Claim the Crown

by Carla Neggers

  One thousand three, one thousand four...

  “I’ll get hypothermia and freeze to death like one of Ashley’s stranded dolphins. Maybe they’ll do an autopsy on me right here, like they do the dolphins. Oh, Ash…where the hell are you?”

  One thousand five, one thousand six...

  “Don’t be such a simp.” He tried to straighten up. “Sarah’ll figure things out—unless she’s in cahoots with her old man, the bastard.” He yelled into the sky. “The hell with you, Balaton! Bastard! Son of a bitch!”

  One thousand seven, one thousand eight...

  * * *

  Lillian cried out, tripping, when she heard the shots. “Please God, don’t let me be too late.”

  The shots had been fired near her...just ahead, near the dock. She had to get there. She had to stop them from killing each other.

  Then abruptly her pace slowed, and sucking in deep lungfuls of the cold air and feeling her legs wobble, she appraised the situation with the clear eye of an experienced reporter. What could a small, unarmed terrified middle-aged woman do? They had guns. Perhaps someone already lay dead.

  Who?

  She had to know.

  In her breakneck run, the hood of her poncho had dropped back off her head, and now her hair was soaked and rain ran in streams down her back. Good God, I’m cold.

  “And you’re a coward, too,” she said aloud.

  She kicked a rock loose and grabbed it, brushing off some little slimy creature that clung to its bottom, and she pressed on.

  The path opened up into a small clearing, and there was the dock with Crockett’s Chris-Craft racer tied up to it. Looking around, alert, Lillian edged into the clearing. Just beyond the dock was a picturesque point where she and Judith, as happy-go-lucky teenagers, used to sit and talk about boys and careers and children and death. A tall hemlock stood above a bank of jagged rocks, where the surf crashed wildly. On the opposite side of the point, she knew, was a cliff with a dramatic panoramic view and a sheer, treacherous drop.

  Holding her rock tightly, Lillian slipped along the perimeter of the clearing, past the dock. She hated to leave the protection of the woods, but to get onto the point, she had to cross a patch of low-lying bushes and head up a rocky, sandy slope to the hemlock.

  She held her breath and walked with purpose, daring anybody to shoot her.

  No one did.

  The rain was tapering off as she stood at the hemlock and looked around.

  And saw them.

  They were on the very tip of the point, among the rocks and blueberry bushes, exposed to the bitter wind off the ocean. MacGregor Stevens and the man called Bartholomew Wakefield. Bare chested and ashen faced, the farmer was half reclining against a boulder. Mac lay in his lap.

  Neither was moving.

  She knelt beside them and saw the blood that had seeped into Mac’s shirt and the blood all over the farmer’s arm...and everywhere.

  “Oh, God,” Lillian croaked, kneeling. “I’m too late.”

  “No.” The farmer’s eyes opened, and she saw the warm brown eyes of the man behind the confessional screen in Budapest, the only man she had ever truly loved. They focused on her. “We’re alive.”

  His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, but seeing her seemed to give him strength. He started to move, but Mac was a heavy weight on him. Lillian saw now that the farmer, Barky, had taken off his own shirt and stuffed it under Mac’s shirt to staunch the bleeding. She held back tears as she peeled off her poncho and covered Mac. Together they managed to get him off Barky, and laid him gently on the ground. Lillian tore off her sweater and wrapped it around his head, so just his mouth and nose were exposed.

  “The bleeding has stopped,” Barky said.

  “I’ll have to leave...call for the Coast Guard for help, paramedics.”

  Barky grabbed her hand. “Ashley...David... where are they?”

  “A plane just landed. I assume it’s Ashley. And David...David’s missing. Andrew picked him up in Southwest Harbor. I see the boat...”

  “David isn’t with him.”

  “Oh, God.”

  Barky nodded, knowing now. “David is his leverage.”

  Laboriously, agonizingly, Barky climbed to his feet. Lillian offered her shoulder, but he refused. “Get your MacGregor Stevens to the hospital. He knows he has made a terrible mistake. He’ll need you.”

