White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "I won't."

  She stepped lightly on her cushioned soles and went to the colonel. "Dance with me, Sam."

  He turned to her, his expression stern.

  "You look as if you're searching for someone."

  "I am."

  Sandra took his arm and placed it on her waist. She led him to the floor. Surprisingly, he was a good dancer. He took over the lead and guided her around the crowded couples.

  "When you find him, what are you planning to do?"

  Sam's head scanned the room. Like a periscope, he swung around searching. Then he gave her his attention. "I want to break his neck."

  "That won't help us," she told him. "Remember, we need to stick to the plan if we're to discover if the system is here. When we find it, we simply exchange the stones and bid the prime minister and his lovely wife good night."

  Sam swung her around. The execution made her lift to the balls of her feet and turn. She winced at the pain.

  "Excuse me," he said. "I forgot about your feet." He moved slower with wide, easy turns.

  Sam knew she was right. His instincts were warlike, but he had to be practical. For the welfare of the country they needed to retrieve the stones, but for himself, for the way he'd felt when he opened that case and found the empty depressions, he'd take unbridled pleasure in beating Lance Desque to a pulp.

  ***

  Annie and Jordon danced among the throngs of visiting dignitaries. Every country's representatives came in native garb. The Africans wore bright-colored fabrics, including headdresses wrapped into intricate designs that looked as if they had fabric flowers embedded in them. The silk of the Indian sari blended with the stylish western gowns and everywhere there were Japanese kimonos.

  Annie kept track of her sister and the senator. She watched everyone who took an interest in them.

  "Too bad we didn't have more time," Jordon whispered in her ear. "I could have called the FBI back and seen if we could have gotten the floor plan to this building."

  "Jordon, this is foreign soil. We might as well be in Japan."

  "They probably have the plans to the U.S. Embassy in the Japanese version of the FBI."

  Annie stared at him. "Do you think he would have given it to you?"

  "If he knew the stakes, I think it would have been no question."

  Jordon danced well. Suzanne had danced with him for years. They'd been paired through his camera, but tonight was the first time she'd danced with him where she could admit more than casual friendship. She loved the way his strong arms held her close and guided her through the steps as the two of them moved in the same time and space.

  They kept dancing and kept looking. Lance had not put in an appearance yet. She wondered where he was. He was known for being on time and staying until the end of an event. He never overstayed his welcome and never did anything that would be considered rude. Lance would study the culture, its mores and rules to make sure he did nothing to insult his hosts.

  Wyatt and Sandra disappeared through a door at the end of the room. Sam Parker, no longer with murder in his eyes, casually went through an archway at the opposite end of the room.

  "Did you see them?" she asked.

  "Yes." Jordon danced her through the crowd toward the door where Wyatt and Sandra had gone.

  ***

  They had agreed to try the basement first. Sam was going to keep an eye out for Lance. Wyatt hoped he was moving in the right direction. Basements were usually close to kitchens.

  The kitchen would be bustling with activity. Sandra would say she had to have a glass of milk if anyone stopped them. They would get the opportunity to look around, see if there were any doors.

  If luck was with them they'd find the right one immediately, but they could end up in a closet or pantry. They could always say they couldn't find their way back if they were seen. Play as you go and make it up when needed, Wyatt thought.

  With his arm draped around her waist, they passed waiters carrying dishes of canapés and drinks. One or two nodded at them. Wyatt took a champagne glass from an offered tray, then shook his head and patted Sandra's stomach. The look on his face told the waiter she could not have the alcohol. He smiled knowingly and continued on his way to serve the rest of his tray.

  Three doors stood closed off the hallway leading to the kitchen. The kitchen double doors were wide open. White-clad cooks moved at speeds too great for the small amount of floor space. Food covered every available space. Gleaming copper pots steamed on the stove and wonderful aromas floated through the air.

