Eye of the God Read online

  Abby seemed less convinced. “I'm not sure that I share your confidence, Mr. Blackman. The Hope Diamond is a tempting challenge, and I believe there are those out there who would be willing to try.”

  “Try, yes. Succeed, no,” he said. “You are familiar with the parameters we have in place?”

  Daniel grunted. “Unfortunately, our records give us the bare minimum of information on the security features you designed.”

  “Exactly,” Blackman said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. He tapped his fingers together lightly. “When we were contracted to design the state-of-the-art system housing the diamond, we separated the various aspects among several different engineers. There is no one organization who understands how the system was put together, myself included. The design documents are kept in our vaults, and as you know, our burglar-resistant vaults have earned us the reputation of being the industry standard. I assure you, your diamond is safe.”

  To eliminate feedback noise, Isaac adjusted the audio coming from the bug in Abby's purse. He and Alex watched the voice patterns of Henry Blackman fluctuate on the computer screen before them. Isaac looked at his brother with a malicious grin. “Looks like we've got ourselves a little challenge.”

  Alex didn't respond. He sat with his feet propped up on the leather sofa. Abby's voice transmitted cleanly through the receiver, and as he listened to her talk he recalled the look of surprised pleasure that crossed her face when he kissed her temple the night before. She was responding just like he wanted.

  “The diamond's display case is three inches thick and bulletproof,” Blackman continued, pride evident on his face. “If that is not enough of a deterrent, and someone actually tries to smash their way into the case, the jewel will immediately drop through the floor and into a specially designed vault below. When the remodel was done, the contractors reinforced the floor due to the weight of the vault. It cannot be broken into or lifted out without heavy machinery. And don't forget that even if a thief were able to bypass all those security features, which is technically impossible, he would still have to get out of the museum. Along with those hard security features, there is an intricate web of soft features such as containment security, electronic monitoring, and state-of-the-art alarm systems. We have created a total protective solution. Besides, our reputation is on the line. Not only do we protect the world's most precious gem, but also the foundation of America's history. In 2003 we were commissioned to build three customized high-tech vaults for the National Archives that store the U.S. Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, and the Bill of Rights. In addition to the vaults that hold those documents at night, we also created the permanent displays that encase them during the day at the Rotunda.”

  Abby listened to Blackman's spiel, running the odds in her mind that anyone would be bold enough to try and steal the diamond. As much as she'd like to believe his declaration of total security was gospel truth, she knew better.

  Blackman looked at Daniel. “I hear you spent a good portion of your career at the State Department?”

  Daniel nodded. “Ten of the twenty years I spent in the service.”

  “Then I think you'll understand that there are no more sophisticated measures than the ones we have taken at the Smithsonian.”

  Daniel flinched as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “What I'm concerned about is the fact that your systems are so renowned. It's like dangling a carrot before an eager thief. And believe me, there are people in this world who can crack your security measures. We don't know if they will, but we do know that they can.”

  Blackman forced a strangled laugh. “You may be a bit too pessimistic, Mr. Wallace. If someone can crack our security measures, then there are more important things than your diamond at risk. We are the primary supplier of vaults for the Federal Reserve, and we service seven bank sites and more than twenty vault doors. I suspect they would be a much greater target.”

  “In theory perhaps, but it's not my job to protect the Federal Reserve. I've been given the task of protecting the Hope Diamond. Part of that job is due diligence to ensure that we have all taken the appropriate measures.”

  “Our systems aside, it is my understanding that the Smithsonian itself is an impregnable fortress. I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

  Abby listened to most of their conversation in silence, but felt that the egos of the two talented men were about to clash. “That is why we are here, gentlemen,” she said. “I believe that if we work together we can cover all of our bases and protect the diamond.”

  Her voice had a soothing effect on the men, and they regarded each other quietly. Blackman offered Abby a smile. “I'm sure you're right, Dr. Mitchell. And if you feel the need to discuss matters more thoroughly, you are more that welcome to call me any time. This is the number to my personal line.” He slid his business card across the table to Abby.

  She waited until he withdrew his hand before taking it.

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Slimeball.”

  “Sounds like someone has a crush on your girlfriend.”

  “I think you mean my target, and she is way too smart for him.”

  “I don't know. He sounds like he's got it together.”

  “He sounds old. And fat.”

  “You sound jealous.”

  Alex leveled his gaze at Isaac. “This is work. My job is to seduce Abby and get her to trust me. This guy is a putz.”

  Isaac shrugged and changed the subject. “Any suggestions on where we go from here? It certainly appears they've covered their bases. A direct heist is out of the question. The infrastructure is too tight.”

  “We'll never get it out of that case. And even if the stars lined up just right and we did, we would never get it out of the museum. What do you give our chances now?” Alex asked.

  “Bleak at best. Utterly impossible at worst.”

  “Think we should back out? That's why we always secure a down payment, in case something like this comes up.”

  “I have no intention of quitting. We'll get that diamond,” a confident smile spread across Isaac's face.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He tapped Alex on the chest. “That seduction is a very powerful thing.”