  “You’ll both go to the hospital,” she said, her voice cracking as she fought tears. She hadn’t cried thirty years ago; she wouldn’t cry now.

  “No.”

  And not looking at her, the stout old man hobbled unsteadily down to the woods.

  Lillian stumbled toward him. “You’ll never make it.”

  “I must stop József Major from killing Ashley and David.”

  “Killing them? But why—”

  “Because that is how he thinks. For him, to be afraid is intolerable. And he’s never been more afraid than now.” He gave her a steely look. “You should never have listened to Judith.”

  “Let me go with you.”

  He had turned his brown, naked back to her. “Stay with Stevens. He needs you now more than I do. I’ll call the Coast Guard. Wait with him. Keep him warm.”

  If not for Mac, she’d have gone after him, made him stop her. But Mac needed her. This time, she couldn’t just leave him to his fate.

  She knelt back down beside him, and took him into her lap—he was so heavy—and held him, sheltering him from the wind and cold. “You should never have listened to Judith.” But how was she to have known?

  * * *

  The letter had come to Lillian Parker in New York, where she had her first job, behind the scenes, in television. In it, Judith Land explained exactly what she wanted her best friend—her only friend, she wrote—to do for her. And she would never, never, never ask another thing of Lillian.

  Judith had had five million dollars in gold and stocks transferred to an account in Lillian’s name. She wanted her friend to go to Switzerland, to Piccard Cie in Geneva, and open up an account in the names of Ashley and David Wakefield.

  A Liechtenstein trust.

  In addition, she was to go to Judith’s New York attorneys and they would give her access to a safe-deposit box. In the box were the hand and footprints of Ashley and David Wakefield and, she wrote, the Balaton jewels. Lillian was to put the jewels in the vaults at Piccard Cie, with instructions for the box to be opened on the same day as they were to become beneficiaries of the Liechtenstein trust...on July 14, 1982.

  It seemed such a long time off. But that was Judith—secretive, impulsive, melodramatic. “I’m sure it will all come to nothing,” she wrote. “But please do it. Please, please, please.”

  And Lillian had.

  Two weeks later, when Judith Land was trampled by a horse on her father’s ranch and there was no mention of any surviving twins, any babies, Lillian Parker told herself that Judith’s babies must have died.

  There were no Ashley and David Wakefield. The Swiss would do whatever they did when beneficiaries couldn’t be located, and that would be that.

  35

  Jeremy spotted Lillian Parker out on the windswept point, and he shot ahead of Ashley, moving faster, yelling, “Mac!”

  Tripping on the wet ground as she looked around in panic for her brother and uncle, Ashley ran after him. He had squatted beside Mac and was taking off his sweater, handing it to Lillian, who eschewed it for herself and instead covered Mac. His face was ashen, but he was breathing steadily. Lillian’s lips were blue and she shivered uncontrollably as in rapid phrases she tried to tell them what had happened. They got the idea.

  “David wasn’t with Balaton?” Ashley repeated breathlessly, forming a question to which she already knew the answer. “Then where the hell is he?”

  Lillian closed her eyes, and Ashley could see the tears squeezing out the corners. “Your uncle said your brother was leverage.”

  Ashley straightened up. Coupled with everything else she now
knew or suspected, it made sense. “Balaton will exchange David’s life for the rest of the Balaton jewels.”

  Lillian gave up any attempt at stoicism and began to cry softly.

  “He has a broken leg,” Ashley went on, thinking out loud. “Balaton wouldn’t be able to drag him along with him. He had to stick him someplace he knows David won’t be able to get help or have someone stumble on him. He...”

  “Jude’s Paradise,” Lillian was saying.

  Ashley stiffened. “Of course.”

  Jeremy stared at both women. “In this weather? He’s been out there hours already. What kind of madman is Balaton?”

  “A frightened one,” Lillian said hopelessly.

  “We’ll call the Coast Guard,” Jeremy said.

