Sidney Sheldon's Chasing Tomorrow (Tracy Whitney #2)(83)

Domingo frowned. “You’re not going to try to steal it yourself?”

Jeff looked up at him and grinned.

“SE?ORA PRIETO. THANK GOD you’re here. You need to see this.”

Magdalena Prieto had just arrived at work. Her half-drunk coffee was still in her hand and her dark hair was still wet from the light spring rain that had been falling all morning. The look on her deputy’s face told her at once that what she “needed to see” wasn’t good.

“What is it, Miguel?”

“The Sábana Santa. There’s been a security breach.”

Magdalena Prieto’s blood ran cold. She thought immediately of the mysterious phone call she’d received two days earlier. “Someone is planning to steal the Sábana Santa.”

Why didn’t I take it seriously?

If anything had happened to the Shroud on Magdalena Prieto’s watch, her career would be over and her reputation shredded. Following her deputy at a run toward the central room where the Shroud was housed, the American caller’s voice drifted back to her, taunting her.

“I know your security systems . . .

“They’re good, but Daniel Cooper’s better.”

Magdalena felt physically sick. As she turned the corner, her knees practically gave way with relief. It’s still there. Thank God!

The Shroud was housed in a case of reinforced, bulletproof glass, laid flat on an aluminum support stand, mimicking the conditions in which it had been kept in Turin. Infrared alarms protected it, both inside and outside the case, which could only be opened after entering an elaborate series of codes. Within the glass, the temperature was carefully controlled in order to protect the delicate and priceless fabric. Magdalena checked the dials on the control panel. Everything seemed normal. No alarm had been triggered. The temperature and humidity remained at the correct levels, as did the argon and oxygen levels (at 99.5 and 0.5 percent, respectively). If anyone had broken into the case, the readings would have gone haywire.

Magdalena Prieto turned to her deputy. “I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”

He pointed. There, at the base of the aluminum stand, propped up casually like a hand-delivered Christmas card, was a white envelope. It was addressed simply: Se?ora Prieto.

Magdalena’s voice was a whisper. “Call the police.”

“THIS IS A DISASTER.”

Felipe Agosto, the mayor of Seville, paced the room melodramatically. “If Seville were to lose the Shroud, or allow it to be damaged in any way, it would bring shame on our entire city. On the whole of Spain!”

“Yes, but the Shroud hasn’t been lost, or damaged.” Magdalena Prieto spoke with a calmness she did not feel. Along with Mayor Agosto and Comisario Dmitri, she had gathered in Dmitri’s office to discuss the security breach at the Sábana Santa exhibition. “This letter was a warning. A friendly warning. I’m not saying we shouldn’t take it seriously but—”

“There’s nothing ‘friendly’ about breaking and entering and endangering a priceless relic, se?ora.” Comisario Dmitri interrupted her rudely. “Whoever did this is a criminal, pure and simple. He must be caught and punished severely.”

Dmitri talked tough to hide his own nerves. Se?ora Prieto had admitted receiving a warning phone call about the shroud two days earlier, but Dmitri had denied all knowledge of the mystery American.

“That’s odd,” Prieto commented. “He told me he’d already called the police, but no one had listened to him.”

“There’s nothing odd about criminals lying, se?ora.”

Mayor Agosto said, “Let me see that note again.”

Inside the envelope was a single sheet of white paper, folded twice. It read simply: If I can do it, so can Daniel Cooper.

“Do we think this Daniel Cooper even exists?”

“Probably not.” Dmitri was dismissive. “I’m more concerned about an actual break-in than an imaginary superthief supposedly hiding out in the city. This man probably made him up to throw us off the scent.”


Magdalena Prieto said, “I doubt it. The other man he mentioned, the man posing as a cop, was definitely seen by my staff. We should at least check out this Cooper guy. Have you contacted Interpol, comisario?”

Alessandro Dmitri looked at the museum director with withering contempt. The last thing he wanted were a bunch of international busybodies on his turf. Bloody woman. How did she land the directorship of the Antiquarium anyway? She should be at home making soup, not stirring up trouble, telling professional men like me how to do our jobs.

“I have no need of Interpol’s help, se?ora. If Mr. Cooper exists, and if he is in Seville, my men and I will find him. Have you contacted the authorities in Turin, to let them know what happened at your museum, on your watch?”

Magdalena blanched. “No. As I said, nothing’s been damaged or stolen. There’s nothing to tell.”

“Well, I expect both of you to keep it that way.” The mayor jabbed a finger accusingly at the police chief and museum director in turn. “For now, this stays within these four walls. But I want the police presence doubled at the museum and surrounding areas and I want staff on duty at the exhibition around the clock. Are we clear?”

“Clear,” said Magdalena Prieto.

“Clear,” said Comisario Dmitri. “Just as long as city hall’s prepared to pay for it.”