When Tracy had locked the door behind her, she took off the tight-fitting blond wig and massaged her scalp. The baroness persona was one of her best. There were hundreds of titles to choose from in Debrett's Peerage and Baronetage and Almanach de Gotha. There were ladies and duchesses and princesses and baronesses and countesses by the score from two dozen countries, and the books were invaluable to Tracy, for they gave family histories dating back centuries, with the names of fathers and mothers and children, schools and houses, and addresses of family residences. It was a simple matter to select a prominent family and become a distant cousin--particularly a wealthy distant cousin. People were so impressed by titles and money.
Tracy thought of the stranger who had bumped into her in the hotel lobby and smiled. It had begun.
At 8:00 that evening the Baroness Marguerite de Chantilly was seated in the hotel's bar when the man who had collided with her earlier approached her table.
"Excuse me," he said diffidently, "but I must apologize again for my inexcusable clumsiness this afternoon."
Tracy gave him a gracious smile. "That's quite all right. It was an accident."
"You are most kind." He hesitated. "I would feel much better if you would permit me to buy you a drink."
"Oui. If you wish."
He slid into a chair opposite her. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Adolf Zuckerman."
"Marguerite de Chantilly."
Zuckerman signaled the captain. "What are you drinking?" Zuckerman asked Tracy.
"Champagne. But perhaps--"
He raised a reassuring hand. "I can afford it. In fact, I am on the verge of being able to afford anything in the world."
"Really?" Tracy gave him a small smile. "How nice for you."
"Yes."
Zuckerman ordered a bottle of Bollinger, then turned to Tracy. "The most extraordinary thing has happened to me. I really should not be discussing this with a stranger, but it is too exciting to keep to myself." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "To tell you the truth, I am a simple school-teacher--or I was, until recently. I teach history. It is most enjoyable, you understand, but not too exciting."
She listened, a look of polite interest on her face.
"That is to say, it was not exciting until a few months ago."
"May I ask what happened a few months ago, Professor Zuckerman?"
"I was doing research on the Spanish Armada, looking for odd bits and pieces that might make the subject more interesting for my students, and in the archives of the local museum, I came across an old document that had somehow gotten mixed in with other papers. It gave the details of a secret expedition that Prince Philip sent out in 1588. One of the ships, loaded with gold bullion, was supposed to have sunk in a storm and vanished without a trace."
Tracy looked at him thoughtfully. "Supposed to have sunk?"
"Exactly. But according to these records, the captain and crew deliberately sank the ship in a deserted cove, planning to come back later and retrieve the treasure, but they were attacked and killed by pirates before they could return. The document survived only because none of the sailors on the pirate ship could read or write. They did not know the significance of what they had." His voice was trembling with excitement. "Now"--he lowered his voice and looked around to make sure it was safe to continue--"I have the document, with detailed instructions on how to get to the treasure."
"What a fortunate discovery for you, Professor." There was a note of admiration in her voice.
"That gold bullion is probably worth fifty million dollars today," Zuckerman said. "All I have to do is bring it up."
"What's stopping you?"
He gave an embarrassed shrug. "Money. I must outfit a ship to bring the treasure to the surface."
"I see. How much would that cost?"
"A hundred thousand dollars. I must confess, I did something extremely foolish. I took twenty thousand dollars--my life's savings--and I came to Biarritz to gamble at the casino, hoping to win enough to..." His voice trailed off.
"And you lost it."
He nodded. Tracy saw the glint of tears behind his spectacles.
The champagne arrived, and the captain popped the cork and poured the golden liquid into their glasses.
"Bonne chance," Tracy toasted.
"Thank you."
They sipped their drinks in contemplative silence.
"Please forgive me for boring you with all this," Zuckerman said. "I should not be telling a beautiful lady my troubles."
"But I find your story fascinating," she assured him. "You are sure the gold is there, oui?"
"Beyond a shadow of a doubt. I have the original shipping orders and a map drawn by the captain, himself. I know the exact location of the treasure."