  “We need to talk,” Daniel said. He hailed a cab outside the Diebold offices.

  “About what?” Abby asked.

  “There's been a breach in security.”

  “What?” she gasped. “When?”

  “Last night. At the Castle. An intruder gained access to the ITS room with a stolen security card.”

  “Did you catch him?”

  Daniel stepped back from the curb as a yellow cab pulled to a stop three feet away. He opened the door for Abby and slid in next to her. “No. We lost him on the security grid.”

  “Did he take anything?”

  “We don't have any way of knowing for sure.”

  Abby leaned over the seat and spoke to the driver. “Smithsonian Institution, please.” The cab pulled into the flow of traffic, and she looked back at Daniel; worry etched her face. “What did Trent say?”

  “I called him first thing this morning. He wasn't happy,” he paused for a second, looking out the window. “I suggested we cancel the Hope event.”

  Abby shook her head. “Why?”

  “It's a major breach of security, Abby, and it happened on my watch.”

  “I get that,” she said. “But it happened at The Castle, not the Museum of Natural History.”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  Abby pursed her lips and glanced at Daniel from the corners of her eyes. “Let me talk to Dr. Trent.”

  “What did you do?” Alex demanded of Isaac.

  The conversation between Abby and Wallace was breaking up as they navigated through traffic, but Alex had caught just enough to arouse his suspicions.

  “I was gathering information.”

  “You almost got caught.”

  Isaac's lip twitched as h
e faced his younger brother. All the warmth drained from his voice. “I can assure you that I most certainly did not.”

  “They know you were there.”

  “Someone. They know that someone was there.”

  “Well, apparently, it's got them up in arms. What were you thinking?”

  “I was doing my job.”

  He stuck a finger in Isaac's face. “You were reckless.”

  Isaac grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his hand away. “Watch it. I know what I'm doing.”

  Alex took a step back. “Don't think I won't walk.”

  Isaac just laughed. “Sure.”

  Alex grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door. “Apparently, you don't know me that well,” he said over his shoulder. “I don't need this. One more stunt like that and I'm gone.”

  DeDe sat before her easel, paintbrush in one hand, pallet in the other. She swept the brush across her canvas, swirling the ruddy color of burnt umber into what was now an angry red sky. To the untrained eye it was a perfect copy of Edvard Munch's The Scream: the deformed face with hands on its cheeks, mouth open in a scream, messy sunset sky, brackish water swirling beneath a bridge and drifting off toward the horizon. Simple. Ugly. Worth untold millions.

  Yet all DeDe saw were the imperfections, the blurred lines on the wooden railing, the robe that was more gray than brown, the too long chin.

  “They're getting better,” Dow said as he stood over her shoulder. He nodded at the corner of the room where a stack of discarded canvases were piled, each bearing an attempt to reproduce the painting.

  “Hmmm,” she murmured, noncommittally.

  “Well, that's your problem.”

  “What?” She looked at her husband and brushed a wiry curl from her cheek.

  “You're not concentrating.”

  DeDe waved her paintbrush in the air randomly. “This whole thing is bothering me.”

  “But you've been doing this for years.”

  “Not the painting.” She tossed her pallet on the floor. “Abby. And her father. It just doesn't seem right, you know? I realize you put a lot of faith in that girl, but I think this is a lot to expect of her.”

  Dow rested an arm across his wife's shoulder. “The girl is tough,” he said. “And we both learned a long time ago that she doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.”

  “I know. It's just that her father isn't … safe.”

  “How'd it go?” Marshall asked as soon as Daniel returned to the main security terminus at The Castle.

  He shrugged and loosened his tie. “Not well.”

  Marshall turned and studied his boss with a questioning glance. “What did he say?”

  “I told Dr. Trent we need to cancel the event.”

  “Because of one security breach?”

  “One is enough.”

  Marshall shook his head. “But we have no suspect, no missing information, and no proof. All we know for sure is that Randy Jacobs accessed the basement last night at one o'clock.”

  “Randy Jacobs was in Mexico.”

  “Can we prove that definitively?”

  Daniel squinted his narrow brown eyes and shook his head.

  “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “Nothing … for now.”

  “How do we find out what information he took?”

  Daniel leaned back in his chair and pulled the pen from his coat pocket. “I think I've got an idea.”

  11

  ABBY SWUNG OPEN THE DOOR TO HER APARTMENT AND LONGINGLY eyed the worn leather couch. Her jacket, keys, and laptop landed on a side table, and she went straight to the bedroom to change. The heavy, starched pant suit was swapped for a faded pair of jeans, one size too big, and an old Boston College sweatshirt that most likely would not survive another washing. Her outfit was completed with a pair of hideous blue-and-orange toe socks. Before heading for the living room, she caught up her hair in a loose ponytail.

  Abby threw herself onto the couch and sank into the worn cushions. The old red blanket beneath her head made for a lumpy pillow. On the far wall hung a photograph collection of old churches, mostly in sepia tones, but a few in black and white. Captivating her with the beauty of stone and spire and cross, she had taken the photos on her travels. Yet she had never found the courage to set foot in any of them.

