Eye of the God Read online

  “Rai Rao,” Tavernier growled.

  “That is hardly a way to address a Brahmin,” Rai said, hands folded across his belly.

  “Where is Mir Jumla?”

  “I govern these mines for the sultan. Why would you expect to find that Persian traitor here?”

  “We had an appointment last week, and he never arrived. I assumed he was delayed by business at the mines.”

  “Would that appointment have involved the sale of diamonds rightly owned by the sultan?” Rai asked. He cocked his head to one side, eyeing Tavernier guardedly. “Perhaps you came looking for another blue diamond to match the one you stole two years ago?”

  It took Tavernier only a brief moment to regain his composure, but he feared his expression had confirmed the Brahmin's assumption. “I came to buy diamonds. And I buy them from the prime minister, sanctioned by the sultan to do so. I am a jewel merchant. That is what I do. You know that very well, Rai.”

  “I prefer to be addressed as Brahmin.”

  “I prefer to speak with Mir Jumla.”

  “Indeed,” he grunted. “You will need to find a new middleman. prime minister Jumla no longer works for the sultan.”

  “I find that odd considering I received a dispatch from him a short time ago requesting that I meet him in Golconda.”

  “Perhaps that was before he decided to find employment with the Mughal emperor, taking over four hundred pounds of the sultan's diamonds with him.”

  “I know nothing of that,” Tavernier answered.

  “You are hardly a convincing witness considering you and Mir Jumla have a long history of trading the sultan's jewels.”

  “Jewels I bought and paid for honestly.”

  “Just because you paid for them does not mean they were rightfully for sale.”

  Tavernier paused, considering a new tactic. “Whether Mir Jumla traded diamonds honestly is not my concern, nor is it my problem. I bought what he sold. There is no crime in that.”

  Rai Rao leaned in with a devilish grin. “It will be if you are found to have any diamonds larger than ten carats on your person or in your belongings. My officers are searching your room at the palace as we speak.”

  Tavernier began sweating long before he entered the Brahmin's pergola, so the cold beads that dripped down his brow did not belie the sudden panic that gripped him. His concern was not for the hundreds of diamonds that sat in his quarters on the palace grounds, but for the 112-carat blue diamond that rested in the buckskin pouch next to his heart.

  “You look worried Jean-Baptiste. Is there something that you need to tell me before I have my soldiers strip you?”

  The color rose in his cheeks, and he leaned forward until he was but a few inches from Rai's face. “Do not mistake my anger for fear. You are forward, indeed, if you believe for a moment that you can treat the sultan's ambassador to France with such disdain. There is not a man in the sultan's court that would dare accuse me of dishonest dealings, and I would greatly caution you from becoming the first.”

  A self-satisfied grin spread across Rai's face, and he brought his palms together in a series of three loud claps. The curtains were instantly parted by two guards who moved forward and took Tavernier by the arms.

  “We will see if you have anything to fear or not,” Rai said as he leaned back into the cushions. “Take him back to Golconda and throw him in the dungeon.”

  Tavernier sat on the rough stone bench inside the sultan's prison with his chin clenched in defiance. The stench of urine and unwashed bodies smelled rank to his refined nostrils. Although he desperately wanted to breathe fresh air, he resisted the urge to pace the floor and shake the iron bars that covered the narrow doorway.

  The distant light of a flickering oil torch cast long shadows on the floor at his feet, illuminating the occasional rat or cockroach as it scurried to safety. The buzz of flies, feasting on excrement, was a constant irritant that deprived him of silence.

  Rai Rao was at least possessed of enough sense to put Tavernier in an empty cell. The maddened, half-starved slaves who occupied the dungeon would have made short work of the wealthy Frenchman dressed in luxurious robes. For that Tavernier found room to be grateful, even while suppressing his immense rage.

  The Brahmin had at his disposal a number of horse-drawn chariots that he eagerly employed to usher Tavernier back to the city, making quick work of the return journey. Though certainly a fool, Rao wisely chose not to follow through on his threat of a strip search.

  The buckskin pouch that rested against Tavernier's skin had never seemed heavier. As the hours slipped away, he pondered his risk of losing the precious blue diamond. Should it be discovered, he had a variety of resources at his disposal for buying his way out of the situation, yet he was all too aware that the value of the diamond outweighed them all. His life would no doubt be forfeit the moment it was discovered.

  I could have sold it a hundred times, he thought. Had I sold it, I would not be in this situation, perhaps; but I also would not have as much advantage for a future sale. The right buyer has yet to come along. There will be someone willing to offer a great fortune for this diamond, and I will not part with it until then.

  His reverie was broken by the distant barrage of footsteps descending into the dungeon. They were purposeful and swift. He knew they were coming for him.

  Tavernier rose to greet his captors.

  The sickly yellow light began to brighten as three soldiers drew closer, carrying torches and long wooden spears with hammered steel tips. He did his best not to blink in the face of the sudden glow.

  “I assume you have come to release me,” Tavernier said to the captain of the guard.

  Their eyes locked for a moment, testing one another's nerve. “We are on orders from the sultan,” he said. “You are to come with us.”