She was studying him with a thoughtful expression on her face. "But you need a hundred thousand dollars?"
Zuckerman chuckled ruefully. "Yes. For a treasure worth fifty million." He took another sip of his drink.
"C'est possible..." She stopped.
"What?"
"Have you considered taking in a partner?"
He looked at her in surprise. "A partner? No. I planned to do this alone. But of course now that I've lost my money..." His voice trailed off again.
"Professor Zuckerman, suppose I were to give you the hundred thousand dollars?"
He shook his head. "Absolutely not, Baroness. I could not permit that. You might lose your money."
"But if you're sure the treasure is there--?"
"Oh, of that I am positive. But a hundred things could go wrong. There are no guarantees."
"In life, there are few guarantees. Your problem is tres interessant. Perhaps if I help you solve it, it could be lucrative for both of us."
"No, I could never forgive myself if by any remote chance you should lose your money."
"I can afford it," she assured him. "And I would stand to make a great deal on my investment, n'est-ce pas?"
"Of course, there is that side of it," Zuckerman admitted. He sat there weighing the matter, obviously torn with doubts. Finally, he said, "If that is what you wish, you will be a fifty-fifty partner."
She smiled, pleased. "D'accord. I accept."
The professor added quickly, "After expenses, of course."
"Naturellement. How soon can we get started?"
"Immediately." The professor was charged with a sudden vitality. "I have already found the boat I want to use. It has modern dredging equipment and a crew of four. Of course, we will have to give them a small percentage of whatever we bring up."
"Bien sur."
"We should get started as quickly as possible, or we might lose the boat."
"I can have the money for you in five days."
"Wonderful!" Zuckerman exclaimed. "That will give me time to make all the preparations. Ah, this was a fortuitous meeting for both of us, was it not?"
"Oui. Sans doute."
"To our adventure." The professor raised his glass.
Tracy raised hers and toasted, "May it prove to be as profitable as I feel it will be."
They clinked glasses. Tracy looked across the room and froze. At a table in the far corner was Jeff Stevens, watching her with an amused smile on his face. With him was an attractive woman ablaze with jewels.
Jeff nodded to Tracy, and she smiled, remembering how she had last seen him outside the De Matigny estate, with that silly dog beside him. That was one for me, Tracy thought happily.
"So, if you will excuse me," Zuckerman was saying, "I have much to do. I will be in touch with you." Tracy graciously extended her hand, and he kissed it and departed.
"I see your friend has deserted you, and I can't imagine why. You look absolutely terrific as a blonde."
Tracy glanced up. Jeff was standing beside her table. He sat down in the chair Adolf Zuckerman had occupied a few minutes earlier.
"Congratulations," Jeff said. "The De Matigny caper was ingenious. Very neat."
"Coming from you, that's high
praise, Jeff."
"You're costing me a lot of money, Tracy."
"You'll get used to it."
He toyed with the glass in front of him. "What did Professor Zuckerman want?"
"Oh, you know him?"
"You might say that."
"He...er...just wanted to have a drink."
"And tell you all about his sunken treasure?"
Tracy was suddenly wary. "How do you know about that?"
Jeff looked at her in surprise. "Don't tell me you fell for it? It's the oldest con game in the world."
"Not this time."
"You mean you believed him?"
Tracy said stiffly, "I'm not at liberty to discuss it, but the professor happens to have some inside information."
Jeff shook his head in disbelief. "Tracy, he's trying to take you. How much did he ask you to invest in his sunken treasure?"
"Never mind," Tracy said primly. "It's my money and my business."
Jeff shrugged. "Right. Just don't say old Jeff didn't try to warn you."
"It couldn't be that you're interested in that gold for yourself, could it?"
He threw up his hands in mock despair. "Why are you always so suspicious of me?"
"It's simple," Tracy replied. "I don't trust you. Who was the woman you were with?" She instantly wished she could have withdrawn the question.
