Chapter VII

They stared at each other across the revolver in the dim light. The expression on the figure's face showed quickly surprise, then exasperation, then extreme displeasure. After a moment, the man eased the hammer back into neutral position and lowered the gun. "Joe Hardy," he said dryly. "Somehow I'm having trouble picturing you as an opera buff."

"I'm not," drawled Joe pointedly. "How about you?"

"Actually, I'm very fond of the opera."

"And of course that's why you're here."

"Of course. Speaking of being here, surely you're not alone. Where is your ubiquitous brother?"

Joe met his eyes steadily. "Funny. I was just going to ask you the same question."

An expression flitted across the man's non-descript face and was gone before Joe could identify it. "What are you saying?" he asked with sudden sharpness.

"Oh, come off it," Joe sank down onto a prop trunk, suddenly weary. "Frank suddenly disappears. The Gray Man appears, just as suddenly. Seems like a pretty clear connection to me."

The Gray Man's face grew grave. "Frank's disappeared? When did all this happen? And what are you doing in San Francisco? Besides getting underfoot?"

"We were supposed to be having a vacation. Now we're looking for Frank."

"We?"

"Me and Callie Shaw."

"Frank's girlfriend," the Gray Man nodded, remembering. "Why the Opera House? I find it as difficult to picture Frank here as I do you."

"It's the best lead we've got."

"Tell me."

Joe hesitated. The Gray Man worked for a top secret government agency known as the Network that worked to prevent terrorism and other threats to national security. Joe and Frank had helped him more than once since their first meeting following the death of Joe's girlfriend, Iola Morton, in an explosion from a terrorist bomb. Technically, he and the Gray Man were on the same side, but in the past they hadn't always seen eye to eye on how to do things.

The Gray Man read the hesitation correctly. "Joe. Maybe I can help." It was all the encouragement Joe needed. The Gray Man took a seat opposite him on a prop crate as Joe poured out the story of their first day and night in San Francisco, up to the present. When he finished, the Gray Man's expression was inscrutable. After a silence he said, "Joe, I'm going to ask you to do something. You're not going to like it, but you have to believe me when I tell you it's for the best."

Joe eyed him narrowly. Any hopes he'd had of help from the Gray Man were wavering. "What?"

"Take Miss Shaw and leave San Francisco. I'll try to find out everything I can about Frank and keep in touch."

Joe gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Right. You must be kidding."

"Joe, it's important. A matter of national security."

"So you're telling me that whatever Frank's mixed up in is a matter of national security? What's this all about?"

"I can't tell you. And I can't be sure about Frank. I'm just saying that we have a very delicate operation here and your poking around could jeopardize everything. Go home. I'll be in touch. I promise."

Joe was silent, his jaw working. "So you're saying you won't help me?" he blurted.

"I'm saying I will, as far as is in my power - but that you have to go back to Bayport and leave this to me."

"No way."

"Joe - "

"You heard me. What did you expect?"

"Joe. You know Frank. He'd be willing to risk his life for something this important. In fact, he has."

"Maybe. Probably. But it's one thing for him to risk his own life. It's another thing for me to risk it for him. Besides, all those other times he had me backing him. Now..." Joe swallowed hard. For one terrible minute he thought he was going to bawl, right in front of the Gray Man.

"Joe, listen to me. We're talking about one person's life balanced against a potential threat to thousands - maybe millions - "

"We're talking about my brother's life!" Joe clenched his fists. "Geez, that's how you people work isn't it? Is that what Iola's life was to you - just one more sacrifice for the greater good? Well, it's not going to happen to Frank! Not Frank! Do you hear me?"

For a minute, the Gray Man looked ashamed. "I'd forgotten about Iola." He studied Joe tiredly. "So. You're not going anywhere."

"You got that right."

"And I suppose I can't convince you to back off and wait for me to find out what I can."

Joe shook his head. "I'd appreciate any help you can offer. But this can't wait. Every minute may count."

The Gray Man studied him. "It just figures that you two would turn up in the middle of this mess."

"Look, why don't you try telling me what's going on? Maybe I can help."

