the window. “Paraguay,” she said with a sigh.

“I thought it was Uruguay,” Maggie said, then nodded as if it didn’t matter, because, in fact, it didn’t. “Before he left, your uncle gave me his word that this matter is over.”

“It is.” There was no lie in Kat’s voice when she said it. No angle. No con. “So how’s it feel to be so close to pulling it off? You’ve been chasing this for almost fifty years, Maggie. You’ve broken a lot of codes to get this far.” Kat looked at her squarely. “And hearts.”

“Oh, to be so young. So naive. If you haven’t noticed, darling, your uncle himself chose to help me. It was his idea to bring the Cleopatra, in fact—double the security, the notoriety. The risk.”

“Yeah. That was smart,” Kat agreed. “I think that’s exactly what I would have done.”

Maggie smiled. “Of course you would have, Katarina. You’re very good.”

“I am good,” Kat let herself agree. “But I’m not heartless.”

“Of course you are. Or you will be. Don’t worry about Charles and Edward, my dear. Your uncles and I know the truth”—she pulled on her gloves and stared through the window—“that love is the biggest con of all.”

Kat studied her across the backseat, sun streaming through the windows. Her skin was effervescent, glowing.

“
I’m not you
.”

Had Kat thought the words or had she said them? She wasn’t really sure, and didn’t really care. She would have been just as happy to shout it from the rooftops. “I won’t ever be like you.”

“Oh, really?” Maggie said.

“Yeah,” Kat said slowly, then turned to look out at the people who surrounded the walls. Some tourists. Some protestors carrying signs about artifacts and raiders and returning to Egypt the emeralds it had borne.

“I will never be heartless or greedy or…I’m not you,” Kat said again, the realization shining on her like the sun.

“Oh.” Maggie almost laughed. “And how are we so different?”

A thousand reasons flooded Kat’s mind, but there was only one that really mattered.

“Because I’m not in this alone.”

When the car eased forward, the crowd seemed to part, and Kat’s eyes found their focus on a single boy in a perfectly tailored suit, a long dark overcoat, and a felt hat she’d once seen in Uncle Eddie’s closet.

The gates swung smoothly open, royal guards waving them through, so Kat climbed onto her knees and watched Hale disappear through the back glass. She saw him smile, watched him tip his hat.

But the wink…it was the wink that said,
We’re on
.

K
atarina Bishop was not the first thief to ever see behind the walls at the Prince’s Palace. She looked at Maggie and reminded herself that she wasn’t the only thief behind them then.

The sounds of their footsteps echoed on the marble floor in the empty corridor. Maggie’s high heels sounded like gunfire, and Kat knew Maggie was done hiding, was finished lurking in dark shadows. This was the big job, the last job. Her face would be too well known for a long time after this. The story too infamous. If all went according to plan, Maggie would be leaving the Riviera in a few hours with a cashier’s check and the title of Greatest Living Con.

But she would never be Visily Romani.

So Kat focused on the footsteps. She could feel herself counting from the door.

Twenty-seven paces. Air shaft.

Thirteen steps, double doors.

Pass another corridor.

Ten steps.

Through another door.

Windows to the cliffs.

Five steps.

The blueprints were taking shape in her mind. She remembered everything until she heard the whirling sound of the elevator and Maggie snapping, “Katarina!” The woman grabbed her arm and pulled her through an open door. “Come,” was the order.

Kat had spent days wondering where the nerve center of palace security must be, and when she finally stepped into the room, she found it. Monitors covered three walls. There were live shots from all over the buildings and grounds. One screen flashed with crowd scenes, and Kat found herself looking for Hale’s dark coat and the telltale hat, but he was gone without a trace to show he’d been there at all.

“Madame Maggie, welcome,” LaFont said, rushing forward. “It is a fine day indeed, and—”

“Is this all of it?” Maggie snapped, looking around the room as if she had expected more.

Kat laughed; Maggie glared.

“That’s a Remington 760 security nerve center with the artificial intelligence chip and backup encryption. It’s what they use at Buckingham Palace,” Kat explained, then remembered where she was and who she was supposed to be, so she giggled. “Or so I heard.”

“This has facial recognition software?” Maggie asked.

“Of course!” Kat and the security head said at the same time, both sounding more than a little indignant.

Maggie slipped an arm around Kat’s shoulders and gripped tightly. Kat mouthed the words
I bruise
, but the pressure didn’t subside until Maggie handed the security head a small drive and he inserted it into the machine. Six familiar faces began to flash across the screen.

“They’re…kids,” the security head said, but Maggie seemed immune to that particular objection.

“Distribute hard copies to your men,” she ordered. “If you see any of these people, bring them immediately to me.”

The security head looked at Pierre LaFont as if he must be missing something, and he was. Kat knew it as soon as the monitors flickered. She thought of the whirling sound of the elevator, the size and scope of the ventilation shafts. And finally, the look on Hale’s face and the wink.