"Suzanne? A friend."
"Rich, of course."
Jeff gave her a lazy smile. "As a matter of fact, I think she does have a bit of money. If you'd like to join us for luncheon tomorrow, the chef on her two-hundred-fifty-foot yacht in the harbor makes a--"
"Thank you. I wouldn't dream of interfering with your lunch. What are you selling her?"
"That's personal."
"I'm sure it is." It came out harsher than she had intended.
Tracy studied him over the rim of her glass. He really was too damned attractive. He had clean, regular features, beautiful gray eyes with long lashes, and the heart of a snake. A very intelligent snake.
"Have you ever thought of going into a legitimate business?" Tracy asked. "You'd probably be very successful."
Jeff looked shocked. "What? And give up all this? You must be joking!"
"Have you always been a con artist?"
"Con artist? I'm an entrepreneur," he said reprovingly.
"How did you become a--an--entrepreneur?"
"I ran away from home when I was fourteen and joined a carnival."
"At fourteen?" It was the first glimpse Tracy had had into what lay beneath the sophisticated, charming veneer.
"It was good for me--I learned to cope. When that wonderful war in Vietnam came along, I joined up as a Green Beret and got an advanced education. I think the main thing I learned was that that war was the biggest con of all. Compared to that, you and I are amateurs." He changed the subject abruptly. "Do you like pelota?"
"If you're selling it, no thank you."
"It's a game, a variation of jai alai. I have two tickets for tonight, and Suzanne can't make it. Would you like to go?"
Tracy found herself saying yes.
They dined at a little restaurant in the town square, where they had a local wine and confit de canard a I'ail--roast duck simmered in its own juices with roasted potatoes and garlic. It was delicious.
"The specialty of the house," Jeff informed Tracy.
They discussed politics and books and travel, and Tracy found Jeff surprisingly knowledgeable.
"When you're on your own at fourteen," Jeff told her, "you pick up things fast. First you learn what motivates you, then you learn what motivates other people. A con game is similar to ju jitsu. In ju jitsu you use your opponent's strength to win. In a con game, you use his greed. You make the first move, and he does the rest of your work for you."
Tracy smiled, wondering if Jeff had any idea how much alike they were. She enjoyed being with him, but she was sure that given the opportunity, he would not hesitate to double-cross her. He was a man to be careful of, and that she intended to be.
The fronton where pelota was played was a large outdoor arena the size of a football field, high in the hills of Biarritz. There were huge green concrete backboards at either end of the court, and a playing area in the center, with four tiers of stone benches on both sides of the field. At dusk, floodlights were turned on. When Tracy and Jeff arrived, the stands were almost full, crowded with fans, as the two teams went into action.
Members of each team took turns slamming the ball into the concrete wall and catching it on the rebound in their cestas, the long, narrow baskets strapped to their arms. Pelota was a fast, dangerous game.
When one of the players missed the ball, the crowd screamed.
"They really take this very seriously," Tracy commented.
"A lot of money is bet on these games. The Basques are a gambling race."
As spectators kept filing in, the benches became more crowded, and Tracy found herself being pressed against Jeff. If he was aware of her body against his, he gave no sign of it.
The pace and ferocity of the game seemed to intensify as the minutes passed, and the screams of the fans kept echoing through the night.
"Is it as dangerous as it looks?" Tracy asked.
"Baroness, that ball travels through the air at almost a hundred miles an hour. If you get hit in the head, you're dead. But it's rare for a player to miss." He patted her hand absently, his eyes glued to the action.
The players were experts, moving gracefully, in perfect control. But in the middle of the game, without warning, one of the players hurled the ball at the backboard at the wrong angle, and the lethal ball came hurtling straight toward the bench where Tracy and Jeff sat. The spectators scrambled for cover. Jeff grabbed Tracy and shoved her to the ground, his body covering hers. They heard the sound of the ball sailing directly over their heads and smashing into the side wall. Tracy lay on the ground, feeling the hardness of Jeff's body. His face was very close to hers.