The Gray Man shook his head. "Can't. You don't have clearance. You know the rules, Joe."

Joe shrugged. "Then I guess it's good-bye and good luck."

"All right. For now. But if you interfere in any way with my investigation I'll see to it that you're shipped back to Bayport. And I won't ask next time."

"You have to catch me first."

The Gray Man chuckled, then sobered. "I will see what I can do for Frank."

Joe nodded. "Thanks." But as he made his way back upstairs, he knew he'd have to watch his step. The Gray Man didn't want them around and he had agents everywhere.

*

"Joe! There you are!" Callie's voice brought Joe's attention back to the lobby. He saw Callie standing by the box office with a young woman just a few years older than themselves. "Joe, I'd like you to meet Alissa Grant. She's assistant to the manager here, and she's been telling me such interesting things about the necklace! Alissa, this is Joe Hardy."

Joe whistled silently. Alissa was tall - nearly as tall as he - and wand slender, with her dark hair cut close to her head, accenting an elegant face with high cheekbones and large, wide set dark eyes. "You were right, Callie," he blurted. "There is a lot to see at the Opera." He realized what he'd said and blushed, while both Callie and the girl laughed.

"Thank you very much." she extended her hand. "Nice to meet you. Are you an Opera Buff too, or is there something else I can do for you?"

Joe had a lot of suggestions and none of them had to do with opera, but this was neither the time or the place. "Well, we were wondering...we were reading about that necklace, the Romanov Rose, and we wondered if there was any chance of seeing it."

Alissa nodded. "Certainly. I was just telling Callie. It will be on display right here, for one day and one day only - the day of the Gala. That's a picture." She indicated a large, glossy picture was posted by the box office. It was an intricate interweaving of gold studded with pearls and dangling small flowers of emerald and diamond and sapphire, and set at the center with an enormous ruby. The ruby was surrounded by a complex filigree that looked like flower petals.

"It's stunning!" Callie exclaimed.

Alissa nodded. "It's Faberge. It was created for the last Czar's court."

"Must be worth a bundle," observed Joe.

"Priceless," Alissa corrected. "The stone alone is valuable enough, without the gold and smaller stones, Faberge workmanship, and historical value. Its being on loan is an act of good faith."

"Aren't you afraid it will be stolen?"

Alissa laughed pleasantly. "I'd like to see somebody try. The security is fierce."

"But during the performance," Callie persisted. "No one can guard it while it's onstage."

"No one but a few thousand witnesses in the audience. Backstage it will go straight from the stage to me. Four guards will walk me to the wings and watch me give it to the Stage Manager, just a few minutes before it goes onstage. After it comes offstage, I'll be there waiting to take it from Jerry and walk it back to the safe with my armed guard. Besides. There's the curse."

"Curse?" said Joe and Callie together.

"Some people believe that the necklace is cursed. It was the last piece of jewelry Faberge made for the Czaress Alexandra. She wore it for the first time when she went to see Rasputin - the evil priest who had so much influence with her. He asked for it in payment and she gave it to him. It seems she never could refuse him anything, and he had promised to cure her son of hemophilia.

Anyway, a short time afterward, Rasputin's enemies finally succeeded in killing him. They had tried on numerous occasions before, but with no success. They found the necklace and returned it to the Czaress. She wore it one more time - the night the Bolsheviks stormed the palace and took the Royal Family prisoner. Everyone involved with the necklace seemed to suffer disaster - first the invincible Rasputin, then the Royal Family. No one has worn it since."

They were silent for a moment after Alissa's story. "Wow," sighed Callie at last. "Where has it been all this time?"

"In a secret vault, where it was hidden by the museum curator of the Hermitage, the famous museum in Moscow. The curator was trying to prevent Stalin from selling all of Russia's national treasures."

"Wasn't he afraid to touch it himself? Why didn't it bring him harm?"

"I suppose he never wore it, and having it hidden, he didn't really handle it. Besides, it's just a story. A silly superstition."

Joe thought about everything that had happened to them since arriving in San Francisco and wondered if maybe there wasn't something to this curse stuff. But he said, "How about you? Aren't you scared?"