“Madame,” LaFont said. “Madame, Monsieur Kelly is here.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Maggie told the officers who filled the room. She turned back to the door and the auction and her future. She gripped Kat’s arm a little tighter. “Thank you very much indeed.”

There is a sensation that comes in the midst of any job. Walking down the halls between Maggie and LaFont, Kat felt it—a pulse, a charge. Goose bumps covered her arms as if a storm were blowing in, like she’d dragged her feet, touched a doorknob, felt a spark.

“What is it?” Maggie asked, spinning on her. “Why are you smiling?”

“You don’t feel it?” Kat asked. She kept her pace beside Maggie. “You will.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

But Maggie did not seem worried—not with Kat beside her and the guards at their backs.

Soon she was yelling, “Mr. Kelly!” her big booming voice breaking through the reverent silence of the hall.

Kat had seen the crowded foyer on the monitors, but the palace was large and like a maze, and she knew they were far away from the auction and the emerald—no one from Kat’s crew was going to hear the scream.

“We have ten minutes, Madame,” LaFont said.

“Thank you, Pierre.” Maggie’s gaze was steely as she stood staring at the pristine man from New York. “So tell me, Mr. Kelly, what can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I was under the impression that it was you who had asked to see me.”

“Not me, darlin’,” Maggie said, patting his arm. Despite everything, Kat had to admire the woman before her. The accent was spot-on, the word choice simply perfect.

Kelly, on the other hand, looked significantly less impressed. “I was told to meet you here ten minutes before the start of the auction.”

“I don’t know what to say, sweetie,” Maggie told him. “You must have me mistaken for some other about-to-be-filthierrich woman.” She gave a throaty laugh, but Kelly didn’t join in.

“Very well,” he said. “I suppose I will wish you luck.”

He was turning to leave when LaFont called, “Madame, His Royal Highness has asked for a moment of your time.”

Maggie started after LaFont, but then stopped suddenly and turned back to Kelly.

“You say someone told you to meet me here?” she asked the man who was reaching for the elevator call button.

“Yes,” Kelly said.

Maggie seemed to consider this just as the doors were sliding open. “Who?” she asked.

“That insurance man. I believe Knightsbury is his name.”

It only took a second for Maggie to recognize it—for the pieces to fall into place. But Kat had been right, it seemed. The Long Con never was truly long—just a few million moments strung together, and
that
moment was just long enough for Kat to jump into the elevator beside Oliver Kelly.

Long enough for her to call, “I’ll meet you at the auction, Aunt Maggie!”

Long enough for Maggie to curse and watch Kat disappear behind the sliding doors.

Oliver Kelly was not in the business of antiques. He didn’t pay his bills with old family paintings and Grandmother’s pearls. True, that was how it seemed to the world, but Kelly himself knew better. He was in the business of details. A name remembered. A card sent. A forgery noticed and weeded out before it could tarnish anything else that it might touch.

Still, standing in the small elevator, floating through the walls of the Prince’s Palace, it was easy to ignore the young girl who stood beside him. She was no doubt too poor to buy and she seemed too worthless to sell, so he kept his eyes on his own reflection in the mirrored doors.

When the elevator hesitated and rattled, Kelly punched frantically at the buttons. When the elevator froze, he pushed the buttons harder. Only the soft voice saying, “It won’t do any good,” reminded him—the king of details—that he was not in that small space alone.

There was a slight rattling overhead, and Kelly’s gaze flew upward. “It sounds like someone’s up there,” he said.

The girl laughed. “Maybe a ghost.” But Oliver Kelly saw nothing at all funny about the situation.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asked. “Don’t you believe in ghosts, Mr. Kelly?”

“That’s absurd.” He banged at the doors, “Hello! Hello, out there!”

But the girl didn’t seem the least bit panicked as she inched closer in the small space. “What about curses—do you believe in them?”

He punched the buttons again—all of them. The girl must have thought that was hilarious, because she laughed and leaned against the wall. There was a slight tilt to her head when she told him, “I thought you’d be more like your grandfather. He didn’t scare easily, did he?”

Only then did Kelly whirl on the girl beside him. “My grandfather was a brave man—a visionary.”

“A thief ?”

She said it so easily, with such little shame or disdain that he could have sworn he’d misheard her. She looked innocent enough, after all, leaning there with her hands resting against the rail at the small of her back.

“Pardon me?” Kelly asked.

“I don’t think I could do it—rob a tomb in the middle of the desert.…I mean, I know he didn’t go alone, but he would have kept the crew small. And it would have been hard…for an amateur…cleaning out the entire chamber in just a couple of days.”

“Young lady, you have no idea of what you speak.”

But the girl just laughed. She looked and sounded far older than she should have when she smiled and said, “Actually, I do.” The man turned back to the controls. “There should be a…” He let his voice trail off, still searching among the buttons and lights.

