Chapter 10 #3
“Luc LeMote is on our side. We’ve been in contact for months, since the Clotho went on the market.
Just as his father’s hired gendarmes were about to deliver the diamond, Luc took possession; the gendarmes assumed that, as a member of the LeMote family, Luc would bring the cargo to Pierre.
Luc only had a few hours to cover his tracks, so he hid the diamond in his gym locker and notified me, so my agents could retrieve it.
As all this was happening, Luc was carrying on his normal life, to avoid suspicion—I believe this was when he spent an evening with Andrew.
As for Luc’s disappearance, I’m still not clear on what occurred—Pierre may have discovered Luc’s betrayal and punished him, or other frustrated bidders may be conducting an interrogation, off-site.
I’m praying that Luc is still alive, somewhere.
I’m working with the French authorities, but it’s hard to trust anyone.
That’s why I had to speak with the two of you in person, in a truly safe space. ”
The Pope gestured to the apartment.
I was stunned: Luc had been angry at his father, but outwardly calm and seductive.
Had our night together been a necessary distraction?
Why hadn’t I picked up on his distress? Up till now, the Tuxes’ assignments had been relatively straightforward, but I’d reached that point in any thriller when everyone’s a suspect and truth becomes malleable. Clarity would be helpful.
“But why is this happening?” I blurted. “Over a diamond? Is it really that important?”
Reata looked at me with true kindness, and Reggie nodded, assuring her I was equipped for more confidential insights.
“The diamond is only a point of entry,” Reata began. “I assume we’ve all heard the legend of the Diadem of Apollo?”
As Reggie and I assented, the Pope asked, “But the stories can’t possibly be true, can they?”
Reata was glowing; as an esteemed academic and a treasure hunter, this was her turf.
I was beginning to understand more about her.
She spent most of her time as a hostess, diplomat, and her husband’s representative, but ancient history, and its ongoing resonance, was where she lived.
Her office décor had told the story: she had the investigative instincts of Hercule Poirot (in the first, superior version of Death on the Nile), coupled with the panache of Lara Croft unearthing some mountaintop Assyrian temple, while being pursued by granite statuary come to violent life.
“When I was in grad school,” said Reata, her eyes sparkling, “I researched every source. Many experts aren’t even sure if the Diadem exists, or if it’s only a rumor.
But I came across verifiable reports, centuries apart, attesting to the Diadem’s powers.
This may have been why the three jewels were pried loose, to prevent anyone from assembling the full set.
But the Clotho has cured infertility, caused sickly infants to thrive, and, it’s believed, was being clutched by Mary, Queen of Scots, as she gave birth to her son James, to assure his ability to rule.
James’s father was murdered and his mother executed, but James was the King of Scotland for fifty years. ”
Reata was only warming up—she must be a terrific professor, imbuing her lectures with the pace and commitment of a fireside ghost story, or any true crime podcast with an “angel of death” registered nurse.
“The Lachesis Ruby is thought to provide its owner with skill and success, since Lachesis was the Fate who determined the essential nature of anyone’s life.
Julius Caesar carried the ruby into battle, giving him one victory after another, in Spain and Africa and Gaul, but his luck ended abruptly once he gave the ruby to Cleopatra, who then left him for Marc Antony, the love of her life. Was the ruby responsible?”
I almost urgently raised my hand, to shout, “Yes!”
“The final stone, the Atropos Emerald, is the most dangerous, since Atropos decided when someone would die. It’s said that the three gems had been reunited, from an equal number of continents, by a German art dealer in Hamburg in 1938.
Through intermediaries, Hitler demanded the stones and had the dealer sent to Theresienstadt, the camp where he died along with his family.
Goebbels unearthed the Diadem itself from a storeroom in the Louvre, and the piece was complete.
I can’t say if the restored Diadem was a source of the Reich’s supremacy, for as long as it lasted, but there are photos of it at Eagle’s Nest, the Nazi retreat at Berchtesgaden, in a glass case.
It disappeared again during the final days of the war, with the gems dispersed and smuggled God knows where, and sold to any number of collectors.