  Wyatt checked the people before opening the first door, which turned out to be a broom closet. He closed it quickly and took Sandra's hand. The second door was a small barn-room and the third a closet. The coats hanging inside belonged to the kitchen staff. The clinging odor of food locked inside the fabric was overwhelming.

  They were going to have to go into the kitchen to see if any other doors could be found. He didn't like that. It meant being discovered faster if they actually found a basement. Their presence would be missed if they came in and no one saw them leave. It's a risk we're going to have to take. The words came back to him from the afternoon's activity of formulating a plan.

  "May I have a glass of milk?" Sandra asked a man in the center of the room. She'd walked straight into the room and stopped at a vantage point that gave them full view of the front and back of the room.

  The cook was shaking his head and speaking in Japanese. Wyatt didn't need an interpreter to tell him the man did not speak English and did not understand her question. Sandra knew it, too. She rubbed her stomach and frowned at him. Then, with universal sign language, she posed as if she had a glass in her hand and drank from it.

  "Ohhh," he said. He started to lead her to the door through which they had come.

  Taking his arm, she stopped him. Pointing to a white liquid, then to the double-door refrigerator, he reversed his direction and went toward the area to which she pointed.

  Wyatt looked for a door. There was none. He followed Sandra, and while she got the milk and waited for a glass, he checked the back of the room. There was a door leading to the outside, a huge pantry with stores of canned and dried foodstuff, but no door the could have led to a basement.

  Giving her a signal, Wyatt saw the imperceptible movement of her head. Her hair shone with a healthy glow. Suzanne had washed, blown it, and curled it into a sleek style that hung to her shoulders before gently curling under. With curls the dripped down the side of her face, the bruise was effectively hidden from any prying eyes. The rest of her face had been covered with a makeup that evened her skin tone and completely covered the other marks. If Wyatt hadn't seen Suzanne performing her magic, he'd never have believed that the woman who had fallen into his arms last night could look this beautiful twenty-four hours later.

  "Thank you." Sandra bowed and smiled. The Japanese cook bowed in return and they left the kitchen. At the turn back to the main hall, they ran into Sam.

  "I found it," he whispered. "It's the first door under the back staircase on the left side of the ballroom. There is no guard, but the maids store the coats in a room near it.

  "What about Lance?" Sandra inquired. "Did he make an appearance yet?"

  "I haven't seen him and I think that's a plus for our side. If he sees us, our escape route could be effectively cut."

  Colonel Sam Parker was back. The military mind was operating at full capacity. Gone was the emotional man who was angry and ready to bash in his enemy’s head.

  "Let's go," Wyatt said. He took Sandra in his arms and danced her back to the place where Annie and Jordon stood drinking glasses of bottled water.

  "Sam found the basement," he whispered. "We're going there now." He danced her away.

  At that moment the music ended. The couples stopped dancing and quiet applause rippled through the room. Wyatt stopped. It wouldn't look natural for them to continue until the band started up again.

  "Hello, Miss Rutledge, is it?"

 
; Sandra turned toward the voice. Prime Minister Nagano stood before her. He was a short man with graying hair and a smile on his lips. He wore a black tuxedo with a red sash draped across his torso. He reminded Sandra of a tennis coach she'd once had who taught her a backhand the produced a winner every time. The prime minister stood straight, looking her directly in the eye. She wondered if his backhand was as good.

  "I believe I am acquainted with your father, Senator Rut-ledge."

  "Yes," Sandra smiled at him. Wyatt eased away, apparently going to join another conversation group. "He has mentioned you several times when. He’s returned from Japan."

  "He has often mentioned his beautiful daughters."

  She wondered where Annie was, and if the prime minister knew they were sisters. Annie had spoken to him in his native language. They had laughed as if they were old friends. Sandra wondered what she'd said.

  The band started to play again. By mutual consent, she danced with him. He was quiet for a while. Then he said, "I have only been in your country for a short time. Do all American women have such beautiful jewels?"

