The main entrance to the Hôtel Plaza Athéneé is on Avenue Montaigne, but the service entrance is on Rue du Boccador, around the corner. A discreet sign reads ENTREE DE SERVICE, and the passageway goes from a back hallway of the lobby through a narrow corridor lined with garbage cans leading to the street. Daniel Cooper, who had taken up an observation post near the main entrance, did not see Tracy leave through the service door, but inexplicably, the moment she was gone, he sensed it. He hurried out to the avenue and looked up and down the street. Tracy was nowhere in sight.
The gray Renault that picked up Tracy at the side entrance to the hotel headed for the Étoile. There was little traffic at that hour, and the driver, a pimply-faced youth who apparently spoke no English, raced into one of the twelve avenues that form the spokes of the Étoile. I wish he would slow down, Tracy thought. The motion was making her carsick.
Thirty minutes later the car slammed to a stop in front of a warehouse. The sign over the door read BRUCERE ET CIE. Tracy remembered that this was where Ramon Vauban’s brother worked.
The youth opened the car door and murmured, “Vite!”
A middle-aged man with a quick, furtive manner appeared as Tracy stepped out of the car. “Follow me,” he said. “Hurry.”
Tracy stumbled after him to the back of the warehouse, where there were half a dozen containers, most of them filled and sealed, ready to be taken to the airport. There was one soft container with a canvas side, half-filled with furniture.
“Get in. Quick! We have no time.”
Tracy felt faint. She looked at the box and thought, I can’t get in there. I’ll die.
The man was looking at her strangely. “Avez-vous mal?”
Now was the time to back out, to put a stop to this. “I’m all right,” Tracy mumbled. It would be over soon. In a few hours she would be on her way to Switzerland.
“Bon. Take this.” He handed her a double-edged knife, a long coil of heavy rope, a flashlight, and a small blue jewel box with a red ribbon around it.
“This is the duplicate of the jewel box you will exchange.”
Tracy took a deep breath, stepped into the container, and sat down. Seconds later a large piece of canvas dropped down over the opening. She could hear ropes being tied around the canvas to hold it in place.
She barely heard his voice through the canvas. “From now on, no talking, no moving, no smoking.”
“I don’t smoke,” Tracy tried to say, but she did not have the energy.
“Bonne chance. I’ve cut some holes in the side of the box so you can breathe. Don’t forget to breathe.” He laughed at his joke, and she heard his footsteps fading away. She was alone in the dark.
The box was narrow and cramped, and a set of dining-room chairs took up most of the space. Tracy felt as though she were on fire. Her skin was hot to the touch, and she had difficulty breathing. I’ve caught some kind of virus, she thought, but it’s going to have to wait. I have work to do. Think about something else.
Gunther’s voice: You’ve nothing to worry about, Tracy. When they unload the cargo in Amsterdam, your pallet will be taken to a private garage near the airport. Jeff will meet you there. Give him the jewels and return to the airport. There will be a plane ticket for Geneva waiting for you at the Swissair counter. Get out of Amsterdam as fast as you can. As soon as the police learn of the robbery, they’ll close up the city tight. Nothing will go wrong, but just in case, here is the address and the key to a safe house in Amsterdam. It is unoccupied.
She must have dozed, for she awakened with a start as the container was jerked into the air. Tracy felt herself swinging through space, and she clung to the sides for support. The container settled down on something hard. There was a slam of a car door, an engine roared into life, and a moment later the truck was moving.