Alissa laughed. "Not me. I personally think that political revolution and double-dealing killed the people involved. But it should keep your more superstitious thieves away if the guards fail. One way or another, I'm walking those jewels."

"Sounds like you've got a pretty important job."

Alissa made a face. "Well - a diverse one. I'm officially assistant to the manager. Actually, though, I'm a singer.

I thought working at the Opera House would be a good way at least to be close to the Opera, but it was a dumb idea. I'd be better off in the smallest chorus part, I see that now, because at least I'd be singing."

"But you must be good," Joe insisted. "if they trust you like that."

Alissa laughed again, with a shade of bitterness. "Oh. I'm good, all right. So good that they can't afford to lose me back here and won't even hear of me going near the stage." She was silent a moment. "Last year I had an audition with a famous singing teacher visiting from New York City. He said he'd be glad to take me on as a student if I ever got to New York. It would be a whole new start for me...he even has connections at the Met...if I could just get there. I keep saving, but between airfare and lessons and living expenses it takes a lot. Sometimes I think I'll be an old woman before I save enough." She blinked, as though she'd forgotten they were there, and laughed again.

"Well, listen to me rattle on! Teach you to give me a sympathetic ear! I don't see people my age around here that much, so I guess I got carried away. Not too many young people are Opera buffs."

"Oh, I am," said Callie enthusiastically. "I just love it. I guess a lot of people in San Francisco do. I saw the cutest car yesterday - a big blue Lincoln with a license plate that read "TOSCA". Can you imagine?"

Alissa nodded. "They are cute. We have a small fleet of them, thanks to one of our patrons. The others have plates that read "MIMI", "AIDA" and "CARMEN". They're handy for chauffeuring big stars and big clients around."

Callie and Joe exchanged a startled, breathless glance. "Oh!" Callie, tried not to sound too anxious. "They're yours, then!"

"Not mine, certainly, but they're for the use of the Opera House."

"But I'll bet you can take a spin in them whenever you want," Joe proffered his most charming grin, hoping he didn't seem too obvious.

"Not me," Alissa smiled. "I'm but a lowly flunky. The only reason I'm allowed to walk the jewels is because more important people need to be available to schmooze with the elite.

No, I've ridden in them once or twice, but they're mainly for use of the Board of Directors, visiting dignitaries, and important errands. There's a very short list of people that can sign those babies out." Joe would have given a lot for a look at that list, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a casual way to ask about it.

"Say," he said finally, "I know you're busy, but maybe you could show us around? Callie's been dying to see this place."

Alissa gave them a tour of the Opera House. The magnificent building awed Callie as much as Alissa herself awed Joe, but it didn't seem to lead them any closer to Frank. Joe was trying to think of some way to get a look at that list of automobile users without attracting too much attention to his interest.

"So," he ventured at last, as Alissa was walking them back to the entrance. "Do you get a lunch break? Want to join us for lunch?" Callie raised her eyebrows at him, and he winked at her reassuringly.

Alissa looked gratified. "That would be nice," she admitted. "Just let me sign out."

"Okay. Mind if we walk with you, or is that against the rules?"

Alissa smiled at him. "Be my guest."

They followed her back to the office and watched as she opened a log and filled out her name and the time. Joe casually glanced at one or two other books beside it, wondering if one served a similar purpose for the cars. He also eyeballed the lock on the door.

It looked like an old fashioned brass specimen. Shouldn't be too tough to pick. Of course, that left the front door, which wouldn't be any too easy. He frowned thoughtfully to himself, but quickly turned it into a smile as Alissa said "Ready?" and led them to the door.

*

"Well, " said Callie, a little testily, "we didn't get much out of that. Except a lunch date for you."

"Not true," Joe corrected cheerfully. "We got a lot. We now know, for example, that there's a tech rehearsal tonight and that the crew will be there late - a good time for a little inconspicuous black bag work."

"What kind of black bag work?"

"I'm determined to get a look at that auto check-out roster. I know I can break into the office, but I'm not nearly as confident about breaking into the Opera House. That's why it's important to know how late it will be open. We should be able to be fairly inconspicuous among the tech crew."