  Antennae seemed to spring out of her head. Why was he interested in the necklace and earrings? The question was too casual for her. He'd met many woman from many countries. In this room alone were many American woman. All of them wore various amounts of jewelry. The other women also had on many different lands of decorations.

  "I can't say, Minister Nagano."

  "Were these a gift, perhaps?"

  "Sir, I'll let you in on a little secret.” She put her lips close to his ear. "They're just for show. They're not real." He laughed at her words. "Go on, take a look," she told him.

  With just the right amount of hesitation, he stopped dancing. They were close to the left side of the ballroom. He examined the stones. Sandra thought he looked at them with the eye of an experienced jeweler.

  "I am told you cannot tell the difference between real and not real any longer. I cannot tell."

  His words rang false in her ears, but she smiled at him. The music ended and he bowed to her. A group descended on him and carried him away, each person vying for his attention.

  Wyatt stood near the end of the room talking to a man dressed in a bright-blue African pants outfit. Sandra started toward him, but was asked to dance by another man. She complied so as not to call attention to herself. This man mentioned how familiar she looked and asked her if she was a television anchorwoman. He released her at the end of the dance with a comment that he would remember where he'd seen her.

  Two dances later, her feet sore, she finally reached Wyatt. They slipped away unnoticed and met Sam at the door to the basement. It was almost too easy. They found only one locked room down there, in no time Sam had it open. Going inside they closed the door and switched on the light. The room was massive; a control center. Computer servers hummed in the quiet air. A console, tables, displays, rows of digital printouts. All of the equipment was state of the art. Some of it she recognized. Other items were foreign to her.

  "There it is," Sam stated. He went to a relatively small machine standing near the back wall.

  Sandra stared at it. She couldn't move. Her head ached with relief that they might pull this off. Her heart hammered and her hands turned to cold globs of ice. This was what they had come to find. This was what Wyatt had been stabbed over, what people had shot at her helicopter over. Through this innocent-looking piece of almond-colored metal and plastic millions of people in the world could lose their right to a basic freedom.

  "Give me the stones!" Sam's voice, at the strength of a stage whisper, boomed in the air-controlled room.

  Wyatt unhooked the necklace while Sandra removed the earrings. The heavy stones left a light feeling about her head and chest. Sandra shivered more from fear than cold. They were in deep now. Anyone finding them here would have the sole advantage. They were on foreign soil. Nothing done to them could ever be prosecuted in an American court. There were no other doors. No escape from here by biting her way through wires and opening a locked door.

  Sam was staring into the machine. He'd produced a screwdriver from his inside pocket and quickly unscrewed the housing. Now he examined the inside. It took less than five minutes for him to get the jewelry out. He pulled a second item from his pocket. She didn't see what it was. Working calmly, quickly, and efficiently he completed his work, set the fake necklace in place and covered the machine. The magic screwdriver flew through his hands as he replaced the screws. Wyatt hung the real necklace around her neck. She touched it, thinking about its worth, remembering Jeff Taylor and feeling grief for Chip Jackson. No one would ever know they'd given their lives to protect free speech.

  "Now," Sam said with unconcealed concern. "I suggest we get the hell out of here."

  ***

  Wyatt wiped the sweat from his brow and returned the silk handkerchief to his pocket. Blood surged through his system. His ears flamed and he could taste fear in the back of his throat. Getting into the embassy had been a cakewalk. He had the invitation he'd taken from Desque's last night. As a top model Suzanne Rutledge had been legitimately invited. They had bowed and shook hands with various guests and dignitaries, but at that point they had nothing of value. Now they had loaded stones dropping from her ears and hanging around Sandra's neck.

  His instinct told him to make a beeline for the door. Get her out of there and whisk her away from anyone who might want to stop them. He knew that would certainly raise eyebrows. They were going to have to run the gauntlet. Dance slowly, work their way to the front door, and slip out unobserved.

