If Tommorrow Comes Part 26

"She gave a false name and address, but she had to sign a rental agreement. I took the original down to One Police Plaza and had them run it through for fingerprints. They matched the prints of Tracy Whitney. She served time at the Southern Louisiana Penitentiary for Women. If you remember, I talked to her about a year ago about a stolen Renoir."

"I remember," Reynolds nodded. "You said then that she was innocent."

"She was--- then. She's not innocent anymore. She pulled the Bellamy job."

The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d had done it again! And he had made it seem so simple. Reynolds tried not to sound grudging. "That's--- that's fine work, Cooper. Really fine work. Let's nail her. We'll have the police pick her up and---"

"On what charge?" Cooper asked mildly. "Renting a car? The police can't identify her, and there's not a shred of evidence against her."

"What are we supposed to do?" Schiffer asked. "Let her walk away scot-free?"

"This time, yes," Cooper said. "But I know who she is now. She'll try something again. And when she does, I'll catch her."

The meeting was finally over. Cooper desperately wanted a shower. He took out a little black book and wrote in it very carefully: TRACY WHITNEY.

Chapter 20.

It's time to begin my new life, Tracy decided. But what kind of life? I've gone from an innocent, naive victim to a... what? A thief--- that's what. She thought of Joe Romano and Anthony Orsatti and Perry Pope and Judge Lawrence. No. An avenger. That's what I've become. And an adventuress, perhaps. She had outwitted the police, two professional con artists, and a double-crossing jeweler. She thought of Ernestine and Amy and felt a pang. On an impulse, Tracy went to F.A.O. Schwarz and bought a puppet theater, complete with half a dozen characters, and had it mailed to Amy. The card read: SOME NEW FRIENDS FOR YOU. MISS YOU. LOVE TRACY.

Next she visited a furrier on Madison Avenue and bought a blue fox boa for Ernestine and mailed it with a money order for two hundred dollars. The card simply read: THANKS, ERNIE. TRACY.

All my debts are paid now, Tracy thought. It was a good feeling. She was free to go anywhere she liked, do anything she pleased.

She celebrated her independence by checking into a Tower Suite in The Helmsley Palace Hotel. From her forty-seventh-floor living room, she could look down at St. Patrick's Cathedral and see the George Was.h.i.+ngton Bridge in the distance. Only a few miles in another direction was the dreary place she had recently lived in. Never again, Tracy swore.

She opened the bottle of champagne that the management had sent up and sat sipping it, watching the sun set over the skysc.r.a.pers of Manhattan. By the time the moon had risen, Tracy had made up her mind. She was going to London. She was ready for all the wonderful things life had to offer. I've paid my dues, Tracy thought. I deserve some happiness.

She lay in bed and turned on the late television news. Two men were being interviewed. Boris Melnikov was a short, stocky Russian, dressed in an ill-fitting brown suit, and Pietr Negulesco was his opposite, tall and thin and elegant-looking. Tracy wondered what the two men could possibly have in common.

"Where is the chess match going to be held?" the news anchorman asked.

"At Sochi, on the beautiful Black Sea," Melnikov replied.

"You are both international grand masters, and this match has created quite a stir, gentlemen. In your previous matches you have taken the t.i.tle from each other, and your last one was a draw. Mr. Negulesco, Mr. Melnikov currently holds the t.i.tle. Do you think you will be able to take it away from him again?"

"Absolutely," the Romanian replied.

"He has no chance," the Russian retorted.

Tracy knew nothing about chess, but there was an arrogance about both men that she found distasteful. She pressed the remote-control b.u.t.ton that turned off the television set and went to sleep.

Early the following morning Tracy stopped at a travel agency and reserved a suite on the Signal Deck of the Queen Elizabeth 2. She was as excited as a child about her first trip abroad, and spent the next three days buying clothes and luggage.

On the morning of the sailing Tracy hired a limousine to drive her to the pier. When she arrived at Pier 90, Berth 3, at West Fifty-fifth and Twelfth Avenue, where the QE II was docked, it was crowded with photographers and television reporters, and for a moment, Tracy was panic-stricken. Then she realized they were interviewing the two men posturing at the foot of the gangplank--- Melnikov and Negulesco, the international grand masters. Tracy brushed past them, showed her pa.s.sport to a s.h.i.+p's officer at the gangplank, and walked up onto the s.h.i.+p. On deck, a steward looked at Tracy's ticket and directed her to her stateroom. It was a lovely suite, with a private terrace. It had been ridiculously expensive, but Tracy decided it was going to be worth it.

She unpacked and then wandered along the corridor. In almost every cabin there were farewell parties going on, with laughter and champagne and conversation. She felt a sudden ache of loneliness. There was no one to see her off, no one for her to care about, no one who cared about her. That's not true, Tracy told herself. Big Bertha wants me. And she laughed aloud.

She made her way up to the Boat Deck and had no idea of the admiring glances of the men and the envious stares of the women cast her way.

Tracy heard the sound of a deep-throated boat whistle and calls of "All ash.o.r.e who's going ash.o.r.e," and she was filled with a sudden excitement. She was sailing into a completely unknown future. She felt the huge s.h.i.+p shudder as the tugs started to pull it out of the harbor, and she stood among the pa.s.sengers on the Boat Deck, watching the Statue of Liberty slide out of sight, and then she went exploring.

The QE II was a city, more than nine hundred feet long and thirteen stories high. It had four restaurants, six bars, two ballrooms, two nightclubs, and a "Golden Door Spa at Sea." There were scores of shops, four swimming pools, a gymnasium, a golf driving range, a jogging track. I may never want to leave the s.h.i.+p, Tracy marveled.