  One of the soldiers unlocked the door with a long metal key and swung open the wrought iron gate to his cell.

  Tavernier walked into the corridor with composure, despite the fact that his legs felt like tree trunks.

  “Please follow,” the captain said. He turned and marched back down the tunnel.

  When the iron gate slammed shut, the sound of clanging metal thundered through the stone corridor, vibrating the walls and settling dirt onto the floor.

  Tavernier fought the instinct to clutch the leather pouch above his heart. Instead, he confidently followed the guards into a patch of blinding sunlight that flooded the courtyard. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and waited.

  The captain turned and said, “You are free to go. The sultan sends his deepest apologies that you were treated with such disrespect. He hopes that you understand the Brahmin was attempting to act on his behalf. He was, nonetheless, overzealous.”

  Tavernier parted his lips, allowing the great sigh of relief to exit slowly.

  “The sultan also wishes us to inform you that you are most welcome to trade for diamonds in this city any time you wish. Is there anywhere you wish us to take you, Ambassador Tavernier?”

  “Have my belongings sent from my quarters and arrange for transportation to the shipyards. I will be catching the next vessel to France.”

  The guards nodded politely, put their hands together, and said “Vanakkam” in unison.

  Thus Tavernier found himself a free man. His only concern was that of getting the jewel to safety. The possibility of losing his head bothered him a great deal less than the thought of losing his diamond.

  I never did like ships. Seems an unnatural way to travel.

  Tavernier clutched the rails on the starboard side of the merchant vessel until his knuckles turned white. He could see the coastline in the distance, lurching violently as though the earth rocked uncontrollably on its axis. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  Oh no, here it comes again.

  Yet another wave of nausea rose in his stomach, and he heaved the last remaining evidence of an unsatisfactory dinner into the swirling mass of foam and water below. It was an odd feeling, indeed, wh
en it seemed as though he stood still and everything around him spun like a drunken sailor attempting to waltz. The opposite could not be more true, however, as the small ship pitched to and fro across the choppy water.

  Somewhere behind him, the petrified crew frantically scampered across the deck, yanking at the rigging and bellowing orders that could barely be heard above the squall.

  The rain had begun to fall several hours earlier when they left the fathomless depths behind and headed toward shore for the last leg of their journey. The winds hounded them from the rear. The effect was both a blessing and a curse, as the gales pushed them to the shore with great speed, and the rain bit into their faces like stinging hail. Ultimately, the biggest dilemma facing the crew was the fact that they had no control over the ship's direction. Wheel and rudder were of little use when the devil was at your back, pushing with the speed of Hermes.

  Normally, they charted a delicate course through the rocky shoals into the port of Tondi, but tonight they were cast directly into the jagged path that made the waters off the small trading town infamous as many a sailor's final resting place.

  Between retches, Tavernier could hear the crew give orders to abandon ship. The teeth-like black rocks rose from the waves before them, eager to grind the vessel to splinters.

  Weak and pale, Tavernier saw the deck hands throw empty wine casks overboard, lashed with rigging. One by one they timed the waves splashing onto the sideboards and dove in as they receded.

  The rocks loomed ever closer. The frigid water poured onto the deck, swirling at his feet and knocking him further off balance.

  “Get off this ship, you fool, before we run aground,” a deckhand screamed, grabbing him by the arm and trying to tug him away from the rail.

  Tavernier scowled at him, aghast that he actually believed they had any better chances in the water than they did on the ship.

  The cracking, splitting sound of breaking wood caused his insides to boil and lurch again. Somewhere beneath the surface, the bottom of the boat had scraped along the ever nearing shoals.

  “I'm coming!” he shouted, as he waded his way through the knee-deep water that coursed across the deck. The sailor led him to the other side of the ship where the waves receded with greater frequency.

  “If you toss the barrels overboard and time it just right, you won't be sucked under the ship,” the sailor shouted.

  What a comfort. And here I thought drowning was the worst death we could endure tonight.

  Tavernier edged closer to the rail, feeling the rhythm of the rocking boat. He steadied his breathing, in and out, with the thrust of the ship. As he prepared himself, Tavernier grabbed for the leather pouch around his neck. He would hold it between his teeth while he jumped.

  He grabbed a second time and then a third. The pouch was gone. He frantically dug his hand inside his robe and scraped across his bare chest, searching for the worn buckskin.

  Panic-stricken he scanned the waterlogged deck in search of the pouch. And then with a sickening feeling he remembered that he had taken it off before coming up on deck for fear he would lose it in the commotion. In his mind's eye he could see the pouch resting atop his clothing inside the trunk next to his cot.

  Without a word to the sailor, Tavernier turned and waded through the water, desperately trying to reach the hatch that led to the quarters below.

  “You fool!” the sailor screamed. “What are you doing?”

  Tavernier did not respond, but rather slowly descended the steps into the bowels of the ship.

  “Go to your death then! See if I care!” The deckhand jumped overboard.

  The Frenchman paused halfway down the steps, staring into the blackness below. The single lantern that hung in the hallway had long since been put out by the waves pouring through the hatch.