  Ashley was shaking all over. “But if he’s been out there six or seven hours and it takes the Coast Guard a while to get there and... Jeremy, I could fly.”

  He was instantly alert. “Is there a place to land?”

  She shook her head.

  “But I could parachute, couldn’t I?”

  “I wouldn’t ask you...”

  His look was serious, but without fear. “I’m volunteering, Ashley.”

  “It’s a small island. You won’t have your pick of spots—”

  He managed a grin. “I can parachute onto the hood of a car.”

  From the air, they radioed the Coast Guard for paramedics on Jude’s Paradise and Badger Rock Island and warned them that there was a madman loose on the latter. Ashley thought of old J. Land Crockett and Sarah Balaton and Barky. Would Balaton kill them all? Would he kill his own daughter?

  And then she saw David out on the rocks at the edge of the dilapidated dock on Jude’s Paradise and she thought he’ll kill his own son, too.

  Her brother didn’t respond as she circled low over the island.

  “Jeremy?”

  He had slipped on one of her parachutes. “Did you pack this yourself?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s been double-checked.”

  “Good. I’ve never used someone else’s chute before—always like to pack my own.” He was peering down at the small island. “Impromptu jumps aren’t my thing, but what the hell.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I didn’t see a Coast Guard boat anywhere near here, did you? David’s in rough shape, Ashley. He’ll need help.”

  She nodded. “If anything happens to you...”

  “Nothing will,” he said quickly. “Do you know how to spot a jump?”

  “I’ve never done it before, but I know the procedure.”

  “We’ll try the clearing at the end of the dock, near David. See it?”

  It was more a bit of bare ground than an actual clearing, but she said, “Yes.”

  She maintained control of the plane as Jeremy opened the door and hung out a bright yellow streamer, which floated down with the wind. He watched it closely. It would tell him how far upwind of his target he would need to be when he jumped, providing his ideal exit spot. “Got it,” he said.

  Ashley circled back around, and as Jeremy leaned out the door, he gave her precise directions to exactly the point at which he wanted to exit.

  “Okay. Cut the engine.”

  She throttled down. Standing on the tire, Jeremy pushed away from the plane and went into a free-fall. Ashley didn’t have time to worry about him. She throttled up and banked the plane to the left, and turning on a point, she looked down at the island.

  When she saw the multicolored canopy of the parachute, she sobbed with relief. Jeremy gently touched down, and she watched as he feverishly unstrapped the harness and dropped the pack. Even as the voluminous canopy billowed in the wind, he was running.

  He knelt beside David. And he looked up at Ashley and waved furiously.

  Her brother was alive.

  * * *

  MacGregor Stevens had regained consciousness and was nearly delirious with pain, but he insisted on telling Lillian how stupid he’d been. “I was wrong about everything.”

  “Just rest easy, Mac,” she told him gently.

  He winced, his face ghastly pale. “I loved her, you know.”

  Tears streamed down Lillian’s face. “I know. She loved you, too.”

  “I...I never saw her again after that night on the border.”

  “Mac, don’t torture yourself.”

  Tears streamed down his tanned temples, but she didn’t think he was even aware of them. “She fell in love with Balaton so quickly.... It never would have worked between us.”

  “Oh, Mac—don’t you know how much she loved you? She thought you were dead. She thought her life was over. We’d had to practically knock her out and drag her over the border. She wanted to die with you. We thought... We were so sure you were dead. Why didn’t you try to reach her after you got out of Hungary?”

  He tried to lift his head, but his face grimaced in agony, and he lay still. “She was married.”

  Lillian laughed softly, sadly, even as she cried. “You’re always so honorable, Mac. That’s one of the things Judith loved about you. I guess we were both doomed to fall in love with honorable men.”

  He closed his eyes. “I have Elaine now.”

  And I have no one. Lillian tried to sound cheerful: “I’ll call her just as soon as we get you squared away. You’re going to be fine, Mac. Really.”

  “Wakefield?”

  “He’s gone after Andrew. He thinks—he knows Andrew will try to get the rest of the jewels and murder the twins. Their Barky has been protecting them from him all these years and... If I’d only known.”