“The jewels began to resurface earlier this year. They’ve been pursued by dictators and museums and Russian billionaires—the staff at the Smithsonian has been putting together a database.
And you may think I’m crazy, and you could be right, but if my studies have taught me a single valuable truth, it’s this: the rich and the greedy will do anything to extend their dominance and vitality.
Those who want the gems, and who’ll commit any crimes to get them, represent a real menace, whether the legend’s true or not.
So I intend to find the trove, and the Diadem if possible, to be kept under the most impregnable conditions, so they won’t ever become a temptation, or cost more lives.
I can see from your faces that you’ve already decided: this lady is beyond batshit and everything she’s said is conspiracy theory babble at its most incoherent. ”
I love tales of long-lost treasures, such as the Golden Fleece, the Ark of the Covenant, and the Shroud of Turin, so I believed Reata instantly, and her account jibed with everything Marcus had told us.
I’m not sure if any inanimate object is inherently enchanted, like King Arthur’s Sword in the Stone, but belief can cause ruthlessness and cultlike behavior.
Recovery efforts lure record viewerships, whether the goals are the latest “secrets of the Titanic,” the whereabouts of D.
B. Cooper and his bank robbery fortune, or the remains of the Konigsberg Castle’s Amber Room, reputed to have been hidden from the Wehrmacht in a salt mine.
“If the gems are brought together and placed in the Diadem,” Reata went on, “they’ll encourage the worst sort of tyrants, in doing the most flagrant damage.
My husband and I have talked about this, and we agreed that the Tuxedo Society is ideally suited to retrieving the jewels, completely under the radar. So we’re in this together.”
“Of course,” said Reggie. “We’ll get it done.”
“Reggie,” she said, “I’m trusting you with the diamond, so keep it under wraps until we can track down the full cohort.”
“But are there any leads, on the ruby and the emerald?” Reggie asked.
“Not so far,” said Reata. “But I’m convinced Fleming Fairmont knows something.”
“He steered us toward Parnassus,” Reggie said. “When we leaned on him.”
“He’s a snake,” said Reata. “But my husband says that Fairmont’s well connected, especially to the most unscrupulous and ambitious people. He’s pushing Reese Dantine for the presidency. So amp up the pressure.”
“Reata, you must take every precaution,” said Terence. “And gentlemen, please don’t expose yourself to unnecessary risk.”
We were either in a huddle, conferring on what to do next, or nearing the closing moments of our movie’s first act (crowd-pleasers are always divided into three acts, so the movie executives overseeing the scripts can keep their jobs).
Which meant I should text my boss at the candle shop and request another week off, using the cough and fever emojis.
“I’m flying back to the States,” said Reata. “Reggie, keep the diamond on you at all times. And I shouldn’t say this, but I’m like a kid again. Well, a kid in college with a junior year abroad at a dig for the Trojan Horse. Have any of you seen The Da Vinci Code?”
Reggie, the Pope, and I all looked at Reata with disdain—of course we’d seen The Da Vinci Code.
Everyone’s seen The Da Vinci Code, so they can compare it to the book and leave disparaging reviews on Rotten Tomatoes.
My aunt Libby had me watch it on when I was ten years old, telling me, “Andrew, this movie’s about the hunt for scrolls that will reveal a feminist slant on the life of Jesus.
And it’s got an albino killer, which is always a last resort.
What I’m telling you is, it’s a total gentile funfest.”
Aunt Libby is my greatest influence, especially in cultural adventures.
She reminds me of Reata, because they’re both fiercely smart and up for anything.
Reata was grinning. She was in her forties, but I could see her clambering into a Minoan cave at eighteen, in jeans and a T-shirt, with a soaked bandana across her face to filter the dust.
“Of course you’ve all seen Da Vinci Code,” said Reata. “But remember how Tom Hanks, as a university symbologist decrypting a codex, kept almost getting killed, and he ends up running all over the world? That’s what we’re in for. So be prepared, and Your Holiness, a pleasure as always.”