She had reserved a table upstairs in the Princess Grill, which was smaller and more elegant than the main dining room. She barely had been seated when a familiar voice said, "Well, h.e.l.lo there!"

She looked up, and there stood Tom Bowers, the bogus FBI man. Oh, no. I don't deserve this, Tracy thought.

"What a pleasant surprise. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Very much."

He slid into the chair across from her and gave her an engaging smile. "We might as well be friends. After all, we're both here for the same reason, aren't we?"

Tracy had no idea what he was talking about. "Look, Mr. Bowers---"

"Stevens," he said easily. "Jeff Stevens."

"Whatever." Tracy started to rise.

"Wait. I'd like to explain about the last time we met."

"There's nothing to explain," Tracy a.s.sured him. "An idiot child could have figured it out--- and did."

"I owed Conrad Morgan a favor." He grinned ruefully. "I'm afraid he wasn't too happy with me."

There was that same easy, boyish charm that had completely taken her in before. For G.o.d's sake, Dennis, it isn't necessary to put cuffs on her. She's not going to run away....

She said hostilely, "I'm not too happy with you; either. What are you doing aboard this s.h.i.+p? Shouldn't you be on a riverboat?"

He laughed. "With Maximilian Pierpont on board, this is a riverboat."

"Who?"

He looked at her in surprise. "Come on. You mean you really don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Max Pierpont is one of the richest men in the world. His hobby is forcing compet.i.tive companies out of business. He loves slow horses and fast women, and he owns a lot of both. He's the last of the big-time spenders."

"And you intend to relieve him of some of his excess wealth."

"Quite a lot of it, as a matter of fact." He was eyeing her speculatively. "Do you know what you and I should do?"

"I certainly do, Mr. Stevens. We should say good-bye."

And he sat there watching as Tracy got up and walked out of the dining room.

She had dinner in her cabin. As she ate, she wondered what ill fate had placed Jeff Stevens in her path again. She wanted to forget the fear she had felt on that train when she thought she was under arrest. Well, I'm not going to let him spoil this trip. I'll simply ignore him.

After dinner Tracy went up on deck. It was a fantastic night, with a magic canopy of stars sprayed against a velvet sky. She was standing at the rail in the moonlight, watching the soft phosph.o.r.escence of the waves and listening to the sounds of the night wind, when he moved up beside her.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look standing there. Do you believe in s.h.i.+pboard romances?"

"Definitely. What I don't believe in is you." She started to walk away.

"Wait. I have some news for you. I just found out that Max Pierpont isn't on board, after all. He canceled at the last minute."

"Oh, what a shame. You wasted your fare."

"Not necessarily." He eyed her speculatively. "How would you like to pick up a small fortune on this voyage?"

The man is unbelievable. "Unless you have a submarine or a helicopter in your pocket, I don't think you'll get away with robbing anyone on this s.h.i.+p."

"Who said anything about robbing anyone? Have you ever heard of Boris Melnikov or Pietr Negulesco?"

"What if I have?"

"Melnikov and Negulesco are on their way to Russia for a champions.h.i.+p match. If I can arrange for you to play the two of them," Jeff said earnestly, "we can win a lot of money. It's a perfect setup."

Tracy was looking at him incredulously. "If you can arrange for me to play the two of them? That's your perfect setup?"

"Uh-huh. How do you like it?"

"I love it. There's just one tiny hitch."

"What's that?"

"I don't play chess."

He smiled benignly. "No problem. I'll teach you."

"You're insane," Tracy said. "If you want some advice, you'll find yourself a good psychiatrist. Good night."

The following morning Tracy literally b.u.mped into Boris Melnikov. He was jogging on the Boat Deck, and as Tracy rounded a corner, he ran into her, knocking her off her feet.

"Watch where you're going," he growled. And he kept running.

Tracy sat on the deck, looking after him. "Of all the rude---!" She stood up and brushed herself off.

A steward approached. "Are you hurt, miss? I saw him---"

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

n.o.body was going to spoil this trip.

When Tracy returned to her cabin, there were six messages to call Mr. Jeff Stevens. She ignored them. In the afternoon she swam and read and had a ma.s.sage, and by the time she went into the bar that evening to have a c.o.c.ktail before dinner, she was feeling wonderful. Her euphoria was short-lived. Pietr Negulesco, the Romanian, was seated at the bar. When he saw Tracy, he stood up and said, "May I buy you a drink, beautiful lady?"

Tracy hesitated, then smiled. "Why, yes, thank you."

"What would you like?"

"A vodka and tonic, please."

Negulesco gave the order to the barman and turned back to Tracy. "I'm Pietr Negulesco."

"I know."

"Of course. Everyone knows me. I am the greatest chess player in the world. In my country, I am a national hero." He leaned close to Tracy, put a hand on her knee, and said, "I am also a great f.u.c.k."

Tracy thought she had misunderstood him. "What?"

"I am a great f.u.c.k."

Her first reaction was to throw her drink in his face, but she controlled herself. She had a better idea. "Excuse me," she said, "I have to meet a friend."

She went to look for Jeff Stevens. She found him in the Princess Grill, but as Tracy started toward his table, she saw that he was dining with a lovely-looking blonde with a spectacular figure, dressed in an evening gown that looked as if it had been painted on. I should have known better, Tracy thought. She turned and headed down the corridor. A moment later Jeff was at her side.

"Tracy... did you want to see me?"

"I don't want to take you away from your... dinner."

"She's dessert," Jeff said lightly. "What can I do for you?"

"Were you serious about Melnikov and Negulesco?"

"Absolutely. Why?"

"I think they both need a lesson in manners."

"So do I. And we'll make money while we teach them."

"Good. What's your plan?"