“They didn’t start putting telephones in elevators until 1972,” she told him flatly. “This is an Otis 420.” He stared at her. “Manufactured primarily in Europe in the forties.” She shook her head. “No phones.”

It was then that Oliver Kelly felt himself begin to panic. “Breathe, Mr. Kelly. It’s okay. I’m sure we’re fine. After all, it’s not like one of us is cursed.”

“The Cleopatra Emerald is not cursed !”

But the girl just smiled, as if she knew better. The look in her blue eyes said that she knew everything.

“He took it, didn’t he?” the girl asked while Kelly pulled at his tie. “What I can’t decide is if he joined the Millers’ expedition for the purpose of double-crossing them or if it was just dumb luck.”

“My grandfather was not dumb,” Kelly snarled.

“Of course he wasn’t.” The girl sounded so forthright, so sincere, it was almost easy to forget what she was saying. “If you ask me,” she added, “he was a genius.” The elevator rumbled but didn’t move. “That much treasure? It might have been the heist of the century.”

“Oliver Kelly was no common criminal!”

The girl smiled. “Who said anything about common?” She moved closer, taking more than half the space and air. “Just tell me this, thief’s kid to thief’s kid: he did it, didn’t he?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Kelly snarled, but the petite girl only moved closer.

“Oliver Kelly took that stone and built an empire from it.”

“My grandfather was—”

“A visionary. A pioneer. The man who went into that chamber while the Miller family slept, and claimed the Cleopatra Emerald.…” The girl pressed even closer, looked up into his eyes. “He was a thief, wasn’t he?”

Kelly seemed trapped inside the small space, a thousand thoughts crashing inside his mind as he looked at the girl who was nothing, and hissed,
“Of course he was.”

The elevator rumbled to life. The doors opened.

“Katarina?” The expression on Maggie’s face was part panic, part relief. She looked at Kat as if wondering what, if any, strings were attached. “You’re—”

“Here?” Kat finished for her. “Don’t worry, Maggie.” She turned and started for the doors. “There is no place that I would rather be.”

As one of the world’s best thieves, it was in Kat Bishop’s blood—not just her nature—to stay away from spotlights. But there was something fitting, she thought, about being at Maggie’s right hand while the woman moved down the center aisle to take her place in the small section of empty seats at the front of the crowded room.

No, Kat realized a second later. Not empty. Not quite.

A single boy sat alone, a guard standing nearby.

“Madame, your orders…” the guard started, but Maggie silenced him with a wave and took her seat in the front row, leaving Kat to slide in beside Hale.

“Are you here to rescue me?” she asked.

“Maybe.” He smiled.

She looked down at the plastic restraints that bound his wrists. “How’s that going?”

He nodded slowly. “I’m working through a few things.”

“Good.” Kat nodded and turned her gaze to the front of the room. “So long as there’s a plan.”

“Oh”—he gave a slow, easy grin—“there is one.”

Kat saw it all from her place at the front of the room—the way LaFont moved to the microphone, the nervous pacing of the auctioneer, who was standing by. The room was full of three hundred barely breathing people when the doors at the back squeaked open. Every head turned to see two more security guards appear, each holding a Bagshaw by the back of the neck (which might have been significantly less conspicuous had the Bagshaws not been dressed as chimney sweeps).

Kat turned back to Hale. “The Mary Poppins?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Oh. Yeah. Obviously. Just so we’re clear, this master plan of yours…”

“Might have a couple of kinks to work through,” Hale admitted, then reached for her hand. As soon as he touched her, Kat knew there was no such thing as curses. People make and break their own fortunes—they are the masters of their own fate. And right then Kat wouldn’t have changed a thing.

She kissed him, quick and feather soft.

“What was that for?” he asked.

Kat placed her fingers on his face and brought his forehead close to hers, touching as she whispered, “For luck.”

LaFont was already at the podium by the time Kat turned around. “Ladies and gentlemen,
mesdames et messieurs
.” He took the room in slowly. It was the greatest moment in his life, Kat knew. The crowning glory. The find of a lifetime.

It brought her no small amount of sadness to have to ruin it.

Just then, the side doors swung open. Two more guards appeared, one holding a laptop, the other with a firm grip on a very blushing Simon.

Maggie turned to Kat, smiling, but at the front of the room, LaFont talked on.

“Before we begin, due to the magnitude of this offering, we have conceded to hold one final authentication—here, before these witnesses—to verify that this is the famed and once-lost Antony Emerald.”

This was not news to any of the people in the room. In fact, the collectors and investors gathered were already quite familiar with the man from the Cairo Museum and the woman from India who was the most respected gemologist in the world. One by one, a half dozen experts were called and named, their credentials read, until the case with the green stone was finally opened.

Even though the stone had been officially authenticated before, the room still watched in rapt silence while the experts gathered around it for the purely ceremonial show.