"Okay. That makes sense," Callie admitted grudgingly. "Well, I've got something, too, though it's not much. Did you notice that Alissa called the stage manager Jerry? That's the name of the guy Frank heard arguing."

Joe stopped dead. "Really? You're sure?"

Callie nodded. "Of course, it's a pretty common name, so it may not mean anything, but I thought it was interesting."

"It is. Good work, Callie."

Callie wasn't smiling. "Something else we have to look at, Joe, and you're not going to like it. I think we have to look at Alissa. She has both means and motive."

"Alissa!" Joe gaped at her. "No way! What motive?"

Callie sighed. "Joe, I know she's pretty, but think about it. She's dying to go to New York and start over, but she needs money. She's the one who walks the jewels to this Stage Manager, Jerry, who happens to have the same name as this guy Frank heard arguing. As near as we know, they're the only two people who actually get to handle the jewels. The car we think Frank disappeared in belongs to the place where she works."

To himself, Joe had to admit it sounded pretty damning. It was the same kind of relentless logic Frank used, but ultimately, Joe liked to trust his instincts. "She said she doesn't have access to the cars."

"She could have lied."

"Why would she spill her guts about her motive?"

"I don't think she meant to. You saw her face."

Joe set his jaw stubbornly. "I trust Alissa. What was the name of the woman Frank overheard? Do you remember?"

"N -no..." Callie hesitated. "But we can't eliminate her, Joe."

"My instincts tell me she's okay."

"Your instincts, when it comes to a pretty face and a pair of long legs are very much in question! It's the best lead we have! I wouldn't think you'd put some girl ahead of finding your brother!"

"I wouldn't!" Joe was stung, too much so to guard his tongue. "I'm just saying it's circumstantial evidence and we can't bet on it! What we know about what Frank overheard isn't all that clear, Callie! He talked about it for about five minutes, and a lot has happened since! Now, if we had been able to go over it in detail, maybe we'd have something to go on, but - "

Callie's face went red, then white. "Which is my fault, I suppose! Okay - you're right, I admit it! If I had let you two pick it apart for a couple of hours the way you wanted to maybe we'd have something solid right now. Or maybe this wouldn't have happened at all and Frank would be here, not missing, or for all we know, worse." Callie was crying now despite her best efforts to stop, and Joe felt his anger leave him in a rush. He put his arm around her.

"All right, Callie. Everything's okay."

"It's not okay, Joe," cried Callie passionately, dashing her hands impatiently at her eyes. "Frank has been gone for almost a full day and I'm so scared, and it is my fault! I should have just butted out!"

Joe shook his head. "Actually, I thought we were being followed at the Pier and I didn't do anything about it either because I thought it was my imagination. Now I realize that we were being followed and somebody was just waiting to get Frank alone, so I guess it's my fault, too - but honestly, Callie, I don't think it's either of our fault. How could we have even guessed? It's really just the fault of those creeps that grabbed Frank. And Frank is alive, Callie, I know it. On this one you can trust my instincts."

Callie sniffed, and after a minute, nodded. "Okay." She blotted her face with a tissue, then looked at him seriously. "Joe, I think we should make a pact. No more fighting. And if we find Frank safe and sound, no more fighting for the rest of the trip."

Joe grinned. "I'd like to say forever, but I guess that's not possible, huh? You've got a deal. No more fighting for the duration.

Here's the hotel. Let's go up and get our surveillance gear together for tonight."

Callie stared at him. "You don't mean you brought that stuff with you?"

"Me? No way. I'm on vacation. But I'm betting on big brother - the guy that makes the Boy Scouts look unprepared."

Joe opened the door to his hotel room and went to the closet. He pulled out Frank's suitcase and started going through the pockets.

"Flashlight. Good. We could use another one, but we can buy that. Ah. Lockpicks. Very good. Miniature surveillance camera, and...yes! The hand held copier. Good boy, Frank."

Callie was staring. "I knew Frank was a little compulsive, but, really."

"Yeah. And I guess I'm not going to laugh at him about it. Not for a little while, anyway. Let's have a pow-wow, then we'll go through our clothes for some dark stuff to wear."