  Mac’s hand slipped out from under the poncho and covered hers. He felt so damned cold. “I’m sorry, Lil. But Balaton—even he wouldn’t kill his own children.”

  “Oh, Mac,” she sobbed. “Oh, Mac, you damned fool. Ashley and David are yours. That’s why Judith rushed into marrying Andrew. She was pregnant. She—Mac, except for Crockett’s eyes, David is you all over again.”

  * * *

  Bartholomew Wakefield headed toward the western edge of the island—away from Stevens. He had heard a small plane landing and assumed it would be Ashley. If she heard the shot, she would investigate. So would the others. And Balaton couldn’t be there when they arrived.

  Barky had to draw him away. But there was no problem there: he knew he could. He still had the tiara and the choker. There was no question that Balaton would follow him.

  He had crept among the rocks and the woods, and when he heard the plane again take off, he knew now he could act.

  Barky moved quickly through the silent, isolated house and listened for sounds of any of the others. He found the old man out on the sun porch. Crockett, they called him. Given the opportunity, he would interfere—and Balaton would kill him. Barky could see both Ashley and David in the tall, scrawny figure. He was on his feet, looking impatiently out the screened windows, muttering to himself.

  He turned at the sound of the footsteps behind him. “You!”

  There was more hatred than fear in the black-blue eyes. So he knew the lies and believed them, Barky thought. He stepped forward. “There’s no time for explanations—”

  “Bastard. You killed my daughter.”

  “Achh.”

  There could be no arguing with the man. Bartholomew Wakefield raised his powerful fist and swatted J. Land Crockett on the back of the neck. The billionaire sank to the floor in a crumpled heap of bones and dried skin.

  The farmer slipped out the porch door. Now it was time to let Balaton find him.

  * * *

  Sarah Balaton had nearly cried out when Bartholomew Wakefield had knocked Crockett unconscious, but she held her breath as she watched from the hall. It couldn’t be! He was Barky, David’s uncle. She had slept in his house, made applesauce on his wood stove.

  Poor David, she thought. Poor, poor David. What would she tell him?

  She had to find him, talk to him...and her father. They had to know what kind of madman they were up against. But wh
ere were they? Her father must have known David was in danger from this insane uncle of his and had hidden him, helped him....

  Quickly, refusing to consider the consequences of failure, she padded across the porch. Crockett was breathing steadily. Thank God he wasn’t dead. She felt a passing guilt for what she had thought him capable of, but it wasn’t her fault—and nothing, yet, made any sense.

  She headed outside. The uncle was creeping toward the airstrip. It doesn’t matter, she thought. I won’t be afraid. If necessary, she would stop this Bartholomew Wakefield herself.

  * * *

  “So.” Barky walked out to the edge of the airstrip to greet the president and chief executive officer of Crockett Industries. “Now it’s just the two of us. As it should be. Yes, József Major?”

  “I want the jewels.”

  The farmer shrugged. “They mean nothing to me.”

  Balaton’s entire body shook violently, but his knuckles were white on the handle of the gun. Barky refused to look at the weapon. He had seen guns before, witnessed what they could do, felt the burning pain in his own body. He wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t been, not for decades. It was one reason this Andrew Balaton had always hated him.

  Barky pulled out the edge of his black jacket so Balaton could see there was no weapon inside. With Balaton’s nod, Barky removed the black opaque plastic bag in which he had put the tiara and the choker. He handed them across to Balaton.

  Balaton took them, but there was no relief in his eyes. “I want the rest.”

  “Those are all there are left.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  Barky said nothing.

  “I’m not a fool. You’ve always thought that, haven’t you? József Major, the idiot, the inferior, the low-class moron. You were always so superior.”

  “Only in your mind, József.”

  “Now you know the truth.”

  Barky gave a small smile. “I have always known the truth.”

  There came the sound of a small plane overhead. Barky looked up and swore silently. Ashley. He raised up his arms to wave her away.