He held her a moment, then lifted himself up and pulled her to her feet. There was a sudden awkwardness between them.
"I--I think I've had enough excitement for one evening," Tracy said. "I'd like to go back to the hotel, please."
They said good-night in the lobby.
"I enjoyed this evening," Tracy told Jeff. She meant it.
"Tracy, you're not really going ahead with Zuckerman's crazy sunken-treasure scheme, are you?"
"Yes, I am."
He studied her for a long moment "You still think I'm after that gold, don't you?"
She looked him in the eye. "Aren't you?"
His expression hardened. "Good luck "
"Good night, Jeff."
Tracy watched him turn and walk out of the hotel. She supposed he was on his way to see Suzanne. Poor woman.
The concierge said, "Ah, good evening, Baroness. There is a message for you."
It was from Professor Zuckerman.
Adolf Zuckerman had a problem. A very large problem. He was seated in the office of Armand Grangier, and Zuckerman was so terrified of what was happening that he discovered he had wet his pants. Grangier was the owner of an illegal private casino located in an elegant private villa at 123 Rue de Frias. It made no difference to Grangier whether the Casino Municipal was closed or not, for the club at Rue de Frias was always filled with wealthy patrons. Unlike the government-supervised casinos, bets there were unlimited, and that was where the high rollers came to play roulette, chemin de fer, and craps. Grangier's customers included Arab princes, English nobility, Oriental businessmen, African heads of state. Scantily clad young ladies circulated around the room taking orders for complimentary champagne and whiskey, for Armand Grangier had learned long before that, more than any other class of people, the rich appreciated getting something for nothing. Grangier could afford to give drinks away. His roulette wheels and his card games were rigged.
The club was usually filled with beautiful young women escorted by older gentlemen with money, and sooner or later
the women were drawn to Grangier. He was a miniature of a man, with perfect features, liquid brown eyes, and a soft, sensual mouth. He stood five feet four inches, and the combination of his looks and his small stature drew women like a magnet. Grangier treated each one with feigned admiration.
"I find you irresistible, cherie, but unfortunately for both of us, I am madly in love with someone."
And it was true. Of course, that someone changed from week to week, for in Biarritz there was an endless supply of beautiful young men, and Armand Grangier gave each one his brief place in the sun.
Grangier's connections with the underworld and the police were powerful enough for him to maintain his casino. He had worked his way up from being a ticket runner for the mob to running drugs, and finally, to ruling his own little fiefdom in Biarritz; those who opposed him found out too late how deadly the little man could be.
Now Adolf Zuckerman was being cross-examined by Armand Grangier.
"Tell me more about this baroness you talked into the sunken-treasure scheme."
From the furious tone of his voice, Zuckerman knew that something was wrong, terribly wrong.
He swallowed and said, "Well, she's a widow whose husband left her a lot of money, and she said she's going to come up with a hundred thousand dollars." The sound of his own voice gave him confidence to go on: "Once we get the money, of course, we'll tell her that the salvage ship had an accident and that we need another fifty thousand. Then it'll be another hundred thousand, and--you know--just like always."
He saw the look of contempt on Armand Grangier's face. "What's--what's the problem, chief?"
"The problem," said Grangier in a steely tone, "is that I just received a call from one of my boys in Paris. He forged a passport for your baroness. Her name is Tracy Whitney, and she's an American."
Zuckerman's mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips. "She--she really seemed interested, chief."
"Balle! Conneau! She's a con artist. You tried to pull a swindle on a swindler!"
"Then w-why did she say yes? Why didn't she just turn it down?"
Armand Grangier's voice was icy. "I don't know, Professor, but I intend to find out. And when I do, I'm sending the lady for a swim in the bay. Nobody can make a fool out of Armand Grangier. Now, pick up that phone. Tell her a friend of yours has offered to put up half the money, and that I'm on my way over to see her. Do you think you can handle that?"