  The color had drained from Sandra's face and her eyes were huge chips of black ice.

  "Smile," he whispered, turning her into his arms. "You look as if you've just stolen a defense system." His attempt at lightness was more for himself than her, but it broke the ice and a smile turned her mouth up. It didn't light her eyes.

  Wyatt remembered to hold her lightly and that her feet were tender and raw. He couldn't swing her around in wide circles which would get them to the door with the least amount of steps. They had to take the long way around.

  Spotting Jordon and Suzanne, he signaled them and kept moving. They'd made it. The front door stood the space of the foyer away. It opened to admit more guests and closed. A laughing party of four came inside, sweeping the cold January air in with them. It felt like a burst of heaven to Wyatt. As the maid took their coats and directed them into the main salon, Wyatt's hand on the small of Sandra's back guided her to the exit.

  Alone, when the guests moved away and the maid, weighed down with fur and wool, headed for the back room, Wyatt grabbed the ornate handle. He didn't have to pull it; the door was being pushed open.

  "Going so soon, Senator?" Lance Desque stood in front of him. Another man, shorter and meaner looking, stood behind him. They came into the foyer. Wyatt and Sandra immediately backed away. "And without your coats. You could catch your death of cold." He'd emphasized the word "death."

  Neither Desque nor the man who'd entered with him wore overcoats. Wyatt knew they weren't just arriving. They'd been there all along, waiting for this moment.

  Turning to Sandra, Desque smiled broadly. "Sandra, how nice to see you. . .again. Our last meeting was, shall we say, short-circuited."

  Wyatt felt the fear that fissured through her body. Her hold on his arm tightened to a vise grip. Desque taunted her with his double-edged words.

  "I see you survived it," Sandra said, her backbone straightening and her chin lifting a bit.

  Desque laughed. He glanced at the man behind him. He had closed the door, but remained mute.

  "Henri, I'd like you to meet Senator Rutledge's daughter, Sandra. She rudely avoided meeting you last night. And this is the much sought-after Senator Wyatt Randolph. He's skillfully managed to have his life spread over the daily papers. Dead bodies appear, and what do the police find but fingerprints leading to our esteemed senator."

  Henri didn't say a word, but nodded in Sandra's directi
on. His big hands went to the button of his tailored jacket. He released it and rebuttoned it. The action was designed to let them see the black handle of the gun that was wedged between his pants and shirt. Sandra stood her ground, staring at him as if he were the instrument of death, but valiantly showing no fear.

  "Henri, why don't you go with the senator. I'm sure the two of you have things to discuss."

  "No!" Sandra spoke, backing up a step and pulling Wyatt with her.

  "I believe, Sandra, this is our dance," he went on as if she hadn't spoken.

  "I won't dance with you."

  Henri reached for the button on his coat. Sandra's gaze involuntarily followed it. She swallowed hard.

  Henri stepped forward and grabbed Wyatt's arm. He propelled him through the hall in the direction the maid had gone.

  Lance took a step. She recoiled. "I wouldn't do anything stupid, Sandra. We are on foreign soil. You certainly wouldn't want to provoke an international incident."

  "You can't create an international incident between two Americans," she told him. "No matter whose soil you're on."

  He smiled venomously. "I see you not only excelled in mathematics, but you're up on your government policies, too."

  The smile left his face. "What about computer science and jewelry making? Have you mastered those yet?"

  Sandra felt the earrings brush her neck, but refused to look down at the necklace. Squeezing her hands, she forced them to stay at her sides. The maid returned and more guests arrived. Lance took the moment to encircle her in his arms and carry her into the dancing crowd. He held her tightly, making her muscles and bruises hurt.

  "You should have known you couldn't get away with it," Lance whispered in her ear.

  "Get away with what?" she asked, wondering where Wyatt had been taken. The black gun stayed in her mind. A new rush of fear took hold of her. Had Lance's gunman taken Wyatt somewhere to kill him?