  Weariness settled over her, and she buried her face in the blanket, eager to forget the chaos that surrounded her at work. But now that she was home, the stillness was even more disturbing than ringing phones, instant messages, and endless interruptions at the office. She resolved the situation by throwing her windows open and letting in the cool breeze and sounds of traffic below.

  Much to Abby's chagrin, the clash of egos between Daniel Wallace and Henry Blackman had not ended at Diebold, Inc. Daniel popped into her office twice that day, trying to convince her to cancel the event. Although certain he was overreacting, she did her best to reassure him. In all the time she had known him, Daniel operated with a level of energy that could only be surmised as a coffee buzz gone terribly wrong. No other human being could work so much, sleep so little, and still manage to maintain what appeared to be perfect health. This man of few words must have used a three-week quota during his assorted visits to her office that day.

  “You can't be overly cautious, Abby,” he'd retorted on her fifth attempt to reassure him.

  “I agree. I'm simply suggesting that there is the possibility that we are humanly incapable of taking more precautions that we have.”

  “We could always do more.”

  “Such as?”

  “Armed guards. Lockdown—”

  “What's next? Martial law?” He shrugged. “I've never seen you this agitated.”

  He folded his hands behind his back as though standing at parade rest. “I'm just trying to do my job.”

  Abby leaned forward with a smile. “Do you believe that I am trying to do mine as well?”

  Hesitating a moment, he finally nodded.

  “At the moment my job is to organize this celebration in honor of the Hope Diamond. It needs to be the biggest event in the history of the Smithsonian. It is by and large one of the most difficult undertakings of my career thus far. The logistics are beyond description, and the ultimate success or failure lands squarely on my shoulders. I must balance the needs of our guests, who expect to be entertained, with the need of the Smithsonian to raise ungodly amounts of money in a single night. Plus I'm responsible for the safety of the most viewed museum object in the world. I appreciate your help, Daniel. I really do. But I need you to make my job easier, not harder. We have to move forward with our plans.”

  He seemed to relax a little and sat down in her guest chair, perhaps for the first time since he'd taken the job at the Smithsonian. Normally, he always stood just inside her door with hands folded behind his back. He looked so uncomfortable and out of place sitting in the chair that she felt sorry for him.

  “I just don't feel good about this whole thing,” he said.

  “I know, Daniel, but I'm very confident in your abilities. Our little diamond could not be in better hands.”

  After Daniel left her office, Henry Blackman called, but the aging security expert's reasons for interrupting her day were far more personal. After trying to impress her with the stats on a new vault they had in production, he asked her to dinner. She almost laughed. It took her nearly fifteen minutes to get rid of him, and then she avoided his calls for the rest of day.

  As Abby's mind left work and returned to her comfy position at home, a more pleasant memory rose up.

  Alex. He almost kissed me last night. A peck really. But he did ask to see me again.

  Abby grinned, climbed off the couch, and slid into the kitchen in her sock feet. With hands on her hips, she stood for a moment, staring at an assortment of takeout menus. Nothing sounded good. She opened the fridge, only to slam it shut a few seconds later in disgust and peruse the menus again. Unable to make up her mind, she clasped a hand over her ey
es, waved her finger, and pointed randomly.

  “Tofu burger. No thanks.”

  Her finger landed on grilled chicken caesar salad on the second attempt. Nah. The lettuce would be soggy by the time it arrived. Best outta three.

  It took six more tries before she settled on beef fajitas from a nearby Mexican restaurant. Just as she was about to pick up the phone and call in her order, the doorbell rang.

  Although tempted not to answer, she changed her mind. Occasionally, the elderly Italian couple from two floors below felt sorry for her and brought up homemade spaghetti and meatballs. Of course, the home-cooked meal always came with a lecture, insisting that she needed to meet a nice man and settle down and have molti bambini.

  One look through the peephole left her wishing she had chosen anything in her closet but the dirty sweatshirt and ugly socks. Alex stood outside her door, holding a large brown paper bag that she highly suspected contained food.

  For a brief moment she considered bolting to the bedroom for a quick change, but she didn't want him to think she wasn't home. And she didn't want to tell him she needed to change for fear he would stand on the other side of the door and picture her naked, or worse, assume she was high maintenance. Instead, she cracked open the door, mortified at how she was dressed.

  “Hi,” he said. His eyes twinkled.

  “Hi.” She tried to hide behind the door.

  “I realize it's not exactly proper to show up unannounced, but I thought you might be a little hungry and want some company. I can tell by the look on your face that you're starving, and I can see by those ghastly socks that you're most certainly spending your evening alone.”

  “You don't like my socks?” Abby asked, feigning offense. She swung open the door.

  “They're hideous,” he answered, bending slightly to brush her forehead with his lips.

  Her stomach dipped somewhere near her knees, and she wondered if she would be able to eat a bite.

  “Cute,” she retorted. “They're cute.”