  Tavernier was alarmed to see that the water came not only from the deck above but also from the hull below. The rocks had obviously gouged a sizeable hole in the bottom of the ship. The water rose quickly. He turned for a moment to look back through the rain at the pale gray patch of sky. In that direction lay escape and possible death. But below was his beloved diamond and almost certain death. The choice was obvious.

  I have not carried that diamond with me for ten years to lose it now.

  The Frenchman descended the steps into the icy water. By the time he set foot on the hall floor, the water swirled around his waist, and he could see little more than vague shadows. His only advantage was the fact that his small chamber was the first door on the right. Four paces and he would be there. Though he pushed forward with all his strength, the force of the water pressed against him. He lost a step for every two he took.

  Hands waving before him like a blind man, Tavernier felt for the door opening. Though only a matter of seconds, he felt as though he had lost all grasp of time. Finally, his hands hovered over emptiness, and he pulled himself into his chamber. Little more than eight feet by eight feet, he thought it should take no time at all to find his trunk in the tiny room. However, everything that had not been bolted to the floor now floated in the chest-deep water. Complete darkness surrounded him, and he blindly splashed through black seawater, desperately searching for the wooden trunk.

  The gold. The gold is in the bottom of the trunk. It can't float because of the weight.

  Tavernier took a deep breath and dove beneath the water, pulling himself to the floor. He spun around, arms waving frantically, unable to find the trunk. When he came up for air, he could not remember which direction the door lay. He filled his lungs with air and descended into the water again.

  This time his hands brushed against the steamer trunk. He flipped the latch and pulled on the lid until his forearms burned. The pressure of the water pushed against the heavy mahogany. Tavernier planted his feet on the floor and pulled again, using the strength in his legs. The lid rose just enough for him to slide an arm into the trunk. He grabbed the soft buckskin and rose to the surface.

  The water rested just beneath his chin, and his toes barely scraped the floor of the cabin. Tavernier pressed himself forward and grasped for the wall. No door. He moved along the rough boards, searching for an opening. No door. He moved along the next wall. No door. The water danced at his lips, and he had to lift his chin in an effort to feed his shallow breaths.

  He found the opening on the fourth wall, but the mantle of the door rested below the water line. Tavernier gripped the leather with his teeth and pushed himself beneath the doorway. It took every ounce of self-restraint he possessed to pause and remember which direction led to the stairwell.

  Left. Go left.

  He could no longer walk, so he swam with clumsy strokes toward the staircase. His knee banged against the wood, forcing hot, stinging tears to the corners of his eyes. But with much relief he scrambled up the waterlogged steps onto the deck. Just then the sea gurgled up from below, fully submerging the cabins. Only the rails, mast, and sail remained above water now.

  Tavernier could not jump for there was nothing to jump from. Instead, he pushed himself over the rail and desperately swam away from the ship before it sucked him beneath the water in its wake.

  His jaw ached from the pressure of biting into the leather; he could feel his teeth meet.

  Neither rain nor wind let up as Jean-Baptiste Tavernier half swam, half floated toward the projecting black rocks. All he could think of was that he had managed to rescue his blue diamond from the greedy sea that had tried to claim it.

  5

  ABBY TOOK A SIP OF HER COFFEE, PRIVATELY ENJOYING THE HORRIFIED look on Alex's face.

  “A shipwreck?” he said, draining his cup. “Really?”

  “Everyone who takes the diamond suffers something tragic,” she said with a shrug.

  Alex choked, spraying the table with coffee.

  “You all right?” Abby asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, pounding his chest. “Just went down the wrong pipe.” Alex looked at his watch. “Wow! Looks like my hour is up, and we've barely sta
rted the interview. I've got a meeting to run to.” He caught Abby's glance and offered her an impish grin. “Could I get a rain check on the rest of the story?”

  She returned his grin. “Sure.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Mitchell,” he said, reaching for her hand. Alex held onto it for a few seconds longer than the shake required.

  “Call me Abby. Everyone does.”

  “I look really forward to continuing our interview, Abby.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get going.” Alex rose, paid the tab, and hurried to his car.

  Isaac sat with his feet propped up on the desk, deep in thought. Thick, sweet-smelling clouds of pipe smoke hung around him, making the dark room even more oppressive.

  Once again the phone buzzed, and he answered on the first ring.

  “Yeah?” He paused, listening. “I'll be there in thirty minutes.

  Abby parked her Land Rover in front of a renovated brick warehouse that had been turned into a loft apartment building. She climbed the few short steps and pressed a buzzer beneath a pair of familiar names.

  “Who is it?” a man growled into the receiver on the other end.

  “It's just me.”

  “Come on up.”

  The door clicked, and Abby walked into the dark hallway toward an old freight elevator at the end. She pulled the grate down and pushed the button for the third floor. The elevator clinked loudly as it rose at a snail's pace. It jolted to a stop, and Abby stepped from the cage, thankful that once again it had made it to her destination without plummeting to the bottom.

  A woman in her early fifties swung the door open before Abby could even knock and pulled her into the loft with a warm hug.

  “Welcome, deary,” she said.

  Abby leaned into her embrace. “It's good to see you again, DeDe.”